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still-a-morosexual-help · 9 months

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Playing Dress Up

summary: 5 times Mammon saw his human wearing his things.

And the time he saw them wearing nothing at all.

[Fic on AO3]

The first time it happens, it barely registered. There had been so much else going on. Mammon had hardly noticed the sliver of it unfolding in the back of his mind.

"So you're telling me," they paced, "you were okay with the corset, the harnesses, the heels and that," they wave their free hand in his general direction, "that bow tie collar thing but you're drawing the line at the ears and tail!?"

"This," he leans against the railing, letting the Devildom's brightly lit expanse act as a backdrop. He knows his angles. He gestures at himself, "makes me look good. That'll just make me look stupid," and that's just it, isn't it. Even he's self-aware enough to know his main aversion to it comes from not wanting to give his brothers another reason to label him as stupid. "I may not be Lucifer, but even I've gotta bit of pride, ya know," he finishes with a huff.

They've stopped pacing now and are instead considering him with eyes that he knows for a fact can see through all his bullshit. He swallows.

"I don't think you'll look stupid," they say evenly, "I think you'll look good. Like you always do."

Mammon feels the heat creeping up his neck to his cheeks as he splutters, trying desperately to save face, "Y-yeah, well if ya think it'll look so good why don't you put it on!"

They shrug as if them wearing bunny ears will have no world shattering consequences. As if the image of them in bunny ears won't sear itself into his brain for the rest of his life.

They put it on.

His world shatters.

And even then, even as he deals with the staggering realisation that this is what his arousal threshold has been lowered to -who even was he now!? Levi!?-, even as the others finally arrive to drag him back to the club, it blossoms.

Seeing them wearing something that was technically his. Its little tendril uncoiling and latching on to the back of his mind.

Possessiveness.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The second time it happens is on an especially magical kind of day.

It's midday, and the sky is just a bit lighter than usual. The glow of the plants and surrounding wildlife, however, eclipses this with its stunning brightness.

What makes it all the more magical a day is this. The brothers are getting along, opting to play a game that's a violent mix between human basketball, football and dodgeball rather than trying to seriously kill each other.

Mammon, performing what was probably his first miracle since Falling, had even managed to convince Asmo and Belphie that this was a good use of their time.

His - THE! the human had opted to sit this one out and minimise the risk of getting hit in the head by what was essentially a bowling ball that they had been tossing around at breakneck speeds.

He jumps away with a yelp, narrowly missing a particularly vicious throw by a cackling Asmo. Swearing when his glasses finally give up their battle and slide down his nose, subsequently clattering to the ground. Picking them up, he trots over to where they are sitting next to Lucifer, who had deemed the whole affair too immature for his tastes.

"Here ya go. Keep these safe for me."

They take the glasses easily, without a word of protest, and he jogs back, catching a pass by Satan and lugging it at Beel.

Little later, after successfully getting the ball through the branches of a tall tree and scoring a goal, Mammon turns around, hoping they'd noticed. Instead, he finds them talking to Lucifer, who has finally put down his book. His glasses are planted firmly on their nose.

And.

Oh.

Everything goes dark.

Levi had scored a headshot.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The third time he doesn't notice it until Asmo leans over and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh, Dear Big Brother, did you really think I wouldn't notice it. I'm a little surprised and a little more than a little disappointed," Asmo says with a playful pout, but his eyes are shrewd and calculating as they scan Mammon's face.

"What the fuck are ya talkin' 'bout!" he snaps pushing Asmo back into his seat.

Asmo tilts his head towards where the human is sitting next to the angels and sorcerer during RAD's lunch. "Your little mark of possession." Asmo's eyes are still hard, "Humans aren't just more of your little toys you can just pick up and claim, then toss aside because you got greedy," he says lightly, popping a little berry into his mouth. His sharp canines pierce the tart flesh of it, and he hums sweetly. "This humans of ours is a little more special, don't you think?"

Mammon's frown deepens, turning once more towards them he says, "I have no idea whatya-" he catches a glimpse of yellow around their neck.

Fuck.

Shit.

His whole face is a flush of red as he jumps off his seat, legs catching on it, "Nothin' happened!" he shrieks at Asmo over his shoulder as he marches up to them. Deaf to the protests of the Chihuahua and blind to the knowing smiles of the other angel and Asmo's sorcerer, he grabs the human by the arm and jerks them off their seat, herding them towards the nearest bathroom.

"What are you wearing!" he hisses once the door slams shut behind them.

They stare down at themself. "...RAD's uniform?" They ask slowly.

"Not that! That!" Is his voice getting higher with each word? He couldn't say. He gestures frantically at the yellow fabric wrapped around their neck. His tie.

"Oh? This?" They grab onto the ends of their -his- tie. "I was late, and it was the first one I grabbed," they say with a shrug as Mammon reaches the edges of hyperventilation, "A lot of your things are just in my room. It was an easy mistake."

"EASY MIS-" deep breaths "Do you know what people will say!"

"...about me wearing a tie?"

"About you wearing my tie!"

"Mammon, you barely wear a tie. It shouldn't matter what colour mine is."

"No, you idiot! They'll think we're sleeping together!"

"So?"

"So I don't want anyone to think The Great Mammon would go anywhere near a weak human."

The balled up tie hits his face with a smack, and the door slams shut behind them.

Fuck.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The camera flashes, and for those few seconds, he's a whole different person.

Someone cool, collected, aloof, charming.

Someone stoic with a soft heart that only love could thaw out.

The mysterious stranger the protagonist of the story would fall for.

Someone way too like Lucifer for his own comfort.

Then the flashing stops, and he walks off the set, and he's back to being Mammon. The goofy screw up of the family. The one who isn't even in the running to be the love interest.

Except.

They're watching him from the edge of the set.

Except.

He doesn't think they ever took their eyes off him.

Except.

They're wrapped up comfortably in his jacket.

Except.

They are beaming at him. Bright and proud.

Except.

They're Proud. Of him.

Except.

He thinks. Maybe. Just maybe.

Except.

This protagonist is falling for him.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

In the year, that had felt more like an eternity, he had spent with them, Mammon slept most nights entwined with them under their sheets. A fact that would have probably raised a few eyebrows and caused more than a few lecherous thoughts if the others had known.

Mammon knew, and they knew, however, that the real reason behind it was a lot more innocent and a lot more, potentially embarrassing. To him at least, the idea that only the presence of a very specific human could soothe a very specific demon's nightmares and overactive brain enough, for said demon to catch even half a night's sleep was a little bit absurd.

And yet.

That is to say, with Mammon's slow move into his human's room a number of his personal items found their home within the walls of the room as well.

And when they eventually left, like they were always meant to and like he forgot they had to, and when he curled up alone on their bed, alone in a room that was bare but for his own possessions he knew he wouldn't be able to empty it. He knew he would never be able to take back what was rightfully his.

So, he thought defensively, it would make perfect sense for him to not notice that something had been missing.

But he did notice it now. A whole year later, when they fell ass first on to Satan.

He noticed it during dinner as his brothers threw away any last shreds of their pride and vied for their attention.

He noticed it in his room, when the burning, itching need for them got too much and he closed his eyes and pulled out all the recent -new- memories of them.

He noticed it when they ordered him to kiss them.

He noticed it when his fingers clung on to the soft, well-worn fabric of his black T-shirt as they pulled him closer.

He stared after their back, at his shirt, as they left. And they had ordered him, hadn't they? The effect of the potion should have been nullified, right?

Then why did he still feel like this.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

+1.

He snuggles in further into the softness that enveloped him. For the first time in a long time, he felt warm and satiated. Had he slept through the night for once?

He moans and burrows deeper into the covers when he feels fingers brush through his fringe. When the fingers continued, seeming to have no plans of stopping anytime soon, he opens an eye to glare at the person next to him. The only reaction he gets in response is his human's dumb smile.

He reaches out a hand from his blanket cocoon to flick at their forehead all the while maintaining an equally dumb smile.

"What's with the look, Dummy."

"You've got the same look, Mammon."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

They snuggle in closer, their entwined legs brushing over each other. Running their fingers over his knuckles, they lean forward to brush a light kiss over his lips.

His face flamed even as his smile grows wider.

"Ya know if you wanna go again-"

"You're wearing my hoodie."

"Wha'?"

They lean up on their elbow and use their other hand to tug at his collar. Their smile stretched into something that could only be described as shit eating.

"You're wearing my hoodie."

They move away just as he jolts upright, tugging at the offending article of clothing to get a better look and sure enough. It's the same over sized purple hoodie they'd been wearing backstage yesterday before the play had started. It slips off one of his bare shoulders, because it is over sized, it's over sized on them, it's over sized on him and it would probably be a comfortable fit on Beel, as he remembers last night.

After the play, and after the festival and after the dance and after...After.

He had climbed off the bed in a giddy daze and grabbed the hoodie from the floor. Because he was greedy and he wanted more, more, more. Even with them in his room, dozing in his bed, even with a whole night of them, even with their scent on his sheets, on his body, he still needed more of them. So he'd slipped the hoodie on and curled back into bed, surrounded by them.

And now.

And now he feels the telltale heat of embarrassment flood his cheeks.

"Was cold," he goes to say, "it was the first thing I could find! Nothin' else."

But before he can, they throw a bare leg over his waist and straddle him. Intertwining their fingers, they pin his hands down by his head, regarding him with a wicked smile.

Who the hell was the demon here anyway.

"Don't," they say with a roll of their hips that has him whining, "I like it." They lean down, their lips brushing his ear before they nip at it.

"You're not the only one who gets a little possessive."

[First Posted: 7th August 2020]

[Fic on AO3]

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64yrsold · 1 year

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patient

it's trope night!!!! i've really enjoyed write anything that you want to week <3 i've got a little friends to lovers for you. enjoy!!!

“Matty, where are you?” I cried over the phone, storming down the sidewalk.

“What’s happened?” he replied, worry streaking through his voice.

“I need a fucking drink, are you at home?” I choked, pulling my jacket around myself tighter. God, it was fucking cold.

“Yeah, should I come get you?” he asked, “I’ll come get you.”

“I’m already here,” I stood at his doorstep, listening to him clamber down the stairs. He swung the door open, both of us still holding our phones to our ears.

“What did he do?” he frowned, jaw tense at the sight of me. I rubbed at the smudged mascara under my eyes, watching him slip his phone in his pocket.

“What makes you think he did anything?”

“It’s always him,” he spat, ushering me inside with an arm over my shoulder, “Fucking useless prick.”

“I haven’t even said anything yet,” I gave him a hollow laugh, letting him sit me down on the couch.

“You don’t have to,” he grabbed a bottle of whisky, ignoring my sour expression as he handed me the bottle. “Just drink it.” I let the alcohol hit the back of my throat, the sting more comforting than usual.

“You’ll like this one,” I rolled my eyes, passing him the bottle. He handed me a tissue as he took a slow sip.

“Go on,” he nodded, eyes expectant and patient, “How tall was he again?”

“You could take him,” I shrugged, “How about we pay him a visit after we finish this bottle?”

“Gladly,” he smiled, a bit too wide, “Tell me already.”

“He asked me a stupid question,” I sighed, palm against my forehead. “Maybe I’m overreacting, I just-“

“You’re not. Just tell me,” he took another swig. I groaned, burying my head in the couch.

“He asked me to rate my looks. Like, on a scale of ten.”

“Yikes,” he winced, shoving the bottle in my hand.

“Yeah, fucking yikes,” I look up to see him shaking his head, “So, I’m honest, and I tell him I’m a seven.”

“A seven?” he coughed, jaw slack. “That’s… Well, what did he say?”

“He said I was a ten.”

“Okay, good,” he nodded with approval, “What did he say next?”

“He clarified,” I huffed as a tear threatened at my waterline, “That if he didn’t know me, I would probably be an eight.” The tear rolled down my cheek. I took another sip, passing it back to him.

“He said that?” he said in monotone, knuckles white around the bottle.

“I know it's silly, but it just hurt to hear,” I bit my cheek, frustrated. Flames were licking at the back of my throat. “He’s a fucking idiot, I can’t explain it anymore."

“Honestly,” he whispered, “Good fucking riddance.”

I looked at him, shaking my head with a quivering lip.

“No,” he groaned, “No, you’re not serious. You broke up with him, right?”

“I just left, and I walked straight here,” I raked my hands through my hair, another tear wetting my red cheek, “I don’t know, Matty.”

“What is this, strike fucking eleven?” he stood abruptly, the bottle clattering on the coffee table. “What’s it going to take?”

“I just-“ I bit my lip, knowing one more word would have me sobbing in his living room.

“The next time you come over here crying about him, I’m not answering the fucking door,” he paced in front of me, “I can’t see you like this anymore. Why don’t you know what’s good for you?”

“That’s not fair,” I whispered, hugging my arms around my knees.

“I’m sorry, but please, just fucking listen,” he knelt in front of me, dropping to my eye line, “Break up with him.”

“I will,” I couldn’t meet his eyes, “I just…”

“We can go right now,” he said, pulling at my wrists, “I’ll take you to his apartment. I’ll break up with him for you, I don’t care.“

“I’m fine, I’m taking this too seriously,” I shrugged, “I’m sure he has his reasons for saying that.”

“Stop deluding yourself,” he squeezed my wrists, “You’re a fucking ten. Anyone can see that, without even knowing you. And knowing you, you’re an eleven. When you’re hungover, eleven. Sick, eleven. Sobbing on my couch, eleven. Eleven. It’s that fucking simple.” He sighed deeply, standing again. “It’s that simple, and he can’t even do that.”

I let his words sit with me, stirring in my head, then my heart.

“Eleven?” I couldn’t help but smile.

“Yes, fucking eleven,” he rolled his eyes, pulling his sleeves up his forearms, “I’ve known that from first glance.”

“Sure,” I rubbed my palm against my cheeks, collecting the tears.

“You don’t even believe me,” he threw his hands into his hair, “He did this to you. Planted all these insecurities, this doubt. You would’ve never had that with me.”

“With you?” I laughed, without humour, “What are you talking about?”

“With me, yeah,” he sat back down on the couch, “I know I make you happier than he does.”

“As if you were ever an option,” I muttered, “You haven’t been single a day in your life.”

“Neither have you!” he shouted, hands in the air, “If I knew I could have you, I would have waited for you forever.”

“You wouldn’t have waited,” I reached for the whisky, bringing it to my lips, “You barely even showed me any interest.”

“You’re joking,” he caught my hand holding the bottle, “Be serious.”

“You wouldn’t even look at me! For nearly an entire year, you wouldn’t glance in my direction. Why would I think you were interested?”

“Of course I was interested,” his head hung low, “And all those years after, you still thought I wasn’t in love with you?”

My voice was caught in my throat. “In love with me?”

His lower lip hid between his teeth, “Yes, in love with you.” His fingers were tight against my hand as we gripped the bottle together, letting it hang in the molasses air between us.

“Don’t lie to me,” I watched his eyes, sinking into his pupils, “Because I have always loved you.”

“I don’t lie to you.”

The bottle slipped from our hands, shattering to the ground. Amber liquid spread over the hardwood, crawling under the couch. He didn’t even flinch. He snapped to me like a magnet, mouth on mine in an instant. My chest caved in, my perfectly organized emotions and carefully concocted delusions tumbling inwards, joining the pool of whisky below us. His mouth was desperate, the years of braided patience severed as soon as our lips met. My hands gripped his shoulders, his waist, his back, all the places I had daydreamed of kissing and memorizing. His hands were free, too, holding my jaw tightly. I could finally taste him, taste his carefully watched mouth. He kissed confession after confession into my mouth, and I prayed he’d never relent.

#write anything that you want to week #matty healy #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty the 1975 #matty x reader #matty healy x reader #64matty #friends to lovers

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diodellet · 1 year

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i think i've found a place for us (jamil viper x gn!reader)

lovingly strapping jamil into a rollercoaster ride along the full emotional spectrum😇😇 fic title is from this song content warnings: -reader is yuu/ramshackle prefect -mix of jp and en terms -post-Book 4 OB (references to master-servant relationships, assassinations) -self-deprecating thoughts (references to symptoms of depression) ++this fic is hurt/comfort, whatever issues kalim and jamil have, it's probably mentioned here word count: 3.4k words

This was now Jamil's... fourth day of staying at the Ramshackle dorm. And even though he spent most of the time drifting in and out of sleep, he could make a list of all the inconveniences that came with temporarily living in the once-abandoned dorm. Mold, dust, cobwebs—those were only the first of many entries on his list.

It was far from the quiet, secluded place he initially pegged it as. The building would creak and groan as its living residents moved from room to room. At the peak of midnight, bits and pieces of the ghosts' conversations would travel through the walls, up the floorboards, mix with the sound of the wind outside.

That didn't mean it was completely unbearable.

Whenever you thought that you were alone, you would fill the silence with song. More humming and mumbled syllables than audible lyrics, but still melodious and pleasant to listen to.

"I didn't know you sang." Jamil's voice is rough with sleep.

You spin around to see him, eyes widening in surprise. “You! Should be sleeping!”

"I… think I've had enough."

If anything, he’s spent too much time asleep for the past few days, dealing with more lingering headaches instead of feeling rested and energized. He sits up, turns his gaze to an interesting patch of clawed up wood on the bedframe left uncovered by your mattress. Grim's doing.

"...did I—do you want anything? I could run over to Sam's or the cafeteria?"

"No, no thank you." It wasn’t that he couldn’t stomach the thought of food, but it was along the lines of not really feeling up to it.

He’s been feeling an awful lot of nothing lately. It was as if everything—all the rage, the resentment, everything that had festered within his being—disappeared with the Blot.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” All that remained now was the shadow of his Overblot. The lingering discomfort, the hushed whispers from the students, the vision of ink coating his fingers.

“Just…” He shakes his head. “...Go back to what you were doing.” The words spill out. Clipped, taut. A demand—no, a plea for you to leave it at that.

He doesn’t miss the way you flinch. “Okay.” You nod, and slowly turn back to your textbook. Slip the other earphone back on and spin your pen in between your fingers.

(The reflexive ‘sorry’ catches in his throat, a few seconds too late for it to be used.)

Jamil lies back down, staring up at the ceiling. The hour ticks by, rays of the afternoon light slowly dimming. He shuts his eyes again, but doesn’t let himself doze off.

The scratch of your pen stops. “...hello?” Jamil turns to rest on his other side so that he’s not looking at you or your work desk. “He’s still here, yes… what about Kalim?”

Even if you lower your voice, it doesn’t stop his ears from picking up on the conversation. The same way that his sleep never tips too far into deep unconsciousness.

“I see… I’ll try asking him about that later.” You fall silent again, listening to the person on the other end. “...Are you guys holding up alright? On top of your…usual stuff?”

He suspects it might be someone from Octavinelle, maybe Jade or Azul.

The chair legs squeak against the floor. “...If it does get to be too much, please tell me. I’ll figure something out. Maybe I’ll visit Scarabia tomorrow or—” The sentence dies in your throat.

Another pause elapses before you give a resigned sigh. “Alright, sorry, I-I’ll leave it to you…thank you.” Something clatters on your desk, probably your phone.

“...Okay, dinner. What to make…” You mutter to yourself, clicking on the desk lamp. Your footsteps travel to the other side of the room to undo the curtains.

He continues to feign sleep, remaining still as you switch on the lamp at the bedside table. The mattress dips with your weight as you lean over to pull up the blanket so that it covers his shoulder.

The first day that he arrived at Ramshackle was in the middle of a snowy night. An otherwise normal interaction with Kalim escalated into a heated argument. And then the dorm leader insisted on doing something by himself, which steered the conversation into doing away with their opposing statuses and then…like his Overblot, Jamil couldn’t remember the exact specifics of what happened.

Only a persistent gnawing at his temples, red-hot flashes obscuring his vision, his hands haphazardly gathering his things. Not a single one of his dormmates stopped him, quickly moving out of his way or fearfully standing to the side. Kalim's voice calling out for him was the last thing Jamil heard before he stepped through the mirror.

Somehow, his feet brought him to the once-abandoned dormitory. His shoulder was protesting under the weight of his gym bag. The wind bit into the exposed parts of his face, his hoodie did little to protect him from the cold. The gate was locked, of course. But just before he turned on his heel to return to Scarabia, one of the Ramshackle ghosts appeared and unlocked the gate for him.

Everything else was a blur after that. He was just…numb. And tired. Pliant to letting you peel off his snow-covered outerwear and replacing it with a thick blanket. Another ghost pushed a warm mug of tea into his hands. He couldn’t fall asleep though, not with Grim sitting next to him by the fireplace and whining about being woken up.

“—just let me call back in the morning, he’s…no, he’s not hurt, he’s fine.” You were on the phone, cradling it against your shoulder as you laid his hoodie on the back of a chair. “Okay, bye.”

Jamil didn’t feel alright. If he didn’t upend his family’s carefully-built legacy with his betrayal and Overblot, then he single-handedly sent it to its downfall by running away from Scarabia, away from his charge.

“I…should go back…” he mumbled, moving to stand up. He set the tea aside, the drink was untouched. His fingers had warmed enough at this point. The blanket fell to the floor. “Kalim…”

“Will be fine,” you cut him off, gripping him by his shoulders. “He’s got the rest of Scarabia with him. You’re…not okay.”

Those words stung. He shrugged off your hold. “It doesn’t matter, I have to go.” He needed to stop acting like a child. Go back to what he was meant to do.

“Jamil, I’m not letting you walk in the snow. If you really want to go back, then at least…” Your expression, pained with concern, then softened with your voice. “...at least wait for the weather to calm down by next morning. Please.”

“...Next morning. I’m leaving,” he conceded.

He didn’t leave when morning arrived. When he awoke, it was already afternoon. He was covered in two new blankets and Grim was curled up against his legs.

At the foot of your bed, resting beside his gym bag, were two overstuffed suitcases. Kalim’s handiwork.

Save for the light emanating from the desk lamps, the rest of your room is shrouded in darkness. Shadows stretch across the walls, the floorboards, the edge of your bed, seemingly dripping with ink.

He scrubs a palm over his face. The room returns to normal—no, it's always been normal. He's the one with problems. To solve and to shoulder, those were the only courses of action he could take. And to say that he was merely shouldering all these burdens would discount the resourcefulness he honed from a young age.

But then to be denied both options with your interference—you, Kalim, and that Octavinelle trio—to have you all meddle a second time, it should have sent him into a rage again. Maybe it would have warranted a second Overblot, but he was. Just. So.

Tired.

He pulls himself out of your bed and goes down to the kitchen.

You were at the stove, finishing up a batch of pasta and serving it on a plate. One of the Ramshackle ghosts was carrying Grim in its arms. Maybe to keep him from jumping onto the countertop and sneaking a few bites. Atop the small dining table, an upbeat tune played from your phone, it sounded like something from a musical. The scene in front of him was nice, but dinner was tuna carbonara. And for the past four days, his meals consisted of fish. Not even shellfish, just some iteration of canned fish. Tuna, sardines, mackerel, salmon, maybe shrimp if Grim was up for the "variety."

Jamil can’t complain, he won’t complain. He’s not a picky eater by any means, but even he had his limits when it came to eating processed food. In his mind, he decided that he would have to take over kitchen duties. Tomorrow. He can only manage helping with cleanup.

(For now, even as an outsider, he can enjoy the shred of normalcy that the shared meal brings.)

You spend one more hour at your desk, going through your winter break homework. Steadily and methodically finishing one subject at a time. Your foot taps against the floor, in time with the music playing through your earphones.

“...Done!” You sigh in relief, stretching your arms above your head. “Will you still need the lights, Jamil?” You turn to look at him.

One of his own textbooks laid open on the bed, little lecture notes and annotations neatly written along the margins. His homework was already completed a day before the holidays started. But, he decided he could redo some of them, make an attempt to earn a higher grade.

“We can stop holding back on account of our social status.”

Jamil feels a twinge at his left temple. He closes the book, leaving a pencil in between the pages as a makeshift bookmark, then sets it at the foot of the bed. “No, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm.” There’s an urge to make himself small, invisible to your concern. Which he knows is just basic courtesy as a host—as the head of the Ramshackle Dormitory.

“Alright. Good night, Jamil.” A click, then darkness.

That would make this the fourth night spent away from Scarabia. Another night of resting in two hour intervals. Of waiting for sleep to claim him before his racing thoughts consumed him. He calls your name.

It’s surprisingly easy to, now that the lights are off. “You should be sleeping in your own bed.”

“...But I can’t just let you sleep on the sofa. It’ll be a killer on your back.” The sound of your footsteps slows to a stop, floorboards creaking with the motion. “The both of us are fine sleeping downstairs.”

“Isn’t he a restless sleeper?”

“Nope, he sleeps like a baby.”

At that remark, somewhere from the first floor, the sound of rapid footfalls could faintly be heard. Coupled with the fire-monster’s trademark cackle.

“Well, that is, when he gets tired enough.”

The both of you lapse into silence, listening to Grim tear through the first floor hallways. The sound of the ghosts playfully taunting him.

You mutter quietly to yourself, “yeah, he’ll tire himself out in a bit. Hopefully.” The floorboards creak again, you’re probably leaning against the doorframe. “Does the noise bother you?’

“No, not really…” The Scarabia dorm was unnervingly quiet in the days after his Overblot. It was as if there were eyes on him, breaths held in anticipation. Watching and waiting for his next misstep. Nighttime wasn’t any easier. Whenever he'd jolt awake, he would stifle any screams or cries with his pillow, wait for the terror to run its course, count the hours until sunrise. “It’s just—”

There’s a faraway crash and the sound of Grim cursing, a chorus of ghostly laughter in response.

“Never mind, I misspoke. It’s…” Stupid. Jamil quickly dismisses your concern. “You should go check on him.” He turns his back to the doorway.

But you don’t leave. The sound of your footsteps approaches your bed. “Grim’ll be fine. I’m… more worried about you. Could you scoot over?”

“It’s your bed.” He tamps the embarrassment down, forces irritation into his words. Nonetheless letting you climb into the spot next to him. The mattress dips with your weight added to it.

Your own response was bashful. “I know, but…” you pause, thinking of your next words. “Grim and the ghosts… noticed that you were having… nightmares.”

“They’ll pass.” He’s dealt with worse.

“...You’re not wrong for feeling these things,” you say, voice low. As if speaking any louder would disturb the other residents of the dorm.

"How could you still say that…” A lump forms in his throat. “...after…"

"After everything?”

It doesn’t feel right to hear you cut to the heart of it. His words spill into the darkness of your bedroom. "After throwing you and Grim into the desert, keeping you against your will—"

"Hey, we were glad to get out of the cold for a little bit."

At his silence, you let out a quiet laugh.

"...I mean it though. It wasn't all bad." Your fingertips press against the side of his arm, apologetic.

He doesn’t… shy away from the contact, but he remains still. Staring up at the ceiling. “You could’ve died.”

Your touch withdraws. “I can say the same to you."

"Wouldn't that have been better? What use is there for an insubordinate servant?” Jamil thinks back to the attempts made on Kalim’s life. Investigations were made into the other staff. Into esteemed guests, renowned politicians, prospective and longtime business partners. Through it all, only the Viper household remained clean.

And it just had to be him, the person closest to Kalim, who tarnished that steadfast loyalty. He’s seen what happened to assassins who were caught.

(There’s a certain irony in having to spill blood for the protection of another.)

"Don't…don't say that. Kalim doesn’t think of you like that…"

But he still treats Jamil like one. “He thinks the world of everyone he meets. Even those who’ve wronged him.”

“...sure, maybe he’s a bit naive—” That was an understatement, Jamil thinks to himself. Dense, ignorant, stupid were more fitting. “—but he really does see you as one of his closest friends.”

“What do you know?” he counters. What could you say that he hasn't already heard?

“Kalim’s not stupid. He genuinely trusted—he still trusts you in spite of what happened.”

And wasn’t that the most irritating part? That he was still being showered in empty kindness and praise by Kalim? That in the end, he would have to be held accountable for something as careless as losing control of himself?

“It isn’t that simple.” Frustration laces the way he says your name. “Put yourself in my shoes for a second—”

“I am…I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s my duty, to Kalim’s family and my own.” God, he was sick of hearing the dorm leader’s drivel about friendship, but to hear himself repeating his parents’ own words to you was painful.

“That’s true, but you’re not…”

There’s a familiar heat building at the base of Jamil’s throat, an ugly mix of shame, embarrassment. “His title and status as the Asim heir takes priority, and I have to make sure that he doesn’t die before that happens—”

“But you were just a kid!” Your voice rises to a furious whisper before falling, quiet and trembling. “...you were just…a kid… and you shouldn’t have had to bear that on your own for so long…And then to be expected to carry on as if nothing happened…”

Jamil should be angry at hearing another shed tears for him. Expressing the emotions that should’ve been his. Only one other person has done that in front of him, and that misplaced kindness sent him further along the route to his eventual Overblot.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t but—” Despite your apology, the thickness in your voice doesn’t let up. "Still…! Who just tells their own child to ‘lose thrice’?"

The anger that he has carefully nursed doesn’t rear its head. Maybe it really did disappear with the dispelling of his Overblot. Or maybe it’s because you didn’t face him with the fear that his dormmates held.

“How do you know that?” His question is met with your silence. With the curtains drawn closed, only faint slivers of moonlight creep into your bedroom, scarcely enough to reveal the shape of your figure beside him. Jamil’s hand reaches out tentatively—the back of your hand is damp—before withdrawing altogether.

“...When I fell into the Blot ink, I could hear them…and I saw you. When you were younger.”

He could remember the ink pouring into every orifice. “Then you…” If it went on for any longer, it would have drowned him, then consumed his magic, then his body and then—

“Yeah, then I managed to pull you out.”

“But you weren’t in the infirmary.”

“...Fourth time’s the charm, I guess.”

“Did…that happen with the others?”

“Yeah. With Riddle. And Leona, and Azul. I don’t know why it happens." You shift, the sound of your clothes rustling against the bed covers as you move closer to him. Your shoulder lightly nudges his. “The first time it happened, no one else knew what I was talking about.”

“Tell that to the livestream of my conversation with Azul.”

“But they didn’t broadcast it… it was just a speaker call. For the rest of the dorm to hear.”

Jamil sits up. “What.” He was supposed to know about this? Those Octavinelle fuckers.

“I…I thought—oh, I guess they didn’t tell you, I’m sorry—”

His stunned silence is broken with a laugh, bubbling from his throat and building into sharp, hysterical laughter. He feels warm, burns with embarrassment, because of course it wasn’t a livestream. And why was he feeling a hint of relief at that revelation?

His palms press against his eye sockets. To his ears, the sound is foreign, but he can feel the exertion in his throat. Feel his breathing quicken, the start of a sob which he chokes down.

It takes him a few more moments to register the tears flowing down his cheeks. His outburst dies as quickly as it erupted. His chest hurts at the feeling of stifling his cries, to keep them from escaping.

God, he feels dumb.

You sit up, pull him into your arms. Let him cry against your shoulder, rub a soothing hand against his back. You don’t say anything, but the tender gesture speaks enough.

By the time his emotions have calmed down, his head aches with a dull pain. The all-too familiar sensation of exhaustion seeps into him.

“Will… you ever talk to Kalim?” you ask. Your own expression was stricken with tear tracks, from sharing in a fraction of his pain.

“Of course I have to eventually.” He sighs, lying back down and you follow. “...I have no choice.”

“You don’t have to…force yourself to though.” You reach forwards, gently wiping away his tears with your thumbs. And he lets you. “If you still need time, you can stay here… To rest and recuperate.”

Paradoxically, it’s in the words of a stranger—(did you count as an acquaintance though? Acquaintances didn’t just spoon each other though, they didn’t just tangle their legs together while sharing the same bed)—that he finds a pinprick of solace.

And sure, you could call it that. ‘Rest.’

But to Jamil, this was stagnation. He couldn’t just keep mooching off your hospitality, blindly trusting in Kalim’s resolve to change. He couldn’t let himself stay indebted for this long.

“I can’t just stay here for the holidays. But…thank you.”

Once winter break ends, what would he do? How should he go about repairing his social standing in the dorm? With the rest of the student body?

What’s the next move?

He doesn’t even realize that he’s fallen asleep. Rest comes to him, gentle and peaceful.

When early morning arrives, Jamil gives himself five minutes. Five minutes of sitting in the rare calmness of his mind, of listening to your slow even breathing, of being encased in between the warmth of the blankets and your body heat. Comfortable, protected, safe in your arms.

Then he extricates himself from your hold. At the motion, you make a weak sound of protest, blindly reaching after him. Your fingers brush against the hem of Jamil’s shirt. He catches your wrist, gently sets your arm down on the mattress. Then he pulls the edge of the blanket over you to keep you warm and goes to get ready for the day.

Since he was planning on making breakfast, he’d first have to check if the school store had anything available.

(A part of him is grateful that Kalim packed a scarf.)

A/N: originally this started as a scene of jamil being the lazy one for once and trying to keep u in bed with him. i just wanted to write cuddles (read: the intended kissies were somehow lost along the way. i am still sobbing crying weeping and calling for them to come back home) but aaa its finally done, one of my persistent brainworms is freed!! and more have taken its place help id like to credit @jessamine-rose for betaing this fic, thank u ms maam twst veteran💕💕 wcidfy ch3 will take a bit more time to be written. so im gonna chip away at other wips (shorter oneshots) as i try to get the main beats down. it would take a miracle for it to be posted soon, so id probably expect chapter 3 in (late) june. anyway, i hope u enjoyed reading this, don't be afraid to rb and holler in the tags!! i treasure each and every comment!! taglist (ig i have one of these now?): @merotwst

#dellet-writings #twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #g/n reader

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punsmaster69 · 6 months

Text

6/DEC/20XX

i'm throwing bones today.

big ol' pile of the things.

why?

because it's the lowest-effort option i could think of to dwindle that overflow stuff today.

"Ow."

"...?"

looking over at frisk, i couldn't immediately tell what they did, so i chalked it up to a cut or something.

"Ouch."

i heard a clatter, but missed whatever it was that fell.

frisk held their hands suspiciously behind their back.

"...you good, kid?"

"Yep. Just keep going."

barely a minute passed before i heard another exclamation of pain.

"Ow."

...their sweater, which was suddenly very odd-shaped, seemed to be the source of the pain sounds.

"..why?"

"Why what?"

"bones??"

"No idea what you're talking about."

(innocent smile.)

de-summoning some attacks, frisk's sweater returned to a normal shape.

"Aww..."

"Whyyy?"

"that's what i should be askin' you, kiddo."

"I want bones."

"you do have bones."

"My body-bones don't count."

"alright. fair enough."

"doesn't my bro give you bones all the time?"

"Yeah."

"then you do have bones."

"Not YOUR bones."

"same bones."

"Not the same!"

"Yours look different!!"

"how so?"

"Papyruses bone attacks are all sharp, and angular, like he is."

"Yours are all round, and soft."

"...Looking. Not feeling."

flicked a tiny bone at their forehead.

they caught it in their hands, and made an 'aww' sound.

"really?"

"Tinyyyy..."

"that is a bone."

"can't be cute."

"It's little, and therefore cute."

"And it's not even doing damage."

"how much did the other ones do?"

"Two damage. Three, when I dropped one on myself."

didn't expect anything else.

"Can I have a non-ouch one?"

"..sure, why not. i'll throw you a bone."

"want me to gift wrap that for you?"

"Wait, give me another one."

"ok."

"Make it hurt a little."

"..why?"

"I wanna give one to Flowey."

"ok."

"while you're at it, might as well give you one-"

"For Mom?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"When's your next date, anyway?"

"OW."

"deserved."

"I'm gonna tell her you're throwing bones at my face."

"you got what was coming to you."

"She's gonna ground you."

"not if i ground you first."

"Don't-"

"i don't even have that authority, kid."

they faced me, before giving me an earnest look and placing a hand on my shoulder.

"You can if you want to."

"you want me to ground you?"

"No- I meant, you can have that authority."

"bit weird to want more authority figures in your life."

"You're chill."

"I know you won't do anything, anyway."

"fair enough."

"Besides, if even Papyrus decided I was grounded, I would listen to him too."

"he wouldn't either."

"......."

"No, he wouldn't..."

"You get the idea though."

——

"Could you just summon a really giant one?"

"what you're seeing is what i've got."

"Give it a shot, you have to be able to!"

trying produced a slightly longer attack, not much different in size otherwise.

"Isn't there an easier way? This is taking ages!"

"this 𝘪𝘴 the easier way."

"How do you know when it's enough?"

"probably good enough when my head doesn't hurt anymore."

"Does your eye still hurt?"

"unfortunately. 's more of a dull pain than anything, which is good."

"Still having trouble seeing?"

"out the one."

"Think it'll be permanent?"

"probably not."

"Are you gonna have to get glasses if it is?"

"maybe."

"and...think that's it, kiddo."

"doesn't feel like my skull is splitting into pieces like before."

"Woo!"

"Now we can do literally anything else!"

"you didn't have to sit here through all this, y'know."

"Wanted to hang out with you today."

"even at the cost of your entertainment?"

"It wasn't really that bad. I'm just dramatic."

"Besides, it's not everyday I get to watch a skeleton make a bone pile."

"...I should jump into them like leaves."

"should not."

"you'll break all your bones 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 bones."

before they could consider it any further, i un-summoned the bone mound.

"tori'll ground 𝘮𝘦 if i let you do that, kid."

"c'mon."

"let's go inside before it gets colder."

——

bones must be comfier than you'd figure, being twice now that they've fallen asleep on one of us skeletons.

to be fair though...

frisk could probably fall asleep just about anywhere, if they tried hard enough.

#undertale #journal #sans #sans and frisk #frisk and sans #frisk #soriel

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pxgeturner · 2 years

Note

Oh my god okay….Idk if you find this Ledger!Joker x reader (?) fic request stupid or too complicated but imagine ‼️ they two have been in this secret relationship for a while but like the reader has enough of his dangerous lifestyle and this quite toxic relationship in general. They are worried sick about him and ofc themselves as they can get in a lot of trouble bc of him and sometimes when joker can’t really control his emotions or his tendencies they are afraid of him too. I feel like joker is also very possessive person and wouldn’t let reader go outside or meet central people or anyone at this point. So they have enough of his bs and want to leave maybe even escape from him 🫣 idkkkk I just think this would be an interesting angsty story sorry if I’m asking too much

not very complicated !! i loved writing this and it’s the first angsty thing I've posted on here! i would like to put a warning, like super dark content ahead. joker is very neglectful and physically abusive in this. (the abuse is brief tho.) i want to mention that this is not a depiction of my joker as he is a better man for me. if u want me to redo this in a way that if less possibly triggering please let me know! word count: 1.5k

Laying in bed, you hear the door open and shut with joker’s arrival. He doesn’t bother being quiet, not caring whether he wakes you or not. he clatters about, simultaneously trying to staple his wound and make a sandwich. when things were better you would’ve stayed up for him. When j stumbled through the door you would’ve helped him get comfortable. Once he was situated you’d go reheat the meal you made for the two of you as he tended to himself. After he was all patched up you would sleep cuddled to your j.

now you only cook for yourself. you sleep in separate rooms. and you don’t stay up for him out of love. you let out a humorless, breathless laugh at how it used to be. how naive you were to truly believe the things he would say. that he’d make you his queen, that you are his number one. maybe that used to be true, but it was probably always a delusion.

because now the only time he acts like he still cares are those few times he decides he wants to sample your body. And you always give into him, of course you want to forget reality for half an hour or so. he lures you in with gentle touches and words that flow and taste like honey. typically he just uses you for stress relief. but a couple of times it seemed like he genuinely missed you, wanted to show you he’s sorry. either way it ends with him on the other side of the bed with his back to you, snoring. not you, though. you can’t sleep with him next to you anymore, it just reminds you that he’s not yours anymore.

but you’re still his.

ever since he’s started to “put things back on track” he’s on guard twenty-four-seven.

No longer does he melt in for embrace or allow himself to simply be the man who loves you when you’re alone. j doesn’t exist anymore. there is only the joker.

…

you’re still yawning as you exit your room and make your way to the kitchen. no one else is up yet, and someone has to mop up the blood. if joker were to come out of his room to the mess, someone’s head would roll. your thoughts travel to the man snoring in his suit and old makeup down the hall. how would he react if he saw you cleaning right now? he wouldn’t look twice and walk away. before he would have you drop the mop and make one of his men do it. Just as you finish you hear a snarl.

“DOLL!” you rush into his room, frantically looking for a reason he would call out like that.

“why aren’t you in bed? baby it’s so early…” he’s so tired he doesn’t even make his clown voice. Your heart warms a bit at the tenure of his husky voice. “c’mere, babydoll,” you crawl into bed with him and dream of possibilities.

…

“Why don’t you take a break, joker?” you suggest from the kitchen. He straightens and looks away from the map of gotham, stalking a few steps towards you.

“Why would you make such a suggestion, doll?” the word is spat with so much venom you want badly to recoil, but you don’t.

instead you put the zucchini you just washed onto the cutting board and grab the knife to start chopping. “you don’t need to do everything right away is all.”

“i don’t.” he pulls out his favorite pocket knife and rests the blade against his cheek. “i don’t need to put things how they should be. i don’t need to finish what i’ve started.”

“that’s not what i said, joker.”

“THIS IS THE ONLY REASON I GOT OUT OF ARKHAM FOR. and you’d rather me what? Play house with you?” ouch. finally admitting to never missing you. the weapon flies out of his hand and it sinks into the wood of the board, inches from your hand. you cross your arms, leaning on the island, knife still in hand.

“i just think you should pace yourself, joker.”

he jumps onto the countertop and grabs at your jaw. “you shouldn’t think anything about this, sweet pea.”

“because i’m just your doll,” you say passively.

looking satisfied, he hums in agreement and slinks back to the table of minions.

“not a doll as in someone precious you want to care for, but rather something you want to own and lock away. Not even to look at, just to have.” you’ve started chopping the vegetables, “do you remember my birthday? for a guy that has a perfect memory, you do really badly when it comes to me. you know you used to be really good at things like that; i know you remember.” you move on to another squash. “ but last year you didn’t even call when you were in arkham, and i know you could’ve. my birthday was two weeks ago, do you realize that? you didn’t even look at me the whole day. i can’t even say i got a smile or kiss as a present.”

he’s trying so hard to ignore you.

“i don’t think you ever really loved me, joker.” that was the last straw.

swiftly, he’s on the other side of the island. he punches you in the face. the knife leaves your hand and you feel the impact of the ground along with a sharp pain, somewhere. he’s never hit you, sure he’s screamed, but never hurt you physically. this is something else, he really is strong.

maybe this will be the thing that kills me, You think. then he wouldn’t be bothered by me and i won't have to worry anymore.

…

you wake up, eyes heavy.

“hello, sweetheart,” you flinch at the gentle voice that greets you. the room you’re in is unfamiliar, blue walls, a tv, pictures of landscapes hung on the walls. you turn your head to see a wall of windows letting in the silver light of the overcast sky. as you stare outside you begin to register a steady beeping. examining your body, you’re hooked to an iv and monitors.

“you must be hungry, you’ve been asleep for a while.” you finally look at the nurse. “food will be here soon.” she comes over to the other side with the windows to check your vitals. “how do you feel, any pain?” you just wanted to go back to sleep, but you didn’t say that.

you didn’t say anything. you couldn’t feel anything. you were all but detached from your body. a hollow shell. you don’t even know why you’re there.

a doctor comes in, with food. “hello there, do you might if we talk while you eat?” you manage a shrug. the tray is placed on a levitating table attached to the gurney. you don’t move, staring at the man. his smile feels mocking, how does he know what you went through with j? what right does he have to pity you?

he tells you that there’s “no extensive damage” and that you should be healed in a couple of weeks. all there is, are a few small cuts and a bruised nerve. so there is a legit reason to me feeling numb. a superficial cut on your leg needed some stitches. you hit your head and might have a concussion, so he checks your eyes and lets you now they’ll keep you for observation. after that he left you to the nurse, switching the lights off as he exited.

all this time you’ve stayed silent.

“how did i get here?” the words are foreign in your mouth.

she looks worried and sends a page “a man brought you, told me you slipped while cooking.” you prepping to roast some vegetables, joker getting upset, and him pouncing on you rushes to your mind.

“right” you pick at your fingers a bit, “was making a roast, water or oil must’ve gotten on the floor. but then again i’m a klutz.”

she comes up to your side, holding your right hand and pets your hair. you flinch forward and hiss at the contact, moving your hand to cover the top-right area of your head. you lower the hand, not knowing what to say. you know that they thought the injuries to the left side of your face were because of the fall. but you couldn’t explain without admitting to what happened.

her face turns sympathetic.

“the… gentleman that brought you left saying that ‘that bitch better not try to come back.’ did he…?”

“no, no. that was definitely one of his friends.”

“do you need help?” an underlying message was there: are you in danger?

“i’ll be fine, i have some friends to stay with.” she nodded.

i escaped, and didn’t even try. he just let me go. i’m free.

#cw: dark content #tw: abuse #roses 🌹#ledger!joker x you #ledger joker x you #ledger joker x reader #tdk joker #angst #joker angst #the dark knight #the dark knight joker #my writing #dark.giselle

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gingerbreadmonsters · 2 years

Text

get in, loser!

or: you can brush my hair, undress me everywhere...

gn!reader, a little bit risqué but no explicit nsfw, a shameless excuse for flirty cutesy fluff. at last, it's here! a quick round of applause for our sponsors: @tiredandsleepyx for providing the wonderful prompt, @glassbearclock for being the finest fashion consultant i could wish for, @aeruh for an exceptional anecdote about silk sheets, and @haradasaya for posing the excellent question "but what if they sneezed?"! oh, and this fic would not have been possible without the incredible miles @friendlyfaded , who wrote a little something you might know called Howling at the Moon that inspired the vast bulk of Gavin's various chatter - it only felt right to include a little celebrity cameo in return hehe 💕💕 by far the longest, most dialogue-heavy thing i've ever written, and i don't apologise for it in the slightest. gavin striking a pose (there's nothing to it!) in just over 9600 words.

(the prompt in question: “The Freelancer going shopping for clothes and coming back with virtually nothing for themselves but like 20 things for Gavin because they spent the entire time thinking how good he’d look in each piece of clothing. Gavin is now sporting clothes of all types as Freelancer practically eats him up with their eyes.”)

“Love, come on, it’s hot out here!”

If he ever actually lets you in, he is for it.

You’ve been knocking - and knocking, and knocking - for the past five minutes. Why? Someone, it seems, appears to have forgotten how these sorts of jokes go, and doesn’t seem to be planning on answering the door any time soon. It would probably be a lot funnier if you hadn’t just got back from several hours of shopping, but these bags are far too heavy, and it's far too hot out here to be dealing with this right now.

(You knew this was going to happen. “Oh, don’t worry about taking a key, deviant. I can let you in.” “I’ll be back from lunch with Vincent way before then, it’ll be fine.” “I don’t mind, love, I’ll be right here.” He’s probably in the middle of a Mario Kart tournament or something and has the volume up too loud to hear you. Bastard.)

“Hello?!”

Nothing.

“Gavin?”

Still nothing.

“Oh, for the love- Gavin!”

That’s it. If he keeps you waiting any longer, you’re kicking this godforsaken door down, consequences be damned. Where did you put your phone again? He’s always got his somewhere nearby, and he normally has the ringer right up, so he should be able to hear you if you call.

It’s ringing, so presumably it’s gone through. The breeze has died down a bit while you’ve been out here, and the humidity’s just stifling. Come on, pick up…

“Surprise, it’s Gavin. I’m a little… preoccupied right now - why don’t you leave me something nice to come back to?”

Yep, you’re kicking the door down. And he’s doing the washing up later. By hand. You’re just trying to figure out which bit of the door you’re going to aim at when-

“Ah, you’re back already!” Familiar footsteps get louder, as do the occasional curses when he trips over a stray shoe. He doesn’t wear shoes inside the house (thoroughly shamed out of him by Damien), and you can hear the clattering as last night’s heels - or possibly this morning’s heels, depending on where he and Vincent went for lunch earlier - go skidding across the floor. “Why didn’t you knock?”

(Dishes. By hand. And if it was Mario Kart, then he’s sleeping on the sofa tonight.)

“Welcome home, devia- oh, my. Someone’s been busy.”

One unimpressed eyebrow lifts. “What gave it away?”

“Well…” He gives you a shamelessly over-the-top once-over, lips curling into his signature smirk, eyes lingering appreciatively over where your shirt clings to your waist. “The bags, probably.”

“Really? Clever boy.” The good-natured sarcasm isn’t lost on him, but it doesn’t stop Gavin from preening just a little bit, ducking his head slightly and fidgeting with the hem of his shirt - even though you tease him about it sometimes, it’s too cute for you to ever want him to stop. Honestly, he makes a lovely sight draped across the doorframe, but it would be really nice if he could budge just a bit to the left so you could actually get inside. “Yeah, th-”

“Under your eyes, I mean. Did you sleep okay? Mmm, don’t tell me I kept you up too late last n- ghh!”

“Menace.” You say it fondly, although not without cause. He retreats, whining loudly, out of the doorway and towards the living room, hand clasped protectively over his side where you’d elbowed him out of the way. “If anyone was going to know about my sleeping habits, it would be you, wouldn’t it? Considering how heavily you feature in all of them.”

He doesn’t reply immediately, throwing himself emphatically onto the sofa and pouting up at the ceiling.

“Gavin?”

His necklace clinks as he twists away from you, throwing a lazy arm over his face that almost - almost! - hides his grin. He’s such an idiot.

“Hmmm… no.”

“‘No’?” You dump your various shopping bags over by the TV and walk up to where he’s flopped face-down over the arm of the sofa, arms dangling down off the side, reaching down to scritch your nails over his scalp. “Silver tongue’s run out of things to say?”

“Wounded…” he moans into the cushions, “By my own lover’s hands, no less!” Somehow, that still doesn’t stop him from relaxing into your touch, nudging his head up against said hands when you slow down like he thinks you'll pull away. "Alas, I fear I may never recover, unless…"

Yep, here it comes. "Unless…?"

His head snaps up (wow, that can't be a comfortable angle) as he gives you a big, dazzling smile, resting his chin on your hand as it traces down from his hair to his jaw. He's almost blinding, eyes bright and mischievous, soft hair ruffled and falling into his face. From here, he looks like something out of a magazine, like everything around him goes into soft focus, fades away. It happens all the time - you’ve thought about asking if he’s turning on the charm on purpose, but it’s probably just the effect he has on you.

"Unless you kiss it better.” He tilts his face into your palm, that rakish grin as irresistible as ever, and it’s the easiest thing in the world to lean down and kiss him senseless.

His lips are soft and smooth against yours, and you can taste the strawberries-and-cream chapstick he 'borrows' from you as he drags his teeth gently across your bottom lip. Your eyes are closed, but you smile against him as you feel him fumble to prop himself up against the cushions - in retaliation, he gives you a mock-offended little nip from this new angle before lightly teasing his tongue against yours. The faint flavour of orange juice, and is that grenadine? Pink lemonade? Your hands run along his jaw, slowly thumbing over the bone before tipping back and winding into his hair, and the satisfied sigh that drifts between you is enough to make you forget about the blazing heat outside, the stuffy airlessness of the shopping centre, the ache in your feet after walking all morning. Everything is him, cool and calm and good, and everything is right.

Well, almost everything.

“Mmmm-mmf!” He lurches forward in surprise, nose bumping awkwardly against yours as his eyes fly open - luckily, he has the presence of mind to avoid clacking your teeth together, but it’s a close call. “What was-”

“This?” You pull back up, withdrawing your hand from his back pocket, leaning over him as you wave the object in question in front of his face. You’re more than a little bit breathless, but if the deer-in-headlights expression he’s currently wearing is any indication, your death glare hasn’t suffered for it. “That’s a good question, actually. Gavin, what is this?”

“...My phone?”

“Mm-hmm. And what, exactly, do we do with phones?”

You can practically see the wheels turning as he tries to figure out what answer you’re looking for, and you wonder idly for a second how anyone thinks this man has any sort of poker face at all.

“Shit, did you call me?” Ooh, he knows he’s put his foot in it now. “Love, I swear-”

“What do you use it for?”

"Calling people…?"

Your eyes narrow. "And?"

“Answering my very gorgeous, vastly talented, incredibly wonderful, painfully attractive, endlessly generous, kind, sweet, caring, forgiving, merciful darling?”

You drop a quick kiss against his temple before handing the phone back to him as he pushes up to sit properly. “Glad we understand each other.”

“I’m sorry, deviant,” Hot pink nails click against the screen while you’re coming round to sit next to him, and the sheepish look he gets when he sees the umpteen missed calls from you is truly a thing of beauty. “I put it on silent while I was out because Hux was going off on one in the group chat after practice, and you know how Vincent gets when he’s interrupted in the middle of a story…”

(He’s got a point - apparently, there’s been a lot of drama about one of the second years on the team which, much to your collective delight, Hux has been doing his bit to keep the group chat informed about. You think it’s something about one of the older students going on an exchange year this year, and their replacement mouthing off about how they always deserved this spot on the team, they’re such good friends with everyone, they’re so fucking talented, whatever, whatever.)

(Lasko thinks it’s the funniest thing ever, mostly because he’s fairly sure he taught this particular problem student in his DAMN 101 class last year, and has been regaling you all with tales of this guy’s various failed attempts to impress whatever unlucky student happened to be sitting next to him. According to Lasko, he’d once said something after class about bringing someone back to his house and ordering pizza while they got to know each other, haha. Fortunately, the student he was trying to flirt with was having absolutely none of it, and had responded by pulling their phone out of their pocket with a “Hey, babe? Can you bring something back from work for dinner tonight?”, before side-eyeing the idiot next to them and loudly announcing into the microphone, “Yeah, I’m really craving pizza. With you, my boyfriend. At home, where I live with you. Yeah. Tonight, in our bed.” You’re not great at telepathy, but Damien popped into Lasko’s head while he was retelling this particular story and had to be carried over to the sofa in a fit of laughter at the look on the guy’s face as the student got up, picked up their obviously-borrowed Max’s Rustic Pizza branded jacket, and swept victoriously out of the classroom.)

“Fair enough, fair enough,” you concede. Vincent does get a bit sulky if he doesn’t get his moment. “And you didn’t hear me knocking for ten minutes because…?”

He slides his arm around your waist and presses an apologetic kiss to your neck, looking guiltily towards the Switch over by the TV. You’re not surprised at all. “Did you have the volume up again?”

"Hux says it’s more immersive when it’s louder!”

“We’re going to get another noise complaint!”

“Deviant,” he purrs into your skin, "we have those wards up for a reason. Trust me, the neighbours don't hear anything I don't want them to."

"...Such as?"

"Well, maybe I want to show off some of the lovely sounds you m- nononostop! It - haahh - deviant! It tickles!" You both know that he could easily turn the tables on you, but you let him take your tickle attack as penance for his crimes. He squirms backwards into the cushions when you dig your fingers into his sides, pained giggles spilling out as he throws his head back against the cushions, and all is forgiven.

Once the dust has settled and he's comfortably tucked back against your throat, you start to twirl your fingers through his hair again. He huffs contentedly, eyes long since closed, and you're loathe to disturb what looks like the beginnings of a very pleasant catnap. However, you know for a fact that he doesn't really like sleeping in his day clothes (it feels all weird and uncomfortable when he wakes up), and you've got some things you think he might enjoy more anyway.

"Gavin?" He cracks one eye open, mumbles something nonsensical into your shoulder and proceeds to ignore you entirely. "C'mon, you're gonna get a backache sleeping like that."

"Incubi can't g-"

"Yes, sweetheart, you can get backaches, and I know because you kept complaining about it after we fell asleep in Lasko's living room the other day. Do you want that again?"

"Hmph." He grimaces at the memory, finally giving in and letting you escape his grasp. "Fine, fine. Did you get those shoes you wanted? The red ones?"

"Didn't have my size," you grumble, picking your way knee-deep into the pile of shopping bags by the TV. Which one was it again? "You were right, the black ones were nice in the picture, but too boring when you actually put them on."

"Mm, the red is much more exciting. Can you order the right size online now that you've tried them on in a different colour?"

"Yeah, I did it on the bus coming back. They should get here at some point next week, I think." Where the hell did you put it?

"Oh, that's good. I haven't got anything planned for Thursday onwards, so I can stay and get the delivery if you like. I can even-"

"You are not going to do anything to the delivery driver!" He at least has the decency to backtrack, rasing his hands in mock surrender as he comes over to investigate your heap of purchases. "We're already on thin ice with the pizza guy, we don't need to be that house for the poor FedEx guy as well!"

"Okay, okay, I'll suppress my evil ways…" He dodges the bag in your hand with grace and a smile as you swing it half-heartedly at his shins. "The FedEx driver is safe. For now."

It's definitely here somewhere, but… Ah, there it is! You pluck the little square-shaped bag from its hiding spot, tissue paper inside crinkling, just as you notice-

"Don't!" His hand freezes, fingertips just brushing the top of the closest bag. "Hold on a minute while I just..."

"I'm holding, I'm holding!"

You've clearly piqued his curiosity - he cranes his neck to try and see what's inside, but he's slightly too far away to make any of it out. "I have to say, I'm intrigued, love. You're feeling a little bit flustered - ooh, did you get something you don't want me to see?"

"It's not that…" You grab as much as you can carry and beckon him after you, watching his eyebrows raise as you usher him into the bedroom. "I don't think there's any of it that I don't want you to see, to be honest."

"Oh, is that so? Going to give me a little show, deviant? You know how much I like to watch. And it looks like you've got all sorts of things to show me." He's already stretched out expectantly across the bed, relaxed against the headboard, which makes his little oof when you dump your armful of shopping on his stomach that much more satisfying.

"I beg to differ, actually. I think it's you who's got a show to put on, love."

"Huh?" God, has anyone ever told him how cute he looks when he's confused? He always tilts his head to the right, eyes narrowing and lips parting slightly as he tries to figure out what he's missed. "I… I thought you were out clothes shopping today?"

You nod. "Yeah."

"Didn't you, y'know, get anything to wear?"

"Yeah."

"So…?"

"Most of it's, um…" It shouldn't be embarrassing to admit, but it kind of is, you know? Especially with how he's looking at you, all confused. "Most of it's for you?"

He doesn't seem to really know what to do with himself, mouth opening but no words coming out. To be honest, he looks as embarrassed as you feel, although you're not sure why - it's not as if it's unusual for you to get him a little something, if you're out and you see something he might like. It's just what you do, right? You see a pretty top, or a pair of socks, or a cool hoodie, and you think 'oh, Gavin would love that' or 'oh, that would really suit him' - what are you supposed to do, not spoil him? Impossible.

(Sam, one of Vincent's friends, had joked last time you’d met that you spoil Gavin too much. You'd looked pointedly towards his mate, leaning on his shoulder, dressed head to toe in his clothes, and he'd promptly taken it back. Touché.)

"Deviant," he starts, a little bit weakly, "how much of this is mine and how much is yours, exactly?"

You fish that little square bag back out from where it's resting on his hip, and gesture to the rest with your other hand. "There you go."

He bluescreens for a second, before-

"I- you- what? All of this? Darling, you can't, it's too much, you really didn't need - mmf!" If Lasko were here, you think he'd be proud of you for using Gavin's signature shut-up technique against him. It really is very effective.

Once he's given up trying to protest into your mouth, you pull away slightly to rest your forehead against his. "I know, I know. You're right, I didn't need to. But I like to, and I want to, and I can afford it. So I did."

He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, the starstruck look on his face still not completely gone away. It’s almost like he’s… surprised, that you wanted to give him things, like he’s surprised that you thought of him while you were out. Why? Doesn't he know? Doesn't he know, how you think of him all the time? Doesn't he know, how your heart melts at the sight of him? Doesn't he know, when he says your happiness is the feeling he loves the most, that you know exactly what he means? You don’t need to be a demon to tell. When his eyes scrunch up into happy crescents as he smiles, when he gives you that smirk and you just know that he's about to say something to give Damien a conniption, the way he grabs your hand and laughs, full and deep and free - you could live forever on that sound alone.

“Is it so hard to believe that I want to spoil my pretty boyfriend?”

He shrugs, half-laughing under his breath, “I don’t deserve you, little voyeur.” Now, that won't do.

“You’re wrong,” you quietly declare. “You deserve everything I want to give you. Clothes, kisses, time, love, the whole fucking world if you’d let me. I just happen to be included in that.” He looks up at you, beautiful creature that he is, heart eyes and all, and it's too difficult to resist another kiss.

This one is shorter, impossibly softer, your tongue skimming just once over his lip before pulling away. "I love you. More than anything."

"As I love you, my deviant." He gives you that smile again, charming and wicked in equal measure, and it sounds like beloved, devoted, all I am is yours. "Now, unless I'm very much mistaken, I'd say I have some things to try on…"

You match his grin with your own as he gets to work, rifling through the mess of shopping on the bed with all the unfiltered excitement of a little boy on Christmas morning, and today is shaping up to be fantastic.

"Ooh, let's start with this!"

You've been watching Gavin scurry around the bedroom for the last twenty minutes, unpacking bags, shuffling through drawers, laying potential outfits out on the bed - it's always a production, when there's stuff to try on. He's having an absolute field day of it, too, if the happy little noises he makes every so often are any indication.

(To be totally honest, you're not sure if other demons do the same thing, or if it's just incubi, or if it's literally just Gavin - you're not even sure if he does it on purpose or involuntarily. You'd first noticed it not long after you met him, in that weird state where you were sort-of friends and sort-of roommates and sort-of hooking up. You might fall asleep against his chest, nestled together on the sofa in front of the TV, and wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of quiet, satisfied purrs from underneath your head. The longer you've known him, the more you've noticed it - those contented little chirps he buries in your hair when you come home after a long day at DAMN, the playful hisses he levels at Hux in the middle of a round of Smash, the frustrated snarling from the kitchen as he forgets how to work the oven again. It's incredibly charming, somehow, and you feel very privileged to hear it.)

"Okay, I'm thinking this, then these shorts, maybe with the tights, maybe with the black sunhat?

Yeah, they all sound like good options. "I reckon start without the tights, and then add them if it's not enough." Early prediction: he's going to ditch the hat. He loves a good accessory as much as the next incubus, but he'll say something about how it's 'too busy' and 'cutting off the line' and axe it completely. You know how it goes.

"Right!" And just like that, it begins - his current shirt is discarded unceremoniously into the far corner of the room, and the pair of you get to work.

A few minutes later, he's examining his reflection as you do up the final few necklaces - for some reason, the clasps on some of these are unreasonably fiddly. He looks effortlessly gorgeous as usual, decked out in a high-necked, sleeveless burgundy crop top and black denim cutoff shorts. The jewellery is all gold (he can't stand burgundy and silver together, he says it's so blasé, darling) and a stack of necklaces sits atop the mesh panel across his collarbone.

"Mm, I like this! It's better without sleeves, don't you think? It makes the whole thing a lot more fun." True to form, he's benched the hat for now, although you're sure it'll be back before long. "Not the most groundbreaking thing you've ever seen, but I think it could be very versatile."

You agree, nodding as he compares handbags. "Definitely a useful one. Keep or return?"

"Oh, keep, absolutely," he throws over his shoulder, kicking off his shoes as he skips back to the bed, clearly ready for the next thing. "Love the mesh, plus the material is nice and soft - and so breathable! Now, what have we here…"

He holds up another pair of shorts, even shorter than before, light pink this time. "My goodness, love. There's hardly anything of these!" Cue the pearl-clutching. "What sort of demon do you think I am?"

"Oh, my favourite kind." You blink innocently, biting back a smirk, absolutely no idea what he's implying, no ulterior motives, not at all.

He leans forward for another kiss, smile to smile, and of course you give it to him, breaking only to pull the top over his head. What is that flavour on his tongue? "Is that… grenadine? What on earth did Vincent have you drinking?"

"Oh, it was lovely! Milo's mate recommended it when we went over a few weeks ago, do you remember? They didn't say what it was called, but it's vodka, strawberry liqueur, grenadine, lemonade, and a few other bits and pieces - you know, I'd never had it before but it goes down easy as anything. And it's pink! It's very pretty. There's still some in the kitchen if you want some…?"

"Wait, you made it at home?" God, how much has he had to drink today? "Thank goodness you can't get alcohol poisoning."

He pretends to lick his thumb and smooth his hair back - truly, a paragon of modesty. "One of my many natural advantages."

"And are those natural advantages going to get dressed any time soon?"

A plaintive sigh. "If they must, I suppose. Throw me the shirt?" It's a shame to see him cover up, but your thinking was absolutely right when you were out shopping - this shirt looks absolutely amazing on him. "See, I'm thinking that this colour needs silver jewellery instead…"

The colours are fantastic - a thin teal cotton with big white leaves all over, and the baby pink shorts are a perfect contrast. The cut is just right on him too, a sort of Hawaiian-ish style with short sleeves and a collar. This time, he's broken out the wedge sandals (the straw-coloured ones that you have no idea how he walks in) and a matching bag, and he's now testing out various pairs of oversized sunglasses.

(His jewellery collection is flipping enormous, and you're sorting through about five of six shallow drawers crammed full of rings and necklaces at once, not to mention all of the other boxes and drawers over by the vanity. Everything's a process, when it comes to accessorising, and it's lucky that both of you have got very good at knowing what the other likes and doesn't like to wear, otherwise this sort of thing would take hours.)

"So what were you drinking with Vincent, then? Blood, I assume."

He gives you a look - it's surprisingly effective, despite the fact that he's currently got about five pairs of sunglasses perched on his nose.

"Very funny, love. No, we were solidly on the Buck's fizz, thank you very much, although he did have a glass or two of blood every now and then."

It's not a surprise - Gavin can drink blood, from a purely nutritional perspective it's the same as any other kind of physical food for him, but he says he's not a particular fan of the taste. At least, not in significant quantities. "Wine glass not your style?"

"Oh, I was more than satisfied with the couple sitting across the lounge from us. They were having a wonderful conversation, I assure you, and they kept me very well fed. Unfortunately for them, Vincent and I have some rather unique skillsets, which may have led to some mostly-accidental eavesdropping - yes, it was an accident! He's got vampire hearing, he can't help it!"

You shake your head, laughing under your breath as you hand him your selection of rings. "You're incorrigible, the pair of you."

"Oh, I know," he replies, "Isn't it wonderful? We're keeping the shorts and the top by the way, they're brilliant."

"Aren't they?" They'd looked okay on the mannequin, but you'd had a feeling he'd be stunning in them. "I'm absolutely wearing the shirt to the beach next weekend, by the way."

"What if I wanted to wear it?" he complains, but there's no heat behind it. "Nah, it'll look better on you."

You copy his thumb-lick-hair-smooth gesture, haughty as you like. "I know. Anyway, how was your eavesdropping, then?"

"Well, I couldn't quite hear the actual words, but Vincent said the gentleman closest to us had just been given a promotion at work, and I got the distinct impression that he and his partner are having a lovely time rewarding him, so to speak." His eyebrows aren't visible behind the sunglasses, but you know for a fact that he's doing the eyebrow thing that he thinks is roguish but is actually just kind of cute. "They had some excellent plans, too. On an unrelated note, do you remember where I left that silk tie from Monday?"

"Hanging up by the door, I think," you reply. It's always nice when he wears a tie - it makes kissing much more exciting. "Should I ask?"

"Mm, you can. I fear we might not finish this little fashion show for some time if you do, though." Don't look, don't look, if you look then you definitely won't be getting anything done for the rest of the day…

"Better get a move on then, handsome," you say, pointedly addressing the wardrobe on your right. "Wouldn't want you to get too distracted, would we?"

The (when did he get undressed? Because he's very much undressed) incubus behind you clearly disagrees, pressing his chest against your back as his hands drift gently up and down your arms, light pressure against the skin. "Oh, I don't know about that. I like to think I can be a very enjoyable distraction…" The words melt against you, sliding down your back, warm and slow, pooling in the bowl of your pelvis, and it would be so easy to give in. To turn around and let him walk you backwards towards the bed, clothes long forgotten, until the backs of your legs hit the mattress and you can pull him down to meet you there. It's tempting, incredibly so, and you nearly, nearly give in.

That is, until he sneezes directly past your face.

"Wh- Gavin!" You jerk out of his hold, watching as he collapses into a laughing heap against the bed. "What the fuck?" Going through all of his jewellery drawers must have upset all the dust in here or something, because it's probably not the alcohol. He holds his liquor better than most, and it tends to make him clingy, not make him sneeze.

"Sorry, deviant," he chokes out, one hand blindly fumbling for a tissue from the bedside table as he pushes himself back up to half-standing. "Not - ha - not really sure what happened there."

Idiot. Your idiot. "Just get dressed, loverboy," you quip, holding up two handfuls of dark fabric from the bed. "You can distract me later. Dress or blazer?"

"Dress!" Speaking of distractions - almost before you can blink, he's right back to trying on clothes as if he'd never even mentioned ties, silk or otherwise. From the flatlay, it looks like this outfit's going to have a lot of layers, which is an… interesting choice for the middle of summer. A white dress shirt, too. Maybe he's planning ahead for the winter or something? Luckily, it seems like silver or gold is fine for this one, so you're spared another five minutes of rifling through jewellery boxes. Small mercies.

"Do you want the leggings under the dress as well?"

"Hmm… it's a bit hot for the leggings, I think. I do want to try with the boots though, the black ones - the ones on the left. Other left, other left - with the laces down the front? Yeah, those ones." They're heavy, all chunky soles and gold eyelets, but surprisingly comfortable - you like wearing them whenever you go and pick Gavin up from his Thursday lectures, mostly because they make a nice sound on whatever floor they've got in the Corsair building.

"Ready?"

"Yep!" He steps into the dress as you crouch down and hold it in front of him, hot pink nails adjusting the fabric at the front as you stand to do up the zip on the side. It's unexpectedly weighty, thick black cotton right down to mid-shin, but the drape is lovely and the sleeveless v-neck exposes the crisp lines of the stark white shirt.

"Sleeves rolled up or down? I'm thinking down… Cufflinks?" He fiddles with the buttons at the wrist until you wave his hand away, doing them up for him while he watches.

"Not sure, I think you're fine with or without, really. It could have sunglasses, though."

"Yes!" he gasps, a pulse of psychokinesis flying across the room as a pair of massive, round sunglasses rocket past you and into his other hand. "Oh, you're a genius - I love it!"

He steps quickly into the boots and does them up with another dose of psychokinesis, doing a little spin in front of the mirror and giggling as the skirt flares out around his calves, twirling himself under your arm as you reach out to hold his hand. Sweetheart.

"Keep?"

He nods enthusiastically, all bubbly and bright. "Keep!" And with that, it's onto the next one.

He's in the middle of exchanging the dress for a short, blue crop top when you remember. "I forgot to actually ask, earlier. How was lunch with Vincent? Is he alright?"

"Yeah, he's good, he's good," he says through a mouthful of fabric. "I thought for sure he'd want to do something in the evening, but he insisted that we go to the Rosewood - I think he's been keeping traditional vampire hours for a while, so he's not had the chance to do this sort of daytime thing? Obviously, he had to come in via the underground entrance, so I met him in the lobby. It's not changed a bit since we were there last, and the pianist in the lounge was marvellous as usual. Do you remember her - the Illusory who the poor bartender has a crush on?"

"The one who played that lovely Shostakovich? I remember her, but I don't know about the bartender." You hold up two necklaces as you speak - as expected, he nods towards the gold locket. He doesn't really have a preference between silver and gold as such, but this particular locket is definitely a favourite.

"Oh, I say she makes the best peach daiquiri you'll ever have, but Vincent prefers the ones at that empowered hole-in-the-wall place downtown, the one that Hux likes? In any case, the petits fours were absolutely wonderful, especially the little strawberry tarts, although I thought the tea menu could do with a revamp - you must come with us next time, they've got the most delightful silvertip blend that-"

"Darling."

"Huh?"

"Vincent." It doesn't happen often, but he does like to ramble when he's a bit sloshed. Bless.

"Yes, yes, of course… Oh, it was marvellous, seeing him again - I couldn't believe how long it's been! At least two months, maybe three. It only felt five minutes since we'd seen each other - he's just the same as ever, I'm telling you. He seems to be settling into things with his new progeny, which I can see is a relief for all involved. Apparently they've been talking to Sam a lot about it - do you remember Sam? The one who couldn't keep his hands off his mate the whole time we were at Milo's. Pass me the trousers?"

"Mm, I know." You do remember Sam, although you're not sure he was the only one having trouble with that when you went over. There's definitely a joke to be made here about glass houses and stone-throwing, because to be honest, you and Gavin were decidedly not much better.

(Lasko had met Milo at the Games, apparently, although you're not exactly sure how. In any case, they seem to have become firm friends, and your little crowd has been invited over by Milo and his mate several times to hang out. They seem like really lovely people, although it was a bit of a shock that first time when a handful of Milo's pack turned up and a not-insignificant number of them seemed to recognise Gavin very well.)

(Of course, Gavin doesn't kiss and tell, but the look you'd shared had told you everything you needed to know. At the very least, it was nice to know that most of them had some idea of what Gavin can be like - the 7/11 story wouldn't surprise them too much. Speaking of the 7/11 story, you didn't miss the look in Milo's mate's eye when you told it - something tells you that next time you go in there, you should probably tip the cashier. A lot. You have it on good authority that Milo and his mate can be quite the handful. Or maybe just handsy. Either works.)

Milo's friend Asher had taken it with remarkable grace, only blinking in surprise for a few seconds before resuming his enthusiastic hello to the pair of you - as did Sam's mate, who made a fantastic joke about jacks and masters of all trades that you're definitely going to have to steal. The same, unfortunately, could not be said for their Alpha, David, who took one look at Gavin before immediately deciding he needed to make a beeline for the kitchen and get something a lot stronger to drink.

(This had immediately backfired, because this just left Gavin and David's mate - is their name actually 'Angel', or does he just call them that a lot? You couldn't tell - to introduce themselves, and they'd hit it off right away. In fact, they've somehow sweet-talked David into joining you and Gavin on a double date next weekend - you're very excited to see what that mischievous grin of theirs has got in store.)

In short: yes, you do know Sam.

"Well, anyway, Vincent's been telling me all about what's been happening with the clan - did you know that the masquerade is coming up again? He said the tickets should come in the mail as per usual, but apparently William hasn't said anything about the theme yet, so we have to keep an eye on that… Oh, and do you remember that professor who covered your Pre-Intermediate Elemental Command class a few months ago? Miles, I think his name was - we'll have to ask Lasko about him, I had no idea that he and Vincent knew each other! He didn't say how, but I'm told he and Lasko get on very well, so you mustn't let me forget to mention it at dinner tomorrow, alright?"

"I'll remind you. Shoes?"

"Ooh, I don't know… Not the blue ones. Are the white trainers too boring?"

"I mean, they are a bit, but the trousers are the important thing. I don't think anyone's really looking at the shoes. You could borrow Damien's, the shiny silver ones?"

"Yes! They would be perfect - ah, but would they clash with the gold necklace? Actually, I don't really care, it's busy enough with the orange and blue, plus the mirrored aviators as well. What's a few mixed metals on top of that, you know?"

The orange and blue combination is certainly a statement - a ribbed, navy blue crop top and a pair of orange cargo pants, with just a neat slice of waist peeking out in between. The trousers are a little too long on him, but it's nothing that can't be fixed.

"Comfy?" He certainly looks it, all soft cotton and elastic. You loop your arm around his waist, settling against that exposed strip of skin around his middle, and pull him towards you until his arms slip around you in return, and his head tips to rest against your shoulder.

"Oh, very. A definite keep, I think." A quick squeeze around your waist and a kiss to the top of your shoulder. "And the outfit's not bad, either."

"Yeah? Mine or yours?"

"What's mine is yours, love. Didn't you know?"

"I know." You lean over to kiss the top of his head, just once. Maybe twice. And maybe a few more times after that. "I also know that that's why I keep having to buy so much strawberry chapstick."

"I, uh-" He splutters for a second, before conceding. "Okay, yeah. Maybe. But you can't say you don't enjoy the taste."

"Do I? Well, I don't know. I think I'd better try some more."

Eagerly, you nudge him backwards until he's properly cradled in your arms, dipping down to kiss him as he clings to your waist and your shoulder. He doesn't say it, but you know how much he loves these sorts of classically romantic, fairytale moments - bathing in your affection, sweet and pure and true. It doesn't matter where you are. For him, the feelings are always the same. For him, your feelings are always the same.

He melts into your hold, letting you take the lead, whimpering softly as your tongue slips past his lips. In the end, you don't end up tasting much of the chapstick at all - the kiss gets deeper, hungrier, until you're both gasping for air, spit-slick and needy, burning heat in the still air of your bedroom.

"My offer from before still stands, you know," he murmurs against your lips. "Just say the word, love, and I'll take care of the rest."

"Well…" It's always difficult to tell him no. "Just a little longer," you say softly, glancing at the bed that's still heaped with clothes. "We can make a mess once we're done."

One perfect eyebrow arches. "Planning on making a mess, are we?"

"Oh, only if you're good." His breath hitches for a moment, eyelids fluttering as you drag him back in for just one more before pulling away. "There's still a few more things I want to see you in, first."

He makes some sort of garbled noise that you take to mean 'such as?', although it doesn't get very far as he's immediately smacked in the face with the bundle of multicoloured fabric you've chucked across the room. "Same sandals as earlier?"

Once he's free of his fabric prison, he nods, clearly feeling the need for a little more efficiency now that there's a prize at stake. "If you wouldn't mind. And the hat, too - with the ribbon!"

He's had that hat for ages, one of those light-coloured floppy beach hat things with the big round brim that falls elegantly over one eye, the same sunglasses as before peeking out from underneath. The dress fits him even better than you'd thought - a long, flowy maxi dress silhouette in thin cotton, shirred across the bodice and finishing just above his ankle with a hidden slit up to mid-thigh.

"Oh, the print looks amazing! Very beachy." It's a familiar colour combination - big blue and orange flowers printed across the white fabric, in a sort of watercolour-esque style. He's not normally a fan of smaller prints (something about them being 'too basic', like he's never walked into Lasko's DAMN 101 class in a white crop top and jeans, sunglasses perched atop his head, Starbucks in one hand and obnoxiously oversized handbag in the other - because he has, you've seen the photos, he looks annoyingly fantastic), so this one is right up his alley.

(Fun fact: you're not allowed to say that particular expression out loud anymore, on pain of death, courtesy of Damien. The one time Hux had made the mistake of saying it to Lasko when Gavin was in the room, you'd seen that smirk on Gavin's face from across the room that you know guarantees trouble as he leant over to Lasko, and frantically signalled to Damien - he'd been forced to basically rugby-tackle Gavin over the side of the sofa to get him to shut up, but alas, it was too late. The phrase 'We can talk about what might be up your alley a little later, don't you think?' has never been uttered since, and likely never will be again for fear of divine - well, Damien's - retribution.)

"Right?" He does a little twirl in the mirror as you speak, laughing as he has to grab the hat to stop it flying off his head. He's so adorable. "It moves nicely too, so it'll photograph well and it shouldn't be too hot to wear."

"What do you mean, too hot?" Ever the gentleman, Gavin pouts at you over his shoulder, although it's partially hidden by the frill over the strap. "Aren't I always?"

You sigh, not unkindly. He loves this joke. "Yes, my love, you're always very hot, I promise."

A big, cheesy grin gleams at you from under the brim of the (really, it's almost ridiculously big) hat. "That's what I thought. Anyway, keep! Now I can wear this to the beach next weekend. We can wear matching shoes!"

You sigh, again. "Only if you hold my hand the whole time. Those things are a death trap!" They're, like, four or five inches (not counting the platform!) of solid cork and you don't dare attempt stairs in them - if he wants you downstairs, he can carry you or he can damn well wait.

"Fine, fine," he says, pulling the dress up and over his head, folding it back up into a neat little square. "But I always hold your hand anyway, so really what's the difference?"

(He's right - any time there's an opportunity for him to be arm in arm or holding your hand, he probably will be. He especially likes to swing your arm while he holds your hand, and if Caelum's with you, he gets to swing your arm and Caelum's too.)

(If there's nobody around, Caelum gets to walk in between you and Gavin, but that's not very often. It tends to get a few strange looks seeing as he's, well, invisible.)

"Last one!" He reaches over to the final flatlay and smiles giddily, all aflutter as he tries to decide which bit to put on first. The trousers, the bandeau, the shoes… Oh, it's all just too much, isn't it? "I like the look of this…"

"Actually…" you add sheepishly, "I have one last thing to give you."

Gavin freezes - well, as much as he can with one foot caught halfway in a trouser leg. "Deviant," he gently chastises, although the effect is lost slightly as he's hopping awkwardly on one leg trying to balance. "You know you really don't have to."

"Of course I don't. Didn't we just have this conversation?" You offer your elbow to help him balance, and he takes it gratefully. "But I said I want to spoil you, and I will. And anyway, maybe I want to wear them too. You telling me not to buy myself pretty clothes?"

You can practically hear his brain ticking as he tries to figure out what he wants to say. "Well, no, but-"

"Good. Now, jacket?" He nods, threading his arms through the sleeves as you hold it, although he's got that look in his eye that generally means he's plotting something. "I'm glad the bandeau fits - I was worried I'd picked the wrong size."

"No, no, not at all! It's just right, and with the velvet? This blue? It's deliciously soft, as well - couldn't have chosen better myself, darling. And it works with or without the top!"

You have to agree - he looks incredible. The blazer is a rich, dark blue velvet to match the trousers, and skims over his shoulders and waist just the way you like. Two lines of gold buttons follow the straight sides of the pockets over his hips, a high waist and wide leg, and it's all offset by the neat line of the floral bandeau across his chest in white, orange, and pink.

"Gold, I take it?" You pass him a handful of rings and necklaces, and after some deliberation, a bracelet or two. "That reminds me - did you remember to give Vincent that necklace he wanted to borrow? The flower one?"

"Nearly forgot, but I rifted back to get it," he admits as he covers his fingers in rings. "He said it's for somewhere he's taking his lovely, but I don't think he ever said where, exactly. Speaking of outings, I did tell him all about the, well, 'diplomatic incident', as Lasko puts it, which went down a treat. Ooh, he countered with a magnificent story about a new set of silk sheets and a rather unfortunate lack of friction - or were they satin? If I'm honest, the fizz might have been getting to us by that point so I can't really remember, you must get him to tell you when we see him at the masquerade - but I think I outdid him with the story about the pool party from a few weeks ago, the one about the telepath and…. did we ever decide if the boyfriend was a stealth, or just unempowered?" He strikes a few poses in the mirror as he chatters away happily, making faces in the mirror like the world's dorkiest supermodel. "Mm, he was delicious, though - so expressive! I told you we should have gone over and said hello!"

Reaching over to grab it from the shelf, you smack his arm lightly with the sunhat from earlier, gently admonishing. "We should not have said hello! The poor thing was already having enough trouble - he'd probably have keeled over!"

"Spoilsport. It wouldn't have mattered, I'm very good at mouth-to-mouth… Alright, alright - ow! I'm stopping!" He playfully bats away the hat, laughing at your faux-scowl. "He did make for a much-appreciated pick-me-up, you must admit."

"Fair enough, fair enough. I'm just glad the telepath didn't notice you snacking on the pair of them."

"Mm, it's why I tend to avoid telepaths if I can - it can get messy, and not in the fun way. Luckily, they were both a little preoccupied, so I don't think they noticed at all." He blows one last exaggerated kiss to his reflection before meeting your eyes in the mirror. "Sure I can't offer you my services, love? You do seem to enjoy m-mm?"

"Not yet."

Your finger pressing against his lips shuts him right up, eyes crossing slightly as he tries to focus on it, and you even manage to pull your hand away before he can either lick it (it's happened before, not always in a good way) or bite it (the chance is low, but never zero). Before he can say anything, you hold up the little square-shaped bag from its hiding spot next to the wardrobe and thrust it at his chest, ushering him out of the door and into the bathroom.

"Come out when you're ready!" you shout through the door (hopefully he was telling the truth about those soundproof wards from earlier), heading back down the corridor to sit on the bed and wait for him.

(About thirty seconds pass before you remember that you didn't give him any shoes - hurriedly, you grab them off the shelf and run back to the bathroom door, opening the door and chucking them inside without looking so you don't accidentally spoil the surprise. The muffled squawking from behind the door indicates that he probably wasn't expecting to be attacked by a flying pair of heels, but the lack of indignant whining confirms that you didn't hit him.)

(Probably.)

Five or ten minutes go by and you make yourself comfortable on the bed, moving a few stray bits of clothing and jewellery onto the vanity to deal with later. There's no discernible sound from the bathroom, so you can only assume that he's alright in there. Does he like it? Is it a bit much? The top is one he already owns that you'd had to chuck in the top of the bag while he wasn't looking (you didn't trust yourself to buy a new one), and obviously the shoes aren't from today, but the rest is all new.

He definitely knows what he's getting into, although you'd bet he was a little surprised at how much was in the bag when you'd handed it to him. You see, he's bought you a thing or two from that particular… establishment before, and (despite the rather steep price tag) there doesn't tend to be very much fabric at all. In order to conceal as much as possible, you'd had to stick the other parts of the outfit in the top of the bag while he'd been distracted getting changed - thankfully, none of it takes up too much room.

In any case, it shouldn't be anything too out of the ordinary for him, right? What's that sound? He wears all black sometimes, doesn't he? He's definitely worn this sort o-

"Mm, deviant. You know me far too well."

Oh.

(Seems like he does like it…?)

You'd known what was coming, but it doesn't stop Gavin from absolutely taking your breath away, standing silhouetted in the doorway. The top looks as good as you remember - a plain overbust corset in soft, buttery leather, the sweetheart shape leaving plenty on display. The miniskirt is perfect as well, high waist sitting just right, two rows of big gold eyelets running down from the waist over the front of his left thigh, laced together with a thick black ribbon. Your gaze drops lower, lower, over long, lean legs and a vicious pair of heels, jet black patent leather all glossy and smooth.

Oh, and a pair of long, mesh opera gloves, ruched above the elbow, flashes of hot pink just peeking through at his fingertips. Can't forget those.

"Enjoying the view, little voyeur?"

He smirks, gloved fingers drumming against the doorframe before he shifts his weight, drifting forwards to stand just in front of you. In the mirror behind him, you can see all of the laces down his back, disappearing into the skirt, perfectly done as usual. Thank goodness for psychokinesis. "There's certainly a lot to admire."

"I, um…" you stutter eloquently. "You - wow."

"Oh, compliments to the chef, I say - my lovely stylist deserves all the credit." He reaches out to take your hand in his, guiding your fingers over the curves and edges of the leather across his torso. "I must admit, I wasn't expecting a lovely present like this today. Is it my birthday already?"

See, now he's just teasing you for the sake of it. "Do I need a reason to dress you up?" You slide your hand up and over his shoulder as you speak, and he takes that as permission to perch himself sideways on your lap, stiletto heels clicking against each other as he makes himself comfortable. "You look incredible, love. What do you think?"

"Me? I love it!" he trills, flirtation momentarily abandoned as he eyes your combined reflection gleefully in the mirror. "Where did you even find the skirt? It's amazing. The laces are fantastic, and the - ooh, that reminds me, I have to wear the gloves to lunch with Lasko on Monday."

"You'll have to bring a defibrillator," you say, deadpan, as he snickers. "Can you imagine? He has enough trouble as it is when you turn up in a crop top - you'll kill him with those!"

"Eh, he'll live. He survived a whole day at the beach with us - he can handle a little pair of gloves, no problem." He leans in, whispering conspiratorially in your ear. "We do have company for lunch next week, though - Damien might be surprised…"

You shake your head, rolling your eyes at his wicked smile. "Just don't set anything on fire. Or don't leave any evidence, if you do."

Speaking of evidence… "You know, I'm starting to think this outfit needs something more."

He blinks, surprised. "Hmm?"

"Yeah. Something extra, something to just- I don't know, finish it off, I guess." Your hand slips down his back to settle teasingly at his waist, and he seems to realise what's going on.

"You say it needs a bit more, but I disagree." he purrs into your neck, toying with the hem of the skirt. "I think it needs a little less…" He shifts on top of you, pressing himself insistently against your chest. "Don't you want to see what's underneath?"

His lips, soft and slow against your neck. "After all, you bought it."

The room spins for a second, still and close and hot, and you almost, almost fold. You are looking forward to seeing that.

"Tell me then, my deviant. What, exactly, do you have in mind?"

A second or two of fumbling behind you, before your fingers close around your prize - a familiar little cylinder, slim and short and smooth. Thank goodness he keeps his kit by the vanity and not in the bathroom. You hold it up in front of his face with a flick of your wrist, watching his eyes blow wide when he realises what it is.

"Close your eyes for me?"

He acquiesces, tilting his head back, lips barely parted as you twist the cap off with a click. Poor, precious thing - he seems to think it's for him.

Nothing happens for a few seconds, until-

"Deviant? I- mmm!" His eyes fly open as you kiss him hungrily, bright red lipstick smearing across his lips and chin. "So - nng! - so that's, ah, what that was fo-or…" You tug at his hips as you trail needy kisses along his jaw until he gets the picture, clumsily rearranging himself until he's straddling your lap.

Your lips find that soft spot just under his jawbone, a trail of lightly pink-tinted saliva dripping down his neck, and it's like his whole body goes slack - you watch in the mirror as he shudders and writhes against you, arching into your kisses, chest heaving as he moans and gasps into the quiet air of your bedroom. The line of lipstick kisses dips lower and lower, stickier and sloppier as you go. His gloved hands clutch at your shoulders, nails threatening to tear right through the delicate mesh, and it's only a matter of time before he takes them off, or gets too impatient and just magics all of your clothes off.

(He'd better not. You paid good money for what he's wearing underneath that skirt - you'll be damned if you don't get to see it.)

"More?" you ask hoarsely, when you feel the lipstick drying out on your lips. He nods frantically, looking as much of a trainwreck as you feel, and before you have a chance to search for the little tube, desperate fingers find your chin and draw you back in for another messy kiss. The taste of grenadine, orange juice, strawberries-and-cream - all of it fades away until all that's left is the taste of him. Lovely, gorgeous, beautiful Gavin - the man who plays Mario Kart at full volume, and blows kisses to the mirror as he twirls around under your arm in his new dresses, and regales you with story after story of the time he and Vincent didn't mean to cause a low-speed traffic incident, we promise, deviant!

That man really is something else, you know. How on earth did you get so lucky?

He pulls away with a brilliant smile, lipstick all over his teeth, the world's most stunning supermodel, and the rest of the world disappears.

(Including most of your clothes.)

"Now then, my deviant…"

(Unfortunately, the lipstick stains all over the sheets the next morning do not magically disappear - you have to wash them twice before they're back to normal.)

"Shall we see what else you bought me?"

(Never mind. It was worth it.)

masterlist

this is an original work by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

#redacted asmr #redacted gavin #redacted freelancer #gavin x freelancer #redacted fluff #redacted asmr fluff #redacted damn #ginger writes #gingerbreadmonsters

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hazelnut-u-out · 2 years

Text

here you go, anon! this is a continuation of this fic i wrote for a request from @thesoftboiledegg !

this is getting interesting to me and i think i'll probably keep revisiting it for a bit, honestly. i've been desperate for an angsty confrontation between rick and beth for a while, and this was the perfect excuse to blurb that out.

(these are really just oneshots, even though they're serialized, so i'm definitely going to use them as drafts and write a finished series with a similar plot. it's just so fun to write these prompts without taking them too seriously, haha.)

this one's rather short for me, but i've got some papers to write so oh well :p

-angst, blood, mentions of major character death

-1668 words

------

Rick was frantic. The old man could feel the pounding of his heart in the shells of his ears, the tips of his fingers going numb with panic as he shakily pushed himself up from the ground and wiped some of the bloody drool trailing down his chin on the white sleeves of his lab coat.

He lingered for an instant, drinking in the sight of the gaming console sitting on the floor to his left- kindling a fire roiling deep within his belly.

He didn’t take an extra moment to assess his injuries- to bother locating one of his healing rays again or pausing to take note of the quality of gore that stained his cuffs. Instead, he whirred over to the cabinets behind him, pulling out a canvas bag and shoving as many weapons as the dingy old compartments held into it. Then, he stood, smacking his hand down on a specific part of the work table and waiting for the dim blue flickering of the lights behind his heavy-duty collection before filling the bag with even more firearms, laser guns, extendable blades, and the like.

He made his way over to the shelf of boxes on the other side, his chest blistering with the effort it took to inhale, cursing and rummaging through dusty boxes. Rick sheathed himself in weapon holsters- two leather straps hung from each of his shoulders and crossed over the center of his abdomen. He stuck his hand down low into the bag at his side and lined each side of his chest with four of the small laser pistols.

He stuffed two more of the straps, shuddering at their smaller size, into the bag and unsteadily stumbled his way out of the garage and into the Smith kitchen.

The house was eerily… normal.

The static hum of the television was a steady murmur over the evening lighting of the home, and he could see Summer and Beth sitting together at the dining room table- the back of his daughter’s head a flaxen beacon marking his destination.

He wasn’t sure how he’d done it, but that other Rick had managed to keep the events moments before a secret from the rest of the home.

Rick didn’t take the time to evaluate what his family was doing. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if his feet even moved or if his desperation was so palpable that he teleported to the edge of the table to Beth’s right.

He tossed the bag onto the table and it landed in front of Summer with a significant clatter, startling both of his girls.

“Dad! What the-“

“Put it on. Get whatever shit you can’t live without and meet me in- get in the fucking garage,” Rick cut Beth off, his stare boring into Summer’s own. Her eyes were wide and frenzied, scanning Rick swiftly- obviously taking note of his state and attempting to piece together what happened. She sat down her phone with a distinct ‘clack,’ shifting the attention of her trembling grasp to the bag and standing up obediently.

Rick was confused for a moment, unable to discern why Summer looked so… concerned. Then, a tug on his sleeve slid through the veil drowning out his surroundings just enough to ground him for a split second.

“Dad?” His daughter inquired gently. “Why are you crying?”

Then it hit him- the stinging of his withered cheeks; the heat on the end of his nose; the thrumming pressure of his swollen lips.

It was interesting that Beth chose to ask about the tears that flowed freely down her father’s face instead of the blood. A certain level of gore or mayhem could be expected from Rick at this point. He was never intact- cracks and chips littered his exterior to the point that it was more than commonplace.

It was more unsettling to see him cry than it was to see him bleed.

Without breaking Summer’s gaze, he just croaked out a stiff expression. “He got him.”

Summer’s eyes widened a bit for a brief moment before she nodded curtly and pulled the leather straps from the bag. Rick envied her ability to be stoic.

“We’ll start with the locations we discussed. Just get the keys, Grandpa,” she said coolly, slipping the straps over each of her shoulders and snapping the weapons of her choice into place. “I’ll grab my protocol folder. Food?”

“We’ve got enough for three months on the sh-ship, if we ration,” Rick replied gruffly, turning on his heel to follow Summer into the kitchen.

“Now, hold on a second,” Beth’s voice emanated from behind them. Summer ignored her, carrying on her path to retrieve the folder in the kitchen, but Rick paused. There was the grating sound of a chair squeaking along the hard wood and he whirled around to face her. “I don’t know who got who, or what’s going on, but you can’t just whisk her away for these kind of- kind of… errands whenever you want! She has grades!”

She was waving her hands around in the air as she spoke, her tone deep and stern.

“So does Morty,” he spat pointedly. Rarely was he rude to Beth, but he didn’t have time for this. He sighed, running his hands through his hair and pulling- hard. “Listen. The guy who’s got Morty is- is… He’s a bad guy. I don’t know how long he’s got, but I’m not screwing him over because you want- you think it’s the time to pick some hypocritical bullshit argument, okay?!”

Rick sucked a hiss of air through his teeth as Beth froze, blinking up at him.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’ve never cared about this shit before. You-You’re free to come if you want, but if not, we have to go-“

“Grandpa! C’mon!” Summer’s voice boomed overhead, and Rick turned again. He got two steps towards the kitchen before Beth’s grasp closed around his bloody forearm and yanked him back.

“I’m not letting you kill both of my kids in one night!”

“This isn’t just on me, Beth!” Rick roared, spinning around and gripping his daughter by the shoulders. She shrunk back, trying to pull away and turning her face to the side, but Rick held her steady. A clatter from the other room sounded, and a flash of brown told him Jerry now stood in the doorway of the kitchen. He didn’t care. “This-This is on you, too! This is on all of us!”

Beth tensed up, standing up straighter suddenly and jutting a finger painfully into her father’s chest.

“Well, I don’t see why you get to lecture me on neglectful parenting!” She cried. “It would have been nice to see you do something like this for me-“

“You don’t get to say what I wouldn’t do for you!” Blood splattered along Beth’s cheeks, like little freckles of crimson, as he barked in her face- his sour breath mixing with her own wine-coated pants. “You have no idea what I did for you! Or what I’m about to do for him,” Rick pointed to the photo of Morty he knew hung to his left emphatically to aid his point. “Do-Do you think I would have ever pulled the shit you pull? Hmm?!”

“Rick-“ Jerry tried weakly, but he went ignored as Rick’s onslaught of shouting continued.

“Do you think I would’ve let my own issues get in the way of keeping my little girl safe?! Never- not in a million years- would I have left you to fend for yourself with someone- someone like me, Beth! Y-You don’t have to earn a kid’s trust- they just- they just automatically love you because they don’t know any better!”

A soft hand landed on his shoulder, and he dropped his own searing grasp from Beth’s arms. She looked like a wounded dog, and the grip drew him back gently. His gasps for air filled the room.

“C’mon,” Summer whispered softly, and he let her drag him back a few feet.

Then, Beth’s voice wobbled as she opened her mouth to speak again.

“You think I don’t know that, Dad?! Why the fuck do you think you’re still here? You think you earned that?” She spat, tears slipping down her cheeks and soaking into the front of her blouse. “Oh, wait! I forgot!” A venomous, cold laugh- devoid of humor- bounced off the walls of the dining room, and Rick winced. He had had far more than his fill of hollow laughter for the evening. “It would have been nice if my real dad had been half as present as you claim to have been.”

“We don’t have time for this!” Summer shrieked, stalking around Rick’s willowy frame and baring her teeth in her mother’s face. Beth blinked and reeled backward slightly, as if shocked that Summer would dare to choose the side she wasn’t on. “My brother is in danger. Are you two with us, or are you not?”

A heavy silence engulfed the room, and it was a long moment before anyone dared to move and crack the tension blooming in the absence of words. Finally, Beth’s shoulders sagged forward, and she looked… guilty as she shifted her gaze to Jerry and then to the floor.

Another breath. Neither of them moved.

“Typical!” Rick yelled, spinning and stomping into the kitchen, Summer on his heels. “Stab him in the back again! And to think- I thought you were my daughter.”

One quick flick of his wrist over the key rack, and both Rick and Summer stood in the garage.

A hushed look at one another simmered before they clambered shakily into the ship.

“You got it?” Summer whispered as Rick turned the key.

Once the engine rumbled to life, Rick reached into the inner pocket of his lab coat and retrieved the slick metal body of his portal gun. The green glow hummed against their skin in the dim light of the garage as Summer nodded.

“Let’s go.”

------

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #morty smith #rick prime #summer smith #beth smith #my fic

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electrasev5nwrites · 10 months

Text

Ninja Daily: Clarity 4

"This doesn't make any sense," Naruto insisted, not for the first time. Karin blinked bloodshot eyes, forcing down the urge to shake him until he stopped pacing like a lion at a zoo. That would hardly be very considerate or caring, considering the circumstances.

But watching him was making her feel sick.

Or hell, maybe she was nauseous for other reasons. Like thinking about what had probably happened to her cousin. Sure, Aiko was a brat, but that didn't mean she deserved whatever a rogue nutjob would unleash on her.

"Uchiha Madara? He'd be over a hundred years old! He should be feeding worms, not trying to get back at Konoha. What would he want from Aiko? What's the point?" Naruto stressed, pulling at his hair with a grubby fist, apparently not caring that nails were tucked between his middle and index fingers. He was still holding the hammer in his other hand.

Sasuke made a noncommittal sound, eyes even darker than usual. He was doing the best job of maintaining the illusion of working. None of them cared in the slightest about constructing the third house of the day.

Resentfully, Karin kicked at a bit of patio stone, and wished everything was on fire so she could go home.

'Look at me, I'm so handy,' she sneered. 'That's what Konoha is known for now. We get our asses kicked and our village razed all the time, but no worries, because we're all master craftsmen from all the practice we get rebuilding. Our client list is going to suffer as soon as someone thinks to mock us for being rubes with a bi-monthly invasion.'

She hadn't yet shared her analysis of the likelihood of someone thinking to use that rhetoric against Konoha. Probably Kumo, actually.

That was a near-heroic feat in itself, if anyone asked Karin. They didn't, of course, because everyone else was too busy to care that she hadn't signed up for a career in construction. She almost wished the supply train of shinobi and civilians hauling in lumber and other materials from various locations in Fire Country was less efficient.

'Practice makes perfect, though, so of course this is down to a science.'

At least she got to stop for a while whenever she ran out of materials. Poor Yamato had the worst deal, if she were to be fair about assessing the situation. He could build entire homes in minutes, albeit odd ones without a single nail or joint. He'd been worked mercilessly to raise the highest priority buildings until his chakra levels were barely above what it took to maintain consciousness. And then he'd done the same thing the next day.

"Are you two even listening?" Naruto demanded, voice breaking a little.

"Of course we are," Sasuke snapped, dropping the wood he'd been nailing with a clatter and wheeling on his teammate. "You won't stop repeating things we already know. Give it a rest! Whining won't bring her back. We can't do anything now, Naruto. So just stop." He took a deep breath. "Stop," he repeated raspily, glancing down and bending to pick up the plank he'd just dropped.

Karin swallowed, clenching her jaw and breathing in deeply through her nose. She just felt raw and angry, like water being poured over a sunburn. At least she had the restraint not to bite Naruto's head off.

Naruto was irritating the hell out of her too, but that didn't mean she was unaffected.

'Not like what I feel could compare to him,' she thought guiltily, wiping sweat off her temple before it rolled down her cheek. 'I've never had a twin. They were together all their lives. Losing that would be awful.'

Granted, she'd never seen them spend all that much time together. Nothing like the time she spent with Hinata. Aiko had Naruto over for dinner every week, and came over to the house in the mornings sometimes, but other than that… Well, she never seemed to seek him out for things unrelated to training.

'It's not like she ever really seeks anyone out, unless she needs something or has something specific in mind,' Karin thought, guilty for the observation but too logical to lie to herself. Aiko just wasn't social. She didn't seem to feel lonely and seek out human company. (Except Sai, who hadn't been proven to technically count as 'human company') It was weird and a little off-putting. That didn't mean she deserved to be kidnapped.

And tortured, probably. Honestly, it was unlikely that she'd survive the week. Statistically speaking, if they didn't receive some sort of ransom note by tomorrow, it was almost certain that her captor had no intention of keeping Aiko around for anything more than information. Joke's on him, Karin thought bleakly. He won't be getting any of that.

Of course, if the kidnapping was more personal, as the recurring interest made it seem, it was probably about revenge instead. Aiko had stolen two jinchuuriki from Akatsuki and made them look incompetent. It wasn't unreasonable that he could think to restore some of that reputation by proving it had been a fluke.

All that indicated was that Aiko would meet a much messier end, to be honest.

The only possibility where there was a reasonable likelihood (and by reasonable, Karin meant above ten percent, based on historical records of capture by enemy forces) of getting Aiko home alive was that Madara wanted to ransom her back for Naruto. And that excluded any possibility involving Naruto being handed over, because Tsunade would never let that happen. No, that chance came from the hope that Madara would make a mistake that allowed them to trace a path back to him, or that they would be able to overwhelm him at the supposed exchange site. Improbable and optimistic at best.

They'd know soon enough, she suspected. If Madara was going to kill Aiko after having made such a point of walking into Konoha's stronghold twice, he would extend that theatricality to making it obvious that she was dead. No shallow grave for Aiko, Karin suspected.

No. She was probably going to get strung up somewhere very public, to make a point about Konoha's weakness. Fucker.

As scientific and impartial as Karin liked to think she was, she shied away from any thoughts about possibilities that Madara had other reasons to want to keep Aiko alive and with him. She didn't want to think about Aiko being used against Konoha somehow, or being used in general. Her very first thought when his stalking had been made known was that there was a carnal interest involved, if she were honest. But god, he was older than dirt. That couldn't be it. It was too horrible.

Karin shuddered. Best not to mention any of that to Naruto. His imagination was clearly torturing him, but she didn't think that her estimation of different probabilities would soothe his mind at all. It might be kindest not to know.

They settled into a sullenly businesslike rhythm, working as the morning sun fled into painful heat at midday. A lot of the people working nearby drifted away in shifts to escape burns and dehydration.

A sudden up-shot in tension alerted the team that something had happened. Sasuke straightened, frowning slightly at the way the crowds staggering down the street with supplies cringed closer to the building faces being put up and repaired.

"Come on," he said shortly, abandoning his post.

The other two followed without a complaint, craning their heads.

"Are those… Kumo-nin?" Naruto asked skeptically, tilting his head slightly and putting his dirty hands on his hips, leaving blackened handprints on the low-slung green pants he was wearing to work in.

"Must be," Karin breathed, giving the small crowd a gimlet stare.

'I should have been paying more attention. They're not exactly blending in with the civilians. It's not like I know every Konoha nin's signature, but I should know everyone that strong…'

And the intruders really were strong. Actually…

"That's the Raikage," Sasuke said very quietly, eyes slightly narrowed at the tan giant wearing white everywhere but on his muscular chest.

'That's bad. That's really bad,' Karin realized. 'Does Kumo know that Sasuke's brother was the one who killed the eight-tail jinchuuriki? Because that would be a teensy bit awkward, now that Itachi's been reinstated.'

There was really only one way to find out.

The enormous man flanked by a grim-faced shinobi on either shoulder seemed to look over at their group. His eyes scanned over Karin without interest, but Naruto stiffened and firmed his gaze in a way that told her he definitely felt scrutiny. The slender blonde man next to the Raikage leaned over slightly to say something quiet that garnered an abrupt and not entirely kind bark of laughter.

"I don't like the way he's looking at you," Sasuke said quietly, moving ever so slightly in front of Naruto and raising his chin slightly in defiance.

The Raikage actually laughed at that defensive gesture, but at least he and his retinue continued walking past without comment.

For a moment, the only sound was Sasuke's teeth gritting and murmurs beginning in the crowd. Then Karin folded up the floor plans and shoved them in her pocket, before jerking her head towards Hokage tower.

"Let's go," she said darkly. "I want to know what's going on."

"Ummm…"

The other two stopped and looked at Naruto, wary of his uncharacteristic hesitation.

"We should probably clean up first," he said sheepishly, holding out his blackened, scraped fingers. "It's one thing to barge in on a meeting above our clearance, but another to do that when we stink. The old lady might actually murder us for embarrassing her like that. Our place is closest—I have some stuff you can wear, Sasuke-bastard."

The Uchiha grunted agreement, clearly more interested in haste than presentation.

Karin only felt a little guilty about abandoning her work in the civilian housing district to go home. It wasn't surprising that the central areas had suffered the most. Since paranoid, isolationist shinobi were most likely to live on the outskirts of the city (and were least inconvenienced by a long walk to the business and market districts), the military population was much less affected by the worst of the structural damage.

In other words, the empty Uchiha district and the Uzumaki house were both mostly fine, once debris had been pulled off the roofs and the broken windows had been replaced. They were livable, even if ugly and battered.

'I wonder what Kakashi-sensei and Yamato-taichou are doing.' Karin hurriedly scrubbed at her hair, cursing the filth that turned into mud in the shower drain. 'They both lived downtown. I bet there's nothing left. I think they've both been dressing out of the warehouse, so that probably means that nothing was salvageable.'

That must be awful. Should she ask? See if they needed space? Sasuke had much more room to offer, but there was still one empty room here.

(Karin was lying to herself. She was not going to ask because she didn't want to see what Naruto said if she offered out Aiko's room, no matter that it wasn't being used).

She tried not to stare too much at the way Naruto's standard issue blue pants and short-sleeve top fit Sasuke. The boys were wearing identical outfits, but it looked nearly indecent on Sasuke. Neither of her boys had very big builds, but Sasuke had a little more bulk than the blond. That translated to a rather tight fit in Naruto's tailored muscle shirt.

'Now is not the time, you insufferable pervert,' Karin told herself. She painted on a grim, professional mien, and tossed her damp hair over her shoulder before pushing her way to the front of the group and leading them to Hokage tower. Hopefully the boys would think that she was eager to get to work, instead of resisting the urge to ogle.

It was a damned shame that the Raikage had showed up at such an awful time. Konoha was disheveled. If they'd been anywhere near organized, then Sasuke would have already known the man was going to be in town.

In other words, Tsunade must be very stressed and distracted.

The Hokage was putting on a good front, however, when the trio made their way to the upscale bank that was serving as their administrative center for the moment.

"That's unnecessary," Tsunade said bluntly. The pale blond bodyguard turned to give Karin of all people an oddly scathing look when Shizune let the group in, but no one else paid them much attention. "Ame is no longer in control of the group responsible for the recent aggression. Punishing the survivors serves no purpose."

'That's awfully generous,' Karin thought doubtfully. There was probably something she was missing. Tsunade-sama wasn't that altruistic.

The Raikage sneered, giving a dismissive glance over the newcomers. Sasuke calmly met his gaze, moving to stand by Tsunade's shoulder. He actually belonged here, as her apprentice, and he looked comfortable. The Uzumaki, on the other hand, were obviously riding in on Sasuke's coattails.

'Not completely true. If Tsunade-sama really does have any intention of training Naruto as a possible successor, it's not unreasonable for him to be here. Course, that just leaves me as the intruder…'

Ah well. She didn't mind being rude. If they really cared, someone would kick her out.

"I was promised that Ame and Akatsuki would pay for what they did." Stubbornly, the Raikage cocked his head at Tsunade. He looked hilariously misplaced in the red velvet chair that had been scrounged up from somewhere.

"I never said that we'd take punitive action against Ame as a whole," Tsunade protested crossly. "What more do you want? Akatsuki is nearly finished. We need to hunt down the stragglers."

"Your representative guaranteed that I would have a chance to…" The enormous man sneered slightly, though the expression looked oddly fond. "How did she put it? Bury the fuckers ten feet down? There may have been something about burning Ame to the ground and dancing on the ashes." A shrugged dissidently, leaning forward ever so slightly. "What about that promise, huh?"

Something cracked in Tsunade's composure. "My represent- Oh, hell," she cursed fluidly.

The dark-skinned man with nearly white hair lurking at the Raikage's left shoulder looked scandalized.

"You mean Aiko," Sasuke said flatly. The tension in the room instantly ratcheted up. Karin made a grab for Naruto's hand, as if hoping to prevent him from doing anything risky. The tension in his muscles was obvious, but he didn't shake her off. "Unfortunately, Uzumaki Aiko is missing in action. So it is impossible to confirm your account with her. She was not alone when she made this offer, was she?"

Shizune sighed, swaying slightly. "I'll go get Hatake-san."

"Get Yamato, he'll be easier to find and he needs a break," Tsunade corrected, rubbing at her temple while the young woman bowed slightly and left.

The blonde man at the Raikage's right side looked so amused at the bad news that Karin seriously considered lunging over and punching him. By contrast, the Raikage was frowning.

"You lost her?" Displeased, he shook his head slightly. "You really are incompetent. I didn't think you would actually lose track of the Fourth Hokage's kid. Is that why this one is here, then?" A jerked his head toward Naruto. "The spare? How long until you get this one killed too?"

'He's trying to provoke us. Be calm. Be calm.'

Nope, she still wanted to rip off his stupid tacky belt and shove it down his throat after she used it to bludgeon him black and blue.

"She's not dead," Naruto said calmly, looking bizarrely unperturbed. "I'll be sure to convey your concern about her well-being when I next see her, though. I'm sure Aiko will appreciate your interest."

'What?'

The white-haired bodyguard might have been choking down a laugh, and he couldn't even see the flabbergasted expression on his kage's face. It was pretty glorious.

A let out a long breath, narrowing his eyes in a contemplative glare. Naruto stood straight, completely unaffected as far as the eye could tell. Karin cautiously disengaged her hand from his, not wanting to undermine the attitude he had going on at the moment.

"Well, that apple fell a little closer to the tree," A condescended grudgingly. "You look a lot more like the fourth Hokage, and you sound more like him too. Are you the smart one, then?"

Naruto, smart?

Well… he certainly wasn't stupid, but Karin had never thought of him as academically intelligent. He thought well on his feet, and he had both social and creative intelligence. Was that what the Raikage meant?

"Nope," Naruto smiled, and the tension in the room instantly fled. "But that's what I have Sasuke and Karin for."

"What am I, furniture?" Tsunade asked dryly. Karin wasn't fooled. The older woman was pleased that Naruto had managed to undercut the tense atmosphere.

Naruto wasn't quite magical enough to fix everything, however. After another twenty minutes of arguing, the Raikage stormed out with an anxious Shizune on his heels directing him towards the temporary 'diplomatic suite' where he would be staying the night.

Tsunade sighed heavily, slumping as soon as he was out of sight. "What a mess," she groaned. "I don't need his war-mongering right now. He really wants to storm the border himself."

"Why don't you want Ame punished?"

The blonde cracked one eye open to give Sasuke a tired look. "Isn't it obvious?"

Sasuke huffed, amused. "I thought you might want to monologue. Yes, it's obvious. The Raikage won't give up the territory once he's done with it. That would mean that one of our worst enemies would have a base very close to our center of power, one that was right next to the other large country out for our blood. Right now we have the protection of a three-country alliance, but we won't have that forever. We can't afford to let Kumo have Ame."

"Got it in one."

Appalled, Naruto opened and closed his mouth before he found words. "So Akatsuki is just going to get away with what they did, because we're too worried about Kumo being a danger in future?"

"No," Sasuke rejected. "Akatsuki itself will be punished, and Ame is going to be crippled for years to come. They're hardly getting off scot-free. They'll be paying diplomatic sanctions-"

"Crippling sanctions," Tsunade interrupted darkly.

The brunet nodded agreeably. "Right, they'll basically be giving us everything but their kidneys."

"And that's not good enough for the Raikage?" Karin ventured. "What more could he want?"

Tsunade gave her a pitying look that made Karin feel very young and small. "Revenge. Or justice, as he feels. He blames Ame for B's death."

"That's not completely unjustified," Sasuke muttered.

"Not completely justified, either," Naruto pointed out wryly. "That was your brother specifically, wasn't it? Technically on Konoha's orders to follow Akatsuki's orders, even if we didn't know it at the time. If that comes out…"

"We can't hand Itachi over, either," Tsunade groaned. "So stop being so damn fidgety, Sasuke. I'm not throwing your precious brother to the wolves. No, we're claiming that he was our man on the inside all along and that was why the invasion went so smoothly. No one is going to like it, but they won't disagree, either, since Itachi never did anything particularly offensive in his tenure in Akatsuki. As far as the public knows, anyways."

"Really?" Yamato asked sullenly, leaning on the doorjamb. "You mean he did nothing particularly offensive except attacking Jiraiya-sama and Naruto multiple times in an attempt to kidnap Naruto, or putting Kakashi-senpai and Aiko in the hospital?"

"Nothing offensive to anyone but Konoha," Tsunade amended, while Sasuke exchanged an uncomfortable expression with Naruto. They were probably going to have to talk that one over at some point. Then she scowled. "What took you so long? And did Aiko really promise the Raikage that he was going to get to exhaust his aggression on Ame?"

Yamato took a moment to answer, scratching thoughtfully at his chin. "I think there was something about burning it down? Which would be pretty hard, on account of the damp, but in her defense, she may have been unfamiliar with the climate."

Karin groaned.

"I suppose it could have been hyperbole," Yamato added with an air of contemplation, squinting slightly. "She sorta started by threatening Kumo if they didn't leave Naruto alone. That was where the burning thing came from, pretty sure. And then it just got transferred to the discussion of Ame. So technically, I don't think she promised that." He blinked, as if realizing the room was full of other people. "Does that help?"

No, that did not help. There was a moment of appalled silence.

"Good thing you didn't diplomatically empower anyone hotheaded with a flair for the dramatic," Sasuke commented mildly. "That would have been bad."

Tsunade crumpled up a paper and tossed it at his head in response.

Without opening her eyes, Aiko breathed deeply. Her bedroom still retained a bit of a dusty smell that made her nose itch, but it was beginning to seep with the scent of the shampoo and weapon polish that Obi had provided for her.

Obi was a liar.

Or at least, he was leaving something crucial out. Aiko rolled over and buried her face in her pillow, slinking her arms underneath the cool fabric.

It seemed a lot more likely that her nightmares and dreams were fragments of memory than that they were total coincidences. She'd brought up a couple of them, spaced days apart so that Obi wouldn't know she was having the dreams every night. He had claimed not to recognize what she was talking about. Either Obito was lying about being close to her (because he really should have known something about her personal life) or he was lying about not recognizing the situations she mentioned.

'Still, I suspect that it would be unwise to let on.'

She liked Obito, she really did. He was kind to her, and smart, and he helped her with all sorts of things. That didn't mean she was blind to the fact that she didn't really know what was going on, except that he now controlled every aspect of her day-to-day life, he was much stronger than she was, and that he had some sort of agenda for her.

Maybe she would go along with that agenda. Maybe she wouldn't. But she couldn't possibly help her situation by letting him know that she was suspicious of his intentions. If she was wrong, he'd be hurt. If she was right…

Well, she didn't even know what might happen to her. If he'd wanted her dead, she would be dead already. There had to be other things she had to fear, but Aiko didn't know what the hell they were.

'It might have been easier to stay in Konoha,' Aiko thought wryly. 'I probably would have figured out that they were hostile about the time I found myself strapped down with thumbscrews in my face. Would be nice to know where I stand with someone.'

But that ship had sailed.

Regretfully, she heaved her lazy carcass out of bed and rifled through the (approximately seventy billion) shiny plastic bags piled on the long-neglected furniture.

"I should probably put this away," Aiko mumbled, holding up …something, and squinting at it suspiciously. Maybe it was a scarf?

She didn't know what half this shit was or what she was supposed to deal with it.

"I get the feeling that Obi thinks I'm a kid," she remarked to an unimpressed dresser covered in a sparkly white table-runner.

It was just a fleeting suspicion, really, based on nothing more than the fact that the wardrobe he'd provided was rather heavy on flouncy skirts and high collars in pretty, bright colors. The inconsistency was odd. The man who was re-teaching her how to kill people –corpse corpse corpse—she shuddered—seemed to think she was an adorable kid.

'At least I'm sure he's not a pervert,' Aiko thought wryly, finally settling on a black skirt and a green button-up shirt with a high collar. 'That's one insidious motivation off the list of possibilities. And it does seem like he's fond of me. He's spoiling me terribly. If he really had no emotional attachment, he wouldn't go the extra mile, I think.'

As she slipped them on, she suspected that the white boots he'd provided had belonged to another kunoichi before, although Aiko had no idea who.

'Someone with big floppy feet,' Aiko thought meanly. And unfairly. She'd had to pad the shoes so that they weren't too big, but that probably had more to do with her than with their previous owner. Judging by the women she'd seen when Obito took her into town, she was a hopeless shrimp. Maybe there was a growth spurt in her future?

Because padded second-hand boots were not glamorous, and neither was the insidiously creeping suspicion that Obito was interchangeably acquiring her clothes from the child's and junior's sections.

It wasn't a thought worth lingering on.

The boots were in pristine condition, but they didn't feel stiff like the new equipment he'd gotten her did. Real shinobi gear was both expensive and hard to procure outside of a hidden village, from what she understood. The boots were the only thing in her wardrobe that appeared to be shinobi-tough, although they were well-disguised as merely pretty shoes.

'I like imagining that some poor woman is wondering what happened to her spare boots,' Aiko snickered. 'Obito, you silly creep.'

"See, you're adorable," were the first words out of his mouth when she trotted downstairs. "I told you to trust my taste." Aiko gave him a baleful stare.

"When did you get back?" she asked archly, tossing her hair as she settled against the counter. The motion would have been more dramatic if the mass of hair had cascaded or bounced or something. Unfortunately, she had an ugly explosion of tangles and knots that sort of jerked angrily.

The motion apparently drew his attention to her ill-maintained mop. Obito sighed, shaking his head slightly. "I just got here. Did you lose your hairbrush?"

Aiko blinked, hand frozen over the rather depleted fruit bowl.

'Hairbrush? What hairbrush?'

After a moment of racking her memory, she flushed self-consciously and patted at a tangle on her right shoulder. "Some girls don't brush their hair," she sniffed, tilting her nose up and randomly selecting a rather sad-looking orange.

'I remember that now. What happened to the hairbrush anyway? I haven't seen it in a while.'

The look on Obito's face implied that he didn't buy her lie. "You mean that you forgot. I thought that kind of thing was supposed to come naturally to girls," he drawled.

Aiko looked down and pressed her lips together, feeling strangely ashamed. It was hard to remember all the little things she was supposed to do.

She hadn't forgotten the humiliation that first night with the nurse who had helped her shower. Her impulse had been to say that she didn't need help—she knew enough to be certain that hygiene wasn't terribly difficult and that she should be able to handle it on her own. But when she was actually faced with the task at hand, Aiko had stared blankly at the arrangement of soaps and lotions she was supposed to use.

Could she just use one bottle and be fine?

No?

Well then. Was it shampoo and then conditioner? She was probably going to forget that at some point.What happened if she did it in the wrong order?

She was pretty sure that slathering herself in the scented chemicals deemed necessary by society wasn't meant to be actively stressful. She was getting better at it, though. The more she thought about it, the harder it was.

"Aww, hell. I'm sorry." Obito pushed that dumb mask that was always on his head up, exposing a slightly rueful expression. "It doesn't matter. Your hair looks exciting. Anyways, I have something for you to do today."

That perked her right up. "Really?" Aiko twisted to look at him, abandoning the fruit she'd been trying to peel with a plop onto the table.

He gave her a blank look for a moment before shaking his head slightly. "Yes, right." Oddly, he swallowed before he managed to gather his thoughts. "You'll be working with one of my associates. Zetsu should make sure that everything goes well. If worst comes to worst, he can contact me. I think you'll be fine," Obito added encouragingly.

'I should hope so. All you have me do is train.'

She gave him a thin smile instead of that bit of grumpiness. It wouldn't help anything. "So, what am I doing?"

Apparently reassured by her good attitude, Obito leaned back in his chair slightly and began twirling a kunai on his finger. "You'll be working to acquire monetary resources."

Aiko paused. Ruefully, she quirked an eyebrow at her comrade. He broke out into a sheepish smile. "Obiiii," she drawled. "You're telling me to replenish our coffers?"

He coughed. "Quite."

"That's not terribly glamorous."

"Nope," Obito agreed, popping the 'p' sound playfully. "But work often isn't. What do you think I do all day?"

'Steal cute shoes from giant women?'

She sighed theatrically, dropping the fruit onto the table and plopping down across from him. Aiko pursed her lips as she braced her chin on palm. After a moment, she tilted her head slightly, trying to convey pleading.

"That won't work," Obi said flatly. "I thought you wanted to work again? Ninja don't get to do only things that are fun."

"Ugggghhh," Aiko groaned, tossing her head back. "Fine. There goes my faith in humanity." She huffed. "So do I get details?"

"You're going to be answering a request for help that was communicated through some contacts of mine."

That was remotely encouraging. There was something a little romantic about swooping in to save the day. Was that what she and Obito did? Not bad.

"Help stealing an antique scroll. Seriously, this thing is ancient," Obito stressed, tapping his fingertips on the table boredly.

That was less encouraging.

"I'm a thief?" Aiko asked incredulously, scowling. "Seriously? Not even the cool kind of thief who does glamorous things, but a contractor?"

How boring, and businesslike.

Obito tossed his head back and laughed, flashing white teeth. "I may have left out the detail that you're stealing this back for the rightful owner."

"Oh." She blinked. "That… sounds okay, I guess. I think I could do that."

"Your confidence astounds."

Aiko scowled at his dry humor, and crossed her arms over her chest without paying any attention to how the added tension strained at the buttons of her shirt.

Obito flinched oddly.

"A-anyway, you'll have backup," he hurriedly assured her. "I'll introduce you to Zetsu-san when he gets here. Uh- he has the details. He'll walk you through it. But don't worry, you can do this. It's well within your capabilities, even now. Although to be safe, you should avoid using your real name. You don't want to be associated with a bad job. How about Masashi?" he teased.

Masashi. Righteous aspiration. It wasn't a bad name, exactly, but…

'A man's name? Fucking flattering. I don't know if that's worse than being told I'm likely to fail. Thanks, love.'

She gave him a black stare. Why did she hang out with this guy again?

That would be a thing worth knowing. She should look into that.

In response, he cleared his throat. "Yyyyeah. Um." Obito sucked in a self-conscious breath, aware that he was only digging himself a deeper hole and visibly desperate to change the topic. "So, are you going to do anything about your hair?"

That didn't help.

In the moment that Aiko considered leaping over the table and going for his throat, a rusty self-preservation drive kicked in. "Because I could do it for you?" he added weakly, wiggling his fingers. "And would like to very much?"

"Nice save," Aiko muttered forty seconds later, leaning back into the warm digits against her scalp as Obito finger-combed her hair. Even the frequent jolts of pain as his fingers caught on tangles couldn't bring down her good mood- she was all but purring. It turned out that her head was very sensitive. She whined unhappily when he gathered the mass in a slightly off-center tail at the top of her head and moved to awkwardly secure it with-

"Is that wire?" she asked incredulously, avoiding the urge to twist around to stare.

"What's wrong with wire?" her friend muttered self-consciously, withdrawing his hands like he'd been burnt. "Ninja wire has all kinds of uses."

It took a deep breath to calm down enough to formulate a coherent reply. "Obi?" He jolted guiltily at the nickname. "I'm pretty sure there's some sort of specialized product for tying hair."

"Maybe. A hair tie?"

She didn't really know for sure either. Apparently, personal grooming hadn't been particularly high on the list of priorities for her to remember.

I think I misplaced this omake? If it was in here somewhere before, I apologize. Had to rewrite.

Omake (Because Where Else Would Obito Think to Get Them?)

Haru jolted. It took a moment of nervous contemplation and steeling her nerves before she worked up the determination to peer around the corner into the room she was supposedly serving as an honor guard for.

The sounds coming from inside were just unseemly. She was almost certain that she was hearing muttering among the occasional thuds and clattering noises.

"Konan-sama?" She called, her voice breaking a little.

The only sound that could vaguely be termed a response was a thud that somehow managed to convey irritation. Haru flinched, and re-considered the wisdom of actually addressing Pein's Angel. She wasn't worthy. Frankly, she was still a little in awe of the woman had come back to claim leadership of Ame and asked for a few higher level shinobi to accompany her as she prepared to parley with the other leaders.

Still, without a direct answer, she was bold enough to step into the room.

That lingering awe was slightly shaken by the sight of her prospective kage on her knees, sweeping under the bed with her palms. All she could see from this angle was.. Haru flushed crimson, and looked away hastily. That wasn't dignified.

"My lady?" Haru croaked uncertainly.

Konan froze for a moment, with her hovering rear end tense and bare feet dangerously still. With quiet dignity, she backed out from under the bed and slowly lifted her torso, twisting to blink languidly at her minion. "I have misplaced my shoes," she said calmly, brushing a dust bunny off of her hair. "This is the third pair. I suspect conspiracy."

She had been previously unaware that Pein's Angel was crazy. Good to know.

#vapors #uzumaki aiko #electrasev5n #ninja daily #fanfiction #naruto fanfiction #clarity

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thessalian · 9 months

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Thess vs Unwanted Wake-Ups

I only have a certain number of days off. I would really love to be making them count. However, I cannot do that because I got woken up by clattering and power tools that somehow sounded like they were right outside my window, despite my being a couple of levels up on my side of the building.

So I drag my carcass out of bed, go to water the plants ... and sure enough, banging and power tools right outside my window. Like, literally I've got guys setting up scaffolding right outside my study window. Apparently there's a railing loose somewhere on this side of the building and they need scaffodling when they deal with it so it doesn't fall and hit someone. Or something, I dunno; I wasn't going to press these guys for too much detail when they're just trying to do their jobs. See, I'm not pissed at them - again, they're just doing their jobs. I am pissed at the management company that owns the freehold--

Erm, to explain. The freehold is the building, the land the building's on, all of that. The individual flats within the block are owned by leasehold. So we can own the flat, but the property is managed by a management company that handles the maintenance and that kind of thing for a management fee (and also sets rules like "You're not allowed to have pets in a flat that you specifically own"). Now, the tenants started making moves towards buying the freehold off the management company awhile ago, but with the way the economy's going at the moment, not sure we're going to be able to manage that one.

Anyway, we're supposed to have some kind of warning if someone's doing significant work on the building. It's common fucking courtesy. I'd be really annoyed if I was trying to work through this noise. I'd be worse if I was suffering a migraine - which I might end up with anyway because constant fucking power tools and clattering. As it is, I went to bed way late but figured it was okay because, hey, I can sleep in! But apparently not, so now I'm underslept and grumpy.

Before it comes up, even if I was willing to shut the windows (which, given we're in the middle of a minor heat wave, I'm not particularly), it wouldn't help. The soundproofing of my double glazing isn't awful, but we're talking very literally men working with power tools some inches from my window. Even shutting the curtains in the study for a bit of privacy is depriving me air circulation and making the study uncomfortable, so I guess lounging around in my sleepwear is out today.

I think my best bet is to grab some food and then go run a couple of errands. Maybe the worst of the noise will be over by the time when I get back? ...I mean, probably no it won't, but...

#Thess is a motherfucking adult

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notquitecogent · 1 year

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Find The Word Tag Game

Ok I am shockingly late to the party on this one because Life™ and my desire to write being at an all-time low, but I've been tagged by 3 lovely people so here we go <3 The Rules: find the suggested words in your WIPs and post snippets, then tag others to do the same with words of your choice!

Tagged by: @astorytotellyourfriends to find lose, tear, accept, and shake. I couldn't find lose or accept in any WIPs, but I did find shake and tear (sort of).

Tear, from a fortune teller WIP, which also involves a costume party. This bit is set at a fair, a prelude to the meet-cute with Chrissy, I guess? (Not really a meet-cute, more a meet-awkward):

Perhaps Eddie would have noticed what was about to happen next if he hadn’t been so busy laughing at his own joke. Instead, he completely missed Carver's pointed nod at two of the jocks, and the four large hands instantly grabbing the back of his jacket.

Shit shit shit.

Years of trailer park muscle memory taught him he had about half a second to shrug off the leather and run for the hills, and he barely had time to yell at the rest of Hellfire to book it too before he was tearing his way through the crowd towards – well, something. Anything.

***

Shake, from an untitled little ditty where Chrissy gets injured at cheer practice and ends up hanging out with Eddie while she's recovering:

“Are you ok, Chris?” Melinda asks, and there’s an ugly, hopeful note in her voice; she’s Chrissy’s alternate, and in the zero-sum game of high school cheerleading, that means she’ll be the one tossed in the air at Regionals two weeks from now.

“Fine,” says Chrissy, through gritted teeth. “It’s just a sprain.”

Everyone’s looking at her as Julie sprints back from Coach’s office, dusty first aid kit in hand.

“The nurse left already, but you should try to keep it elevated,” she says, breathless, and Chrissy kind of has to marvel at the efficiency; Julie Michaels is good in a crisis.

She tries not to shake as Julie eases off her sneaker (scuffed, Christine, look at the state of you) and then her sock, wincing as she presses against a tender muscle.

“It doesn’t look broken, I think,” says the younger girl, chewing her lip.

~~~

Tagged by: @majicmarker to find bright, heart, laugh, and sweet, or any variation of the above.

Bright and sweet from an unfinished sequel/companion to ‘baby i’m yours now (dreaming a connection)’:

Was it just him, or was the sun shining a little brighter, a little warmer that day than was usual for summer in Hawkins, Indiana? Were the birds singing a little sweeter, the flowers blooming a little more colourful? Did everyone else see that day through a gauzy halcyon haze, or was it just the fucking bliss of kissing Chrissy, of holding Chrissy, of being loved by Chrissy that was doing that to him?

~~~

Heart from ‘does it feel like magic?’, my stupid attempt at a magical AU which is going to become a roommate AU (I've realised I only really like writing oneshots that don’t diverge too far from canon, as I *immediately* lose grasp of the character’s voices and motivations and shove in a bunch of thinly drawn OCs and then hate myself). Anyway, this is from chapter 3:

“Look, I’m not saying forever – just until my lease ends and you find a place you actually like.”

Eddie punctuates the sentence by slicing open another bag of ice cubes and clattering them into the tray.

“I won’t like it?”

“Well, the view’s not great, but the rent is high.”

“Really selling it to me.”

She bites her lip as she sets down the paring knife and turns toward him. “What’s my roommate like?”

He grins. “Horrifically messy. Perpetually stoned. Plays terrible music very loud.”

Chrissy pantomimes looking thoughtful, bringing one pink-tipped fingernail up to her lip as she hmmms exaggeratedly.

“Can he cook?”

“Not even slightly."

“Perfect,” she winks, and he feels his heart thud in his chest.

Yeah, this is probably a terrible idea, actually.

~~~

Laugh and sweet from the fortune teller WIP:

She’d tried so hard to be sweet, hoping he’d just drop it and move on. He reminded her of her mother sometimes – of walking on cracked ice.

Jason ruffled her hair. “You’ll have me for that, hon,” and he’d said it so fondly that she’d tried to ignore the sinking feeling that crept under her ribs and stayed there.

~~~

Over her shoulder, the boys were crowing as Jason burst the last balloon and selected his prize – a gold plastic trophy, which he held aloft like a talisman before a group of other high schoolers pushed past him. One of them – a guy with long hair in a leather jacket – said something that made the others burst out laughing and Jason’s face erupt into fury.

Chrissy had never felt less like going to his side.

^^^

Tagged by: @erythromanc3r to find right, laugh, carry and fear. I couldn't find carry or fear.

Right from the fortune teller WIP:

Suddenly, someone flung the drapes open. The strong scent of clove cigarettes followed them in.

“Don’t touch the cards,” said a raspy voice.

Chrissy looked up at the fortune teller ('Madame Le Fay', apparently), taking in a dark head of hair with a livid streak of white at the temple, a pair of bright green eyes lined with kohl, and cracked lips slicked with red lipstick. Her hands were clustered with heavy, tarnished gold rings and tipped with dirty fingernails.

Madame Le Fay looked back, and her gaze seemed to pierce right through Chrissy’s skin.

^^^

Laugh from the sex pollen WIP 😈 :

And, in fact, the weed was definitely living up to its description; her body did feel pleasantly loose, the air thick and heavy against her skin, almost like she’d been dipped in a jar of honey. The air smelled sweeter, too – unlike the usual skunky scent, these joints had a sort of soft, floral-y perfume that seemed to linger in her hair and clothes, mixing with Eddie’s usual tobacco and leather, and that kind of sweat only boys seemed to produce.

She breathed deeply through her nose.

Eddie let out a low, rumbling laugh. “Are you sniffing me, Cunningham?”

Chrissy blushed as her hands flew to her face, giggling through splayed fingers. “You smell nice."

I'm tagging: @chrissy-n-eddie @thedarkestgreys @carry-the-sky @a-strange-inkling (not sure if you've been tagged already?? I'm so bad at keeping track of these things! feel free to ignore if so) to find shoulder, night, twist and sound.

#my fic #tag games #wip game #hellcheer fic

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malstermonkey · 11 months

Text

North

I have bought a new laptop -- the old one is (was?) starting to creak and groan under the demands being put to it..............and, in a nod to being no better than a vapid teenager, the thing is so old (you will remember it) that something shinier was required -- that said, I've bought a refurbished item which sees a seriously large hard-drive, processing power which seems to anticipate what I want to do next & it looks like a Mac (so that the kids in the coffee shop will think I'm seriously trendy?). It's put a smile on my face (sad consumerist sad that I am, though getting it for less than half-price-new would do that too).

How are things your end? Whereas you have cold & dark, my shift up North for 3 days has seen the days lengthen: hit the hay at 10:30pm last night grumbling about jetlag (thinking, given the light sitch that it can't have been later than 8pm). Grumbles was bought about because there's a bunch of us staying at this farmhouse nestled in a crease of the valley (which is a crease too) where the sounds, of which there are few, scream "countryside"! The odd sheep's bleat, a desultory lowing, but other than that, no cock's crowing, no real birdsong either -- the quiet, the solitude is both noticeable and a little intrusive because of it? Can't say I do anything but love it.

Once I post this blog I'm nestling in the cavernous windowsill with the Weekend FT & The Weekend Guardian. Later there will be a cheerful clatter of breakfast, a long walk to a pub & we've got an enormous Sunday dinner planned (We? Eclectic group 7 of us (yup, I'm the odd number), an old school mate, an old City mate (the Lordly one, 7ft tall) & some (stunningly beautiful) randoms (for me at least, not the others). The company is very laid back, the talk both funny, sardonic and, at times very serious (how the Brits all hate Brexit) ranging from social upheaval, the challenge my Fund faces, sport, theatre, nature. It's got a very English vibe about it all.

Back to you: yup, your timing on the QClub seems to have been well-nigh perfect & I hope the non-welcome in your cold, dark house wasn't too depressing -- you have little idea how much I feel for you & how much it tugs the heart strings when I read you sentence..........your sense of loss & abandonment will never leave you (sorry) but time does its pernicious thing and dulls the pain eventually.

It's effin' odd how things like the Business lounge at the Airport makes all the difference: free stuff is ever-so-cool & being removed from the hoi polloi does, sadly, make one feel just a little bit special -- probably indication of how crap plane travel really is nowadays? That said, I still have the sense that, were you & I to travel together, we would still crow with delight at every new experience, would enjoy the companionship of discoveries made & shared and try desperately hard to be as close to yokel, wide-eyed teenagers as possible.

A jet passes overhead doing its low growl-thing, and there's a wisp of cold, fresh morning air coming in through the window......more shortly, but there's stirring afoot, so it's my job to get the coffee purring anew (a be witty, in a laid back way with the beautifully disheveled woman who has just walked in.........).

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tillinghastcorporatemedia · 2 years

Text

Paris Really Enjoys Deadliest Citizen

"Can you believe he acted like such an asshole?' Artemis exasperatedly sighed, complaining between bites of her food. Paris rolls her eyes “Didn't you meet him and one those seedy ass venues that play locals only bands?” “Now don't go judging me like that Paris. You of all people know that's where you go to get the good drinks and protohash.” Artemis says, lighting a protostick. Smoke gently wafts through the umbrella covering the table they are currently seated at. Paris slowly picks at her meal as Artemis finishes her food and chugs her drink. “Anything planned with Peeeeeter?” Artemis squeezes the vowels out of his name in an effort to embarrass Paris. “No, you know i'm not that interested in him. You just always bring it up because he works at the squimpp parlor down the street from work.” she retorts, once again rolling her eyes as she signals for the waitress. “Did you have something planned?” “You know I do of course silly.” Artemis smiles, excited at what she has planned for them tonight. “I totally found out about a roof party out in the Tome district, apparently there will be some like K-list celebrities there but it's this crazy pool and outside plaza on the 16th floor.” “That sounds great.” Paris says, wishing inside that Artemis would have suggested just getting food and staying in.

Besides the newest episode of “Deadliest Citizen” was on and she really wanted to catch it before everyone spoiled it at work for her. She knew that Artemis would want to go shopping to get a new outfit and that was her out to at least get some quality time with her couch and some noodles. “Okay, call me when you're ready tonight and we'll go out.” Six hours later, Paris is holding on to the handrails of a lightsub as Artemis is chatting some guy dressed as if he was going to a costume convention for what the elder catalogs would call a “rainbow vampire.” She hated going out to the Tome district, it was always filled with people who have found success with multiple businesses and acted like absolute assholes. But of course Artemis probably met some crazy musician who had eccentric connections.

“Hey this is our stop Artemis!” Paris yells to be heard over the clatter of the station as the doors slide open. After a short walk to the building that Artemis said looked beautiful but Paris thought it was just absolutely garish. They emerge from the elevator onto the roof. Paris looks around at the skyline almost entranced. She always loves getting to see the city from high up. “I'm going to go get us drinks, anything specific?” Artemis asks. “Pretty much anything strong enough to get through tonight.” Paris replies. Artemis runs off in a hurry, no doubt trying to flirt with the bartender for cheaper drinks. She grabs the drinks and leaves, at least leaving a tip before rushing off. After a few hours of dancing and occasionally having to fend off drunk attempts at flirting, the girls are about ready to go home. As they get in the elevator they hear a voice go “Hey can you wait for me?” as a hand extends into the elevator door, forcing it open. Paris hear Artemis whisper “oh no” quietly as he door shuts behind the new arrival.

“Oh hey Artemis, it's been a little bit since i've ran into you. Are doing any better or do you still have a hard time deciding to date anyone?” Lydia exclaims, sounding slightly chapped. “Lydia you knew it wasn't gonna be a long time thing, you even said it yourself. Besides last I heard you got kicked out of the Hellhound for getting a little too drunk and trying to hook up with the owners wife!” Artemis responds, rolling her eyes. “Dammit” Paris thinks in her head, realizing the next ten minutes in the lift were going to be painfully tense. Why does this always happen when she goes out? Artemis and Lydia continue to bicker between each other for the entirety of the ride. When the elevator slowly opens it's doors Paris wishes she had been drunk for the entire encounter. Lydia parts ways down the street, muttering to herself. “You know if we had just gone home and laid around that wouldn't have happened.” Remarked Paris. “Yeah but now you have a funny story to tell Peter next time you go by on lunch.” Artemis replies, sticking her tongue out. “Let me be your guide for crazy stories so you can get Peter to fall in love with you.”

Paris blushes when Artemis says that. “That'll never work Artemis.” Paris says with a smile, knowing full well she'll be telling Peter about Artemis trying to get him to fall in love her. Of course he'll give that dumb little smile and laugh. Of course Artemis is partially telling the truth, but Paris won't admit it. The both of them head to their bedrooms after saying night to each other.

#scifi #writers #science fiction #tillinghastcorporatemedia #romance

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sholiofic · 2 years

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With all the amazing (!!!) hurt/comfort prompt fills you write, there has yet to be one with Zemo + sleep deprivation. Let's make that boy woozy.

You are in luck - I've already got 6K of a sleep deprivation WIP (indirectly prompted by a discussion on the Winterbaron discord about Zemo getting dosed with a drug that makes him have to stay awake or die). :D Here, have a snippet, and you can read a bit more of it here. (I don't really have an ETA for when I might finish this, unfortunately; it's slowed to a crawl lately while I figure out what to happen next.)

After Bucky came back laden with groceries, he and Zemo spent the afternoon outside, knife-throwing and doing low-impact workouts and generally being physically active. Which was probably good for keeping him awake now, but made Sam a little worried about keeping him awake tonight.

Sam went upstairs and crashed for a nap, and woke to the sun gleaming low and red-gold through the upstairs window.

Well, this was certainly fucking up his sleep schedule, Sam thought blearily. He got up and changed into something clean, vaguely aware that he couldn't remember how long he had been wearing this set of clothes. He went out into the hall. There was a shower running in the upstairs bathroom. Sam went downstairs.

"I bought steaks when I was out shopping for His Highness," Bucky said, turning around under the bright lights of the kitchen. "There's a grill back there, so I was thinking we could marinate these and put 'em on it—maybe with the last of the Greek salad."

"Sure, that sounds good. Zemo's in the shower?"

"Yeah, why?" Bucky asked, looking up from a bottle of marinade mix.

"You guys worked out all afternoon and then he went and took a shower?"

"Sounds pretty normal to me."

"Sounds normal," Sam said, "unless you're going on three days without sleep, and get a lot of exercise and then go and take a relaxing shower—"

"Shit," Bucky said, just as there was a loud thump and clatter from upstairs.

They both got upstairs in record time, but Bucky was faster, because goddamn supersoldier, so Sam stumbled into the upstairs bathroom to find Zemo sprawled across the edge of the bathtub onto the floor, tangled up in the torn-down shower curtain, with Bucky trying to help him untangle it. Zemo hazily tried to contribute his uncoordinated assistance. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"This one's on us," Bucky said. "You awake?"

"Yes," Zemo said with clear determination, planting a hand on the bathroom floor. He started to push himself up, then seemed to realize that he was naked. "Uh ...."

"I'll grab you something," Sam said, and Zemo gave him a sharp nod, eyes dazed and bright.

Sam didn't go into Zemo's bedroom much. He didn't have any reason to, and he couldn't help feeling that it was inappropriate, given the parole situation; SHIELD wouldn't have agreed, but there were valid reasons why Sam wasn't, officially at least, working for SHIELD. He found two silk bathrobes hung up inside the door (seriously?) but right now he felt that clothes with subliminal sleep associations were a bad idea. He retrieved a full set of clean clothes from Zemo's closet and came back to the bathroom, where Zemo was completely untangled from the shower curtain and sitting on the closed toilet lid while Bucky hung it back up.

"Thank you, Sam," Zemo said, accepting the clothes with the same gracious attitude that he might have taken a menu in a restaurant, as opposed to sitting on a toilet lid with a towel wrapped around him.

Well, at least he wasn't too embarrassed about it. Still, there was something worryingly, unwillingly open about his face as he took the bundle of clothing from Sam. His cheeks were lightly flushed, his eyes heavily shadowed with blue smudges underneath. He looked like he was coming down with something.

Sam gave Bucky's arm a brief tug, and they retreated to the hall, leaving Zemo alone to get dressed.

#tfatws #works in progress #wips

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eremiie · 3 years

Text

not too bad a dad;

❥ eren babysitting ipad kids falco & gabi, i have had this thought on my mind bc i think their interactions would be so funny, so here this is. (bonus if you get the title referene)

❥ eren x reader | 2.1k words | pure fluff

the first time eren had to babysit was quite questionable.

actually, quite worrying if that's a good way to describe it.

you had falco sit on the couch and watch some television to keep himself entertained for the time being, while you sat in your room leaving eren to stay in the living room as well— that is until he slowly opened the door to your shared bedroom. "yes, eren?" you mumbled turning around to see him just standing, head cracked through the door.

"baby, why isn't he doing anything?"

"eren, he's just watching t.v... what do you want him to do?"

"i don't know... he's just... sitting there. he's so quiet, and just..."

you raised an eyebrow at eren watching him finally coming over to massage your shoulders while looking at your computer screen where you were typing away. "okay... that's a good thing eren, let him sit there."

so eren left, still clearly somewhat unnerved by the little boy for whatever reason, but you shrugged it off, continuing to do your work on the device in front of you.

you weren't sure how much time had passed, but you finally removed your eyes from your screen when you heard the clatter of a large object hit the floor. your eyes darted to the clock in front of you to see that it had been maybe an hour since you last saw both eren and falco, so with a sigh you got up and left the room.

the slight shuffling of objects moving around from the kitchen had caused you to turn towards it, to see falco in the middle of the kitchen floor holding a large baking pan with half baked cinammon rolls, some seemingly flattened, oven mitts on both of his hands, and when he turned around to face you the expression on his face was immediate worry and remorse— not to mention the large flour stains on both his shirt and pants.

it was only then you noticed eren beside him on the floor picking up another flattened roll and placing it back on the pan you assumed it fell off of, flour coating him as well as what you could only assume was other miscellaneous baking products.

"i'm— i'm sorry, i was, i wasn't— he— he," falco stumbled over his words causing eren to look up at you with an innocent boyish smile.

"eren...what in the world." you ignored falco, as you figured he wasn't the root of the issue, seemingly coerced by eren into their dilemma.

"oh hey babe, falco and i were making some cinnamon rolls. i thought it'd be fun." you weren't sure if this was fun for falco, the timid boy practically shaking in his socks.

"he asked me to! i— i—"

"it's okay falco... i know. i know." you shook your head at eren and screamed a look that said ‘clean this up right now.’ eren only giving both you and falco a confused expression before you walked back to your room.

you could only pray colt would trust you enough to let falco come back a second time.

there were other times where you wondered if having your own child with eren was even plausible.

you weren't sure if it was news that spread that you were a "great babysitter" or maybe it was eren who was the great sitter, but somehow you were in the brief possession of another kid, although eren almost refused to take care of her in all. of course, he was in no position to refuse, as you sat him down on the couch opposite while you did your own thing in the kitchen, preparing a meal for the three of you.

eren stared at gabi, eyes narrowed at her as if she was a threat to him, her ipad sitting on her chest as she looked up at eren time to time while she layed on the couch away from him. "what? why do you keep staring at me? weirdo..." gabi rolled her eyes swiping away at the device in front of her.

"baby, she just called me weird! did you hear that?" eren immediately complained hands flailing at his sides and you shook your head even though he couldn't see and even though you did hear. if anything, you weren’t sure if you were taking care of one or two kids.

"nope."

"seriously?" he huffed as gabi began to laugh at him causing him to grimace at her and buck at her somewhat playfully causing her to flinch.

"stop! i can beat you up you know." she gave eren a stink face, putting down her device on her stomach and crossing her arms from where she laid.

"eren, don't." you warned, knowing that despite him being a grown man, he'd bicker back and forth with anybody.

"i wasn't even gonna do anything." eren said back to you, still side eyeing gabi.

"yeah, cause you can't." she taunted as you placed the lid over the pot of rice and slinked your way over to your room to grab your phone, only being gone for maybe two minutes as you checked your notifications in your room, standing at the edge of the bed for a bit.

the minute you stepped back out gabi was on top of eren, pulling at his hair as he struggled to get her off of him, pulling at her hands as his face was scrunched up showing his efforts. he picked her up and threw her down onto the couch, and you slapped your hand to your forehead at his childish antics. "oh my gosh— eren stop acting like a child!" you came over and slapped his shoulder.

"what? we were just playing around!" you tugged eren's ear and pulled him to the couch gabi sat at previously with a stern look. gabi stuck her tongue out at eren as you scolded him from the sofa across from her.

"well you might actually hurt her—"

"he can't hurt me!" you turned around and gave gabi a fake smile.

"i don't want to get in trouble with your parents gabi." you said before looking back to eren. "watch it, eren."

sometimes, eren seemed more knowledgable about kids than you.

"look, see how they got to the other side? that used to symbolize the freedom that they thought they gained, and of course their friend still thinks it represents that but he—"

"falco?" eren interrupted you coming over to sit on the other side of falco, swinging his arm over the backside of the couch, causing you to glare at him.

"eren, i'm trying to explain the show to him."

"baby, he's clearly bored," you looked down at falco and he did seem less enthusiastic than you, but when he looked up at eren, then to you he immediately shook his head.

"no—"

"he probably would rather play ball with me or something. i wanted to earlier but then you made him watch this documentary with you." eren motioned to the tv screen as if it was clearly the most boring thing on earth.

"eren, the documentary isn't boring... he hasn't complained yet." you rolled your eyes, falco's flitting between you and eren as he sat between the two of you. at least you didn’t think it was boring, you couldn’t even count how many times you had seen it. all you knew it that it intrigued you every time, and you could explain it ten times over.

"because you know he doesn't like to complain." eren wrapped his arms around falco's shoulder and pulled him closer, a smirk on his face. "falco, would you rather watch this documentary with ______, or play baseball with me outside?"

falco seemed uncomfortable, and you took notice shoving eren's arm off of him. "eren, if you won't watch it with me then let me watch with falco."

"i've watched it with you like four times baby!"

"no you haven't..." the more you thought about it, falco was pretty quiet the whole first twenty minutes of the documentary you were showing him. as interesting as you thought it was; you weren't sure falco was enjoying it as much as you. "falco... you can go play baseball or catch or whatever with eren. i have some stuff to do anyways." you shrugged, eren pumping his fist and dragging falco to his feet, falco's eyes lighting up a little.

you couldn't help but give a small smile at his eagerness to hang out with eren. "c'mon falco, i used to play with my brother all the time, i'm gonna show you how to pitch really good."

you chuckled to yourself. maybe eren wasn't as bad as an influence as you thought.

of course there were times that eren surprised you, like this one.

"gabi, c'mon let's go eat." your arms were crossed as you leaned against the doorframe watching gabi's hands fiddle with the controller while her eyes darted on the screen in front of her. both her and eren were leaned forwards as he guided her to victory, babbling some game nonsense to her.

"let her play one more round babe, she's has one point on falco." eren held a hand up without looking back at you, murmuring a couple "c'mon," to gabi as she leaned forward even more.

"she has to eat, eren, i gave you guys an extra thirty minutes already."

"please!" gabi said also without looking at you.

you sighed, raising an eyebrow at the pleas of gabi. "i didn't know you guys got along now."

"we've always gotten along." eren replied as if it was the obvious thing in the world, causing your to scoff as he pointed at the screen while gabi spoke into the mic headset on her head.

gabi’s face scrunched up as she stared at the screen more intensely, her eyes suddenly going dark, eyelids dropping. "hey... falco, when did you get that skin?" gabi murmured, bringing her hand up to bring the mic closer to her lips.

"eren bought it for me last time i came over." falco said from the other side of the mic as the sound finally translated over. eren's body went slightly rigid as he side eyed gabi as she slowly turned to him, her eye twitching.

"what?! that's not fair! eren buy me a skin too!" she exclaimed loudly, hands flailing, and you were scared eren’s controller would fly out of her hand.

eren pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing the question was going to come sooner or later. "no, i don't have any money." there they went, bickering again, only proving your earlier point.

"then how did you get falco that skin, and why did you get falco it and not me? i been wanted it before him!" you could only imagine falco rubbing his face from the other side of the screen.

"because—"

"gabi i'll buy you a skin," you said, shifting on your feet as you watched gabi's character die on screen as she argued back and forth with eren. she smiled at your comment then glared at eren as she began to turn around to face the screen fully, jaw dropping at the 'defeat' sign now on display in front of her. "now come, eat—"

"one more round!" both eren and gabi said at the same time, your eyes widening in slight shock.

"okay, okay... one more round."

and lastly, there were times you were sure you wanted to have kids with eren.

"eren are y'all okay?" you spoke through the phone as you drove down the street, on your way back to the apartment you and eren shared. "i got all of us some food too, so we don't have to eat leftovers today. also, get their bags, colt is coming to pick both of them up today, he says thanks for letting him leave them with us this morning."

eren groaned from the other side as he pushed gabi off of him and you heard some yelling before he shuffled around and spoke again. "yeah, yeah, i'll see you soon, i love you." his voice sounded muffled through the phone.

eren was a bit hasty to end the call, you only able to get out an "i love," before the dial tone beeped, and you furrowed your eyebrows, placing your phone in the cupholder and continuing on the road home.

it had been maybe fifteen minutes before you arrived, unbuckling your seat belt and turning off the car. you didn't forget to grab the takeout sitting on the passengers seat as well as your bag before walking up the steps to your apartment. you unlocked the door and stepped inside, locking it back. "eren, baby, i'm home." you said loud enough for him to hear, but no response was returned as you shrugged your shoes off. "don't tell me he took them outside... i just said colt was coming soon." you mumbled to yourself as you made your way to the living room.

the sight caught you off guard, eren sprawled on the floor knocked out from what you assume was sleep, gabi laying down on the couch, falco at her legs sleeping as well, using them as a headrest. both of their bags were laid beside the couch and you let out a laugh. how quick did they fall asleep? it hadn't been long since you were on the phone with eren.

you set down the takeout bags on the kitchen and sauntered over to eren on the floor, his hair framing his face and his brows furrowed together as if he was in deep thought in his sleep. it didn't take much to wake him up, only a couple "baby," and some shakes of his shoulder before he jolted awake.

"huh?" he rubbed his eyes and sat up, head whipping back to the two kids on the couch. "shit, i'm sorry baby..." he immediately apologized, letting out another groan.

you couldn't help but smile and bring eren in for a short kiss on the lips. "you're fine baby, you got their bags and everything, you can go to the room and sleep if they tired you out."

eren pulled you in for a hug as he stood up, you standing with him, and then kissing your forehead. "alright... i love you."

"i love you too."

yeah, you might be sure kids with eren won't be too bad.

#eren x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren fluff #eren jaeger fluff #eren yeager fluff #falco grice #gabi braun

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aetheternity · 3 years

Text

I'll admit it's exciting. (Armin x reader)

Synopsis: Being your professor's dirty little secret. His pet.. Sounded too good to refuse.

Warning: Smut in the later chapters! 18+ only

"Good girl.." Your lip tucked itself beneath your tooth. Spine tingling at the intoxicating scent surrounding you.

You coaxed a breath off your lips as the almost inaudible creak of the desk under your professors weight made you sit up straight. His arms locking you in place.

You looked into his soft blue eyes feeling a tinge of entrapment at the way he had you locked in.

"Do you understand now?" His surprisingly large hands caressed your shoulder.

"Y-yeah." If you could see your own face you'd probably be embarrassed but you were currently helpless to the tiny bits of touch he allowed you.

Your elbows pushed you up just a little bit closer to his chest. His touch disappearing too soon.

"I think you'll be ready for the test in a couple days." And suddenly every bit of him was walking away and back to sit at his desk. "You should still study though. This stuff has been difficult for you."

~~~~

"Y/N."

The tip of your nail stayed fidgeting between your lips.

"Y/N."

Words flew through your brain but it all continued to just be flushed straight out again.

"Y/N!" The book flew from your grasp landing with a clatter that attracted glances from all angles.

"Are you alright Y/N?" Eren asked, concern etched into his deep sapphire eyes.

You let out a harsh exhale. "I was, until Sasha stopped my heart." You held a palm up to your chest, glaring over at Sasha.

Mikasa blinked boredom sunk into her features. Her cheeks forced into the palms of her hands as her elbows stayed firmly planted into the table. "New class?"

You nodded, shutting your binder before promptly flipping it open again.

"You'll be fine." She muttered, staring at you with her own version of concern.

"How can you say that? I had to transfer from a different class a month after the semester already started. You know how much stuff I've already missed! Not to mention I had originally thought this class was gonna be next semester me's problem." With a groan you let your head flop harshly onto the mildly sticky table in front of you.

"I think what Mikasa was trying to suggest was that Mr. Arlert has always been said to be a very gentle and caring professor." Sasha said

"You can always take office hours if you really have a hard time." Eren suggested

"Thanks Eren, but I think you're forgetting that I hate doing anything outside of class that won't immediately get me a passing grade."

Eren just shrugged, moving to stuff his notebooks into his own bag. All of them genuinely looking as though he'd just reused them from high school. Each one with a rip in the first page or the spiral unraveling.

"Welp it's 2:00." Sasha reminded you. And you groaned so loud you could practically feel the stares from other tables touching your soul.

"Maybe I'll fall down the stairs and break my ankle before I get up there." You slung your bag onto your shoulder hanging your head as you walked off.

"I'll have your favorite donuts in my room after you get out!" Sasha called

"You should've started with that!"

You made the walk so much longer by dragging your feet up every stair individually and rubbing a finger to your temple. So much so that it surprised you when you walked into the classroom and no one was in there except..

"Oh hello."

Hot..

So so very hot..

His smile sparkled only futher brightened by his deep blue eyes. His short blond hair parted slightly over his forehead. His blue button up was cuffed up against his forearms revealing a very slender but still fairly muscular set of hands. He probably had a nice chest too.

"You must be Y/N." He chuckled and before you could reassociate he was giving you a whole new list of things to think about as he bent over his desk to retrieve a piece of paper.

"Here's the syllabus. You're starting kinda late so it will be helpful to you to come to office hours. My office hours are at the bottom here." When he reached forward to point his scent caught you by surprise. A sweet almost fruit like smell wafted up your nose. "I hope you'll catch on quickly. Sit wherever you'd like."

His remark barely registered in your mind, your mouth hung open immediately slamming shut as the class quickly began to fill.

Before you could get swept up by the people flooding into the room you made your way to the front plopping down into the seat closest to the window. When you looked up again from where you'd yanked your binder almost haphazardly out of your bag, you caught the quickest wink you'd ever seen in your entire life.

Or maybe it was your imagination.

But the way he leaned a little closer when he approached you wasn't.

"Front row? Good choice."

Regardless of the heart problems he'd recently caused you he was moving on. Quickly silencing the class and starting the lesson.

Hot.

The only thought racing through your head.

Hot. Hot. Hot..

He was pretty! When he turned off the light his eyes didn't dull in the almost blinding way in which they shone. His hair fluttered over his forehead and ears and his shirt seemed to hug his chest tighter every time he reached up to turn off the projector or even just to reach a high spot on the board.

You already knew everything from today was going in one ear and out the other but it was really hard to give a damn when your professor's pants cupped his ass they way they did. His dark shoes clicked across the floor and-

"Do you understand any of it? I know it's your first day."

You blinked up at him hoping your eyes weren't as wide as they felt or that you weren't popping your mouth open and close like a suffocating fish.

He smiled, flipping the paper on the desk around till it faced him. "Can I?" He reached for the tip of your pen and as you let it go your fingers brushed in probably the strongest current of static that had ever touched your body.

"Don't worry ok this is just a practice test I wanna see what you know." He said, leaving a couple marks on the paper. He then pointed to the two empty test questions. "Don't leave anything blank ok."

This time when he walked away you were without a doubt certain he'd winked. When you looked down at your paper again you could see 3 checks on the paper in the light blue ink you were using and a little smiley face in the corner.

Your chest honestly had no right fluttering the way it did over something so trivial.

The class was only an hour and forty minutes but when it was over you felt like you'd only been seated there for ten minutes. When you handed the test paper back he sent you one final wink that made your knees buckle.

"See you next time." He said and you had to forcibly stop yourself from shuttering.

You half speed walked half ran out of there as soon as his classroom door had shut behind you. All the way to Sasha's dorm room.

You slammed it open already knowing Sasha only kept it locked when she wasn't in there. Your chest was heaving and you held onto the door frame for support. Noticing the immediate and visible flinch from Eren and Sasha.

"He's. Hot!!" You gasped for air before walking in and sinking to the floor in front of Sasha. She didn't budge as you fell against her shoulder just wrapped an arm around your shoulders hugging your back. "Oh god he's so hot.." You breathed into Sasha's collarbone.

"Looks like she did learn something." Eren muttered

"No! You don't understand he's like so pretty!"

Mikasa didn't even try to hide the way she rolled her eyes and Eren just sighed.

"Aww you've got a crush on your professor that's adorable." Sasha said, reaching into the box next to her, grabbing your favorite donut she pushed it into your open mouth pulling it back slightly to allow you to chew.

You sobbed a little before sighing and falling back into Sasha's neck. "What the hell am I gonna do?" You sighed

"Focus on passing the class is probably the first step." Eren replied

"Now you're just being silly." You replied, rubbing your fingers into the floor.

Sasha brought the donut back up to your lips smiling as you took another bite. "I wanna see him now! Isn't he the really young professor? Like he's supposedly only twenty five as of recently and got hired less than a year ago."

"Yeah.." You quickly put your password into your phone, turning the screen so Sasha could see.

Mikasa and Eren scooted closer as Sasha took a closer look. "He is pretty." Mikasa was the first to speak.

"Why do you just have his picture pulled up? How're you already being creepy?" Eren questioned

You scoffed, "I just happened to be looking on Instagram during a quick bathroom trip.. and I just so happened to look for him.. it's his fault for making it easy." You snatched the donut from Sasha taking a bigger bite.

"Yeah no I agree with Eren this is cree- AW HE HAS A DOG!" Sasha snatched the phone zooming in on the puppy in his lap.

"Actually it's his family's dog. Her name's Pumpkin and he goes home as often as possible to see her. A small two hour train ride to be exact." You sigh briefly "I've never really liked Terriers as a dog breed but that one's so cute.."

"Is the dog cute or is it the guy holding her?" Mikasa questioned with a little smirk.

"Not helping Mikasa.." Eren interjected "What are you even thinking? No matter if you like professor Arlert or not he has to keep it professional and so do you."

"Eren, look at the puppy." You took your phone from Sasha turning the screen back to face him.

He glanced down at the image then back into your eyes with a raised eyebrow.

"Puppy!"

"Creepy!" He pressed the power button on your phone and you deflated against Sasha's legs letting your phone turn over onto its face.

"I'll never understand why you don't go for a degree in hacking or something the way you always manage to pull up information on people." Mikasa shook her head.

"Probably going to be stuck with more math classes for one and secondly when I become a supervillain I don't need everyone knowing it was apart of my major." You replied, with an exaggerated eye roll.

Sasha shrugged, "If it was your major I'm pretty sure everyone would understand your descent into madness."

"I can't believe you just said that.." Eren groaned, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

"Me or her?" You asked

"Yes!"

~~~~

Thursday came too soon. Or maybe you should say, finally Thursday is here! You jumped back and forth between the two but by the time you slid into the honestly uncomfortable classroom seat and placed your bag between your legs you knew exactly what you felt.

"Professor!" A female's voice caught your attention and you turned slightly to see a short brown haired girl running into the classroom.

"You were right about what I was missing! Once I applied what we talked about in office hours it became so simple."

"That's what I like to hear Petra." He winked as he flipped through a stack of papers on his desk.

Wait, had he always done that to all the students or had you just not noticed last time? You felt your shoulders hunch but they were instantly picking back up again as he slid a piece of paper onto your desk.

"You did pretty well on that practice test. Seems like you'll be up to speed in no time." He smiled, a deep warm smile that made your stomach squeeze.

Your lips curled upwards and you quickly moved to hide it behind your paper as he walked away.

"You too huh?"

You felt your skin practically vibrate but you hoped and prayed it wasn't too noticeable.

"Wh-what?" You glanced over at the girl Petra who sat only one desk away from you. Her features flat and her eyes dark in the middle an almost scary contrast from earlier.

"You're into him too?" She muttered

Was it that obvious? Stupid question. How could you be so obvious?

"I don't think you'll win out." She continued and before you could question it, she pointed to the back row.

It seemed almost like a tussle as Mr. Arlert was being held hostage by another young female holding his hand. He smiled mildly awkwardly as he spoke with her, nodding his head to everything her and the other girls surrounding her said. The first girl running a thumb over the back of his hand.

You felt your skin prickle and you exhaled loudly. "So.. I'm guessing you too.."

Petra blinked at you then quickly shifted around in her seat. Mr. Arlert quickly approached the front of the room clapping to get the classes attention. And with that the lesson was beginning.

You noticed from the clap at the beginning of class to the last word uttered that not one word in Mr. Arlert's lesson had actually registered in your mind. Your thoughts too full of Petra's words, her blank almost villainous expression as she'd talked.

And that girl's hand. That annoying girl in the back row. You peeked your head back there looking at the now empty chair. In fact the entire classroom was empty and had been for at least 15 minutes since you continued to struggle with stuffing your binder back into your apparently shrunken bag.

"Need help?"

You bit your lip and looked away as he came closer. You weren't really standing up straight but you immediately noticed the way he towered over you. His fingers so delicate in the way they brushed over yours sliding the irritating object into the confines of your bag.

"Thank you.." You whispered

He chuckled, "No problem, happy to help."

His eyes didn't leave yours for an almost uncomfortable amount of time so you shifted your feet backing away a little. He seemed to notice and placed a hand on the back of his neck, backing up himself.

Oh no. Now he was getting uncomfortable.

He made his way back over to his desk but not before you'd slipped in something to ease the tension. "Sorry for over staying my welcome.."

He let out a soft chuckle. "You're not bothering me plus there are no classes in here for two hours after mine on Thursday. You can stay as long as you'd like."

"O-oh." You face palmed internally at your stupid reply. "So.." You began again. "Do you mind if I asked you how you're such a young professor.."

His eyes flickered up from the work he'd been filling out. "Well, I skipped a couple grades and I was in college by 15. I'm actually still in college now but I was an assistant teacher at 18 for about three years for a high school a couple blocks from here before I became a full fledged teacher and then I worked at the same school as a teacher for three more years before I finally left and started teaching here."

It should've been obvious from the start that he'd worked tireless hours of school to get here at such a young age. Not to mention probably having worked just as hard in the gym. He'd only leaned back a little bit in his chair but it was enough for you to have a perfect mental image.

Your eyes flicked up to his much softer more.. Arlert like smile? Maybe? It just felt like the kind of smile he'd give a friend and less like the smile he used in the classroom. Not that that one felt fake, just.. different.

"Do you.. I mean.. have you always had girls?.." His eyebrows scrunched as you spoke. You pointed to the back of the classroom. "You're young I mean, do girls always touch you like that?"

He blinked up at the ceiling then back down to you. Your breath hitched as he pulled himself up from the desk walking closer to you.

"As soon as they find out I'm not that much older than them? Yeah."

You probably should've stopped but your brain was suddenly working independently. "Does it?.. Do you like that kind of attention?"

He sat down on the desk crossing his arms over his chest and his leg over his knee. He spoke his head. "Not normally no."

"Normally?"

He stood again but this time he stopped directly in front of you. Sharp blue eyes cold and yet warm and vibrant. The desk creaked under your weight as you leaned back into it. His hands at your sides, his breath tickling your upper lip.

His thumb came up to graze your cheek but was quickly removed and planted back on the desk. "Can I kiss you?"

You nodded way too eagerly and-

So so so much softer than you'd even thought imaginable. His nose rubbed against yours and he was pulling away. Too soon.

You grabbed the back of his neck, yanking him back to you. Immediately delighted by the warm touch of his pretty pink lips.

He pulled back and you yanked him forward. Over and over again with soft peppered kisses. And then one slightly longer one where he was comfortably mushing his lips against yours.

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