#<- do not be concerned the slightest bit i am just being dramatic @:p

[syncrovoid-presents]

The next chapter of The Consequence of Imagination's Fear should be posted tomorrow, thanks for waiting Neighbour!!

Until things settle down a bit, the new schedule will be one chapter every friday (and then any other ones if I have enough Silly Juice). I'd love to keep up the same posting speed as before but alas, writers block and life requirements have stolen my time @:(

Have a lovely day/night!!

[steveusesfaberge]

Better Parent (pt. i)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

Summary: Steve’s approached by the Henderson duo while at work, and can’t help but lose himself in Y/N’s essence. He’s also extremely offended by her notion of claiming she’s the better party parent than himself...do they realize they’re simply an old married couple in the works? Nope.

Type/Style: Imagine, female pronouns

Warning(s): Fluff~, Clumsy Steve heeds all warnings... Oh, and a bit of cursing! >.<

Word Count: 3k

a/n: This is my first published Imagine of Stranger Things! I hope you all enjoy! Please send requests! I’m excited to write for you all! <3

Part 1 (you are here) - Part 2 - Part 3

                                ━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!-- The obnoxious noise of Scoops Ahoy’s service bell sounded off; resulting in the employees’ groaning in irritation. At the moment, Steve was sitting in the small backroom, playing a game of cards with Robin. The said girl peeked out the somewhat cracked sliding shutters and gave a wicked grin in her brunette friend’s direction. Steve raised an eyebrow as he placed his cards face-down on the table (knowing fully that if given the chance, the sneaky co-worker would cheat).

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” He asked with a creeping suspicion. He stretched in his chair, not having the motivation to attend to the customer with the speedy service they were demanding. Robin rolled her eyes. “If you weren’t in here, squatting on your ass - and actually doing your job - you’d realize who our fine customer in waiting is.” At that, Harrington leaned over to see for himself who this ‘fine customer’ indeed was, and when his eyes found his target - Steve practically fell out of his seat. “Y-You--It’s--I’m--wha--,” He was cut off as Robin pulled him to his feet by his shoulders. “Listen, dingus. If you stay here blubbering about it, she’s gonna think you’re irresponsible and can’t hold a job. Can’t have that now, can we?” Steve glared at her for the obvious usage of sarcasm and tease. “Now go,” Robin prodded,” It’s your turn anyway. You owe me from yesterday - leaving me to deal with Ms. Free Samples for an hour.” When he opened his mouth to protest, she shook her head giving him one final shove towards the doorway,” Yeah, yeah, you look great...no one pulls that uniform off like you do,” he didn’t appreciate her banter.

With that, Steve managed to pull himself out of the backroom - his hands nervously tampering with his (ridiculous) outfit; making sure he looked somewhat presentable. Normally, Steve was an ace at socializing - flirting was his forte and there was no denying it. But ever since he graduated...it seemed his high school charm had faded...turning into this...awkward...babysitter of six, ice cream scooping, monster fighting (total badass if you asked Steve), clumsy persona. Not exactly his ideal image of grabbing himself a date.

It was like, his whole game had been thrown off - and he’d complained to the kids more than enough when they ridiculed him for still not having a girlfriend. “Hey! I used to be a chick magnet! -- I-I still am!” “Yeah, yeah - make fun of me! It’s ‘cause of this dumb hat! My hair! -- The hat’s a cockblocker!” Despite his weak attempts at excusing himself; the party always seemed skeptical. Ugh...

“Ahoy, losers! Would you guys like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? -- I’ll be your Captain...what’s up Hendersons?” He greeted in traditional Scoops Ahoy fashion. Dustin always thought it was stupid, but Steve did it nonetheless - as he learned it always earned a giggle from the older Henderson.

“Hey, Steve, we’re just here for our usuals. Dusty’s gonna go hang out with the rest of the crew after this.” His attention was pulled to the girl before him. Simple (y/h/c) hair, (y/e/c) eyes, and a (y/s/t) complexion. Yet, he’d never wanted to run his fingers through someone’s hair so much...and had never wanted to simply stare into someone’s eyes for so long...or touch someone’s perfect, smooth skin--

“Helllllooo? Steve? Earth to Harrington? Did you hear me?” The brunette was snapped from his daze and he winced at the call to attention. “Um, yeah, um, yeah...um..........w-what?” His face heated up as he moved to scratch his neck, his hands then clumsily trying to hold himself up against the counter in the coolest pose he could muster in his flustered state. Dustin groaned, rubbing his eyes as he’d have to re-explain himself, but Steve was only concerned with the beautiful melody of a laugh falling from Y/N’s lips.

“You’re such a dork, Harrington,” she snorted while shaking her head, a hand placed to Dustin’s shoulder. Steve could only offer her a sheepish grin.

“He said, the gang was going to Wheelers’ house after this - and Dusty was asking if you could help me take all the kids there,” she rolled her eyes,” They’re too lazy to ride their bikes back, so we’d have to split them up in our cars.” Dustin pursed his lips, hands crossed over his chest as if saying ‘duh. You’d know that if you’d listened the first time, dumbass’.

“Uh, y-yeah, yeah. S-sure. I’m-m, uh, not doing anything after my shift. So, I’ll take them, yeah.” Dustin couldn’t help but cringe at Steve’s attempt at casualty. Either way, it seemed his sister didn’t even notice.

“Sweet! Glad to have you on board, Captain Steve.” She mused.

“The pleasure’s mine, Missy.” He’d managed the sentence without a hiccup and he was silently thanking his lucky stars. The small smile on her lips had sent him into an overdrive of ecstasy.

“Well anyway - I’d hate to be...that person...but can you get the ice cream now, Steve? I told Lucas I’d be with them...like...seven minutes ago.” Dustin interrupted with a raised eyebrow.

Steve glanced back to the curly-haired kid and nodded while rolling his eyes. “I’m so sorry, good sir. Let me get your dessert ready, heaven forbid those dipshits to wait another second!” Dramatically, he pulled a hand to his head and fluttered his eyelids closed for emphasis. Y/N shook her head, laughing to herself as she pulled the money from her pocket in preparation.

Dustin only groaned in annoyance and made a face at the young man.

Within the next few minutes, Steve had both of their orders made - he didn’t need to be reminded of the order themselves, as both were known by heart. “A banana split, with extra hot fudge, whipped cream, one scoop chocolate, two scoops vanilla, no caramel or peanuts - and yes, the chocolate scoop is bigger than the vanilla,” he placed it down in front of the pair and he saw the surprise on Y/N’s face and he caught the narrow-eyed glance Dustin threw him, as he recited the order perfectly...almost. “Oh, what about the--,” “Side order of chocolate chips? To, y’know, sprinkle on yourself?” His hand came up to do the motion of ‘sprinkling’; then adding a crooked smile the order was complete.

“And a regular sundae for my man,” he slid the other half of the purchase over while Y/N was still trying to overcome her shock.

“How...did you remember all that?” She asked while quirking an eyebrow.

Since the conversation began, Steve had slowly gained some of his cool and confidence. At least he was able to keep his words from tumbling over one another like a race to the finish line...

He shrugged. “I figured I’d remember it since it’s so complicated. Besides, you come in here like...every day, every other day...if I didn’t remember it, I’d be stupid.” She only grinned.

“If you didn’t know it by now, I’d think you were stupid too. How long have we been friends, Harrington? Two...three years?” Y/N questioned while holding out the exact amount of money to pay for the said ice cream.

“Have fun, lovebirds - I’m gonna find the others,” Dustin grumbled, excusing himself from what he thought, was an awkward conversing between sibling and best friend/idol.

Steve and Y/N only blushed at the notion of lovebirds, looking away from one another in the process. “That’ll be five-forty-seven, right?” Y/N said, clearing her throat. “Normally, yeah. But this one’s on the house.” Steve replied with a soft smile.

“You sure?” Y/N questioned, money still hanging in the air, her words slow.

“Yup,” he popped the ‘p’ and gave a nod to reassure her.

“Since when was Steve Harrington so nice?” She asked while giving him a fake dubious glance. Moving to stand to the side of the counter, in case someone else came in to be served.

Steve lifted a hand to his chin, as if in thought, and then leaned his arms on the counter’s surface. “I dunno...since, maybe...he realized he needed to be?”

He knew he hadn’t always been the best...erm...person. Steve was well aware of how much of an ass he’d been in the day, and so for him to give her such an answer - it was probably more sincere than she was expecting. Which was why he felt the need to have been nicer sooner; as the small lift of her lips had his knees go weak.

He watched as Y/N placed the spoonful of custard in her mouth, the short silence between them not uncomfortable in the slightest. They spent plenty of time together - from chaperoning the children to hanging out one-on-one, and even fighting off Upside Down nightmares together... If anything, Steve shouldn’t have an issue with talking to her at all. Yet, he did...because...well...who wouldn’t be a hot mess in front of someone so heart-stoppingly gorgeous in every aspect?

“Hm. I think the children are making you soft, Stevie,” she concluded while chuckling. Now seating herself on the countertop, turning her body to face his. He had to swallow the heat rising up because she looked breathtaking... Like a queen sat on a throne. Steve being just a commoner; the privilege of seeing such royalty before him...of course he’d be speechless.

“W-What? Soft! I’m not soft! Those dipshits just need a good role model, you know?” Y/N raised an eyebrow at him; his defensive state only proving her point. ”Besides,” he added,” I have to be responsible and nice...with you as the other role model, one of us has to be a good influence.”

“Pfft, as if! You’re the one who has the issues, Mr. I take an hour to do my hair,” Y/N scoffed while shaking her head.

“Hey, hey, hey! Don’t bash me,” Steve replied while moving to wipe down the countertop. “You gotta make sure you look the part too, Y/N.”

He glanced at her for a few seconds and then noted,” And it’s an hour and a half. For your information, dork.” It only caused her to sputter a laugh, trying to hold still so her sundae wouldn’t fall.

The conversation carried on, finally losing the playful heat and turning to their usual ‘talk about everything and anything, we have nothing else to do while we wait for the children’. Steve always loved these moments...their conversations always made his day - because just talking to her about why her neighbors were the reason she didn’t sleep at night....was enough for Steve.

 During that time, Robin made her appearance and for a good few minutes, she’d stolen Y/N’s attention completely. To which, Steve only pouted and had a silent conversation with Robin about, through eye-contact.

What’re you doing? What is there a problem? Yes! This is supposed to be me, trying to woe her! You’re doing a wonderful job! Oh, shove one up it - will you? I’m trying!

“Wait - Steve, you tried to get Jenny Calif? Like...plastic Jenny Calif?” Y/N snickered as Robin re-enacted last week’s shenanigans of Harrington trying to score a date. He only flushed red.

“I...mean...it didn’t look like that.” He defended meekly. Gesturing to Robin standing a few feet away while trying to hold her imitation of him.

“So what? - Jenny Plastic Calif? I knew you were...like...desperate...but...I didn’t think you were...King Steve level desperate.” Y/N scoffed, a tease to her haunting words. Steve was taken back, they both promised to never bring up his...asshole phase...

He didn’t recognize her slightly insulting words for jealousy though, more so as disbelief and shock. Robin saw this though and tried to act on it.

“I know, right? This dingus was all like ‘Oh Jenny, haven’t seen you in a while...lookin’ good,’ and I was sitting in the back trying to drown out my agony.” Robin watched Y/N curiously and could make out the slender twitch of her lips. It seemed she was just as annoyed as anyone should be...when their (practical) boyfriend was making moves on another woman.

“Tsk,” Y/N sounded while pushing her empty dish to the side. The spoon still hanging out of her mouth, she moved over, booping Harrington’s nose. “You know better than that, Steves...you shouldn’t try and...cross species.”

Steve couldn't help the quirk of a smile. “Why’re you being so...ruthless...Y/N?” He whined while frowning. She shrugged. “Desperation is only cured by reality and truth.” Harrington groaned and gave her a gentle shove.

The duo continued their shift, accompanied by Y/N to entertain them through the process of work and waiting around. Steve was glad she was there to keep them company...if he were alone with Robin...Good Lord, all she’d do was drill it into him how oblivious he is, and how bad he is at getting your attention... By the time calling it quits rolled around, Robin was already on her way out.

“See ya tomorrow, dingus! Bye Y/N/N!” She called while waving. Leaving out the back door.

Y/N turned to Steve and he was just finishing closing the lids of ice cream, leaving every set up for whoever was to work the next shift. “What?” He urged, catching her stare. She only walked to the cash register and patted the free space beside it.

“No tip jar?” Steve only shrugged and pulled his hat off, running his fingers through his hair.

“I guess we didn’t think about it. Could get one starting week, I suppose.” He figured he could draw in some customers with luck...I mean, his good looks...right? Though some luck he had...it was like Steve The Hair Harrington fell off the face of the earth...

Y/N nodded and then said,” I’d leave a tip every time - just for your sorry ass.” Steve rolled his eyes as she continued,” I mean...Scoops’ gonna need more than a few bucks to hire a better sailor boy than you, right?”

“O-uch,” Steve retorted while holding his chest in ‘pain’. “You’re so mean...God, no wonder Dustin wishes I was his brother...Maybe he’s saving up for a new sibling.”

“Pfft, shut up, Harrington. Try all you want - the kids love me more, despite what you tell yourself before your bedtime.” Y/N explained while jutting a hip out. To which, Steve bumped purposefully as he walked from behind the counter. Only drawing that, oh-so-sweet grin from her...God, he was addicted to it.

“Yeah, right. That’s why they come to me when they need something,” he pointed out while the pair began walking towards the food court - where the kids said they’d meet them after Steve’s shift ended.

Standing so close to Y/N, Steve found his heart racing faster than what was good for him. Yet, her presence washed a calming sense...ironic really. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be six miles away from her...or six inches away. Either way, he wouldn’t be happy...

“They come to you because you give them everything they ask for,” Y/N laughed while expressing herself with a twirling hand-gesture.

“You’re just jealous.” He decided.

“And you’re just a gullible, delusional dork who gives our children whatever they want.” Y/N countered.

The only thing that Steve processed though was our children. Was this a sign? Did she mean that she wanted kids with him? With having a child that meant having a relationship with him...right? Like he’d be their father, and Y/N would have to be their mother...to make them...their children...well, he supposed they could always adopt--

“Steve? Helloooo? Goddamnit, he’s doing that thing again!” Dustin groaned. Steve hadn’t even realized they’d made it to where the party was and everyone was staring at him; as he stared at Y/N.

“Y/N/N what did you do to him?” Dusty accused while pointing a finger at her.

“Me? This idiot just stopped responding!” Y/N told while throwing her hands in Harrington’s direction.

“He’s probably just upset I’m the better parent.”

“Here they go again,” Steve caught the teasing mutter from Lucas to Mike and the exchange of a head nod between the gang.

He felt flustered and finally found his voice again. “You!? Wait - what? Since when! I drive them everywhere, I get them free ice cream, free-range in walking around backstage of the mall--,” He ranted off all the things he did and had ever done, for them and it only had Y/N smirking the kids laughing.

“See? What’d I say, guys? Gull-i-ble.” she articulated, speaking slowly as if to a child as she poked Steve’s chest.

“Yeah...Y/N’s right, Steve. You’re just easier to convince.” Max noted with a snort, she could see it a mile away...the way they argued like a married couple...

“I mean...you’re kinda soft for a guy who was once King of High School,” Lucas chipped in while shrugging.

“I think you’re just stup--,” Dustin was cut off as Steve grabbed his shoulders, pushing the curly-haired Henderson to the nearest exit.

“Alright, dickheads. If you don’t wanna ride your damn bikes home - shut your mouths and get going.” He grumbled.

“Moody, sarcastic shit,” Y/N whispered to El and Max who only nodded hiding their amusement with their hands. The three girls walked behind the comical duo - Dustin struggling to get Steve’s hands off him, and Steve struggling to keep Dustin moving forward.

“I can’t tell which is worse,” Mike started while walking with Lucas and Will.

“What? The way Dustin doesn’t seem to realize Steve trying to get with his sister?” Will asked while shaking his head.

“Or how Harrington and Henderson can’t seem to realize they like each other?” Lucas added in a slow tone.

“Like I said,” Mike snickered,” I can’t tell which is worse.”

---------

How does part two sound? I think so! >.<

[crusnikroxas]

Imagine this! The boys are out and the reader decides to do a self care day with face masks. They are sitting on the counter cross legged in the bathroom, peeling off a clear peel on mask with the door open and the boys come home to see it. And before Y/N can explain the boys react badly 😂😂😂😂

Ooooh, this is fun (✧∇✧) (so this’ll take place in the DEISY universe, just so you know)

~

“Sister, we shall not be gone long! I imagine that this business of Undyne being stuck under a boulder shall be nothing for the great Papyrus, nyeh-heh-heh!” Sans looks far less enthusiastic about the whole endeavor, but regardless, he winks in a comforting manner as he softly caresses your cheek. “Be back in a flash, sweetheart.” “Literally, considering that handy teleporting of yours.” He winks again, though Papyrus seems highly offended by this. “Nonsense! It will take a mere three hours to walk to Undyne’s house!”

....now Sans looked all the more unenthusiastic about this ‘adventure’.

“Bro, look, as cool as walkin’ through blizzards and rain sounds-” “Exactly! Very cool indeed! Let us be off, Sans!” And before poor Sans can even protest, Papyrus yanks his brother up and onto his shoulder, sprinting out the door, cackling victoriously all the way. You roll your eyes and chuckle from your place on the couch, stretching luxuriously as you do so. It had been a while since you’d found yourself on your own - and while the house seemed almost unsettlingly quiet without the brothers present, you inwardly vowed that you would enjoy this moment of solitude. Jumping up from your cozy spot, you stretch once again, releasing a sigh of contentment when almost all of your joints let out ear-splitting pops and cracks - a luxury you hadn’t really been allowed as of late, considering....the weird skeleton thing, that you still didn’t really understand. Practically bounding up the staircase Papyrus-style, you rush to your room, reach under the bed, and dig around for what you were seeking, letting out a quiet noise of victory as you find your prize - a bag that Kat had delivered to you just the other day.

Filled to the brim with human ‘spa day’ items.

Face masks, body scrubs, body lotions, heavenly smelling shampoo, conditioner, and body wash....yup, it was all there. Now, you weren’t normally one to indulge in such things (hell, this stuff was expensive, and on the surface you’d barely been able to buy yourself a new toothbrush when needed), but Kat had insisted that you take it. “Aw, c’mon - it’s not like I have many clientele who’ll want this stuff anyway! Plus, you deserve it after all you’ve been through, sweet.” You hadn’t had even the slightest bit of room to argue - plus, it wasn’t as if she was wrong, anyway. You had been through a bit of a hellish time lately, to say the least. Besides, not only would you smell amazing at the end of all this, it would also help to distract you from the fact that you were all alone in the house, and anybody could-

No. No. Not thinking about that. Self-care time.

Nodding resolutely, you stand with your treasures in tow, and hurry yourself down to the bathroom. Instead of digging through the bag carefully like one should, you simply tip the contents all over the bathroom floor, sorting out what you would want to try out on this particular day.

Your choices in the end were:

-Deep conditioner, heavy with the scent of roses.

-A luxurious shampoo and conditioner with a matching scent to the deep conditioner (not from the same brand, but eh, close enough).

-Jasmine body scrub and body wash.

-Another floral body lotion - you weren’t sure what flower it was meant to smell like (you couldn’t understand the language on the front, and the picture was pretty nondescript), but you knew that it smelt good, and you wanted it.

-And lastly, charcoal face mask - you’d heard that this stuff was damn good, and had always wanted to try it; the fact that it was in the bag was a blessing in your book.

Satisfied with your choices, you shoved the rest of the stuff back into the bag and got to work.

Firstly, came the deep conditioner - and man, you had not realised what a hassle the damn stuff would be. Sure, putting it onto your hair was all fine and dandy, but having to wrap your head in cling-film was an utter bitch. How the hell had all those women on the ‘do it yourself’ videos made it look so easy?

After your dramatic battle to make your hair more luxurious, you chill out on the couch reading more of Sans’ quantum physics book (nothing like catching up on atomic and subatomic scales), waiting out the time instructed on the bottle - and when that time was up, you traveled back into the bathroom for your next struggle.

Sure, the body scrub smelled delicious, but the sandy texture soon became very troublesome to shove and massage onto your skin - eventually, your task is complete, leaving you a grumbling gritty mess as you unwrap your hair and finally step into the shower to wash the damn stuff off. 

But when you finally do, you realise that all that effort was well worth it - your skin felt stupidly smooth as the water flowed over your body. Releasing a contented sigh, you massage your scalp, freeing your hair from the heavy conditioner product - the bathroom is soon filled with the scent of roses and jasmine as you continue your work, the smirk on your face wide as you wonder how your skeletal roommates would react to the bathroom smelling like a damn flower garden.

When you finally step out of the shower and run the towel over yourself, you can’t help but let out another contented sigh; even if it had been a hassle thus far, your skin was so soft, and you smelt amazing. Still, you couldn’t understand how some women did this on a daily basis.

Sufficiently dry, you gently begin to rub tiny amounts of the lotion into your already soft skin - you didn’t want to overdo it and make your body and bathroom into a slip’n’slide (something tells you it wouldn’t be nearly as fun as it sounds). Now, all you had to do was wait for your skin to absorb it....

....and once that step was complete, you knew that your greatest challenge lay ahead.

Releasing a puff of air, you wrap your hair securely in a towel, dress yourself, and face the slightly fogged up bathroom mirror with a determined expression.

“...ok. We got this. Just....not the eyebrows. Definitely not the eyebrows.”

Bit by bit, you smear the inky goop that was the face mask onto your skin, carefully ensuring that it wouldn’t rip of anything you wanted to keep (like your eyebrows, for instance). After a moment of looking at your frankly terrifying face in the mirror, you let out a snort of laughter, reading the back of the package.

“Leave on until dry....right, back to the books, then.”

Sadly, this was how the brothers found you.

Reading peacefully on the couch.

While your face looked as if it was suffering from some kind of goopy necrosis.

All of you stare at one another for the longest of moments - their expressions slowly forming into utter horror, yours forming into a strange mix between concern and laughter.

“OH MY GOD! SISTER!”

Papyrus is the first to move, rushing to your side, sending the poor innocent book you’d been reading flying out of your hands and across the living room.

“Y/N! CAN YOU HEAR ME?!”

You wince as he yells as loud as he can in your face.

“....yes?”

Papyrus still scrabbles around, clearly at a loss of what to do - Sans simply seemed to be frozen in place at the doorway, his sockets empty of their usual eye-lights.

Whoops. Never a good sign.

“Uh, you know, I’m actually-”

“ARGH! THE FIRST AID BOOK NEVER WARNED THAT HUMAN’S FACES COULD MELT! ARE YOU TURNING INTO A SKELETON?! IS THIS HOW HUMANS TURN INTO SKELETONS?! THIS IS-”

“Papyrus, listen-”

You gently place a hand on his arm, stilling his motions - oh man, you felt awful for making them worry like this, but some part of you couldn’t help but want to laugh at the situation.

“-it’s just a face-mask.”

He blinks.

“...face....mask? Sister, while it is indeed on your face, it does not look like-”

“It’s a weird thing that humans do sometimes to relax! Trust me, perfectly safe. I’ve been, uh, indulging the entire time you guys were gone. Kat gave me some presents, so I....”

You look over to Sans, letting out a sigh of relief to see that his eye-lights were back in place, and instead of looking terrified, he now merely looked perplexed. Walking over to the couch, he reaches out to poke your cheek, which you quickly block.

“Hey! If you touch it before it’s dry, it won’t work its magic!”

Sans snorted (though he now looked vaguely worried).

“Wait, it’s not gonna make your face different....right?”

“No, it’s going to...uh....hang on...”

You get up from your spot on the couch, hurry into the bathroom, and hurry back, face-mask box in hand.

“Ok....anti-aging, though that’s probably just wishful thinking....cleans skin pores...yup. That’s about it.”

“...what’s the point, then?”

You think on this for a moment, before shrugging.

“Like I said, just one of the weird things humans do. I should have cucumber slices on my eyes too, but I wanted to read.”

Sans lets out the loudest of snorts at this, sniggering as Papyrus plants his hands on his hips with a frown.

“What would cucumber on your eyes do? I was always told to use limes!”

“...Papyrus, cucumber slices are supposed to be...relaxing and cooling. Limes would burn the utter hell out of my eyes.”

“...ah. That would explain why they stung my sockets so much when I tried, then.”

Sans was practically killing himself with laughter at this point, tears leaking out of his sockets as he collapsed to the carpet.

“It is not a funny matter, brother! Limes and cucumbers are both very similar in colour, so of course it would be incredibly easy to mix them up!”

This did not help Sans’ laughing fit in the least, of course - Papyrus lifted his arms up in a ‘I resign’ manner, before turning to you.

“Y/n, despite the...positive results for your skin, please attempt to remove that before dinner. It might fall into the spaghetti, and as I am not preparing squid-ink spaghetti, it would not look very nice.”

You give him a salute, before he stomps into the kitchen, leaving you on the couch with a still hysterically laughing Sans on the carpet.

~

It’s only at night when both you and Sans are tucked up nice and snug that your efforts during the day are truly recognised.

He audibly sniffs, leaving you to smirk up at him, while he looks down at you in confusion.

“...did you just sniff me?”

“...well....you, uh...smell different.”

Your smirk widens.

“Nice?”

“...well, I mean...you always smell nice, but....it’s just....different?”

“Oh, I always smell nice, do I?”

He huffs, shoving his face into your hair, his reply a muffled grumble.

“...you know what I mean.”

Sniggering, you manage to find one of his hands to grab onto under the burrito of covers the two of you had buried yourself under. He squeezes back, before he clearly pauses - his fingers slowly inch their way up your arm, his face leaving your hair to look down at you suspiciously. You smirk widens all the more.

“...it’s soft, huh?”

He chuckles, snuggling you closer.

“....yup. Sleep well, you pampered princess.”

“Excuse me! I did all that work myself, and it was hell - all so I could smell like a flower and be super soft!”

His chuckles grow louder, his hand patting you comfortingly.

“And it all worked out like a charm, sweetheart. Hope that you had a good day.”

“I...I did, I think? How about your day? Did you get Undyne out from under the boulder ok?”

“....Papyrus and Undyne ended up, uh, causing a cave-in. Undyne’s gonna have to stay with Alphys for a bit until her house is rebuilt. Again.”

“...oh.”

-

Pffft, welp, there you go, tiny one-shot of y/n’s day of luxury ;3 Hope you enjoyed!

[salamoonder]

Words Fail

All those long nights are finally getting to Logan. (Sanders Sides)

Wordcount: 2.6k

Warnings: Semi graphic self harm

A/N: I don't recommend reading this if you're in a bad headspace. Yes, there's self harm, and it's not terribly graphic, but I did go into quite a lot of detail about Logan's emotional state. This is the first and probably the only songfic I will ever write. Also!! sidenote, this takes place in an established platonic LAMP universe.

|| Read it on AO3 ||

There’s no dramatic inciting incident. Nothing huge that pushes him over the edge; no screaming match or offhanded, deep-stinging insult. No failure.

It’s just late, and he’s just tired, and when he goes to get up his wrist catches against the sharp edge of his spiral bound notebook and it breaks the skin. He turns his hand so the blood wells up and doesn’t drip, walks to the bathroom, rinses the cut, swipes over it with an antiseptic, and bandages it.

Then he returns to his room and conjures a knife.

His hands are shaking. He lays the knife on his bed and runs a finger over the bandaid on his left hand. It’s weird. He’s read about this. He’s clinically familiar, keeps an eye on Virgil to make sure he doesn’t flinch when people brush against his arms, that he’s not scared of rolling his sleeves up. But he’s beginning to understand that there’s quite a big difference between reading something and practical knowledge.

There’s a surprising sort of relief in what remains of the pain in his wrist. He knows a flood of chemicals went straight to his brain, dopamine among them. It’s odd that knowing something and experiencing it would be so different.

He should be horrified at himself. Absolutely disgusted.

Instead, all he feels is the numb tiredness of his third three AM study session in a row. The gently aching void in his chest where the ping of caffeine should be. The softness of his sheets, the warmth of the room.

None of those are real emotions.

He smooths his thumb over the bandaid again and he feels it. A tiny jolt of pain. An even smaller jolt of pleasure. And underneath that, mind blowing relief. Again. He presses harder.

But it isn’t enough. The pain goes away after a moment, and then it’s just vaguely unpleasant pressure.

Logan locks the door of his room and strips down to his boxers.

He knows, looking back, that he didn’t do much that first night. Not in comparison. But it felt like a lot, watching the blood bead along each slash mark on either of his thighs, trailing the knife a little further to make them symmetrical. He was exhausted and high on a feeling he’d never experienced before. Not quite pleasure, not quite pain. Something like a shot of adrenaline mixed with fear and a deep, strange contentedness that was almost satisfaction.

Two neat, perfect lines. He didn’t go any further that night. He felt overly sensitive, like someone had scraped off a layer of skin and left him open to contagious emotions.

Well. He supposed someone had.

Logan summons the energy to clean and bandage these new cuts and then climbs into bed. He lays flat on his back, turns out the lamp, and tries not to strain his eyes looking for the ceiling. But he can’t help it. He doesn’t like sleeping on his back; it makes him feel vulnerable. He usually sleeps on his stomach or curled up on his side, but he doesn’t want to reopen the cuts on his thighs.

It takes him a good half hour to fall asleep, and when he finally does he has nightmares. Something’s chasing him, and he’s tearing through the dark with his hands outstretched, trying to clear away the cobwebs in front of him. He’s running down a long hallway that swirls and bends with colors that make his head pound. The something has loud footsteps that sound faintly of Danse Macabre each time they hit the ground. Snippets of sound. Snippets of the clarinet solo and dancing strings and the colors hammering into his head like what he imagines an acid trip must be like, and it’s all crashing over him like a tidal wave and he can’t have a panic attack in a dream, can he?

“Logan?”

He sits bolt upright, grabs at the sheets to be sure they’re covering his legs. Patton’s hovering in his doorway wearing an absolutely heartbreaking look of concern. “I’m fine,” he says without prompting. “Merely a nightmare.”

“I heard you yell,” says Patton slowly, inching the door further open. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

“No-” says Logan too quickly. “No, I’m fine.” He doesn’t add anything else so that Patton can’t make an objection about it really being no trouble.

“Alright…” says Patton, frowning at him and not moving. “Yell if you need me.”

“Will do.” Logan fumbles for his laptop to switch on his sleep playlist and waits for Patton to leave. He does, reluctantly, letting the door click softly closed behind him.

It’s essentially all over after that.

Every night after dinner Logan slips into his room and reopens perfect, symmetrical cuts along his thighs. They have to be even. If they're not, he lengthens one or the other until they match. It fascinates him to watch the skin peel away from itself, like he's coming apart in slow motion. It doesn't even hurt anymore.

He’s rationalized it a thousand different ways, because that’s what he does. He rationalizes. He reasons. That’s his damn job. He’s not causing any permanent damage, it’s not affecting his brain the way acid or crack would. He knows it’s addictive but that only means that he trails the knife further down his leg, waits a couple days, and then returns to a spot higher up, waiting for the first cuts to heal. Over and over. Straight, thick red lines. Symmetrical. Calming.

He doesn’t realize how distant he’s become. He doesn’t need anything from the other sides; his first solution is a closed door and a knife. It’s more efficient. Efficient is what he does. Not needing anybody is part of him, and he believes the other sides know that.

So when he opens his door in the middle of the night and hears a surprised squeak along with the soft thump of wood hitting flesh, the first thing he wonders is where he went wrong. How did he give himself away?

More importantly, how does he cover now?

It’s too late, though, Virgil’s already standing up and rubbing his back, a snarl half locked onto his face. “Watch it, Logan.”

“I- wh- Virgil, what are you doing up? Outside my bedroom? Wh- what?”

He’s trying to back away but Virgil’s eyes have already swept downwards and raked over each even line stacked along Logan’s legs. “Jesus, Logan. I...wow. I knew something was wrong, but.” He stops, whatever snarky thing he was going to say dying on his lips.

“It’s nothing,” says Logan, with no options left but to lie spectacularly. “Goodnight.” He starts to close the door but Virgil’s already jammed his body into the doorway.

“Logan,” he says. “Stop. Lemme in. Let me help.”

Logan frowns. “Help with what?”

Virgil’s mouth falls open. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Before Logan can continue the charade, Virgil’s closed the door behind them both and turned to face Logan fully. “Look, man, I get it, denial and pretending to be fine is like, a recreational sport with you. But would you just- just slow down for five seconds and let someone else in before you do something you’ll seriously regret?”

Logan falls backward onto his bed, resigning himself to Virgil, and bites his lip. “I…” he takes a deep breath. “I can handle it.”

“Bullshit,” says Virgil swiftly. He clicks the lock on the door on and sits next to Logan on the bed. “You’ve been sneaking out of your room in the dead of night for weeks.”

Logan startles. “How do you-?”

“Logan, I’m friggin anxiety. If something’s wrong, if anything in this whole place is the slightest bit off, I’m gonna notice it. And this-” he waves a hand vaguely at Logan, seemingly unwilling to gesture directly at the cuts, “is very, very, off.” He glances down, then looks back up quickly to face Logan. “At least you’re sanitary. You are taking care of it, right? That’s why you’re sneaking out?”

Logan huffs out a breath. “Getting an infection doesn’t exactly seem fun or productive.”

“This isn’t fun or productive either! Logan, how the fuck are you so smart and so short sighted?” Virgil’s gritting his teeth. He looks like he might be on the verge of a panic attack, so Logan stands up, just to have some semblance of control over the situation. He doesn’t need taking care of. He needs Virgil to not be distressed over something so insignificant as Logan’s emotional health. He tries to ignore the outburst, moves toward the door. “I’ll take care of it,” he says, trying to diffuse. Virgil looks ready to vibrate into pieces.

“I’m coming,” he says, standing up as Logan opens the door and trailing him to the bathroom. Logan doesn’t protest. He figures allowing Virgil to see him taking care of himself will get him off his case.

He goes to get bandages out of the cupboard but Virgil lays a hand on top of his. “Let me.”

“Virgil-” Logan starts, frustrated, but Virgil’s already shaking his head. “It’ll calm me down. Please.”

“I...I suppose.”

“Great. Sit on the counter.”

Logan does as he’s told and stares at the wall, jaw clenched. Virgil runs the water, dipping a finger in to check the temperature every few seconds. He dampens a cloth and starts cleaning the cuts furthest down Logan’s legs.

A few moments pass in silence and Logan thinks maybe he’s escaped Virgil’s lecture. Of course that’s the moment Virgil chooses to start speaking.

“Logan...how could you possibly think this was a good idea?”

“I didn’t exactly-”

“No. Stop. Let me finish. You’re…” Virgil pauses to put down the cloth and press the backs of his hands into his eyes. “Logan, you’re kind of perfect,” he says softly. “And I don’t understand why you of all people would want to hurt yourself.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “But you can understand how...other people…would?”

“That’s different,” he mumbles, and moves one shaky hand from his eye to pick up the cloth again. “We’re not talking about me right now. We’re talking about you.”

“I’m far from perfect,” says Logan. Virgil snorts. “Yeah, well. Either way you’re too smart for this.”

Logan doesn’t have an answer to that. They pass a few more moments in silence, and Virgil moves on to his left leg.

“I’m just wondering why,” says Virgil, almost conversationally. “If I knew why I could help. Maybe. I don’t know.”

Logan opens his mouth to respond, and all the carefully constructed reasoning he’s done over the past few weeks falls away.

Why does he do it? Because it takes the edge off every unrewarding night of work. Because sometimes the tension building beneath his skin is so venomous that he needs to let it bleed out. Because the others don’t understand what it’s like to push and push and push yourself beyond what you’re capable of...and then keep going further. Because it’s hard, it’s punishing, to be the “perfect” one. No errors, ever.

Because there’s nothing else to do.

But he can’t say that out loud.

“Lo?” Virgil asks softly. “This is gonna sting.” He’s holding the folded tip of a second cloth over the mouth of a bottle of rubbing alcohol. He turns the bottle over once, quickly, and sets it back on the counter. “Logan. You okay?”

Logan lets out a shaky sigh and reaches out to grip the edge of the counter. “I’m fine. Go ahead.”

Virgil bites his lip, then takes Logan’s hand from the counter and laces their fingers together. “Okay.”

It does sting, and more than once Logan finds himself tightening his grip on Virgil’s hand. Virgil rubs slow, soothing circles over the back of his hand with his thumb, and Logan wonders how someone who is literally the embodiment of anxiety can be such a comforting presence.

When Logan’s legs are completely bandaged, Virgil doesn’t let go of his hand. Instead, he tugs him off the counter, and they both wander back to Logan’s room and collapse on the floor.

“Talk to me?” asks Virgil tentatively. He’s leaning against Logan’s bed, and Logan has his head on his shoulder, trying to pretend that this is just another cuddle pile, just another movie night. He shakes his head, frustrated.

“Please?” whines Virgil.

“I don’t know how,” says Logan, and it comes out harsher than he meant it to.

“Logan, you’re a walking encyclopedia. How do you not know how.”

“Virgil, I’ve never had to deal with this before! There’s no precedent! And the more I research it- every time I see the word ‘blade’ or ‘dopamine’ or ‘skin’ I just want to do it all over again. I-” Logan stops, turns his face into the fabric of Virgil’s hoodie. “I honestly don’t know what to tell you,” he mumbles, his voice muffled.

Virgil’s curled an arm around his shoulder, gathering Logan to him. “You’re okay,” he says, like he’s talking to a child who’s fallen and skinned their knee at a playground. “You’re okay. It’s okay. Everything’s...it’s gonna be okay. I’ll figure this out. We’ll figure this out. Hey. You like music, right?”

Logan shrugs, trying to stay within Virgil’s grasp. “I guess. Not like Roman does.”

“You don’t have to like it like Roman does,” Virgil says gently. “I was just thinking. Why don’t you pick a song that you can empathize with? I dunno, might be a bit easier than using your own words.”

Logan looks up. “I- that’s- that’s actually not a bad idea.”

Virgil smiles. “You’re not the only side who can think, you know.”

“I never said I was,” Logan says indignantly, and pulls his laptop down from his bed to scroll through his iTunes library. It’s mostly instrumentals, classical music and movie soundtracks. Nothing catches his eye. Then- wait. Oh.

Logan hesitates for a moment, lets his mouse hover over the title. If anything it hits a little too close to home. “Promise you won’t make fun of me?” he asks Virgil, whose response is to hook his arms under Logan’s and pull him into his lap.

“For something like this? Never.”

Logan takes a deep breath and clicks play.

Ben Platt’s soft voice blankets the room, and Virgil’s eyes widen a bit. “Oh,” he says. “Oh. Logan.”

Logan shrugs again, almost embarrassed. The song is “Words Fail” from Dear Evan Hansen. And while the circumstances are quite different, Logan feels that the title, at least, is fitting.

They get to the line “I’d rather pretend I’m something better than these broken parts” and Virgil hugs Logan’s head to his chest.

He waits till the song ends. Then he says, “Logan, you know you don’t have to put up a front for us. That’s stupid. We love you. You know that.”

“I-” Logan swipes at his eyes. “Yeah.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

“Say it back, you idiot.”

Logan laughs through a sob. “I love you too.”

“Good.” Virgil hauls Logan up by the arms and throws back the covers on his bed. “Want me to stay with you tonight?”

“Is it going to make you feel like I’m safe?”

Virgil shrugs sheepishly. “Um. Yeah.”

“Then of course.”

Logan folds himself into Virgil’s body, and Virgil reaches out and turns off the lamp.

“Promise me you’ll come to me and let me know if you ever feel like doing that. Or Patton or Roman.”

“I…”

Virgil sighs unhappily. “At least come to one of us afterwards?”

“I’ll try to do something before it gets that bad, Virgil. But I promise either way I’ll get one of you afterwards.”

Virgil squeezes him so tight he can’t breath for a minute. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Logan pauses. “I was going to say ‘I know’ but- is this one of those instances where I’m supposed to say it back?”

Virgil laughs. “Oh, Logan, you’re an idiot. You can, if you want.”

Logan wrinkles his nose. “I’m not an idiot. And I don’t want you to get hurt either.”

“I know you’re not an idiot. Goodnight.”

Logan snuggles into Virgil’s collarbone. “Goodnight.”