#I hadn’t made a proper effort to sit down and get their likenesses accurate so this was that

[autiomaaheart]

face, smiles and ljubav studies

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Golden Thread

Prompt: since Janus is Deceit, what if it takes a physical toll on him when he only tells the truth and doesn't manipulate anyone for a period of time? could you please write a oneshot where Janus is in a position where he really needs to to tell the truth, but he can tell he's getting close to his truth limit? - anon

 Hey! I don't know if you're still taking requests for prompts (and I apologize if you aren't), but could you do Janus-centric fluffy hurt/comfort? And maybe a polyship? (If you want to, of course). - anon

Thanks for the prompts, babes! This was supposed to go up yesterday and I’m so sorry I forgot

Read on Ao3

Warnings: sympathetic remus & janus, other than that, it’s not that bad

Pairings: LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 5874

There is a thread that winds through Janus’s tongue.

 Thin, golden, finely spun with lies. It tastes sweet against the back of his teeth, the back of his throat. As he talks, it colors his words with a soft gleam, spinning and spinning into the air in front of him. It coils neatly around his throat as its spool and winks.

Most of the time its taste is enough to curl the corners of his mouth upwards into a smirk, watching it wind and weave its way around the others. Sometimes he thinks he can see other threads, clasping delicately around wrists, arms, knees, necks. Sometimes he can’t resist letting his threat tug them this way and that. Come on, what good is temptation if you never give in to it? He’s grown fond of the sweetness it leaves on his tongue, in his words. Saccharine as they may be, the haze they leave behind is more than enough to make up for it.

 Sometimes the sweetness is too much. He swears he can feel cavities forming in the back of his mouth. His teeth start to ache. And sometimes…sometimes he doesn’t care. It’s too much fun to keep tugging this way and that at the others, too entertaining to let the thread unspool and unspool from his throat, filling the air with its golden light. His smile sharpens and the tangle grows, because what’s the fun of it without a little risk of hurt?

 Other times he knows to back off. He adores the others, but no matter how fun they are to play with, he knows not to push too hard. At those times, he lets the sweetness spill off of his tongue, gently winds the thread back around his own throat. It always protests, the lack of sweetness making his tongue ache, the grip on his throat just a little too tight. But the looks on their faces…the begrudging gratitude, the sincere remark, or--god forbid—the poorly disguised hope…well.

 Sometimes he wonders whether or not it’d be worth it to keep the thread fully wound.

 Not that he ever would, it’s just a thought experiment.

 It’s not like he wonders what it would feel like to have Patton be able to listen to him easily, not make it a fight to get his point across. He doesn’t want to have an engaging conversation with Logan about philosophy, ethics, science, anything just to hear the brilliant man talk. He refuses to entertain the idea of being a proper source of comfort for Virgil. He wouldn’t enjoy snarking with Remus just for fun and not because he doesn’t know how to do anything else.

 And he…

 Well.

 The idea of being able to have an honest conversation with Roman makes him fill to the brim, top to toes, with hatred.

 He doesn’t have much of a choice.

 He can speak a few times with the thread coiled up, just enough when it really counts. He knows the others, he can’t just play with them all the time, he’ll get bored. And they’re not really cut out for it. And as much as he loves to see them squirm out of their comfort zones, it’s not good for Thomas. That’s his real priority.

 Janus pushes open the door to his room and sighs, taking his hat off and hanging it carefully up on its stand. He summons his cane and makes it the rest of the way to the desk, plopping himself into the chair and scrubbing his hand through his hair.

 “They’re so slow,” he mutters as his fingers go to the clasp around his throat, “how do they ever get anything done?”

 Well…they don’t. Not really.

 Don’t get him wrong, he loves being the one to tug and twist them into the right answer, but he doesn’t want to be there all the time. They do know what they’re doing, they’re all good at their jobs, so…trying to manage all of that is exhausting.

 The clasp at his throat falls away and he lifts his hand, craning his neck above his collar. There.

 He knows the thread isn’t real; nothing here is real. Nothing of him can ever be real. But he can still feel it sometimes. Like today.

 They’d been…talking. It wasn’t an overdue conversation, not in the slightest, and he’s had to be honest with them. Doesn’t mean he has to be honest with himself.

 And isn’t that just his saving grace?

 Janus winces as he feels the thread wind tighter and tighter around his tongue, pulling his gloves off to touch his throat, just to confirm that it’s not real. His fingers meet his scales and he sighs, missing the sweetness. It won’t be for long. This will blow over and tomorrow they’ll be back to everyone’s favorite regularly scheduled programming. He’ll make Patton blink in that adorably-confused way, Logan will be pinching the bridge of his nose trying to make everyone shut up and pay attention to Janus’s lies, Virgil will be hissing at him like a demented cat, Remus will be having the time of his life, and Roman won’t want anything to do with him.

 Janus breathes a sigh of relief as sweetness starts to coat his tongue again.

See? It’s already working.

 It doesn’t keep working, but you know.

 The effort was there.

 They’re talking again.

 The living room feels dry. Has it always been this dry? Disguising it as a roll of his eyes, Janus tilts his head toward the ceiling. Huh. He’s never noticed that light there before. Has it always been there? Probably.

 “Janus,” Patton calls, “can you—um—“

 Rolling his eyes again, he looks back down, crossing one leg over the other. He hides the lack of sweetness by pursing his lips.

 “Yes?”

 “Did you hear what I asked?”

 “Of course I did,” he drawls, idly flicking the tips of his gloves together.

 “…so what do you think?”

  Honestly.

 “He didn’t hear you,” Logan says quietly, and thank god the other brain cell has joined the chat.

 Patton frowns. “Then why—never mind.”

  Oh, Patton.

 “I asked if you knew how to help,” Patton says, his hands clutched in his lap, “with the barrier breaking down. It’s been kind of rough from our side so…”

 Right.

 There hadn’t been a barrier up until a few years ago. Something had formed in the Mindscape, an invisible wall. It wasn’t real, of course, but it made walking through the hallways unnecessarily difficult. One of them would try to walk from one side to the other and be suddenly seized with a compulsion to do anything but. Or they’d be accompanying another Side back to the room only to freeze in the middle of the corridor and have to mutter out apologies. It’s exhausting. Luckily they’d still been able to sink in and out to get from place to place, but it’s not like the barrier actually does anything.

 Janus sighs and uncrosses his legs. The thread leaps to the tip of his tongue, eager, poised.

 “I don’t know,” he says instead, feeling the sweetness recede in disappointment, “I don’t know enough about how it formed in the first place.”

 “It happened around the time of the series premiering,” Logan says thoughtfully, “perhaps it could be linked with the presentation of the Mindscape in the fanbase?”

 Virgil snorts. “Like any of that is accurate.”

 “You don’t know that, Virgil.”

 “Um, excuse me, which of us spends the most time on Tumblr?”

 “What does that have to do with anything?”

 “Where do you think most of the fanbase hangs out? ‘Cause it sure as hell ain’t Facebook.”

 “That’s a shame,” Patton sighs, “I miss it.”

 “You miss Facebook?”

 “You know it does still exist, right?”

 “Did Thomas ever even have Facebook?”

 “The color palettes were nice!”

 “You mean they were blue.”

 “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

 “…the point being I know a lot about what the fans do with the content we give them and most of that stuff is entirely made-up.”

 Logan raises an eyebrow. “As opposed to the made-up that the series is.”

 “Shut up, L.”

 “I’d rather not, actually.”

 Virgil swats Logan’s shoulder half-heartedly.

 Janus is smiling. Why is he smiling? He hasn’t lied enough for the sweetness to make him smile and it’s not like Remus has appeared with feet coming out of his head again. In fact, Remus is just…sitting next to Roman. Granted, he’s got his morning star in his lap dripping with god knows what, but there are no crazy shenanigans happening.

 He watches Logan reach out and tangle his fingers with Virgil’s as Patton starts talking again. He watches Virgil nudge Remus’s tape back over to him when he drops it halfway through rewrapping the grip on his morning star. He watches Roman cover a flinch that he’d never have noticed if he wasn’t paying attention and sees Remus take hold of Roman’s costume and grip it tight in his fist.

 The thread twitches angrily on his tongue as he tries to make sense of what’s happening.

 “Has anything happened,” Roman asks as Patton pauses, “on your side?”

 Virgil shrugs. “I haven’t noticed anything. But I normally sink straight to my room, so…”

 “Remus?”

 “You do realize that most of the thoughts that come into my head are the type that you guys would ignore anyway, right?”

 Roman rolls his eyes too, but it’s fond. Affectionate. Janus is not.

 “…Janus? What about you?”

 The thread begins to sew neat little words into his tongue, all prepared for him to say. Yes, he’s noticed something, he’s noticed that the others are so much less fun than they used to be. No, he hasn’t noticed anything, it’s not like he’s the observant one.

 Yes, he’s noticed that the barrier is fading and he hates it.

 No, he hasn’t noticed anything because he spends as little time with the others as possible.

 “I don’t know.”

 Patton nods. “That’s okay, just…maybe try keeping an eye out? See if anything changes?”

 “I will.”

 The thread takes longer to undo that night.

 Janus slumps onto his elbows and groans.

 When did he become addicted to the sweetness? When did it get so hard for him to realize when he’s the one telling the lies and when the thread is telling the lies? When did he stop caring about the words coming out of his mouth?

 The truth is, of course, that he didn’t.

 He started caring more about the others.

 The thread tightens in warning but Janus pushes it aside. He frowns, staring hard at the grooves in the desk. He started to care about them, not just as parts of Thomas’s personality that would help him do things, but as their own Sides. As them.

 He cares about how Logan’s eyes light up just a little when he starts talking about something. He cares about how warm Patton speaks when they’re all there. He cares about how bouncy Remus gets when they talk to him. He cares about when Virgil’s eyeshadow turns all purple and sparkly. He cares about how hard it’s become to genuinely make Roman smile.

 The thread groans.

 Janus curses.

 He can’t.

 “The others aren’t important,” he hisses at the mirror, “Thomas is the only important one.”

 The thread pauses.

 “I don’t care what they want,” he continues, feeling it slowly start to unwind, “it only matters that Thomas is safe. That Thomas knows what’s going on.”

 It starts to run back out along his tongue.

 “Their thoughts and feelings aren’t important.” His hands ball into fists. “I don’t care about them.”

 His tongue starts to taste sweet again.

 “I don’t care about them,” he repeats in a whisper, “they aren’t important to me.”

 The salt of the tears goes perfectly with the sweetness on his tongue.

————————————————

Something is wrong.

 Something is horribly, desperately wrong and the others are panicking.

 The barrier is gone. That’s not the bad thing. The bad thing is that along with it, everything in the Mindscape is rushing out of control.

 The walls won’t hold. The doors lock and unlock more often than they stay in place. Floors disappear out of nowhere and open up into yawning black pits. The doors to the Imagination buckle and groan under the onslaught of rushing beasts from the other side. Something is fading.

 They can’t sink out anymore. They need to know where everything is in order to do that. The place is a labyrinth. Only one entrance, one exit. There’s no way that they’ll know the right path unless they run it themselves.

 Janus knows something is broken the instant his eyes open. He can feel it. Cracks wind their way through the walls, through the floor, the ceiling shakes. He’s out of his room in an instant, running through the halls, somewhere, anywhere, are they alright? Where are they? Have they faded?

 “Virgil!”

 “Janus?” Virgil flies into him at breakneck speed, clutching his cape in both hands. “Are you—what’s happening? Where is everyone? Did something go wrong? What’s happening to Thomas?”

 The thread perks its end up eagerly but Janus swallows it down.

 “I don’t know what’s happening,” he says quickly, pulling Virgil closer, “and you’re the first one I’ve seen.”

 “I can’t find anyone,” Virgil pants, “I can’t—there’s no one—we’re going to fade.”

 “We won’t, I promise. We just have to find the others.”

 “Hello?” Another voice calls out from around the corner. “Hello, where the fuck is everyone? Who decided to break shit without me?”

 “Remus!”

 “That’s me, where the fuck—“ Remus barrels around the corner, almost knocking them over— “Virgil! Snake Face!”

 “Remus—“ Virgil wraps Remus in his arms, clutching him tightly. “Where were you? What’s going on?”

 “I was draining the viscera from a partially dissected sperm whale—“ of course he was— “but then everything started shaking.”

 “We can’t find the others.”

 “Then what the fuck are we waiting for?”

 They don’t even look back; Remus grabs Janus’s sleeve and Virgil still hasn’t let go of his cape, dragging him behind as they race through the halls. They can see where the barrier used to be, though with how much the place has shifted, it’s impossible to tell. Janus grits his teeth as they prepare themselves to smash through.

 Nothing happens.

 They just keep barreling down the corridor.

 “Patton! Logan! Roman!”

 “Where the fuck are you guys?”

 “Can you hear us?”

 “Re? Re, is that you?”

 “Ro!”

Remus reroutes them effortlessly, barreling through chunks of disappearing floor and leaping over cracks forming in the tiles. Virgil hangs onto Janus as they go. Janus can’t let go of either of them.

 “In here!”

 A blade flashes through a crumbling chunk of wall and a hand reaches out. Remus grabs it and vaults through the opening.

“Oh my goodness, Virgil!”

 “Pat—“

 Another hand helps to haul him through the crack. The hand he has in his cape pulls uncomfortably at Janus’s neck.

 “Where’s Janus? Did you guys see him?”

 “Yeah, he’s right here, Ja—“

 “Snake Face, get your butt in here.”

 “Don’t just stand there, help you idiots!”

 A sickening crack right above him makes him jerk his head up. His eyes widen as a massive chunk of ceiling starts to fall. Hands wrap around his arms, his clothes, even his waist and pull.

 “Janus?” He blinks through the dust to see Logan staring at him, concern written plainly all over his face. “Are you alright?”

 No, the thread sews, I am now trapped with the five people I abhor most in this world. I am the furthest from alright I could possibly be.

 “Are you all alright,” he asks instead, lifting his hand to fix Logan’s collar, “I’m not hurt.”

 “We’re fine,” Roman says, helping him to his feet, “we managed to get in here before the place really started coming down.”

 “What’s going on?”

 Patton’s shoulders slump at Virgil’s question. “We were hoping you would know.”

 Janus bites back a curse, turning to look at the opening. It’s blocked now, completely choked in dust. He glances around.

 “Where are we?”

 “Safe room,” Roman says, tapping the wall, “something Remy helped us come up with.”

 “Remy?”

 “He’s a bitch but he knows what he’s doing.”

 “Fair enough.” Janus grits his teeth. “So what do we know?”

 “Who was awake when it happened,” Logan asks, “Roman and I were not.”

 “I was also not awake,” Virgil mutters, “and I would really appreciate this not being how I wake up ever again.”

 “I agree.” Janus glances at Patton and Remus. “I was asleep too. Remus, you said you were awake?”

 “I was in the middle of an experiment!”

 Logan perks up. “An experiment?”

 “As much as I love watching you two be nerds together,” Roman breaks in, “can we do that later?”

 “Of course.”

 “Spoilsport,” Remus says fondly, “but it wasn’t me. I’ve done this experiment before, nothing I do could do…this.”

 All eyes turn to Patton.

 “…Padre?”

 Patton shakes his head. “I…I don’t know. I had just gotten up to get a glass of water when it shattered in my hand.”

 “It did what?”

 “Are you hurt?”

 “Let me see.”

 “No, no, guys I’m fine,” Patton says quickly, holding up his hands, “but then the whole house started to shake. I don’t—I don’t know what’s going on.”

 Janus’s heart sinks. He’s telling the truth.

 They’re stuck.

 “Oh, god,” Virgil mutters, his hands flying to his head, “oh god, oh my god, no one knows what’s going on.”

 “V,” Logan murmurs, crouching down and reaching to take his hands, “Virgil, look at me.”

 “We’re going to mess everything up—it’s going to be so bad—what’s happing to Thomas?”

 “Virgil, look at me, come now, it’s going to be alright—“

 “How can you promise that?” Virgil’s voice starts to rise. “Have you seen what’s happening?”

 “Easy, shadow-ling,” Roman murmurs too, his hand carding through Virgil’s hair, “just listen to Logan.”

 “You’re doing well,” Logan encourages, rubbing Virgil’s arms, “just stay here, with me, alright?”

 Janus watches Patton and Remus stand a little closer to the three of them, shielding them from the debris still raining down from outside. Something in his gut clenches.

 Then he notices the tremors are slowing as the other calm Virgil down.

 And it clenches more.

 “It’s us,” he mutters quietly, almost too quietly for the others to hear, “it’s us. We have to stick together.”

 The thread on his tongue twitches angrily. There’s almost no sweetness left in his mouth now.

 Patton looks over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

 “Look—“ Janus points at a crack in the wall— “they’re moving slower now. The closer we are together the less this place falls apart.”

 Virgil’s next inhale is almost a sob.

 “I really do just ruin everything, don’t I?”

 “No,” Roman says firmly, wrapping his arms tightly around the shaking Side, “we’ve had this conversation, shadow-ling. You’re important to us. You’re not a burden. And this certainly isn’t your fault.”

 “We need you,” Patton echoes, reaching down to rest his hand on Virgil’s shoulder, “don’t go anywhere.”

 “Don’t make us chase you.” Remus bonks his head into Virgil’s. “Not fun.”

 Virgil still looks doubtful. Which, alright, isn’t his fault. Voices in the head, not to mention the general anxiety, it’s no surprise, not really. Janus clears his throat.

 “Virgil,” he says softly, crouching down as well, “Virgil, listen to me.”

 Purple eyes stare at him.

 “You haven’t lost us,” he promises, “you won’t lose us. You’re important, not just for Thomas, but for us too. We care about you. All of you.”

 “Fuck, J,” Virgil huffs, swiping at his face, “why’d you have to make me cry?”

 The tremors keep settling.

 Patton throws his arms around Virgil. “See? We care about you, kiddo. We love you.”

 Something else twitches in Janus’s throat as he hears Patton say that. Virgil must notice it too; he looks up and squints at Patton.

 “Have we ever told you that we care about you?”

  Bingo.

 Patton falters, his grip wavering. His smile wobbles. “W-well, no, not really, but that’s okay! I know you do.”

 Logan tilts his head. “But you enjoy hearing it said.”

 The smile slips even further. “…you don’t like saying it.”

 “That’s no excuse!” Roman reaches over Virgil to get to Patton. “If you want us to say it, we can say it!”

 Janus shifts his attention. “Patton?”

 “…yeah?”

 “No one takes care of us like you do,” he says softly, “and none of us care as openly as you do.”

 Patton’s eyes widen. “Janus—“

 “You try,” he continues, not to be interrupted, not now, “and that is perhaps the most admirable thing we could ask for.”

 “He made Pat cry too,” Virgil mutters, pulling the now-sobbing side in for a hug.

 “Happy tears,” Patton manages, “I—wow.”

 A crack in the wall disappears.

 “Is that what this is?” Logan looks around. “An…emotional problem?”

 “We’re fading, the whole Mindscape is,” Janus says around the thread, “if we—if we stay, then we can fix this.”

 “O-oh.”

 That tone of voice always leads somewhere good. Sure enough, as he looks around, he sees Logan adjust his glasses and take a step back.

 “And where are you going?”

 “I’m not sure I can help,” Logan says flatly. “You have the answer already.”

 “But we’re not done.”

 “And what do you expect I can lend to this problem?” He spreads his arms wide. “I’m no expert on emotions, nor am I useful in proving things that are already true.”

 “Wait, what the fuck are you talking about, L?” Virgil scrambles up. “What are we proving here?”

 “That you are important.” Logan frowns as Patton and Roman scramble up too. “What?”

 “You’re implying that you’re not important,” Remus growls, “and I’m pissed about it.”

 “But—“

 “No buts!” Roman points a stern finger at him. “Believing yourself to be unimportant is a falsehood!”

 “I never said I was unimportant,” Logan corrects, “I said I would not be helpful in this situation.”

 “Bullshit. You helped me calm down.”

 “So did Patton and Roman.”

 “You figured out that I like being told that you guys care about me!”

 “That was obvious.”

 “Logan,” Janus calls softly to get his attention, “Logan, if you believe that anyone knows us better than you, you are gravely mistaken.”

 Logan’s mouth drops open.

 “You claim not to know emotions,” he continues, stepping closer, “but you know us, perhaps better than we know ourselves at times. You are kind, you are wonderful, and if you ever stop teaching us things, I am sure we would never recover.”

 He slips Logan’s glasses back into position.

 “You are not just Logic,” he murmurs, “you’re Logan. Stay. Be Logan.”

 Logan swallows heavily.

 “I must ask,” he says hoarsely as a tear rolls down his cheek, “if you intend to make everyone cry today.”

 Janus chuckles. “No, I don’t, but it seems that it may be a side effect. I promise I’m not trying.”

 “You won’t make me cry,” Remus remarks casually, “not without trying. I don’t care.”

 Oh, Remus. Janus doesn’t bother to hide his smile at the indignant squawk from Virgil as Remus implies that he doesn’t care about the others.

 “I don’t need to try to make you cry,” he says, “I’ve never wanted that. I just want you to be listened to.”

 “…fuck you, Snakey.”

 Patton lunges forward as Remus sniffles.

 “Do we just like…not talk to each other, then?” Virgil wipes his nose. “Because I sure as hell don’t remember us getting this emotional about anything.”

 Then Janus realizes that his mouth tastes bitter.

 The thread has not been idle, he realizes in horror, not while he’s been spilling his guts to the others in an effort to hold them all together. It’s dragged itself over his tongue, scraping every last bit down his throat, winding tighter and tighter. His mouth tastes bitter. It’s not supposed to be bitter. It burns, scraping along the sides of his mouth until they smart. He swallows frantically. It’s not working. Nothing is working. It hurts. His tongue hurts. His throat hurts.

 The floor wobbles.

 He can’t catch his breath.

 His eyes land on Roman.

 No.

  No.

 No, no, no, he can’t stop now.

 Not here.

 Not with Roman.

 Roman just watches the others wrap their arms tightly around his brother still wiping snot from his nose. A soft smile curls at his mouth that never reaches his eyes. Behind him, massive cracks open up in the walls.

 No.

 He can’t let Roman fall.

 Not after everything.

 Roman notices he’s staring at him. He just raises an eyebrow.

 “Going to make me cry again,” he asks softly, “or are you all finished for the day?”

 The thread stabs words into his tongue until he can taste blood.

  Well, it’s not like it’s difficult to make you cry.

  If I had something that would work, I’d say it.

  Only if you were a Side worth worrying about.

 No.

 No, no, he won’t say that. He won’t.

 The thread tightens around his throat as a harsher warning. The bitterness on his tongue worsens.

 “It’s alright, Janus—“ no, it isn’t— “I know you don’t like me much anyway. Don’t force yourself.”

  At least you’re being considerate for once in your life.

  Took you this long to figure it out, hmm? No wonder you’re called the stupidest Side.

 Janus grits his teeth against the thread. It just keeps tightening. His mouth has never tasted sweet in his entire life.

 He needs to tell Roman how important he is. He needs to tell Roman that they all have to start paying attention to him. He needs Roman to know that he’s sorry, sorry he ever implied otherwise.

 All that comes out of his mouth instead is: “you need attention.”

 Roman blinks. “Well, yes, I’d say that’s true.”

 He has to tell Roman that Thomas needs him, needs him to be strong and healthy, to dream.

 What comes out instead is: “you spend so much time stuck in your head.”

 Roman frowns. “If that’s the best you can do, there’s no need to overexert yourself. I can make myself cry much easier than that.”

 Why won’t his tongue cooperate?

 The thread just tightens around him again. A warning. A threat. A promise.

 He can’t tell the truth.

 He can’t.

 He can’t.

 It doesn’t matter. Roman won’t know how important he is. He’ll think that Janus hates him and that’s fine.

 Janus struggles to breathe.

 “There are two Creativities,” he grits out, even if the ‘but only one Roman’ won’t follow.

 “Patton is the heart,” comes out next, separate from ‘but he needs you to love.’

 “We don’t need you,” hurts on the way out because it leaves behind ‘but we want you, we want you so badly.’

 The Mindscape is crumbling. Janus can’t speak. The others are going to fade. He can’t help Roman. He’s ruined everything.

 He’s forgotten what sweetness tastes like.

 Roman is frowning at him. He stands, striding across the broken floor, eyes flint chips. Janus closes his eyes and braces for the hit.

 Roman’s fingers hook into his collar and yank.

 “What the fuck is that?”

 “Why is it cutting into him?”

 “How long has that been there, this whole time?”

 “Janus—Janus can you breathe?”

 What?

 Janus opens his eyes in confusion. Roman’s still holding onto him but his eyes are fixed not on his face, but lower. Something shiny casts light onto Roman’s face.

 “Janus,” Roman asks softly, “what is this?”

 “What is what?”

 “This,” Roman says darkly, fingertips tracing across something, “around your neck.”

 No.

 No, it’s not real.

 It can’t be real.

 …can it?

 “It’s not a thread,” Janus spits out, his tongue smarting in the air, “and it doesn’t keep me from telling the truth.”

 Roman’s eyes widen in horror. He reaches forward and Janus keens as the pressure tightens.

 “Don’t stop,” he grits out, “it doesn’t hurt.”

 “The sky is green.”

 “What?”

 “The sky is green,” Roman repeats, still glaring hard at Janus’s neck, “the Fourth of July is in October.”

 The thread loosens.

 “Remus, get over here,” Roman barks. A second later, two more fingers slip under the thread. “Now lie.”

 “Um, ventricles are found in the liver.”

 “Blue is made of red and orange.”

 “The alphabet starts with the letter ‘m.’”

 Logan catches on next. “The sun goes around the earth,” he says, nudging Virgil.

 “Uh—“ he glances around— “Patton isn’t wearing glasses.”

 “Paris is in Canada.”

 “Books are printed on alligator skin.”

 “Water isn’t clear.”

 “Mark Zuckerberg isn’t the inventor of Facebook.”

 “Earmuffs go on your hands.”

 “Hamburgers are vegan.”

 Lies spin out of their mouths. Remus grits his teeth as he pulls at the thread. Patton looks around frantically. Janus still can’t breathe.

 The room is settling, slowly but surely, but there are still cracks snaking their way through the walls, the ceiling, the floor. Right under Janus.

 Roman looks directly at him.

 “I hate you.”

 The thread gives.

 The brothers yank, unspooling the thread from around Janus’s throat, throwing it at the walls. It freezes in mid-air, still glowing gold.

 The cracks weren’t cracks, they were threads.

 The golden thread melts seamlessly into the wall, knitting the place back together, stitch by stitch. The walls settle, glowing softly as the floor reconstitutes under them. The Mindscape breathes.

 Janus hasn’t noticed any of this. He’s too busy collapsing into Roman’s arms, sobbing his heart out.

 “Shh, shh, sweetheart,” Roman coos, “I’ve got you, you’re alright, you did it, come here…”

 “He’s gonna be cold,” he hears someone—probably Virgil?—say over his shoulder, “grab a blanket. Can we sink?”

 “Let me try.” A second later there’s another sigh of relief. “Yeah. We can. Let’s get him to the living room, I’ll get a fire going.”

 “In the fireplace, this time, Remus!”

 “Yeah, yeah!”

 “Come on, little snake,” Roman coaxes, lifting him up to a broad chest, “let’s get you warm.”

 He’s still sobbing breathlessly, draped uselessly over Roman. He feels another set of arms as they sink into the couch.

 “I’ve got him,” Patton says quietly, “hey, kiddo, can you hear me?”

 The next sob is slightly higher.

 “Shh, shh, it’s okay, kiddo, you don’t have to speak right now.” Patton rubs soothing circles into his back. “Just stay right here with me, right here, the others are just getting the nest set up.”

 N-nest?

 “Give him to me, I’ll help him down while you slide in.”

 “Make sure to get his head, he’s having trouble right now.”

 “I understand.”

 A warm hand cups the back of his neck, leaning his nose into the crook of a warm shoulder. Books, coffee, whiteboard pen…Logan.

 “You’re freezing,” Logan murmurs, concerned, “let’s get you warmed up…no hyperthermia today, hmm?”

 Janus almost groans in relief as his scales hit something thick and soft and warm. He’s still crying, isn’t he? Why?

 “Hey, Snakey,” Remus mumbles, his hand under Janus’s head, “you gotta roll over, you’re gonna crush yourself that way. Come on—for crying out loud, you bastards, how long does it take to undo a clasp?”

 “Got it.”

 He suppresses a whine as his cape flies away, only for it quickly be replaced by a warm, warm blanket. He blinks his eyes open, straining to see through the tears. He can only see blobs. What is happening?

 “Rest,” comes another voice, is that Roman? Isn’t Roman angry at him? He can’t stop the confused whine.

 “Shh, shh, easy, little snake,” Roman soothes, running his hand through his hair, “breathe, that horrible thing was choking you.”

 The horrible thread…is it…gone?

 “Relax, come on, shh…easy,” he says earnestly when Janus whines again, “don’t work yourself up.”

 “He’s gonna hurt himself if he keeps clawing at his throat like that.”

 He’s doing what now?

 Warm hands take each of his and…oh. Well, maybe he was.

 “That’s it,” Patton whispers, “easy…”

 “What…what’s going on?”

 “You did it,” Logan says softly, stroking his thumb along the back of Janus’s hand, “you figured it out.”

 “But—“ he swallows, still not used to the freedom in his throat— “I couldn’t do it.”

 “You weren’t supposed to do it on your own, Jan-Jan. We all had to do it, remember?”

 “That’s what you said, J.”

 “So we did,” Patton finishes, smiling at him, “and it worked.”

 “But—but I—“ Janus’s eyes flash up to catch Roman’s.

 Roman, who sat there and didn’t protest when Janus couldn’t say one nice thing about him.

 Roman, whom Janus has hurt so many times.

 Roman, who pried the thread away from Janus’s throat without blinking.

 Roman, who caught him, and is still here.

 “Maybe the next time we talk,” Roman says softly, “we can do it without that thread around your throat, hmm?”

 “I’m sorry.”

 “Shh, little snake,” he murmurs, gently stroking a tear away from Janus’s cheek, “I know. But not right now, okay? You’re still crying.”

 He is?

 Oh.

 “Close your eyes,” he encourages, his hand still cupping Janus’s face, “rest, we all need it.”

 “Did we—“ his tongue is heavy— “did we ever figure out what happened?”

 “I believe Thomas had something of an identity crisis,” Logan remarks, “but we can figure that out later. For now…we should all try and go back to sleep.”

 “Great. Pop Star, budge.”

 “Hey! Kiddo!”

 “Ah. Much better.”

 “Pocket Protector, stop pretending you don’t wanna cuddle and get down here.”

 “In a moment, Remus, I need to take my glasses off.”

 “Ro-Bro! Get over here.”

 “Re, pulling me over Janus is not going to work.”

 “L, are you coming?”

 “Must you all be so impatient?”

 “Yes, my dear darling nerd, now come here.”

 Logan rolls his eyes and lies down, still holding Janus’s hand. On his other side, Roman leans Janus’s head into his chest and hums softly.

 “There. Now we’re all together again.”

 “Shut the fuck up, Princey, I’m trying to sleep.”

 “Shut up yourself, then.”

 “Kiddos.”

 “Sorry, Pat.”

 Logan chuckles. Remus shifts on the edge of the blanket nest. Roman tilts Janus’s chin up.

 “Are you alright,” he whispers as the others drift off to sleep, “not hurt?”

 Janus shakes his head. “I…was it really a lie?”

 “Was what really a lie, little snake?”

 “…you said ‘I hate you.’”

 “Oh, that.” Roman chucks him lightly under the chin. “What does your mouth taste like?”

 …sweet.

 It’s sweet.

 Oh.

  Oh.

 Roman smiles. “Go to sleep, little snake.”

 The Sides fall asleep in the Mindscape, threads wearing them tightly together.

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I’ve been trying to debug the taglist recently, so I’ve taken off some URLs that don’t seem to be working anymore. If that happens to be yours and you want back on, let me know!

[writing-in-april]

Paint me

Laurent LeClaire x Female Reader

Summary: Reader finally has enough money to splurge on getting herself painted for the first time in her life. When she meets her painter, Laurent, she wonders whether she got more than what she bargained for.

A/N: Hello everyone- sorry this ones out a bit late tonight- I had practice and had to finish up a few things on this one after. This is my tenth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April- can’t believe we’re 1/3 through 🙈If y’all have ever seen In Secret you know what scene inspired this fic asdjksdj lol 😂 also @propertyofabelmorales fic from Valentine’s Day also inspired me 🥰 I low key probably spent more time on this than necessary considering he isn’t a very popular character but I couldn’t help myself 😅 In secret was actually the first movie (that wasn’t Star Wars) that I saw Oscar Isaac in so Laurent low key has my heart- even with his murderous tendencies 😂 I always love hearing from my followers so feel free to drop an ask or request here. Thanks for reading and hope y’all enjoy.

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Reader is fearful of Laurent, Reader thinks Laurent might kill her, Dubcon, Oral sex (F receiving), Unprotected sex, Creampie- if any other warnings need to be added let me know

Main Masterlist Word Count: 3.2K

Being painted was an important status symbol in this life. To have your image captured for all to see, put down on canvas by paint from a brush was a way of showing off beauty to the people around you, and the people that came after.

You were elated to have your image captured on canvas for the first time, finally able to afford it on your own. A rare sight in the world that you lived in to see a woman able to pay the fee of having her portrait painted.

Such a rare sight it was that when you had chosen a painter and contacted him he had almost seemed confused. When he had asked if you had a husband you had snorted turning up your nose to then tell him no. It was not that you did not want any sort of romantic touch, but being tied down to someone for years that would probably not cherish you the way you deserved sickened you. So, with no one around to pressure you into an arranged marriage you remained unmarried.

The painter you had hired, Laurent, was sweet as honey, almost to a sickly degree. The charm had remained even after he had realized that you were alone, basically a spinster. Whether or not he kept up the act because he thought it would be easier to get underneath your skirts or because he truly did not mind an independent woman did not matter to you. You would only let your gaze linger over while he painted you, that was all. He was here to paint you, nothing more.

He had positioned you in a chair to sit in a simple position. His reasoning for that he told you was that the simpler the position, the easier it was for your beauty to shine. Painters had a way with words though, so you tried not to let your heart swell from the compliment.

You let yourself stare in each session as he began to lay out the foundation of your likeness. Each time you sat in the chair time ticked by slowly, inch by inch. It was not as if you minded as it let you look upon how his inky curls shone in the dim lighting, plus every other part your eyes were allowed access to. It was only fair in your book, considering his job was to stare at you.

This session you were in now seemed different to the others; he seemed more distant. While you both stared at the other not a single word was exchanged, only the brush on canvas got to speak today with each stroke.

It was harder to concentrate this time on staying as still as possible. You ached to move your legs over, just a bit to the side. Daring to test the waters, hoping he would not notice, your legs twitched a little over to the right.

For a while he continued to say nothing, painting with ease like he had completely missed the twitch in your legs. That was until he decided to speak for the first time in hours,

“No-“ His face twisted, morphing into a look tinged with darkness. It was this first sign of displeasure you had heard from your hours of sitting as if you had a rod in your spine. Dipping his brush back into his paints again to find his desired color was a much more rushed action than before. It was an annoyed and quick movement, trying to swiftly correct the mistake you had assumed he had made. When he returned his brush where it belonged on his canvas it scraped along it as he pushed the paint along, molding it into his image.

Another moment goes by silently and with no more words of displeasure; you begin to relax into your position again. It was already hard to relax fully while his eyes flitted from your body to his canvas; your nerves only raised higher after his outward sign of displeasure. He scrutinized every angle and curve as his eye took in every inch of you to create an accurate portrait of you. You wondered if in his fee there was an understanding that he would paint you in the highest light possible. Though, truth be told it was foolish to question that. What type of painter would he be if he displeased his clients by being honest in his paintings?

It was in his job description to lie. Painters depicted the beauty they saw and made it shine, even if that meant trying to find beauty in the darkest of corners to forcefully shed a light on them. All it took was a painter of proper skill, a canvas, and of course a set of paints. Any unwilling features that tried to fight their painters lies would be forcefully bent to their will, almost like a king, and all with a simple stroke to canvas. No, you weren’t ugly, but you accepted that it was his job to bend the truth to his will.

The darkness you had briefly observed reappeared on his face once more. He tried to be quiet in his frustration, but his whisper could not contain the anger brewing beneath. Truthfully his words were a far cry from a whisper, it was more of a shout, “It is not right!”

Naturally you wanted to question what had made the painter suddenly rise with anger, though you wisely kept your mouth shut tight. You did not know this man, nor did you know what he could be capable of underneath the sweet words. The darkness that brewed glinted in his eyes as he took his brush to canvas again, this time with more venom in his strokes.

You were not going to trust the honeyed words he had spoken to you, at least not now while you saw how the honey could possibly be sour. Even though honey never turned acrid in common knowledge, the sight before you disproved that. Each new brush against his canvas turned violent, almost as if he’d push through the canvas with how much force he was using and create a hole.

You could have left the room in a hurry, or even demanded him leave. After all, it was you that employed him. Watching honey that soured so quick intrigued you, so the rod stayed in your spine, though you knew it was naive of you. You couldn’t trust his words, but you could still listen to them.

Brush after brush splattered paint onto the canvas in front of him that you could not view. His once dexterous movements had devolved into a man you did not know, not that you truly knew him beforehand either. You couldn’t imagine he was painting anything close to your likeness; you highly doubted long irritated strokes would be good for each of your contours and curves.

Clattering noises filled the air of the room you were both trapped in, one trapped by his job and one trapped by curiosity. You hoped the curiosity didn’t kill you like the cat. He had kicked the easel that held the painting he was being paid for, which had caused the clattering. Gripping the paintbrush in his hand with fury he then separated it from the canvas and began to pace.

As he paced your mind wandered further; it was all it could do while it was stuck observing the man before you spiral. You wondered if he had forgotten your presence, even if he had been painting you- and you had even been doubting that.

Clearly he hadn’t forgotten about you as he suddenly stopped his pacing, slowly turning to face you again. His gaze no longer flitted between two things calling his attention, now fully focused on you, still with that rod in your spine.

“It is you.” He spoke with a deadly bite and you could not help but have your bottom lip wobble at his accusation. Racking your brain you tried to find why you were the one that was the source of his wrath and why you were the one that was about to receive it. “You are not in the right position.”

You wanted to protest, saying that you had not moved a muscle since he had placed you in this exact position with your spine rigid in a chair. The protest became stuck in your throat, no doubt because of the fear you now held for the darkness that brewed underneath. You remained stoically silent, rigid as ever, waiting for him to mold you into the position that he wanted you in.

He twirled his paintbrush in his hand absentmindedly while he thought. You did not know what he was pondering, though you had to guess it had something to do with fixing how you were positioned. He answered your own curious thoughts by confirming them, “You need to relax.”

Relaxing, that was hard enough earlier when you had not had fear put in you. Still, you tried to let go of the tension held tightly in your shoulders forcefully just as he did whenever he forced your features to look their best in his painting.

He then sighed, obviously displeased with your effort. Instead of letting you try again he simply gave you an order to ‘stay still’ while he began to approach you with his paintbrush in hand.

As the paintbrush approached you instead of the canvas you could not help but tremble as it came closer. It was not any sort of weapon that could do you any harm; it would take a lot to hurt someone with a paintbrush. Still, you quivered as it approached, perhaps more because of the gaze that was transfixed on you.

Laurent’s gaze was wild, a hint of madness was evident in his eyes. They were two dark pools of almost black fixed upon you as if they were set on devouring you in the oblivion in their depths. Eyes were said to be the window to the soul and Laurent did little to make you doubt that claim. He did not give you soothing words as he saw you tremble beneath his daunting gaze and the slowly approaching bristles of the paintbrush, still partially coated in the color he had last been using. Instead of giving you the soothing words you may have desired the paintbrush crept closer, like it was stalking you in the night just as the obsidian pools he called eyes.

Your quivers were not solely because of the glint of madness you could see, hiding in the depths of his eyes. It would be a lie to say that all your quivers and shivers were rooted in the fear as to what he might do to you if you dared move from the position he had placed you in hours beforehand. Something else akin to desire had found itself at home run in through your veins, unburdened by the worries of what the black pools might be hiding in their abyss.

That feeling, the one that was running through your veins in spite of the lingering fear, was soon guiding your body. You were no longer staying rigid in your position out of fear; you wanted him to touch you, even if only with the tips of his brush.

He knelt down when close enough to then reach to lift up your skirts. You were scarcely breathing now, still afraid yet intrigued as to what a man could do with a simple paint brush. Opening your legs up at the approach of his paintbrush would have been indecent to some, but you could not help yourself. Biting your lip hard enough to possibly draw blood was so you did not move into his touch, letting him come to you as you did not want to incite his wrath. You wanted him to touch you with it, despite that fear of those black pools staring fiercely at you.

The soft bristles finally grazed the inner flesh of your thigh, a small tickle running through the nerves connected to the spot it touched. You could’ve been fooled into thinking that it had been the brush of his hand if your own eyes hadn’t been fixated upon him.

You moved your position just a hair, maybe even smaller than the ones on the paintbrush used to move you.

“There.” His whisper breathless, now devoid of the darkness that had stifled any sweetness.

You ached to hear him say it again, it was not a praise for you in the strictest sense. He had been simply readjusting you, hardly any room or need for any praise. The way he had whispered it along with the whisper of the brush upon your skin made it feel like he was praising you. Before you knew what was happening or considered the consequences you chased the brush he had begun to pull back with your thighs.

The darkness quickly came back on his face when he had noticed you had moved to chase his touch. He began to bark out a command to put you back in your place, even though he was the painter, and you, the client. “Sit ba-“

“Brush me again.” Your plea was too beautiful for him to let it go unanswered, even though you had cut him off. There no doubt was still lingering fear inside you, afraid of what he might do in retaliation.

He surprisingly obliged you, you could see his curiosity meld with the darkness in him. He lifted your skirts again, holding the brush just above the spot where he had touched moments before.

When he brushed the inner flesh of your thigh again, the pressure was harder, less unsure.

That simple touch made you moan, even though he wasn’t touching any spot that normally might bring you pleasure. It was as if a dark shadow had cascaded across his face to blur your perception of who he probably was underneath it all. If it wasn’t for your curiosity and your simple desire you would have thought more critically about his next request.

“Take off your dress.” Like someone without a thought you stripped it off of you in haste, as did he with his own clothes.

In no time at all it seemed, his mouth had enveloped your own, keen on devouring all you had to offer. He picked you up with ease by the tops of your now naked thighs so he could lower you to the floor. He then allowed himself to nip and suck on any section of skin he desired to put his mouth on. Not that you could reciprocate as he had your hands held above your head.

When his fingers started to dance along the tops of your thighs just as the brush had done you instinctively pushed your thighs together. The action was quickly reversed by Laurent releasing your hands to push your thighs apart, giving him an unobstructed view of your entrance.

His mouth was soon swiftly on the places that brought you pleasure, sucking your pearl into his mouth like a sweet.

You wanted to writhe underneath him out of sheer pleasure, but he did not need to bind you to make you immobile. That fear still lingering in your mind kept your body still, even as he combined his mouth with his fingers by pushing them into your entrance.

“There?” He whispered as he crooked them upwards, trying to find the spot that would make you see stars. It wasn’t quite right though, so you shook your head side to side. You didn’t dare to speak, not that you could do anything more but making unintelligible moans of pleasure.

“There.” He whispered with finality when he hit that somewhat spongy spot inside you making you cry out louder than before. It was so nice to hear him say those words again, honeyed words that tasted so sweet even though they were tainted by darkness. Your release shot through you quickly, like an arrow sent to kill you.

He removed his fingers from you when you were finished with your first release of the night, wasting no time to push himself inside you. He was larger than any other man you had been with, stretching you blissfully and almost painfully. You were lucky he was not too cruel to not let you adjust to his size, but as soon as you had he unleashed himself upon you. All you could do was wrap your legs around his waist and let him thrust into you at a brutal pace. The sounds of skin slapping on skin were so loud they almost over took the moans you were emitting along with his grunts.

When his hand came to wrap around your neck your own mortality became evident to you. Early before you had succumbed to his touch with a simple brush, you had been afraid he might harm you, even with the desire pumping through your blood. You had not even thought of beyond a simple bruise or cut to your flesh by him. His hand around your throat while he thrusted into you made you wonder how much it would take for him to squeeze until your lips turned blue.

Desire one again took over your fear, his hand around your neck combined with the sweet nothings whispered in your ear made you fall apart again. It was a slow devastating release like honey dripping off a spoon languidly until it dropped down to sweeten the pot. Even though his own honey had turned sour, he still was fully capable of making people feel sweetness while shrouded in darkness.

He filled you soon after you had finished your own release with a grunt. Neither of you had any real care to be able to give to the possible consequences of him filling you. He rolled off of you and you were glad in the moment he didn’t crush you under his weight like most men would have done.

Silence seemed to be a staple item that constantly wormed its way in between the two of you. No one spoke for a while, truthfully it might have been an hour. Laurent was the first to break it again, with much less malice than before,

“Do you want me to continue to paint you?” He whispered into your skin as he continued to pepper his plush lips across your skin. Glancing up towards the easel that still faced the canvas away from you and then over to the bare man next to you helped aid you in your decision. You could let him leave with wasted paints, wasted canvas, and wasted potential.

The wasted potential was what stopped you from letting him paint the rest of the angles of your body. Pondering what could come of the painting, and your relationship with the man who had just made you see stars while simultaneously making you fear or your life at the same time made you frown. The possibilities were endless, but those two black pools hid something too interesting for you to ignore. You wanted to know more, even ached for it.

“Yes.” You simply replied and you then willingly fell into the abyss.

Ask Me Anything

—-

Tag lists (message me if you want to be added):

All works: @shotarosleftpinky @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg @takeyourleap-of-faith — grr tumblr is still being stupid

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[gobblewanker]

So, uh, I've been pretty busy these last few days so I'm sorry for the lack of posts. But I decided to finally finish up an old one shot drabble I've had sitting in my phone since January. So, ye.

Hope you like Werewolf Stan.

Stanley was absolutely massive. Ford didn't have a good estimate as he was far less cooperative with him in this state than he was with the children, but he felt heavier than either of them in human form. That was only the most noticeable difference Ford could distinguish between him and a regular wolf though. His teeth were larger, seeming almost too big for his mouth, and the claws reminded him or sickles. His frame was sturdier, more front heavy, characteristic of a lone hunter rather than a pack based predator.

Yet despite all of that, there he was now. Lying stretched out on the floor in front of the TV and letting the two children poke and prod at him without as much as a warning growl. Like a very polite golden retriever.

Ford had expected tonight's excursion to end with him returning home to finish compiling his research on the effects of the full moon on wendigo migration patterns, comparing his new data with whatever remained of his notes from thirty years ago, and - if his paranoia allowed it - maybe even get some proper sleep in. He had expected observing the solitary and very territorial beasts without being detected to be the dangerous part. The one during which he might risk being attacked. He had not expected to be thrown onto the floor and pinned by a large creature covered in scraggly grey fur the second he entered the house.

He had deduced that it was a werewolf the second he looked into its far too human eyes. But hadn't spared a single thought as to who the person beneath the fur might have been. He'd been to busy trying to push against it's broad neck to keep the furiously snarling maw out of range of his own throat. Too busy cursing his own curiosity for compelling him to leave his family unguarded with a full moon high in the sky, and fighting against the raw terror that clawed up his back and whispered in his ear that this creature - this monster - had surely already killed Stanley and the kids when Ford should have been there to protect them.

In the end though, by the mercy of whatever good there was out in the multiverse, there would be no graves to dig and no next of kin to inform because appearing out of nowhere as if herself sent by some form of divine intervention was Mabel. Alive, uninjured, Mabel.

She cried out in alarm and rapidly descended the remainder of the stairs despite Ford's breathlessly shouted demands that she return to the attic and barricade herself along with her brother. Mabel did no such thing. With the foolish fearlessness only a child could posesses, she threw herself at the head of the werewolf, grabbed two small fistfuls of it's fur, and yanked. Shockingly, the beast did allow itself to be pulled back. If only the slightest bit.

"No! Bad!" She admonished firmly, as if she was handling a rowdy pet, rather than a monster the size of a small car made out of muscles and teeth.

Before Ford could move to put a stop to her suicidal overconfidence, she had somehow managed to plant herself firmly between her still prone great uncle and the werewolf. The large unkempt animal lunged at Mabel. Maw open and snapping at her neck. For a second, Ford could have sworn he actually felt his heart stop. But there was no blood or screaming. Instead, jagged yellow fangs caught the fabric on the back of her sweater collar. Tugging her back like a mother wolf grabbing a disobedient pup by the scruff of it's neck. She yelped as her backside connected with the floorboards, but showed no further signs of distress. In fact, as the animal worriedly shoved it's snout in her face with such force and hurry it nearly knocked her over, she giggled. Tiny hands pushing it away with little regard for how close her fingers were to it's teeth.

"Ew, your nose is all wet!" Mabel laughed.

Again, it was Mabel who broke the stalemate. Quietly pressing a hand to the werewolf's side and slowly stepping closer to Ford again. She didn't remove her hand from it's fur, letting it trail along with her as she carefully moved. As if the only thing keeping the creature restrained was her small hand resting reassuringly in its pelt. Ford was half convinced it was.

Ford was absolutely dumbfounded, but despite his fight or flight instincts practically screaming at him to get Mabel away from the creature now, it showed no signs of hostility at all. At least not aimed at the child. The second Ford attempted to push himself back up off of the ground a deep rumble tore from the werewolf's throat. It whipped it's head around, instantly alert again. Eyes blown wide and assessing, ears pressed flat against it's head. It took one markedly distrusting step to the side, very deliberately placing itself between Mabel and Ford this time. Never letting the man out of eyesight. Ford glared back, hoping against hope that rising to the challenge wouldn't escalate things. Faltering gave animals the confidence to attack: A painful lesson permanently etched into his skin.

The creature let out another rumbling growl as Mabel apparently stepped closer to Ford than it was comfortable letting her, but this time all it took was another firm but gentle reprimand for the growl to break into a low whine. It's eyes flitting worriedly between Ford and Mabel.

"It's okay." She spoke carefully, reaching out to take one of Ford's hands in her unoccupied one. The growl flared up again, even if just for a moment. "No. It's okay, Grunkle Stan. It's just Ford."

She pressed Ford's palm to the werewolf's head, between it's - too human, too sharp, deep brown - eyes. His fingers sunk into the fur, Mabel's small hand still splayed on top of his. His fur was thinning, missing in patches over gnarled scar tissue, and almost the exact same shade of grey as...

"Stanley?"

Recognition finally flickered in those familiar brown eyes. Only to almost immediately be replaced by horror. Stan pulled his head back swiftly and pressed himself low against the floor. He covered his face with two enormous paws, and let out a low, guilty, whine. Ford just watched in stunned silence.

Ultimately, Mabel had convinced both her grunkles to move back into the tv room, gone to wake up her brother, and insisted on settling down to watch a late night movie. No doubt all in a valiant effort to lift the tense atmosphere. So there they were now: Mabel was doing her best to braid the longer fur around Stan's neck, cramming every hair clip she owned into his wild mane, while Dipper lifted, squeezed, and turned one of his massive paws over in his hands, trying to make an accurate sketch of it. All while both children were half-laying on him like a scraggly pillow. Mabel had even brought her pet pig down from the attic, and despite what Ford had expected and feared might happen, even in wolf form Stan showed absolutely no inclination to harm what logically speaking should be a very natural prey animal. All he did was grumble, and shove the pig away with a padded foot when it began to nibble at his ear.

He was the very picture of self control.

And yet he'd attacked Ford.

His own brother hadn't recognized him. Had categorised him as a threat.

As Ford watched from the doorway as his small family settled down into the comfortably tired haze of domesticity, he wondered how he could have ever let something like this happen.

[ohheyitsokay]

safe

part 9 of the ‘hey batter batter’ series

pairing: Francisco (Frankie, Catfish) Morales x reader

wordcount: 2.3k

warnings: none, lots of kissing 

summary: it’s a Triple Frontier baseball AU! Trust me, you don’t need to know anything about baseball.

In this chapter, you discover how truly committed you are to a man you’ve only been on one real date with.

notes: just a head’s up, next week will be the last chapter of this series! I’ll give a proper thank-you then, but I also have a couple (at least three) one-shots in the universe because I... want to. hope that’s okay!

<<

When you were younger and you attended the baseball games under the summer heat with James, you spent more time watching the people in the crowd than the players. Vague knowledge of the rules and even your grandfather’s enthusiasm weren’t nearly enough to keep you interested during the long stretches of advertisements. Now, the moments when Santi was getting strike after strike were exhilarating instead of boring and you grinned with pride, like it was personal each time the ball found it’s home in Frankie’s glove.

This season had been a whirlwind as you began to appreciate the game because of the players, and you didn’t think you had any more room for excitement.

That was, until Francisco’s mother decided she wanted to attend with you and James.

The sweet catcher hadn’t even had time to apologize and offer an alternative before your grandfather stepped in, and the rest was history. You didn’t mind, of course you didn’t, how could you? It was strange, spending time with her so early in the relationship but it made you happy that she was so excited about you. The two of them hung on your elbows, and you laughed at how awkward it made walking through the narrow gap to your seats.

From somewhere in her bag, she produced an entire tupperware of homemade pan dulce, sugar filling the grooves on the bottom, and you settled in. You were fairly sure that wasn’t allowed but you were helpless against her sweet, determined face so it only made sense security would be too.

It wasn’t work, talking to her, she felt like an auntie or a friend’s friend – someone you half already knew, and who certainly knew you. She filled the silence with stories and questions and only heard the first half of your answer before excitedly pointing at her son and his friends on the field. It felt like you were at a kids baseball game, how she clicked her tongue and freely gave them advice as if they could hear her.

At some point, Will stole second base and her and James began a conversation around you. She called them niños and matched your grandfather in her personalized affection for them. You wondered if you should feel guilty for your lingering eyes on the son of the woman next to you, but she half encouraged it, telling you he got his legs from his padre.

When the opposing team was up a point, she muttered pobrecitos and grabbed your hand and prayed for Benny’s next hit.

You caught pieces of Frankie, in her. Or more accurately, you realized what parts of her he had grown into, and learned about his younger self from her eyes and her tone and her smile. Your poor grandfather was probably exhausted but you drank it in.

“Francisco was saving all his money from his work for the neighbors – his team was taking him to watch a game at this very stadium!” Without even looking she handed you a pastry, shaking sugar onto your lap until you took it. “But then his escuela collected donations for the orphanage. I told him, you know? I told him if he gave all his money I couldn’t help him, he wouldn’t get anything from the stadium.”

Her eyes were warm in yours and she squeezed your arm, trying to communicate her pride. “Mi frijol gave it all! And he did not even complain, not even once!” You smiled at her, trying to answer however you could that you understood. Maybe not completely but you saw how much he cared about other people, how hard he tried.

Around the eighth inning, she quieted, smiling gratefully when you produced an extra water bottle. Her hand was soft and maternal as it rubbed your shoulder, a foreign but pleasant feeling.

“His hermana tests him all the time,” she murmured, and you nodded cautiously. When she resolutely added, “You give him strength, hija,” you almost cried right there in the stands.

You settled for covering her hand with yours and squeezing back.

When they won, no one cheered louder, no one was prouder, but you and James gave it your best shot.

-

“So,” Frankie looked at you, his big brown eyes full of questions. Alone, you couldn’t resist him, much more when the rest of them matched his gaze.

You were all at Tom’s rental, unexpectedly. He didn’t tell anyone, but he had burst into Molly’s office, only to find it empty. It had bothered him, and when he was bothered, he took extra effort to pretend that he was not. The new opportunity to spend post-game evenings with decks of cards and childish snacks had already become the highlight to his friends, so he figured he could do that. Just a little bigger, a little better. And it’s not like any of you had enough information to say no.

The elders had long since gone home, and now they all wanted to know what secrets his mother had spilled about them.

You laughed at their faces, feeling a little devious with the power. Before giving anything up, you stuck your tongue out at Santi and meandered to the kitchen, feeling them watch you as your filled your champagne flute with apple juice.

“She didn’t say anything,” you said with exaggerated elegance, lounging against an unnecessary column.

The act broke when you had to dodge a pillow.

“Okay, okay,” you held up your free hand in surrender. You looked at your catcher with a wink before grinning almost maliciously at Santiago. “She told me she had to bring Santi socks twice last season, and one time she saw Benny eat a hot dog off the ground.”

They erupted in teasing and you waited for it to quiet a moment before you added, “And she shared that Tom,” you drew out his name for extra emphasis, “Goes to the same hairdresser as her, and she once threatened to dye Will’s pants pink for calling her ma’am one too many times.” The men were howling with laughter like they hadn’t since college, shoving each other and half tackling one another, shouting their defenses and stories alike.

When Frankie extracted himself he found you curled on the armrest of the couch, watching with amusement. His hair was messed up and his eyes crinkled in the corners. “What did she say about me?” he asked under the noise and he settled next to you, trying to be confidant as he wrapped his arm around you shoulders.

He liked that he could feel your shrug.

“That you’re practically perfect in every way,” you relaxed into him and it felt so natural he could hardly imagine it wasn’t always like this.

-

Francisco was spending his day off with his family, doing some projects around the home, but so it surprised you when your phone rang.

It surprised you even more that it was Benny, inviting you to lunch. Just to talk, I’m not being weird, he said, backpedaling when you teased him about being a little late to ask you on a date. Is that okay? He seemed just a little bit nervous, which made you laugh. Of course, you were more than happy to.

The longer you knew him, the more you understood why they all treated him like a little brother.

He was already at the restaurant – Thai food, his choice – as friendly and kind as the first time you had met him. Unlike then, you weren't even a little bit nervous sitting across from him, despite the glares of the women at an adjacent talking the two of you were still new friends, so it wasn’t quite effortless, by the made up for it with his genuine enthusiasm.

If he had something on his mind, he didn’t get to it right away, the first half of your lunch hour spent talking about you. For how loud his personality seemed sometimes, he was well spike and well mannered, and curious about almost everything. You checked the time, before finally asking if everything was okay with him, and the shortstop ran his fingers through his hair, looking past away.

His foot tapped on the rug, and you used your chopsticks to push your remaining food into a small mound in the middle of your plate.

“I’m paying, by the way,” you looked up, back into his eyes, your own eyebrows drawing together to shake your head.

“I owe you,” he defended himself before you could voice your dissent, and when he added, “for looking out for me,” you softened.

“Relationships aren’t transactional, Benjamin.” It was a gentle scold, true, but relenting.

Broad shoulders shrugged.

“Think of it as a thank you,” he said, and you let him talk. For all that his brother and the guys worried over him, he wasn’t as young and naïve as they thought of him. His eyes and ears were sharp and it’s not like he hadn’t heard the stories, seen what they were protecting him from.

“You help us look after each other,” it was almost like he rehearsed it, and his blue eyes confirmed he had been meaning to say this to you for awhile.

“And you look after me.” That nervousness from before came back, and you wondered if he still hadn’t quite gotten to the part he was meaning to say. Ben launched into a story in between flagging down the waiter and you let him pay, but even when the receipt came, he didn’t stand.

The story stuttered to a halt and you rested your chin in your palm.

“Will and Frankie have been talking about Tom – saying he’s been off.” It was abrupt, and you waited. He was restless, his habit of changing the topic becoming even more prominent. Both of you knew what he meant.

It was messy, hard, existing with them.

“Would you… will you stay?”

There was a burst of warmth in your chest, a wave of affection as if he confessed outright how much you mattered to them.

You stood, smiling and offering your hand, as if he needed help standing.

“Yeah, Ben, what are friends for?”

He looked so relieved that you hugged him. Although, you suspected he would’ve hugged you regardless, if you had given him a moment.

-

After work you had a voicemail and a text from your… from Francisco, and you drove over to his place. Walking up the stairs in the cooling evening air felt strange, like it was humming with potential.

He greeted you with slow kisses, his rough hands wandering your skin and clothes like he was still grasping that you were real. If you could’ve thought, you might’ve wondered why he called you over or looked around his apartment but it didn’t matter because all you could think of what him. The gentle scrape of the hairs on his face over your cheek, your neck, the needy pull of his fingers as he curled his fists into your outer layer.

His mouth, moving in ways you’d thought you’d never quite felt before, leaving you breathless.

It didn’t escalate, neither of you pushing for more, but when he finally moved away, he was pulling you onto the couch and under his arm.

“Hi,” he said, looking flushed and happy, despite the flash of anxiety in his eyes.

“Hi,” you figured you mirrored him, and you let out a rough cough of laughter.

Francisco joined, and your head found a rest on his shoulder, cheek squishing from the closeness. The tips of his fingers wandered over your skin, and it felt like a habit years in the making, to catch up with him about his day, his family. A stretch of silence followed, and your realized he was tired.

“I should probably make you dinner or something,” he whispered, almost to himself, dark eyebrows drawing together. Suddenly you felt shy, aching because you should’ve brought something, should cook or… he was the one who had a long day, but this was his home.

You had memorized the feeling of his hairs on your waist, and yet you didn’t know if he would be okay with you cooking in his home. Actually, you didn’t even know anything about his home.

Looking around, you compromised.

“I’m good, Frankie, I had a big lunch,” taking in the simple furniture and quickly cleaned surfaces, you didn’t notice his head tilt, shoulders rising slightly with tension until you looked back at him. The sweet man had realized he hadn’t heard about that part of your day yet but he didn’t want to pry.

“Benny got me thai food,” you offered, which only increased his distress. Your hand slipped into his as you explained.

“I think he’s just scared I’m not going to stick around,” you sighed, hoping he felt like that was as unlike as you did.

Against your head, you felt him nod, but he didn’t say anything for a moment.

“He’s right, though,” his voice seemed higher, as shy as you’d been a moment ago. “Things with us, with me are… a lot.”

As he always did, he was asking you more than you said, and you wanted to honor it so you though, really thought about what you were getting yourself into.

“Frankie, you told me you wanted me to be a part of your life,” you kissed the corner of his mouth, which pulled as he smiled hopefully. “I want that too, if you’ll be part of mine.”

A little rougher than they’d been before his hands tugged you into him, a solid kiss. No questions were buried in the touch, and it made you feel like you were floating.

Long moments later, you laughed a little, too warm to feel shy.

“Does this make me your novia?”

You weren't sure if the color on his cheeks was warming because of embarrassment that you caught the word in his mother’s talk, or because he hadn’t actually asked yet.

“Yeah,” a final kiss, on your forehead sealed the deal.

And when you moved away, it was to explore his kitchen for something to cook for the both of you.

<<

translations:

pan dulce: pastries

niños: boys

padre: father

pobrecitos: poor babies

escuela: school

mi frijol: my bean

hermana: sister

>>

hija: daughter

novia: girlfriend

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge

hey batter batter taglist:

@icanbeyourjedi @studyofawearymind @hnt-escape @athalien @the-witty-pen-name @daffodin @sarahjkl82-blog @pintsizemama @anaaaispunk @pjkimrn @dobbyjen @stuckontheceiling

edit: take 3 having tumblr save the taglist on this thing

[harryssunflowerkiwi]

‘KIWI’ Part 2.

Pairing: Harry Styles x female reader.

Synopsis: You see Harry again. he’s still smitten and you’re horny.

Word count: 8.1K

Warnings: swearing, drinking, drugs (cocaine; mentioned in some detail), and SMUT (unprotected! Wrap it up pls), and slight pain kink. 18+

A/N: Hello! I hope you’re doing good :) here’s part two!!! Yay!! Thank you to those who liked part one. I truly am having so much fun writing this. Sorry it took me 80000 years to post this, I took a break! But it’s here and I’m so happy. Also, this is my first time writing smut! So please be nice but let me know what you think. Again, please keep in mind that this is PURE FICTION and is in no way an accurate dipiction of Harry Styles! It’s just for entertainment purposes. Also! For the purpose of the story, please pretend kiwi was not part of HS1 and instead part of his third (unwritten) album :) With that being said, i hope you love this part as much as I do xoxo

PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU LIKE IT :)

🥝 Outfits mentioned in this part 🥝

Words underlined are links !

PART 1

——————————————————————————

September 12th 2020~

It’s nine days since Harry had met you, nine long days. For him the days since have been filled with long studio hours and sleepless nights. Every night he’d come home and wonder when he’d get the chance to meet you again, he’d think about what you were doing and if you were thinking about him as much as he’d been thinking about you. Surely you hadn’t, he thought. If you had been interested you would have given him your phone number, like all the other girls had jumped at the chance to do. He tried to stay humble, but he wasn’t oblivious to the effect he had on women. It was obvious, atleast it always had been before. They all threw themselves at him, but you didn’t. You didn’t even give him a proper excuse to why he couldn’t have your number. You showed him very little interest and yet, here he was completely infatuated after one simple meeting. Sure, meeting you gave him enough inspiration to write songs which was initially the reason he went to that party. But it only left him wanting to do whatever he could to get the chance to see you again.

The days since the party have been rather stress filled for you on the other hand. With London fashion week coming up in less than a week you had so much work to do. You had a fashion show on the seventeenth to prepare for and dozens of custom outfits for various celebrities to finalize. It was both exhausting and exhilarating. You had thought about Harry, he’d pop up in your head whenever a song of his would play in the office or in the coffee shop you went to almost everyday. You felt the spark when you two had met, of course you did. He was incredibly attractive, charming, and kind but you didn’t have time to be dating a celebrity of his stature. You have a buisness to run and the last thing you need a bunch of insanely nosey fans bullying you along with the heartbreak of the inevitable break up.

Harry was sitting in the studio with Mitch, Sarah, and Charlotte recording. The three of his band mates were in the booth recording their respective parts of a song Harry had written a few months back called “30,000 miles” while Harry was sat on one of the black leather couches just outside the booth attempting to write. Although he’s been able to write a lot about you, he’s only gotten one song even remotely close to being finished. Most of what’s he’s writin since meeting you has come out more like journal entries about how your eyes made him quiver and how when you hugged him he felt like your touch was exactly what he’d been missing thus far. It all sounded like a horny fourteen year old, Harry thought. He needed to see you again for his feelings to repourpose themselves into more coherent emotions. Harry had been wracking his brain on how to make that happen since the two of you met, and the only thing he could think of was to ask Jeff. The only problem with that, however, was that Jeff would more than likely tell you and make Harry look desperate. And even though he was bordering on desperate, he certainly didn’t want you to know that.

Harry was lost in thought (about you of course) when Mitch came out of the booth and sat in the dark blue velvet armchair directly across from Harry. “Still having trouble dude?” He asked sympathetically bringing Harry out of his little trance. Harry sighed and moved his gaze away from the small leather bound notebook he was writing in to focus on his friend.

“S’ just hard man. S’neva been this hard before.” Harry said as he closed the book.

Mitch nodded and mumbled “it’s probably because you’ve never been single while tryna write”. Harry put his palms over his face and let out deep chuckle.

“Fuck, you’ve go’ a good point” he agreed as he sat lower into the couch.

“Are you interested in anyone at all right now? I mean I don’t think I’ve seen ya single for this long in forever” Mitch pointed out as he reached for his water bottle from beside the sound board. Harry sighed deeply, ran his right hand through his curls and gave Mitch a little pout.

“Who is she dude?” Mitch asks with after letting out a loud laugh at his friend being overly dramatic.

“Y’ remember y/n? The designer fo’ KIWI?” Harry responds, leaning forward and rests his left palm under his chin.

“Fuckin hell H. Wasn’t that night the first time you met her?” Mitch says with a grin, obviously teasing Harry.

“I know, I know. S’fuckin ridiculous but I can’ stop thinking about her” Harry replied as he slouched himself back into the couch shoved his black raybans off the top of his head so they were sitting on his nose, covering his embassment.

September 13th 2020~

Today is Sunday, which means it’s Harry’s day off. He didn’t really know what to do with the day but he was still extremely happy to have time to relax and try (and fail) to not worry about everything. He woke up at ten this morning, actually allowing himself to sleep in to make up for the various all nighters he had been pulling throughout the last week. He dreamt of you but not in the way he’d want, not one of those erotic sex dreams where he could make all his needs come true. No. In his dream you were with someone else, and he kept trying to talk to you but you couldn’t hear him or you were simply ignoring him. Either way it didn’t feel good but for some ungodly reason he’d still woken up with a raging boner. “Fuckin ‘ell even the thought of her wit’ someone else gets me off” he grumbled with a groan in frustration as he rolled out of bed.

As Harry was making himself breakfast, chopping yellow grape tomatoes on the large oak cutting board that sat on the marble counter next to the stove, he heard his phone ring. He looked around to try and spot where the ringing was coming from as he’d forgotten where he’d put it. He spotted it on the island behind him and to his left. He sprinted over to it and quickly answered with his left hand, wiping the tomato juice off the fingers on his right hand off on his blue sweatpants. “Harry here” he said realizing he hadn’t checked to see who it was before answering.

“Harry! I’ve got great news for you mate” Mitch’s deep American accent rang through the phone.

“Wha’ is the good news Mitch?” Harry asked as he sat at one of the light blue quilted stools that sat at the island, suddenly feeling slightly anxious.

“I’ve just found out KIWI is doing a show for London fashion week, it’s this Thursday” Harry could practically hear the grin on Mitch’s face through his voice. A fashion show? How could he get an invite four days before the show? Would he even get the chance to see her if he did? Won’t she be busy? Won’t she think he’s weird for going? Harry’s mind was filled with questions he knew Mitch wouldn’t have the answers to.

“Dude?” Mitch’s voice snapped Harry out of his panicked thoughts.

“Gotta go man, thanks for telling me” Harry mumbled before hanging up quickly.

After a few hours of debating with himself and trying tirelessly to forget about the idea all together, Harry found himself sat at his dining table with his phone open to Jeff’s contact. He stared down at the phone resting against the mahogany wood dining table trying to convince himself this was a bad idea. However, his efforts were in vain in the end. He glanced at the time in the right hand corner and it showed 12:41AM. He pressed the call button so quickly he himself even doubted if he’d done it at all, but evidently the calling screen came up and he brought it to his ear. Letting out a huge sigh at the forth ring, figering Jeff wouldn’t even pick up at this time of night. “Hello?” Harry almost dropped the phone when he’d heard Jeff’s voice on the other end.

“Um h-hello, Jeff s’ Harry” he stuttered slightly, still not really believing he was going through with this.

“Yeah H, I know. What’s up?” Jeff chuckled loudly.

“Oh umm so you uh know y/n right?” Harry asked trying not to seem to eager.

Again, Jeff laughed a bit before saying “you like her don’t you?”. Harry groaned internally at his friends ability to gudge his feelings based on his voice alone.

“Doesn’ matter, was jus’ callin’ to see if you could get meh a seat at the KIWI show on Thursday” Harry said as more of a statement rather than a question, feeling his confidence peak its head again.

“H, that’s in four days” Jeff responded without hesitation.

“Yeh I know, I jus’ ave’ to be there alrigh’?” Harry asked as politely as he could without making it obvious he was trying desperately to avoid any further questioning.

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do”.

September 14th 2020~

Today was incredibly busy for you. There were only three days till your show and you still had so much to do to make sure it would be perfect. You were currently at the office that you rent out for KIWI. The space is nice, modern and open with a slightly acclectic feel to match your taste. There were 3 separated offices, the smallest was for your assistant Grace, another for the head of public relations for the company who’s name is Gretchen, and the largest one at the end of the hall was yours. You decorated nicely, but kept it minimal as to not cause to many distractions. You only came in when there was issues you couldn’t deal with from home or when you just felt like getting out of the house to work. You liked to keep your company small, only hiring people who you really trust for jobs you couldn’t handle yourself. Even though KIWI is incredibly successful, you were generally able to manage it with little help.

At 7:13AM you arrived, greeting Grace and heading straight to your private office telling her to follow you. Once sat in your large brown leather chair Grace started giving you the rundown of who’s called, what there is to do, shipments, etc. “Jeff Azoff called early this morning, he left a voicemail asking for your availability. I told him to call back at 11 just before you go out for lunch as that is your earliest availability today” she relayed as she stood nervously (she was pretty much always nervous, even though she’d been working for you for over two years).

“Okay, did he mention what it was about?” You asked wondering what he could possibly need that he wouldn’t just call your cell.

“No, but he did say it’s urgent” Grace responded with a small nod.

At a quarter to eleven your desk phone rang, you picked up at the first ring already sitting right next to it typing out an email on your laptop. “Mr. Azoff on line 2” Grace said on the other side.

“Great, thanks Grace” you responded before hanging up and switching to line two. “Hey Jeff” you said as you closed your laptop.

“Hi! How’s it going y/n, haven’t talked since the party” he asked seeming quite cheery.

“I’m good Jeff, why are you calling through KIWI? Why not just call my cell?” You questioned rather confused.

“Ah because you told me not to call your cell for matters concerning KIWI-” he said as if it was obvious.

“Right, but you you’ve only ever called regarding KIWI to get pieces for one of your clients and you usually go through Gretchen” you cut him off, still extremely confused.

He chuckled before saying “Well If you’d stop cutting me off I’d tell you why I’m calling. I need a front row seat for your show on Thursday”. Well, that was certainly not what you thought he’d say. He’s never asked for a seat at one of your shows, let alone a front row three days before it happens.

“What? Are you insane? It’s in three days. Why on earth would you need a front row seat?” You asked, now even more confused.

“It’s not for me, it’s for Harry. C’mon I know you can bump someone back a bit, it’ll be good publicity having him there” Jeff said calmly. You had to do a bit of a double take when he mentioned Harry’s name, why would Jeff need him to be there this last minute? He had surely already been invited to the Gucci show on the same day. You sighed

“I don’t know, the people I put in front row deserve to be there. Any of them would take it as an insult to be put in second row”. You heard hum quietly on the other side of the phone

“y/n if you put Harry upfront it’ll be good for KIWI, you know I’m right” he continued. You let out a frustrated huff, you knew he was right. The paps would have a field day with him missing the Gucci show to come to yours, but you already had so much to deal with.

“Was this your idea or his?” You asked, genuinely curious. “He asked me to, but I think it’s an incredible idea for both of you” he said confidently.

“Fine, call Grace to set up the details. I’ll have an outfit sent to Harry by Wednesday morning just email me his measurements. He can’t be showing up to my show in Gucci” you replied sternly, giving in.

Harry was at the studio when Jeff called him. He was going over some adjustments for ‘30,000 miles’ with Kid Harpoon when his phone rang. “Jeff! Any news?” He said hopefully after picking up as soon as he was Jeff’s contact.

Jeff chuckled at the boys eagerness “Mhm you’re lucky I’m so good at convincing people, you’ve got a front row seat at the KIWI fashion show this Thursday” he said proudly.

Harry stood out of the leather rolling chair instantly and yelled “Wooooo!” Slightly starting Kid and causing Jeff to laugh through the phone.

“I’m glad I could get it for ya H. They are sending over an outfit for you to wear and I’ll have a car at your place on Thursday at 6PM sharp to pick you up.” Harry smiled widely, taking in the information as he sat back down.

“Thank ya’ Jeff, y’ the best manager eva’”

September 17th 2020~

Today is the big day. Of course it’s not your first runway show but the nerves never lessen, every time it gets more intense and nerve-racking. The cloths you design are your heart and soul, your blood sweat and tears, your everything. This makes showing them off to critics and the entire world terrifying but exciting. Not to mention you’ve decided to walk as the last model for the finale, which makes the whole thing even scarier as you’ve never really walked a runway as a model.

For some reason the knowledge that Harry was going to be front row made you all the more anxious and you hated it. No man has ever made you nervous at your own damn fashion show, it’s rediculous. “I don’t even like him” you said aloud to yourself as you were in the car on the way to the venue. Luckily by now your driver knows well enough to keep his mouth shut when you talk to yourself.

Once you arrived at the venue it was half past two. You always show up hours before the show to help set up, get all the outfits in place for the respective models and make sure everything is absolutely perfect. You’d spent months designing the way you wanted the show to look, clothing aside. The catwalk is all white, ensuring that all the colors included in the collection pop as they were meant to, especially once photographed. Above the runway are large fixtures that are meant to look like clouds, giving the whole collection an airy out-of-this-world feel. Which is exactly what you had planned when designing it.

Backstage was hectic and stressful, as it always was. The models all arrived at three, giving everyone enough time to get hair and makeup done in time for the show. The makeup and hair you had chosen for this collection was simple, yet bold. Nothing to extreme to not take away from the clothes.

Harry was incredibly excited for the show, more excited than he had been for a fashion show since the first one he attended. He was there to see you, but he was also elated to get to see the collection. He’s never been disappointed by the pieces you’d designed. Even before his newfound crush on you. You were exceedingly talented and fantastic at what you do, he’s known that since long before he met you. The suit you’d sent for him was breathtaking to say the least. He absolutely adored it. It was a black suit, with gold lining and silver flower embroidery all along the jacket. It made him feel like a billion dollars.

Harry arrived just before the show started, not to seem to eager in case you came to survey the venue before it started. He found the seat with his name on it and grinned widely as he sat. His seat was right at the end of the runway where the models would turn before walking back. It was the ideal spot really, and it gave him butterflies thinking that you gave him the best spot. The venue was nothing like he’d ever seen before and he was sure you had something to do with that also, because it was breathtaking.

Time went by like a blink of the eye for you, what seemed like twenty minutes turned out to be an hour. You were ushered to the hair and makeup chair to prepare for the finale. For some reason all your nerves had dissipated, completely vanished into thin air as you sat and listened to the makeup artist compliment you on how incredible everything looked.

After forty minutes in the hair and makeup chair you were being dressed. You had chosen one of the only gowns in the collection for the finale, wanting to go out on a memorable note (even though you considered every piece in the collection to be memorable). The gown was a floor length fully hand embroidered black and gold gown. Each embroidery was done by you. It had long sleeves with the same detailing and it was sinched perfectly around your waist with a large solid gold plate. The gown was the piece that inspired the whole collection, taking almost six months to make. You were very proud of it and you felt incredibly sexy.

As your stylists were putting you in your black pumps, one of the coordinators came over and said “miss y/l/n is on in five”. You took a deep breath, attempting to mentally prepare yourself. You followed the coordinator towards the entrance to the catwalk. You felt eerily calm, you knew you should be freaking out but you weren’t. You felt incredible.

“3..2...1.. here comes y/n for the finale”

Harry was thoroughly enjoying the show, each item was completely perfect. Everything was cohesive but wildly different, anyone with working eyes could tell how much thought and attention to detail was put into everything. Even the styling was uniquely perfect, each model wore the pieces like they were made for them. Not a single thing looked out of place, everything belonged in a rabelious harmony and Harry was completely enveloped in it. The music stopped playing as the last model walked out, Harry looked around as another song started playing. Assuming this was the finale, Harry sat up straighter and grinned. Excited to see whatever you had planned. As the beat dropped in the song, all the models came walking out in two lines. One on the right and one on the left. Once the two front models came to the end of the catwalk they all stopped and slowly bowed their heads. Harry’s heart was beating so fast he thought he might actually have a heart attack. Then all of a sudden you walked around the corner and stepped onto the runway and Harry’s heart stopped completely. You were walking towards him like you had walked a million runways. You looked so powerful and sexy. The gown you wore was nothing short of breathtaking, a fine piece of art and the way it fit your body made all the blood rush towards his crotch.

As you reached the end of the catwalk you looked directly at Harry, who was sitting right night to the main camera. You gave him a quick knowing smirk, obviously seeing the pure shock on his face as you turned around and started walking back towards the entrance. God, you felt fucking incredible. Each model followed you one by one off the runway before the music stopped.

September 23rd 2020~

The last three days went by relatively fast for you. The show went exactly how you wanted it to and it was nothing short of perfection. All the press had been incredible and the critics were being positive which wasn’t always a given. There’s been a lot of buzz about the gown you wore, in fact, there’s word of the national art museum of London wanting to showcase it which is unbelievable. All your success has been skyrocketed, even from what it was at before. Having Harry at the show helped with the media buzz, they always went crazy when he was around but it did start rumours of the two of you dating. Especially after the pictures from the show were released and it was very obvious he was staring at you in such a way. You didn’t really care though, all publicity was good publicity.

It was Wednesday today, and you decided to work from home this week because you were still pretty exhausted from all the work you’d done in preparation for the show. Your day had been relitively slow, answering emails and drawing out some new designs for spring. You were sitting at your desk drawing out a coat design when your phone started ringing, you glanced at it and saw Glenne’s name pop up. You smiled lightly and picked up up.

“Hello?” You greeted her.

“Hey y/n! How are you?” She asked cheerily.

“I’m great G, just finishing some work. How are you?” You asked as you sat back in your chair.

“Great! So the reason I’m calling is because Jeff and I wanted to throw a party for you to celebrate the show. Obviously we need you here for that” she giggled, obviously excited.

“Aw of course I’ll come. What day is it?” You asked.

“It’s Friday night! It’ll be at the Hilton hotel, just give them your name. We’d like everyone to be there at nine if possible” she responded.

“Okay! I’ll be there at seven babe” you said as you stood up to look in your fridge, suddenly feeling hungry.

“Harry will be there” Glenne said knowingly, slightly drawing out the end of his name. You laughed as you shoved a slice of cheese into your mouth.

“And?” You asked.

She giggled again, “he’s been asking about you a lot lately, and we all saw him at your show. You two are obviously fucking” she said in a mocking tone.

“G! We are not. He’s just obsessed with me” you chuckled, rummaging through your fridge for more snacks.

“Oh stop, who isn’t? Plus you guys would be adorable together!” She responded loudly through the phone.

“G, he’s the relationship type and I’m so far from that, you know this” you said sternly.

“Y/N you don’t even know him, how do you know he’s the relationship type?” She asked giggling at your tendency to assume you know people immediately upon meeting them.

“I’ve heard his music, G. Anyways, I’ve got to go make something to eat before my stomach eats itself. I’ll see you Friday”.

September 25th 2020~

As soon as Jeff told Harry about the party they were throwing for you he was ecstatic, knowing he’d get a chance to actually speak to you. Since it was a celebration of you and KIWI, Harry decided to wear some of the pieces he owned that you designed. It took him about 30 minutes to decided on which of your designs he wanted to wear, hoping you would appreciate the gesture. Jeff had already assured Harry that he wouldn’t be the only one wearing KIWI at the party when he brought up the idea to him, which made Harry feel more comfortable. Eventually he decided to wear a two piece set you’d designed last season. It was Harry’s favourite. It was a long sleeve button up shirt and long perfectly fitted trousers, both made out of a beautiful sparkly blue fabric with a light contrast stitching. 

Upon arriving at the hotel Harry noticed that there were many cars parked out front and all down the street, way more than there had been at the last get together. He assumed it was because you would have invited more of your circle this time, as they were celebrating you. Harry made it up to the penthouse where the lady at the front desk had told him to go, and was greeted at the door by Jeff, quickly giving him a hug and ushering him into the large room. “Sorry I’m a little late, had some issues with m’ car” Harry apologized to Jeff with a small smile, both of them fully aware that he was indeed late because he takes so long to get ready.

“S’all good man, it’s just getting started” Jeff chuckled lowly as Harry followed him through the foyer and into the large open living room, where it seemed most of the party goers were. It was a pretty busy, around 80 people from what Harry could see. Through the crowd his eyes landed directly on you. You were talking to a small group of people, some of who Harry recognized. You were sitting on one of the big couches on the right side of the open space, you were slowly nodding while sipping from a glass of dark brown liquid. You were wearing a gold sparkly jumpsuit that hugged every inch of your torso in the most flattering way possible and flared at the from the knee down. Half of your wavy hair was effortlessly pinned back with a brown claw clip. You looked so beautiful, you stood out in the crowd of other beautiful people. Your energy and vibrancy completely overpowering the room.

As soon as Harry entered the living room with Jeff your attention was taken away from the group of friends around you. You immediately noticed that Harry was wearing one of your personal favourite designs, and you could tell he had spotted you aswell. As if he was looking for you, he smiled widely as you made eye contact. “Excuse me guys, I’m going to grab another drink” you smiled at the group before standing up and walking across the living room diagonally towards the open concept kitchen to the left of the living room. You purposefully glanced at Harry as you walked passed him with a cute innocent smile.

As soon as you entered the kitchen and bar area you felt someone behind you, you turned on your heel being met with Harry a few feet behind you. “Ello love” he greeted you with his deep English accent, “congratulations on the show, ‘t was incredible” he complimented with a genuine smile on his soft pink lips. You smiled back and slowly looked him up and down, observing his body in your design.

“Thank you, Harry. I’m glad you liked it. Lovely choice by the way” you said as you motioned towards his outfit with your hand.

“T’was hard too choose which one to wear if I’m ‘onest” he replied with a low chuckle as he stepped towards you a bit.

“You made the right choice, it’s one of my favourite designs I’ve done” you complimented as you leaned against the large marble counter, placing your almost empty drink on it “fits your body perfectly” you continued as you met your gaze with his again.

“It does doesn’t it?” He asked cheekily as he pulled at the top a bit with his ring clad hands. “Y’ look incredible, love the jumpsuit” he flattered as he moved about a foot closer, leaving only a few inches between the two of you.

You smirked “so charming” you replied as you gently touched his cheek while holding strong eye contact. You could feel his heart beating against your arm. You stared at each other for a few more seconds, almost as if you were having a conversation solely through eye contact.

“You need a drink” you smiled as you let your hand fall from his face and you spinned around as you made your way over to the bar.

Harry was completely stunned as he watched you walk over to the large bar, quickly grabbing all the ingredients for whatever drink you had decided he should drink. Being so close to you only moments before made his mind blur and his heart race. How could you just walk away when it seemed as if you were about to kiss him? Most people would jump at the chance. But he assumes most people would also jump at the chance to kiss you, he certainly would. He was taken out of his thoughts by your sweet voice. “Harry” you called for him from the bar, his name sounding like heaven coming out of your mouth like that.

“What’d ya make me love?” He asked as he walked over to you. You held out a glass filled with dark brown liquid and a single large ice cube in it.

“A Manhattan, it’s my favourite” you blinked sweetly at him, the sides of your mouth tugging up at the sides as he grabbed it mimicking your smile before taking a sip and making a face as though he’d just taken a shot. Your smile grew.

“S’very strong love, but good” he assured you.

“Mmm what’s the point of a drink if it’s not strong enough to burn” you replied, not as a question but rather a strong statement again hitting him with that beautiful stare. You picked up your own drink (the same as the one you’d made for him) and said a quick “cheers” before downing most of it. Harry was about to say something but was quickly inturrupted by a group of people entering the bar area.

The group consisted of a few people Harry knew, immediately recognizing Lizzo, ASAP Rocky, Gigi and Bella Hadid but there were a few others with them he didn’t know (or atleast didn’t recognize). The smile on your face grew into a wide grin as Bella squealed and said your name, engulfing you in a bear hug. “Bells!” You giggled lightly into her shoulder before releasing from the hug.

“The show was incredible Y/N. You’re a fucking genius” she praised as she walked behind the bar, still smiling widely.

“You walked in it love” you reminded her, giggling as you went to greet Rocky. The two of you hugged tightly before releasing, Rocky’s hands going up to cup your face.

“You killed it baby, just like you always do” he said as he kissed your nose. You could feel Harry’s eyes burning into the side of your head as he chatted along with lizzo.

“Mm thank you Rocky, you know you’re my muse” you grinned wider as you kissed both his hands in appreciation.

Harry couldn’t help but watch your interaction with Rocky, you seemed so comfortable, so intimate. Harry felt a pang of jealousy run through his stomach at you calling Rocky your “muse”. He brushed it off with a clearing of his throat as he turned his attention back to lizzo. “You good H? Uh oh. Y/N made you one of her manhattans didn’t she?” Lizzo laughed loudly looking down at the drink in his hands before hitting Harry’s shoulder playfully, the question bringing your attention to them.

“Hey! My manhattans are world renowned Mel” (Lizzo’s real name is Melissa) you said proudly as you took a few steps forward, closing the distance between you and the couple. You pulled Lizzo in for a hug “m glad you came” you said as the two of you pulled apart.

“Of course! The collection is legendary as per” she replied genuinely. You thanked her and gave her a kiss on the cheek before turning your attention to Harry.

“If you’ll excuse Harry and I, Mel. He was just about to escort me outside for a smoke” you informed her, all well making full eye contact with Harry.

“Mhmmm you two have fun, come get me for shots later”

Harry followed you outside onto the large open balcony, watching you greet people on the way, doing the same if he knew the person. As soon as the two of you stepped outside Harry watched you take a deep breath, tipping your head back slightly to take in the fresh air. It looked almost erotic, even though it was just a simple action it made all Harry’s senses tingle. “How do’ya know Rocky?” Harry asked seemingly out of nowhere, it almost shocked himself. He knew he tends to get jealous rather easily, and maybe even a little possessive but usually it only comes out with people he’s exclusive with, not a women he’s never even kissed. And yet, there it was. He tried to sound casual but worried he failed terribly. You turned your head to him with a slight smirk before licking your lower lip and chuckling slightly.

“Oh, we’ve known each other for a long time. Met him at a party when I was first starting out” you said nonchalantly before grabbing a pack of cigarettes off the small table that sat on the deck. Harry nodded, understanding that you were in no way going to give away the nature of yours and Rockys relationship.

“I listened through your album again this morning” you admitted, effortlessly changing the subject back to him while taking a long drag of the cigarette you had just lit. Harry tried his best to hide the grin appearing on his face as he stared at you,

“did ya?” He asked waiting for you to continue your thought.

“Mhm. Listened to it in the shower” you hummed, as you leaned forward against the railing in front of the two of you, taking in the view and breaking eye contact.

The thought of you listening to Harry sing while completely naked in the shower made his skin feel like it was on fire and all his blood rush down to his groin. “What’s y’ favourite song?” He asked, leaning his back against the railing right next to you and looking down at your face. You looked up at him and hummed in thought.

“She” you said with a thoughtful, almost devious smile before standing up straight and putting out your smoke.

“Let’s go do shots, yeah?” Harry nodded with an amused smile as you grabbed his hand and pulled him back into the hotel.

Four shots and two hours later Harry found himself sitting on one of the couches to the right side of the open living room, watching you dance along with your friends in the middle. You looked so free, so careless, so magical. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you, trying to listen to whatever Jeff was trying to tell him to his right. “You’re not paying attention are you man?” Harry heard Jeff ask through a laugh as he followed Harry’s eyeline straight to you. Harry pried his eyes away from you to look at Jeff

“sorry mate. I’m listenin’” Harry told him, not really trying to be convincing.

“She’s an actress y’know. Not literally, but she knows how to get what she wants, she always has. But she’s got a good heart, just be careful alright?” Jeff said to him, patting his knee before standing up and walking over to glenne who was stood at the other side of the room.

Harry sat, watching you as he went over what Jeff had said to him a few moments ago. “She’s an actress”. Did he have to be careful? You didn’t look dangerous, but you did scare him a little. Not because he thought you’d physically hurt him or anything, but he knew if he’d let you, you could dig deep into his already fragile heart. Break it, possibly like it hadn’t been before.

Harry was brought out of his thoughts by seeing you turn your body towards where he was sitting, breaking yourself out of the group of friends that surrounded you. You made eye contact with Harry and motioned for him to come to you with your perfectly manicured right hand. You weren’t smiling, but he could see a glint of something he thought was amusement in your eyes. He got up and walked over to you. “You motioned fo’ me love?” He asked as he approached, a small smirk apparently on both your lips.

“Mhm, come” you said as you offered him your hand. He took your small hand in his as you ushered him through the growing crowd.

The two of you walked all the way through the living room, and passed the kitchen before entering a smaller room to the left of the kitchen. As you entered Harry took in his surroundings, it appeared to be an office space. There was a glass table in the center of the room with a large plate decorated with multiple lines of white powder on it, along with three chairs; one blue velvet and the other two grey of the same material. There were a few other people in the room, but Harry didn’t recognize them. “Some privacy please loves” you said aloud, asking them to leave Harry and yourself alone in the space. The strangers immediately obliged when they saw you, muttering greetings as they exited. You turned around to face Harry who was standing only slightly behind you.

“do you fancy a line Harry?” You asked, your hand coming up to touch his shoulder lightly.

“S’ a party innit?” He agreed, making you smile all too innocently given what he was agreeing to was quite the opposite. You walked over to the plate of narcotics, picking up the metal straw from beside it before holding it up to your nose. You bent over the table, flipping your hair over to the right side to make sure it didn’t get in the way as you breathed in deep through your nose inhaling a thick line of the powder. Harry watched as you stood up straight, tipping your head back and inhaling through your nose to make sure you got it all. You let out a cheery giggle before holding the straw out to Harry. He took it and did the same.

Just as Harry stood up straight you gently carressed his left cheek, staring into his blown out pupils. “God, you’re somethin’ else” he spoke just below a whisper, only loud enough for you to barely hear. He brought his large ring filled hand up to your waist as your hand fell from his cheek to his neck. He applied pressure to your waist encouraging you to move so your bum was pushed against the glass table. Once you obliged he moved even closer to you so your noses were practically touching, his hand moving to smooth itself over your back to hold you in place.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, his voice much lower and more raspy than it had been. His eyes filled with desperation and lust. Instead of responding you giggled lightly and pulled him in by his neck, connecting your lips. The kiss was slow and messy, but filled with an undying passion. Your left hand squeezed his neck slightly, egging him on as one of his hands went to cup your jaw while the other one steadied on your waist. You opened your mouth slightly, inviting him in which he immediately took advantage of, sliding his tongue into your mouth. Both your lips were slightly numb from the coke but it did nothing but intensify the feeling. He tasted like whiskey and peppermint, making your head dizzy (in the most incredible way). You let your hands drop down to his waistband, slowly untucking the button down from his trousers and beginning to undue the buttons. Your eagerness made a low groan erupt from the back of his throat, feeling his boner growing rapidly at your touch. You broke the kiss as you finished unbuttoning his shirt, both of your breathing unsteady. He watched as you ran your hands up his torso slowly before pushing his sleeves off his wide shoulders. You made eye contact with him as he went to kiss you again, you stopped him shaking your head. You bent your head down slightly and licked his chest, starting from the top of his butterfly tattoo and ending just under his jaw. The feeling driving Harry completely insane with lust, goosebumps appearing all over his body as he let out a throaty moan

“y’ drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy” he said as you came up, standing up straight.

“Sit” you spoke, pointing at the large blue velvet chair next to you, not breaking eye contact. You could still hear the booming music and people taking from the other rooms as you watched him sit. You turned around so your back was facing Harry as you undid the tie that held up the top part of your jumpsuit letting it fall down, exposing your entire torso and back.

You heard Harry mutter a low “fuck” as you turned around and positioned yourself on top of him, successfully straddling his lap.

You could feel the exceedingly large bulge through his pants pressing against your crotch as he began kissing down your neck and towards your breasts causing you to moan slightly.

“Please Harry” you said breathlessly, giving him some control as you began slowly grinding back and forth against him.

“Tell me princess. Tell me what ya want” he raspily requested as he gripped onto your hips with both his hands, guiding your movements.

“I want you to fuck me harry, I want you to use me” you said still grinding against him while looking down slightly into his eyes as he stared back up at you. Without hesitation he lifted you, firmly holding onto your bum as he stood up and set you down on the table.

“Lift up love” he ordered, you leaned back on your hands and lifted up for bum so he could pull down the remaining part of your jumpsuit. After discarding the material to the side, taking your nude pumps along with it, he took a moment to take in your practically naked body. You grinned widely at his reaction as he began to grope your boobs, once again connecting his lips with yours. You reached your hands down to undo the button of his pants, using your skilled fingers you got them down in record time. You looked back up at him to see his eyes already staring at you. You placed your hands on either side of his face while his still ran along your nude body.

“Please Harry, I need your cock” you whispered seductively causing his whole body to go into overdrive.

He quickly pulled down his already undone trousers and boxers before sliding your peach coloured thong to the side, feeling your dripping pussy with his index finger and letting out an animalistic groan. You watched as he grabbed his large dick with his left hand, lining himself up at your entrance before turning his gaze back to your face. You both held eye contact as he entered you. The feeling completely overwhelming both of you, you leaned your head back, gripping roughly onto his back as you both let out a strangled moan. “Fuck” you moaned “you’re so big”. Your words egging him on, he picked up his pace pumping in and out of you slow but rough. He kept his focus on your face, watching as you moaned his name and praised him. You looked like a complete wet dream, your eyes barely open, your head tilted back as you stared at him through your eyelashes refusing to break eye contact.

“Good girl.... y’ take me so fucking good” he moaned, his ringed fingers digging harshly into your hips as his grip tightened. You lifted your head and moved your hands to his neck pulling him in closer so that his face was not even an inch away from yours.

“Harder Harry, fuck me harder” you moaned, completely out of breath. He started pounding into faster, all the sounds of the hectic party just outside completely drowned out by the sound of his balls slapping harshly against you and your shared moans. You finally broke eye contact when you leaned your head to the side and began leaving messy wet kisses along his jaw before meeting his neck with your mouth. You bit down roughly onto the skin of his neck earning a throaty moan from him. You licked over the spot you’d just bitten, soothing the pain a bit before he pulled your head back, balling your hair into his fist so you would look at him.

“Dirty little princess y’ are... leavin’ marks on me” he growled into your mouth before rejioning your lips to his and continuing his relentless pace with his hips.

You could feel your orgasm approaching rapidly, the overwhelming tingling travelling all throughout your body, all your senses becoming increasingly clear. “Y’ gonna cum fo’ me love?” He asked as he felt your walls becoming even tighter around his shaft. You nodded rapidly.

“Such a good girl... s’ fuckin tight” he said in between breathless moans.

“Cum fo’ me princess, I wanna feel you” he repeated, moving his right hand from its place on your waist to rub your clit, matching the pace of his hips. You could feel it happening, your vision blurred, your toes curling, your legs shaking rapidly as you dig your nails deep into Harry’s black, holding on for dear life.

“Fuck, Harry. Fuck” you repeated over and over as you came hard around his thick cock.

“Fuck Y/N, y’ gonna make me cum” he moaned into your neck as you held onto his shoulders.

“Cum for me harry, please” you whispered in his ear between moans of your own. You could feel his body start to weaken as he twitched inside of you, about to cum. You wrapped your legs around his hips tightly and pulled him in closer as he let out a loud raspy moan. You felt thick ropes of cum shoot deep inside you.

Once he came down from his high he kept his head rested on your shoulder, your arms and legs still wrapped tightly around him, both of you desperately trying to catch your breath. After a few seconds you both released, your legs falling down beside his as he stood. You made eye contact and you giggled lightly making him smile boyishly. Both of your hair a complete and utter mess, breathing heavily, and completely naked. The plate of cocaine that once sat on the side of the table was now shattered on the floor. “Your insane” Harry said before he laughed looking around the room, really taking in everything that happened. You laughed with him as you hopped off the table and walked over to where he had thrown your jumpsuit and shoes.

“I’m going to assume you meant that as a compliment.” You said as you pulled your jumpsuit up over your nude body.

“F’ course love. You’re a fuckin minx” he complimented as he buttoned up his shirt.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Harry” you shot back with a quick wink as you finished putting you shoes on.

End note: Ahh thank you so much for reading!! I’m kind of nervous about posting this, so please let me know what you thought! I’d seriously appreciate it. And if you liked it please please reblog :) I know the ending is kind of abrupt but it’ll make sense in the next part. Also, there will be ANGST coming up !

[ectolights]

Haunting Questions

Happy Holiday Truce @rebel-skull! Sorry I’m skating right up against the deadline. This holiday season got busier than I expected.

Thank you for letting me change the prompt a little! This is a DP/Buzzfeed Unsolved crossover fic with a side of Demon Shane. (Read it on AO3 | FFN)

Thanks also to the ever wonderful @oboenotclarinet for your help when I got stuck. I’d be a mess with out you <3

~~~

Maddie attacked the living room with the rare intention of making it look somewhat presentable, for the equally rare occasion of guests coming over. The scorch marks on the wall from the ectopus incident last month she could, unfortunately, do nothing about, but maybe the lime green stains on the couch could still be scrubbed out.

“Danny! Come help me clean up! Our guests will be here soon!”

“Why can’t Jazz do it?” Danny’s automatic response to housework rang out from upstairs, in the direction of his room. Maddie eyed the stain on the couch critically. It’d probably take more than Incredible and elbow grease to get this one out.

“Also, what guests? We literally never have anyone over. Are you actually cleaning?” Danny plodded down the stairs, stopping on the bottom step with his arms draped over the railing. He quirked his eyebrow at his mother in inquiry.

Maddie walked over to the closet with the cleaning supplies, responding over her shoulder, “Jazz is out with her friends, she’ll be back just before the guests arrive—yes, she does have friends, don’t give me that, young man—and I need you to help me tidy up because we were contacted by a team of professional ghost hunters, to be interviewed for their show. Isn’t that exciting! We’ll have the opportunity to share our knowledge about ghosts and ghost hunting with viewers all across the country!” She rifled through the haphazard piles in the closet, searching for the Fenton Foaming Cleaner that would surely (hopefully) remove the sickly splotch on the couch.

Danny moved from the base of the stairs to flop down on the armchair, helpful as ever. The raised eyebrow never faltered as Maddie made her way back to the offending couch, spray bottle prize in hand. “They don’t sound all that professional if they have a tv show. Most of those shows are just a bunch of fancy tricks, you know. Are you sure these guys are for real?”

Maddie spared a glance in her son’s direction, to where he lay sprawled across the chair, one leg carelessly thrown over an arm. She turned back to the stain and spritzed it with the cleaner. “They’re from a company in Los Angeles, called Buzzfeed. They were nothing but professional when I spoke to the representative on the phone.” The stain began to bubble green, an acrid aroma piercing the air. She hummed in concern. It wasn’t supposed to do that. Hopefully that meant it was working.

“Oh wow, that’s a real vote of confidence. Mom, Buzzfeed is like, ‘what pizza you are based on your favorite color,’ or ‘we tried being hipsters for a day,’ they’re an entertainment company. The last thing they are is professional ghost hunters.” Of course, this would probably work in Danny’s favor more than if they were actual ghost hunters, but, well. No one needed to know that.

Maddie paused from her observation of the science experiment that was the couch and met Danny’s raised eyebrow with one of her own. “Even so, sweetie, they’ve offered to pay for this interview and they’re already on their way here. Besides, even if they are a little… new, to the ghost hunting world, then it’s just an even better opportunity to get the word out there! We can outfit them with proper ghost hunting equipment and make sure they’re equipped to handle all the standard ghostly threats. Your father will certainly be excited to show them all his latest inventions!” Her trademark optimism could rival even Pamela Manson’s, and at times Danny questioned how anyone could have that positive of an outlook, even about things like phony ghost hunters coming for a flipping tv show. Still, there was clearly nothing to be done about it now, so Danny figured he might as well brace himself for the inevitable catastrophe.

As Maddie returned her attention to the couch, concerned frown deepening at what she finally decided was a lost cause, she opted to wipe away what was left of the “cleaner” and cover the whole couch with a long, wide throw blanket. That would at least hide the hole that the Fenton Foaming Cleaner had eaten into the cushion. Better than nothing, she supposed. “Now then, Danny, if you’re done griping about people sharing our passion, then you can get your dirty shoes off the arm of the chair and help me dust the living room. They’ll be here soon, and I want the house to be somewhat presentable. Once Jazz comes home we’ll get your father out of the lab and we can all be here for the interview. It’ll be so exciting!”

Danny huffed and reluctantly got to work. “Still think this is a dumb idea,” he mumbled under his breath. His mother rolled her eyes and didn’t comment.

When Jazz came home a little while later she revealed to Danny she had known about this interview for a few days, but after having looked up the show she’d deemed it a non-threat. She explained she was under the assumption Danny knew about the upcoming interview as well, so she didn’t think to tell him. They both supposed their parents had simply had it slip their minds—not an unusual occurrence. Besides, it was a moot point now; the tv people would be here any minute.

“Alright, kids, I’ll make sure your father has kept the lab in one piece and get him to join us before they arrive. Danny, you’re on door duty. Don’t let your father get close enough to threaten them with the Fenton Bazooka. We don’t need a repeat of last time,” this last part was said under Maddie’s breath as she headed to the lab door in the kitchen. Jazz and Danny exchanged a knowing look.

When the doorbell finally did ring, Jazz perched neatly on the chair, Jack and Maddie came running into the room (“Ghost!” “No, Jack, ghosts don’t use the front door, we’ve talked about this Sweetie.”) and Danny opened the front door, pained smile already in place. He was met by two young-ish guys—or, more accurately, a guy and a tree with legs—who both looked very out of place in a town where ghost attacks came on the news as often as the weather. The shorter, more average looking of the two had a bright smile on his face, and the guy with trees for legs (Seriously, how was he so tall?) had his hands in his pockets and a laidback grin.

As soon as Danny laid eyes on the taller one, his smile fell from his face.

There was no way this guy was human.

“Hi! I’m Ryan Bergara, and this is my co-host, Shane Madej. Our cameraman Mark is grabbing the equipment out of the car. We’re the guys from Buzzfeed Unsolved; we’re supposed to interview the local ghost hunters. This is the Fenton residence, correct?” The shorter guy—Ryan, apparently—bounced a little on his toes.

“Well I should hope so Ryan, they have a giant neon sign,” Shane grinned, earning him a lighthearted jab to the ribs from Ryan. Danny narrowed his eyes.

“Yes, of course, welcome!” Maddie came up behind Danny, and he stepped to the side grudgingly as his mother continued, “Please come in and sit down, we’re very excited to have you here. I’m Maddie, and this is my husband Jack and our kids Jazz and Danny. We’ve been looking forward to this ever since you contacted us! It’s a thrilling opportunity.” She led them into the living room, not noticing Danny’s sudden change in attitude. As soon as Shane stepped over the threshold, the electric ice that usually accompanied Danny’s ghost sense washed down his spine—but his ghost sense hadn’t actually gone off. He’d know if it had. This guy was giving him major danger vibes, but he clearly wasn’t a ghost. Danny swallowed the growl that was building in his chest.

Maddie continued welcoming them, unperturbed.

“I always love meeting fellow ghost hunters!” Jack announced in his usual booming fashion. “Always good to see more folks interested in this perilous profession! You can never have too many people fighting back against the threat of those putrid ectoplasmic post-human manifestations.”

Ryan faltered, his smile wavering. “What? I don’t… Fighting? What do you mean, fighting?”

Maddie’s brows creased. “Well, you’re ghost hunters, right? Surely you know that all ghosts are the evil incarnations of human imprints, driven by obsessions to violence and chaos. They have to be dealt with to protect people.”

Based on the gobsmacked expressions on the two purported ghost hunter’s faces, they hadn’t exactly expected this answer.

“So I take it you definitely believe in ghosts, then.”

A brief moment of stunned silence followed Shane’s statement, even Jack temporarily lost for words. “Well of course ghosts are real, that’s ridiculous!” Jack exclaimed once he recovered. “They attack the city practically every week! We Fentons have developed the most advanced ecto-technology capable of harming and containing ghosts. We’ve been studying ghosts for years!”

In what to Danny was a clear effort to ward off one of their father’s ghost rants, Jazz asked, “You’ve been doing this show for a while, correct? You must have fought a ghost before, or at least encountered one?”

“Well, no, we’ve never seen a ghost, or any paranormal creature. We always look for evidence, but we almost never find anything that counts as compelling.”

Ryan, still stunned, held up his hands. “O-okay. Hold on. This is… this is a lot. Why don’t we uh, why don’t we set up for the interview, and then we can continue this conversation while we’re recording, so we don’t have to repeat anything? It’ll be more genuine that way.”

While the Buzzfeed guys, now including their cameraman, set up for the interview, the Fenton parents whispered to each other in heated sounding tones, presumably still baffled by the lack of proper hunting knowledge. Jazz came over to stand by Danny, who (despite the strange turn the afternoon had already taken) hadn’t taken his eyes off Shane. The longer he was in his house the more Danny felt the urge to fight. Jazz didn’t seem to notice her brother’s weird mood, instead commenting, “Well I guess they’re just yet more phonies, huh?”

“No.”

“What?” She sounded taken aback.

“The taller one. Shane. He’s not human. I don’t think he’s a ghost either, he didn’t set my ghost sense of properly, but he’s definitely something. And he’s powerful, too. He gives me a really bad feeling.”

Okay, Jazz was definitely worried now. “Well what are we going to do about it? Is he a threat? Should I call Sam and Tucker?”

“No, I don’t think they’ll be able to help. I don’t think I could take him. I don’t know how to explain it, but I can just sense that he’s too much for me, even with help. I don’t like it.” His hands curled into fists at his sides. “Besides, he hasn’t actively made any threats yet. For now, we just keep an eye out. If it goes bad, I’ll deal with it while you get Mom and Dad out. Hopefully it won’t come to that.”

Jazz glanced between Shane and Danny, pensive. “Okay, but… please be careful.”

Danny spared his sister a brief look. “I’ll try.”

There wasn’t much they could do but act normal and hope for the best, so once everything was set up and the cameras were ready to roll, Shane and Ryan sat on the recently-blanket-covered couch across from Jack and Maddie, who were each in an armchair. Jazz and Danny perched on the loveseat, out of frame and on edge.

Ryan worked quickly through his usual introduction and explanation, eager to get to the meat of the situation.

“So Drs. Fenton, what can you tell us about Amity Park as a haunted location?”

“Well,” Maddie began, “The ghosts started appearing frequently about a year and a half ago, coming from the Ghost Zone into our world and attacking people. They generally cause havoc a couple times a week, destroying property and attempting to injure people. They fight amongst themselves as often as they terrorize average citizens, being the violence-driven creatures they are.”

“Wow, there’s… a lot to unpack there. What is the Ghost Zone?”

“That’s where the ghosts come from!” Jack chimed in. “They need ectoplasm to survive, since that’s what they’re made up of, so they go back to the Ghost Zone when they get weak.”

“So I take it ghosts can be seen to the average eye, then?” Ryan asked.

“Well of course they can! All ghosts can make themselves invisible, but their default state is in the human field of vision. All ghosts are typically tangible, unless actively using their powers of intangibility, and they seem to stay hovering or flying unless deliberately doing otherwise. Most ghosts have offensive powers as well, such as ectoplasmic blasts and elemental attacks, but the weakest ones don’t maintain a consistent form and don’t display anything beyond the basic capabilities,” Maddie explained.

“Wow,” Ryan said, “I had no idea ghosts were so… present. I thought they were, like, barely able to move pencils or turn on flashlights.”

“Nonsense,” Jack declared, “Ghosts are a very serious threat and can cause a lot more harm than turning on the lights!”

Shane leaned forward, hands clasped over his knees. “So ghosts can hurt people? And they do it actively? So much for Casper the Friendly Ghost.”

Maddie waved a hand, nonchalant. “Oh yes, all ghosts are driven by malice; their base instinct is to turn to violence. They’ll just as soon attack each other as they will a human. That’s why it’s crucial to make sure you always have the proper weaponry to defend yourself.”

“What kind of weapons? Like salt and holy water?” Ryan asked, hopeful to at least have gotten one thing right about ghosts.

“Of course not! A little saltwater isn’t going to do anything against a grisly ghoul! That’s why we have these bad boys,” Jack sprung up from his seat, pulling out an ectogun from seemingly nowhere and brandishing it in front of the two guests. They leaned back quickly in response, startled. Mark, from behind the camera, watched nervously, and Jazz put her head in her palm. Danny grimaced.

“This here is a state-of-the-art Fenton brand ectogun, designed and built by yours truly. It uses ecto energy to fight ghost fire with ghost fire. Nothing on Earth is more effective at takin’ down those scary spooks!”

“Alright, Dear, let’s maybe put the gun down; I think it’s making our guests just a little uncomfortable. I’m sure they can admire it just fine from the coffee table.” Maddie stood and placed her hand gently on Jack’s arm, lowering it and deftly taking the gun from his hands. She set it on the table and smiled apologetically at the men on the couch. “I’m sorry, Jack can get a little… enthusiastic. But it’s not to worry, ectoguns can’t hurt humans. They’re designed specifically to target the unique energy that constitutes ghosts; the most even our larger guns would do to humans is knock the wind out briefly.” She encouraged Jack to sit back down, and returned to her own seat.

It may have been Danny’s imagination, but he could have sworn Shane slid further away from where the gun rested innocently between them.

“…Okay, so you use actual weapons to fight ghosts. Cool. Uh… where do you find ghosts? You said something about them going to and from the—Ghost Zone, correct?—so I assume they aren’t bound to one place like in most tales about them,” Ryan said, attempting to brush off any lingering awkwardness from Jack’s well-meaning outburst.

At this, Jack brightened up considerably and said, “We use the Fenton Finder! Ghosts all have an ectosignature, so we use those to detect when they’re nearby, like radar! Even if they’re invisible, this puppy can find a ghost on the other side of the city.” He beamed proudly, and Maddie gave her husband an endearing smile.

Shane perked up once again, absently picking at the threads on the edge of the hole Maddie had attempted to conceal. “So you’re saying this finder-thing makes it impossible for ghosts to hide?”

Danny had a bad feeling about this.

“That’s right! We’d know a ghost was near long before it had the chance to get the drop on us.”

Ryan asked, “Does it work on other creatures, too? Like demons, for instance?”

Maddie laughed, “Don���t be silly! Demons don’t exist. Everything that people think they see is usually some form of ghost. There’s a vast spectrum of forms a ghost can take.”

Shane nudged Ryan. “See Ry, I told you demons weren’t real! You’ve been getting so worked up about nothing. Annabelle’s got nothing on these ghosts we’re learning about.”

Danny tuned out Ryan’s spluttered denials and defenses as he came to a worrying suspicion. Shane wasn’t a ghost—even if he had been a half-ghost, Danny would have been able to tell. But he wasn’t human either; the moment he first saw him he just knew. But if he wasn’t a ghost and he wasn’t human… then he had to be something else entirely. Danny had never encountered anything else, but if his own existence proved anything, it was that he couldn’t jump to conclusions about what did and did not exist.

Shane didn’t seem to believe in any of this stuff, even if he was currently going along with the ghost thing (Danny felt pretty sure that was just out of politeness to his parents, based on the faces Shane had been making and the near-constant laughter he appeared to be fighting). But Danny knew from experience how helpful putting on a persona could be. He couldn’t assume anything about this guy.

(Ryan seemed pretty safe. He didn’t seem to share any hidden glances or take any second meaning from his friend’s actions. He was probably in the dark.)

So if Shane was something else…

Danny was suddenly very worried he perhaps knew what that ‘else’ might truly be.

“…so ghosts have different power levels,” His mother was saying as Danny brought himself back to the events at hand, “and that determines how difficult it is to defeat.”

“So you can’t purposefully antagonize anything while we’re here, Shane,” Ryan said, giving his friend a stern eye. “I am not going to be the one to tell Sara you got yourself murked by the undead.”

“I don’t know,” Shane replied, “Could be fun to fistfight a ghost. A good old-fashioned brawl.” He turned with a Cheshire grin and stared straight at Danny, too-dark eyes glittering.

Yeah, this definitely wasn’t good.

[wastelandcrown]

all’s fair in fake love and gore

CHAPTER 1: (un)predictability

Summary: Roman and Patton have been dating for a while, and it’s fine. Remus doesn’t care. Unfortunately, it’s another excuse for his family to put Roman on a pedestal. Except that, through a turn of events nobody expected, Remus ends up pretending to be madly in love with his close friend Logan for his family’s holiday trip. Both parties are convinced nothing will happen between them. Roman and Patton, however, are terrible meddlers who believe in the power of love.

Warnings: Potential ooc behavior, Lightly tense family dynamics, Remus being Remus, OCs for family members (If I miss something please tell me!)

Notes: Listen-I hate the holidays but I live for this trope. I’ll try my hardest to do it justice and make it work. Name was suggested to me by the lovely @grayskiesrainyskies, thank you ma’am!!

Pairings: Intrulogical, Royality, Creativitwins

Two hours. It’s just two more hours. He’s reasoning with himself against all odds, but the urge to slam his head against the dining table is palpable and he’s barely holding it together. Remus had always hated family dinners, he hadn’t even bothered going up until recently. Adulthood was messy. Family was messier. More accurately, Remus was the mess of the family. Roman and him had long since mended their relationship, they even hung around in the same circle! That only made it worse when Roman and their mutual friend Patton started dating. It’s not that he wasn’t happy for them, he was. Their fluffy, happy, fairy-tale romance was something out of some god damned Disney movie, and Remus was so happy someone put up with Roman’s hopeless romanticism. Except now, because the family loves Patton.

He’s spent the entire night being as family friendly as he possibly could. It was a tiring effort to be dressed up like a “normal person”, without any makeup or accessories, and placating the old fleabags that he happened to be related to. Even then, he got the typical onslaught of negative attention. He didn’t even care. He didn’t, he really really didn’t. What made the dinner so wildly unbearable was Patton’s existence. He got along with everyone in the family, helped out with cooking, set the table, watched the kids, and was entirely sweet and rated-G. The family doted on him. Remus and Roman’s parents told Roman that Patton was “the one”. Both pairs of grandparents called him a “sweet young man” who was “the perfect homemaker for Roman”. Ugh. Perfect Roman, perfect Patton, and their perfect romance. 

Dinner came, and now the family can’t seem to stop asking them happy little questions. The kids table even came over with the occasional curiosity about Patton and Roman. Remus could tell Roman’s calm and polite demeanor was shattering around question thirty. Even Patton was tired at question fifty. Then Aunt Patty had to open her stupid mouth.

“Well Patton,” She says with a wide smile, “You really are such a great young man! It’s quite the blessing that you’re with Roman.”

There it is. That’s what Remus has been waiting for all night. 

“Aunt Patty, please,” Roman mutters, putting his head in his hands.

“Uhm, I’m not really sure what you mean!” Patton laughs nervously, genuinely confused about what she means. 

The table laughs, and Aunt Patty continues, “Oh, well, I just mean that you chose the right twin!”

Roman succumbs to the urge and lets his head slide onto the table, his hands are behind his head and squeezing at his neck. Patton stares at Aunt Patty like she’s gone mad. Remus slips his butter knife off the table and stabs the back of his hand with it. It hurts, but skin doesn’t break. Most of the table laughs. His parents, his grandparents, his aunts and uncles, his adult cousins. They all laugh at the prospect of someone so nice dating someone like Remus. He stabs his hand again, harder this time.

His mother pipes up next, and Patton looks as if he’s going to lose his mind, “It’s a blessing really! If Remus brought someone home they’d probably be crazier than he is!”

“We really are lucky he doesn’t keep partners around for long!” Says his grandfather, and the table laughs again. Remus stabs his hand again.

He can see the gears of Patton's brain working as Roman sits up, “Guys,”

There’s something dangerous behind Patton’s eyes, “Can we please,”

Patton smiles in a way that makes Remus panicky, “Just leave Remus alone?”

He’s got a devious plan, and Remus can tell by the way he places a soft hand on Roman’s shoulder.

He brightly says, “See, Remus, this is why I told you you should have brought him!”, while making the most innocently intense eye-contact Remus has ever had. 

Patton has been spending way too much time with Janus. 

Everyone goes silent. Even the kids, which is a miracle. Remus stabs himself in the hand for the fourth time, the skin breaks. His blood gets onto the sleeve of the white button-up Roman lent him. 

“Remus,” His father speaks very softly, “Do you have a partner?”

Patton smiles at him again, he thinks it over once or twice, “Yeah, what about it?”

“Why didn’t you bring them?” His mother asks with excitement clear in her voice.

Remus scowls, and everyone knows why, “You literally just fu-freaking laughed about his mere existence.”

One of his uncles clears his throat and breaks the silence, “H-How long have you been with them?” 

“Six months.” Remus lies, he hopes the three of them can act well enough to pull it off.

That amount of time is five months longer than any of his previous flings, and his parents erupt into dramatic cries, “You haven’t told us after half a year!”

“I told Roman and Patton!” He yells back, turning back to his food and shoving some in his mouth to angrily chew.

“Roman! Patton! Who is it? Do we know him? Is it serious?” His father has stood up and has leaned over the table to interrogate the pair. 

“Do-” Roman starts, and Remus knows he’s doomed, “Do you remember my friend, Logan?” 

Remus kicks Roman under the table. As hard as he possibly can. His father stops moving, his mother drops her fork. 

“You’re lying.”

“He’s not!” Patton chirps, “None of us expected it either but they’re very cute together!”

“Is Logan that stuck-up boy from their high school graduation who kept talking about following the proper protocol?” His grandma asks with a surprisingly shocked expression.

“That’s the one!” Roman points as he speaks, then the entire family has their eyes on Remus again. 

“What? Are you looking for some explanation or something? He’s smart and he’s hot and he respects my choices,” Remus scoffs out, getting out of his chair and taking his plate to the kitchen, “I’m not talking about this anymore.” 

Patton and Roman follow him into the kitchen with their plates. As he scrapes his plate into the trash, he gives Patton the most intense glare. 

“Remus, I’m so sorry-” Patton pauses, and snatches him by the hand, “Did you stab yourself!?”

The next two hours, nobody brings anything up. It’s a breath of fresh air to have them shocked into respecting his damn privacy. Family leave or head to bed. The only people left awake when the trio are leaving are the twins' parents.

“What do you want, dad?” Remus asks when his father approaches.

His father gives a smile that he assumes was supposed to be warm, and opens his mouth to speak.

“Dad, Remus and I should really be going,” Roman cuts in, probably to try and save Remus from a potentially foreboding conversation.

Roman is pushing Patton and Remus towards the door, their dad chuckles. They must look fairly comedic with Roman angrily pushing against their backs as they stand without budge.

“Remus, you know the family’s winter trip is coming up,” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” He rolls his eyes, and Patton smacks him upside the head.

“Your mother and I would like to extend the invitation to Logan, to get to know him.”

The room is so silent, you can almost hear Aunt Patty snoring in the guest room. Despite everything, Remus can’t bring himself to just say “no” to this offer. The family Cabin is huge, beautiful, quiet, and has a very nice library. Y’know, rich people shit. It really does seem like something Logan would love under different different circumstances. 

He agreed to ask, but he was sure Logan would say no.

“No.”

Called it. Remus knew that even if himself, Roman, and Patton groveled and begged, Logan was not going to budge.

“Logan! It’s only two weeks!” Roman pleads.

“You need a break anyway! What’s more relaxing than being my little boytoy!” Remus grumbles, he’s only partially joking. Logan does need a break, he can tell.

“Okay but have you seen their cabin?” Patton asks in the innocently excited way he tends to do.

That piqued Logan’s interest. He looks at Patton and inquisitively moves his eyebrow vaguely upwards. Roman opens up a folder on his phone of photos from the cabin. There are nearly two hundred, but each photo is whittling down Logan’s resolve. He thinks again about their neat little family library. The fairly large room goes almost entirely unused, only with two exceptions. Remus, and long past on Gran-Gran. Remus remembers sitting on his great-grandmother’s lap while she read to him countless stories. She didn’t mind his weirdness. Logan didn’t mind much either. He’d be alone with hundreds of books for three weeks, what more could he want? He’d just have to let Remus sit in. 

“You know,” Remus leans in, whispering into Logan’s ear very gently, “We’ve got a big library.”

That’s what breaks Logan, who lets out the longest sigh Remus has ever heard in his life.

He agrees to go on two conditions. He will have physical contact with Remus but he will not kiss him, and he gets the make up the story of how the pair met. Remus couldn’t be more ecstatic. His family could suck it! He had a sexy ass fake boyfriend, who's probably gonna make up some dumb and adorable story about meeting in at a Library Book Club Meeting. Logan’s hot, he’s hot. It will work out. No strings attached. None. 

Roman jokes to Remus everyday before the trip that we all know how the trip will end. Remus thinks he’s more unpredictable than that. He hopes he is. 

[keelywolfe]

Drabble: Insufficient Memory (baon)

Summary: There is no such thing as a regular day when living with Stretch

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Domestic Fluff

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it Here

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It was still early enough when Edge came in from his morning jog that he was cautious to keep quiet as he went upstairs to the bedroom. Stretch wasn't usually easy to wake once he fell asleep, but it paid to be cautious; there was no reason to disturb his much-needed rest, not even for Edge’s equally necessary shower.

Not that he’d worked up much of a sweat. These days his jogs involved less running and more a brisk walk, in deference to his healing leg. Frustrating, and yet, every day he could see minuscule progress. Considering that Stretch spent most of his life watching the creep up his HP to slightly above five, his complaints about waiting weeks to heal seemed petty at best.

As if summoned by Edge thinking of him, Stretch stirred on the bed as Edge tried to slip past. His sockets slit briefly open, offering a glimpse of pale eye lights. "nhhhnm, babe?"

"Yes, it’s only me,” Edge told him softly. “Go back to sleep.”

In sleepy defiance, Stretch rolled over instead, one hand reaching out to him. "c'mere.”

He would have preferred a shower before joining his husband in bed, but he couldn’t bear to disappoint that drowsy, hopeful look. Edge learned in, resigning himself to a little uncomfortably damp cuddling. Only, instead of the expected kiss, Edge could only blink as Stretch strained upright enough to bury his face into Edge’s collarbone and inhaling deeply, mouth open as if to get a proper taste.

Before Edge could ask him what that was about, he'd already slumped back into his pillow and was snoring softly again.

Well, that was…different. Edge shook his head silently and headed towards the shower.

By the midmorning, he’d forgotten the unusual round of sniffing. That was, until it happened again. He was sitting on the sofa with a lapful of socks to darn, exactly the kind of mindless busywork he enjoyed on the weekends. He was listening to a true crime podcast, his attention on the sock at hand and his work made all the easier with the darning egg Stretch found for him at one thrift shop or another. His attention was on the crisscross of thread and the mystery of a missing person, so much so that when there was a sudden, snuffling breath at the nape of his neck, Edge very nearly jabbed the needle through his glove into a finger.

By the time he had his needlework back under control, Stretch was already striding away and out the sliding glass door to the backyard before Edge could form an introductory ‘what’ into a ‘what the hell are you doing?’

He huffed out an annoyed breath and turned his attention back to the sock at hand, but the ticklish sensation lingered, a phantom sniff haunting his spine.

Twice more he was the victim of a random sniffing. Once as he was carrying a laundry basket upstairs. His hands were full, leaving him defenseless against his husband’s creeping ninja sniffing right where the base of his spine was exposed by the slight gape of his shirt. He’d yelped at that one, barely stifling a curse as he dropped the basket and spilled towels on the stair landing. This time, escape involved a shortcut, leaving Edge alone and grumbling as he restacked the towels in the basket. He walked with them to the bathroom with more caution than should be necessary in his own home.

The second attack came in the kitchen as he was reaching up on the top shelf of his spice cupboard. This time he’d known Stretch was behind him and he’d been braced for the ticklish little sniff. Only, he hadn’t expected his husband to simply bury his face into his armpit to inhale fiercely.

Edge jackknifed down, arms jerking as he instinctively tried to protect his vulnerable underarm from violation. He stared in disbelief as Stretch simply strolled out of the kitchen, even whistling under his breath, as if this were simply a normal day and not the one he’d chosen to play a perverse bloodhound act on Edge’s bones without so much as a by your leave.

But that wasn’t the problem. In his mind, Stretch had blanket permission for any kisses, hugs, or bizarre sniffing that he cared to share. No, the real mystery was why and when it came to Stretch, determining his intentions was something of a heroic task. A magic 8 ball might have more luck in predicting his actual goals than a search for clues.

Asking directly seemed to be the best route and the next time Stretch crept in close, his nasal aperture flaring in preparation, Edge thwarted him by the simple act of yanking him into his lap and holding him down.

He looked down into his husband’s pale, supposedly-innocent eye lights. "What in the name of all the little angels are you doing? If you’re trying to make some sort of statement, I assure you, I did shower today."

"i know, i had to wait for the soap to wear off to get a good whiff of you." Stretch grinned up at him, offering a one shouldered shrug. “your sense of smell is closely linked to your memory, i was thinking i’d try to build up a few good ones.”

“Good memories of me carrying towels?” Edge asked skeptically.

“good memories of you in our house, doing things that you like doing,” Stretch corrected. “and why not? i like remembering you. besides, i need to get lots of memories so i can get the complete set. gotta catch ‘em all, babe.”

That phrasing sounded familiar, there was probably some pun he was missing. Edge let that go, considering, and then leaned in to sniff lightly along Stretch’s jawline.

He snickered, squirming delightfully in Edge’s lap. “see, babe, you’re getting it—hey!”

The swipe of his tongue left a glistening damp trail up Stretch’s cheekbone, as wet as Edge could make it without actively drooling. Well worth the effort for the sight of Stretch’s rounded, shocked eye sockets as he stared at him, his hand hovering over his saliva-coated cheekbone without touching. He looked, Edge thought fondly, as if his thought process short-circuited with the first touch of tongue and he was still waiting on a reboot.

“I believe I read that about 80% of what we taste comes from the sense of smell,” Edge said easily. “I simply wanted to make sure I was recording the memory as accurately as possible.”

“oh, i’ll give you a memory, asshole,” Stretch said laughingly. His laughter turned to a squeal as Edge grappled him gently down to the sofa to treat the other side of his face to a sloppy lick of its own.

If making memories was the game, then Edge was playing to win, and he intended to make sure this was a proper one for their ever-growing collection.

-finis

[that-soft-earth]

JonMartin Post-Canon Fic pt 1 (The Magnus Archives)

SPOILERS for MAG200/end of series Contents: JonMartin, tooth-rotting fluff, hurt/comfort, so much hurt/comfort, brain injury, hospital scene, kissing, disabled Jon

This is a very messy WIP and I’m not going to take the time to do proper research so don’t assume any of the real-world details are accurate. Depictions of disability based on my experience & those of close friends. A later part of this fic can be found here.

Martin sat by Jon’s bedside, mesmerised by the rise and fall of his chest. Now a hospital gown covered that horrible wound that Martin had seen after going through the gateway, somehow miraculously stretched across by angry pink scar tissue, fibrous and almost web-like… though that didn’t bear thinking about. Martin reached to take Jon’s hand, but stopped, shivering at the memory of another time he had sat by Jon’s bedside. But it wasn’t like that now. Jon was breathing, his heart beating normally, the doctors said. When Martin took his hand and squeezed, he sometimes squeezed back. Sometimes pulled it away, which Martin tried not to take personally. Sometimes murmured things that didn’t sound like parts of statements, didn’t sound like anything much at all. “Martin?” Jon croaked. “I’m here,” Martin said, springing to his feet. Jon was staring straight ahead with a panicked expression. “Where – I can’t -” “Right here, I’m right here,” said Martin, reaching for Jon’s hand. Jon flinched and raised his hand weakly as if to defend himself. “It’s me, Jon, you... recognise me, right?” Martin said, his voice cracking. “Yes, your voice, it’s just, everything looks…. Everything looks…. It’s not…” An edge of panic was creeping into Jon’s voice. “Try closing your eyes, maybe,” said Martin. “Oh, that’s better, it’s almost… Almost…” Jon lapsed back into unconsciousness. “Jon? Oh… alright, that’s, that’s progress, I suppose,” Martin said with a shaky laugh. But would there be more progress, he wondered? Judging by when they left Salesa’s, Jon could barely function without the Eye. Martin thought about a life of nursing a half-conscious Jon, and dread settled in his stomach, immediately chased by guilt. He had gotten what he wanted – Jon, alive, with him, and out of danger. And if he had to devote the rest of his life to caring for as much of him as had made it through, that was what he would do – the fierce, burning devotion within him never wavering. Was he selfish to want more? Would Jon have wanted this? To live trapped on the edge of consciousness? A lump formed in Martin’s throat at the thought of losing Jon again. A soft knock at the door interrupted his racing thoughts.

------ “I must say the scans are not exactly like anything I’ve seen before, and it’s hard to say without knowing more about what happened, but the symptoms are consistent with an acquired brain injury. That’s an injury that happens to the brain without an obvious knock on the head, maybe from oxygen deprivation, internal damage, several things. An explosion, you said?” the doctor looked at Martin quizzically. “Well… yes. It’s… yes.” “And you’re still not going to tell me anything else about it? What caused the explosion, what might have caused the brain injury?” “No… sorry.” “Well, the good news is there doesn’t appear to be internal bleeding, but there do seem to be some parts that are just…. Missing,” she said, frowning. “Mostly in the visual cortex, which would explain why he couldn’t see you, even though his eyes are fine. But there’s damage across the whole brain.” “Ok. Ok,” said Martin, struggling to keep his breathing even. “So, will he get… better?” The doctor took a deep breath. “Ok, so. Brain injuries can be complicated,” she said gently. “The brain can be amazing at adapting and reconfiguring itself. I would expect to see some improvement over the short term, and have him awake and up and about. But it’s impossible to say in the long term what the effects will be. The most likely outcome is that there will be some permanent effects, and some that will lessen with time and therapy.” “Alright,” said Martin, letting out a long, shaky breath, “I can do this. We can do this.” ----- Having discovered that his bank card wasn’t working, their names didn’t show up in any medical databases, and his phone hadn’t had reception since they arrived, Martin surmised that this London, though familiar, was probably not their London. They had taken cash with them to the safe house, and Martin had divided it into their wallets before leaving, just in case. He hadn’t thought of it once during their journey, but thankfully they had both still had their wallets on them out of habit when they went through the gateway, more due to forgetting they were there than actually choosing to bring them. There was enough to secure a motel room and food for a couple of weeks. As they left the hospital for the motel Martin still asked the taxi driver to try Georgie’s address in the satellite navigator. “I don’t use that thing,” the driver said gruffly. “Humour me? Please.” “Alright,” he said. Address not found. Stomach sinking, Martin relayed his own address, where he had lived for years. Address not found.  “There’s not even a Queen Street in that borough,” said the taxi driver. “Are you sure? Comes off Northern Road, after Smith Street, before Church Street,” he said. “Northern Road, yes. No Church Street, no Queen Street. Trust me, mate. I’ve been driving London since before you could read,” the driver said irritably. “Oh, er, sorry, I must have gotten mixed up. Haven’t been to London in a while…” he said with a nervous laugh. “And, er... The Magnus Institute?” he said, barely able to squeak out the words. Jon, leaning against him, stiffened but stayed silent. “Never heard of it,” the driver snapped. “Probably in Edinburgh or something. Now where can I take you? In London.” “Oh! Right. Sorry. At the hospital they recommended a motel...” ----- The next week in the motel room Martin remembered little of, just a haze of worries and plans about what he was going to do, how they were going to live without records or friends or family, punctuated by hopeful periods of Jon’s lucidity. He sometimes spoke clearly, and seemed to know where they were. Other times he woke disoriented, trying to see – or trying to See, maybe, it was hard to tell. Each day he slept a little less, and spent more time simply sitting upright, staring straight ahead with unfocused eyes, responding hazily to Martin’s questions. Martin had to coax and gently bully him into eating, showering, getting changed. He had bought a prepaid phone on one of his shopping trips, quickly stealing away while he thought Jon would stay asleep. In between trying to get food into Jon, and then himself, he looked for a job, realising they would need a place to live, furniture, and trying not to panic about it all, trying not to let himself spiral into thoughts about what they had escaped. Who they had left behind. “Martin? Where are you? What - where am I?” Jon’s voice barked from the bed. “I’m right here, Jon. Close your eyes, listen to my voice, I’m right here,” Martin snapped grumpily, by now used to the routine. “Martin… I’m sorry…” Jon’s voice was uncharacteristically small, hurt and confused. “Oh, no, Jon, no, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-” he strode to the bed and took Jon in his arms, freezing guilt flooding through him. “I wasn’t thinking, I’m so sorry,” he said miserably. “No, no, it’s fine,” Jon murmured, his eyes still shut tight but now fully aware. Jon slid his hands up Martin’s upper arms, around his back, feeling the tension in his body. “What’s wrong, Martin?” he asked. “Nothing, really, it’s just… ever since you, since we got here, it’s been… a lot. It’s been so much,” said Martin, his voice wavering. “And it shouldn’t be, without the, the monsters, and the hell domains and saving the world and everything, it should be easy, just normal life, but somehow it’s just… too much for me,” said Martin, tears welling up in his eyes.  He swiped at them angrily. “I know you can’t understand all this right now. I shouldn’t be bothering you with it.” “Oh, hey, no,” said Jon, pulling Martin towards him, “I understand what it’s like with, ah, a lot in your… in your…” he reached up and touched the back of Martin’s head, tenderly. “In here.” That gentle touch was enough to pull the held-back sobs out of Martin. He hid his face in Jon’s shoulder and gave in to the sobs wracking his body, as Jon rubbed his hand slowly down Martin’s back, soothing him quietly, patiently. “I’m here, Martin. I’m here.” The wave of despair subsided at last, settling into a more manageable trepidation. Martin drew back, sniffling. Jon leaned forward, and planted a kiss beside Martin’s mouth. Martin realised with a pang of longing that they hadn’t kissed, properly kissed, since… well… He didn’t want to think about that. He longed to press his lips to Jon’s, kiss him hungrily, forcefully, but he could feel the weakness in Jon’s body, the effort it took to even sit upright. “You lie down. Get some rest,” said Martin, his lips aching. “You too. Rest,” said Jon, trying to sound firm. ----- The second week, in some ways, was even harder, though full of small miracles. Their money was not going to stretch to a third week, Martin knew. Somehow he stumbled into the job in the community centre, for which he was not especially qualified, and who didn’t miss a beat when he claimed to be “between leases”, and even gave him leads on finding a flat nearby. It did mean he had to leave Jon alone during the day, and although he was now alert most of the time, Martin worried what would happen if Jon woke up alone. “I suppose I could, er, leave a note for you?” Martin wondered aloud. “I don’t know if I could… you know… see it well enough to…” Jon trailed off. “Oh, right, of course, silly me,” fretted Martin. “I’ll be fine, Martin. Go out and be the breadwinner,” Jon said with a sardonic smile. Jon was still asleep when Martin was ready to leave the next morning. He thought about waking him, but decided against it. He grabbed one of his jumpers from the pile of unwashed laundry accumulating beside the bed, balled it up and pushed it into Jon’s arms. Jon pulled it towards himself without waking. -------- On their last night in the motel, Martin bustled around, tidying and checking every crevice, although they had few belongings to worry about. The flat they were moving into was a sad and dingy little thing, but Martin’s heart was buoyed by thought of it. “Martin – when you have a moment, could you come here?” Jon said from the bed. “Yes, love?” Martin sat down beside him. Jon, eyes open but unfocused, reached out gingerly to Martin’s face, finding his cheek and cupping it. Jon slid his thumb to the corner of Martin’s mouth, and purposefully closed the distance between them, kissing Martin’s lips unreservedly. A tingling warmth swept through Martin’s body, and he let out a long “Hmmm” of relief as he settled into the kiss, feeling for a moment completely at Jon’s mercy and desiring nothing else. When they parted, Jon’s hand was still on Martin’s cheek. “I didn’t want to miss your mouth this time,” Jon said breathlessly.

[hyunllx]

The Christmas Baker

A Hyunlix Hallmark Fic Chapter 4/5 wc: 3.5k

Hwang Hyunjin is a rich, cocky, famous dancer that prefers to keep to himself during the holidays. When his roommate drags him along to visit his hometown, however, Hyunjin meets a boy who helps him believe in the spirit of the season. Primarily Hyunjin’s pov with Felix’s pov added in occasionally. series warnings: Extremely cliche. You will probably cringe at some points but its okay. chapter warnings:  Hospitals/doctors, very brief description of injury, POV depiction of vertigo note: This fic is not meant to accurately reflect or portray the members of SKZ. This is just for fun.

Read the last chapter here

|-------------------- Hyunjin --------------------|

Hyunjin couldn’t remember how to breathe. 

It’s Lix. 

Seungmin took him to the clinic. 

He’s hurt.

The words hit his ears and his lungs stopped working. Chan bolted from his side, sprinting down the cleared pathways and onto the main walkway lining the street. Hyunjin followed on instinct, overtaking him easily with his long legs. He slowed only when he realized he didn’t know where he was going. Fog coated his mind, making him dizzy. Still his legs continued to push on to a small crossroads in the main street.

It was snowing; there was no traffic. 

Hyunjin recognized the street they passed as they crossed through the center, Felix’s little bakery tucked just behind the corner building, the snow outside piled high and the lights off. Seeing the tiny hovel made him feel as though he’d been kicked in the chest. The wind knocked from him made him finally suck frigid air into his lungs. His body no longer pushed forward on instinct, but fear.

How could Felix get hurt in a small town like this? He was shy, responsible, sensitive. He couldn’t have been doing anything reckless. 

They crossed another street before finally coming upon the town’s sole medical clinic. Aside from the town hall, it had to be the biggest building in the area, though it was clearly not a full-functioning hospital. Hyunjin’s throat and chest burned as he finally stopped to catch his breath inside the lobby. 

Seungmin was waiting for them in the small holding area; he rushed into Minho’s arms the moment the three of them burst through the door. His puppy-like face was pale with worry, and eyes puffy as though he’d been crying. 

“Seungminnie, what happened to Felix?” Chan asked. His words were kind, but his tone remained frantic. Hyunjin had never seen Chan like this; they’d spent so much time living, hanging out, working together but even when Chan was closed off and hyper-fixated on his work, he was still relaxed. Now he was a spring wound tightly around itself and ready to explode. Even if Hyunjin hadn’t been falling in love with Felix, Chan’s desperate face alone was enough to make him terrified.

“I don’t know, I found him unconscious on the sidewalk. His head was bleeding and his arm looked really bad.”

“Chan?” The four of them turned immediately to the nurse behind the registration desk. Their eyes were kind and reassuring as they motioned for Chan to come up to the desk,

“Yes, that’s me. Is Felix okay?”

“Yes. He has a broken wrist and a concussion but it’s nothing terribly serious as long as he gets proper rest. He’s awake and being fitted with a cast right now if you’d like to go see him.”

“Just family?” The question blurted out of Hyunjin before he had time to process it. Both his best friend and the nurse looked at him, surprised. Yet he knew he needed to see that Felix was okay for himself. He wouldn’t handle sitting in this waiting room while he was hurt somewhere in the building. Hyunjin needed to be with him.

“I suppose not, you all can come.” The nurse nodded after checking that Chan was alright with that. Hyunjin lingered behind a few paces, letting Seungmin and Minho pass him as the nurse led them into one of the primary care wings. As the town was small, Felix was one of few patients there and it didn’t take long to get to his room.

“Hyung!” Felix gasped as Chan bolted past the nurse and into the room. The sound of his deep, groggy voice made Hyunjin’s heartbeat and steps quicken. He pushed his way into the room behind everyone else, relief washing over him as he watched the brothers embrace tightly.

A wad of gauze was taped onto Felix’s forehead, just above his left eyebrow, and his right hand was bound tightly in a baby-pink cast, but he otherwise seemed alert and okay.

“You scared the hell out of us,” Minho scolded, though his voice was soft and eyes kinder than either time Hyunjin had met him, “What the fuck happened?”

Felix opened his mouth to answer, but his gaze finally found Hyunjin. The tips of his ears matched his cast as they turned bright pink, and he ducked his head in embarrassment,

“I didn’t notice the ice falling off one of the buildings. It knocked me down and I landed on my wrist and hit my head. Then I woke up here.”

“You were so careful about that yesterday.” Hyunjin frowned recalling how Felix had pulled him out of the same situation. It very well could’ve been him with the broken wrist.

“Ah…” Felix smiled shyly at him, remembering the same encounter, “I think I was just a little distracted.”

Hyunjin returned the smile; he let himself believe Felix meant that he was distracted thinking about him. It wasn’t difficult for Hyunjin’s own mind to wander back to the way they held each other the night before as he apologized for his hurtful words. Or the way they stole affectionate glances across dinner. The soft, loving way Felix told him to sleep well before they went to their separate rooms.

Was Felix thinking about it too?

“You need to be more careful.” Seungmin’s voice snapped Hyunjin from his thoughts, “You’re lucky you didn’t get more hurt.”

“I know Seungminnie, I’m sorry for worrying you. Thanks for bringing me here.”  Felix looked around at the four of them, his gaze shining with love for his friends. His eyes settled on Hyunjin again, a smile touching his lips for a moment before he reached his uninjured hand out for him.

Hyunjin hesitated as three pairs of eyes turned to him, boring into his skin. He was used to people watching him, he was a performer after all, but this was too intimate of a judgement. Why was Felix reaching out to him and not his brother, or his best friend?

Hyunjin watched the warmth flicker in Felix’s eyes as he realized what he was doing. Before he could withdraw his hand in shame, Hyunjin stepped forward and grabbed it. Quickly, they both pretended that Hyunjin was pulling him into a sitting position so he could slide to the edge of the bed. 

“Thanks.”

“Are you alright?” Felix hummed at the question, ducking his head shyly before meeting Hyunjin’s concerned gaze.

“I am now.”

|-------------------- Felix --------------------|

Maybe it was the pain medication, maybe the pulsing concussion affecting his brain, or maybe just the terror of being injured, but Felix could not let go of Hyunjin’s hand. The second their skin touched, they were glued together, and Felix preferred it that way. 

They continued to hold hands as the nurse returned to tell him he could be discharged. Typically Felix would feel self-conscious about his small hands, but with his palm nestled securely against Hyunjin’s, the taller boy’s fingers wrapped nearly around his whole hand… he felt safe.

Balance was a foreign concept to his legs as Felix tried to stand. Chan grabbed his shoulders, and Hyunjin adjusted their hands so their fingers threaded together in a sturdier grip. 

“I’ve got you.” Hyunjin reassured as Felix stumbled, trying to find his feet on the floor. His heart jumped, making his ears and forehead throb with it, but he managed to give Hyunjin’s hand a tight squeeze.

Felix had never been a sleepwalker, but he imagined this was much what it felt like. Everything was a blur as they escorted him through the halls toward the front desk; though Felix could focus his eyes, it was difficult to process anything other than the heavy anchor of his brother’s arm around his shoulders and the hot touch of Hyunjin’s skin against his palm. He vaguely recalled the voice of the nurse who spoke to them, though couldn’t repeat anything they said. Standing was too much of an effort. Everything was spinning around him.

Cold air was the first thing Felix could comprehend as he walked out the front door. He shivered, pressing closer to Chan’s warm body.

“How are we going to get him in?” Minho’s voice came as though it were underwater.

“He’s light, we can pick him up.” Seungmin called from a short distance in front of them. They paused, letting Felix rest for a moment and get a grip on his surroundings. Though the spinning didn’t go away completely, he could at least see now they were standing around Minho’s car.

“We have to make sure we don’t move his head too much.” Chan’s voice rumbled next to Felix’s ear,

“I’ll be okay.” He piped up, though his voice was weak. He tried to step up into the open door but stumbled, the vertigo immediately hitting him as his head moved. Maybe Chan was right.

“Hand him to me.”

Felix barely got his bearings back before Chan and Minho hooked their hands under his arms and lifted him into the air. Panic struck Felix as soon as his feet left the ground and he started to squirm despite the ache in his forehead growing worse.

“I told you I’ve got you.” Long, warm arms wrapped around his torso, holding him tightly as his hyungs let go of his arms. Felix’s eyes focused on Hyunjin’s face as the bigger boy dragged him backwards into the truck, only slightly embarrassed about being passed around like a toddler. It was difficult to feel ashamed when the boy he had such a deep crush on was cradling him in his lap, guiding Felix’s head to his shoulder to steady him there. Felix let himself relax into Hyunjin’s chest, the careening dizziness settling down as he leaned into Hyunjin’s supporting frame.

“Um… Is this okay?” Hyunjin asked quietly, his typical shyness returning now that Felix was safe in his arms.

“Mmmm…” Felix hummed into his chest, heartbeat fluttering in his own “Yes, thank you.”

“Just try not to move too much, okay?”

“Okay.”

He was aware of the truck moving, his eyes focusing on the cold, white world outside the window. Just stay awake until you get home. He kept telling himself, fighting the drooping of his eyelids. It was so difficult when the pain medication made his head so fuzzy and Hyunjin’s body was so warm…

“Felix?”

His eyes flickered open. Shit.

“Are you sleeping?”

“No…” he lied, mumbling into Hyunjin’s chest. Coming out of the sleepy haze, he realized at some point during his nap, Hyunjin unzipped his thick winter coat and nestled Felix inside, further adding to the comforting body heat. Hyunjin’s chuckle rumbled against his cheek,

“You’re home. Do you think you can walk inside?”

“No…” He lied again. Sure, he probably could make it in with help, but his body didn’t want to move from his safe cocoon.

“Hang on.” The words were a warning, but Felix barely had time to process it before Hyunjin opened the truck door, hooked his arms under his knees and around his back, and lifted Felix into the air. Shock ripping through him, Felix flung his arms around Hyunjin’s neck to steady himself, his head reeling and his wrist throbbing dully under the pain meds.

“What did I say?” His voice was soothing, gentle.

“To hang on?” Hyunjin chuckled again, sliding out of the truck and into the cold air,

“No, earlier.” Felix’s ears burned and butterflies swarmed his chest as he buried his face into Hyunjin’s shoulder,

“You got me.”

“I got you, it’s okay to relax.”

Felix did just that as Hyunjin carried him up the snowy driveway, trying to calm his heartbeat which he was certain the boy carrying him could feel. It wasn’t until his eyes caught Chan’s anxious expression as they passed through the front door that Felix realized how upset he’d made everyone. 

Guilt crashed over him, washing away the fuzzy high of the medication he’d been given and making him sink further into Hyunjin’s arms. What he’d said at the clinic was right, Felix was normally more careful. Far more careful. Yet even the possibility of being in a relationship with Hyunjin made his mind wander. Like a dream slowly returning to memory, he recalled the excitement buzzing through his system as he skipped down the sidewalk in the snow. The loving glances Hyunjin shot him over dinner. The vulnerability as they held each other and cried. Spending time in his kitchen making cookie dough-

"Shit!" The gears snapped back into place in his brain at the memory.

"What? What's wrong?" Hyunjin jumped as Felix jostled in his arms, turning him back toward the door. Chan, Seungmin, and Minho rushed inside at his outburst, worry clear on their faces. Felix sighed, head falling back on Hyunjin's shoulder in defeat,

"The cookies. They're not going to get done for tomorrow."

"Don't worry about it, Lix. I'll do as much as I can." Seungmin reassured immediately, though Felix skeptically raised an eyebrow.

"By yourself?" Memories of failed and burned pancakes and fruit pastries flashed through his mind.

"The dough is already done right? I'll make sure he doesn't burn the building down." Minho smiled teasingly, earning a glare from his boyfriend.

“Alright… please be careful.”

“Call us if you need anything.”

“I think I’ll be okay.” A small smile graced his lips as Felix glanced at Chan, then let his eyes wander up to Hyunjin’s face, just inches from his own. Hyunjin’s ears were bright red, and his cheeks a light pink, his brow furrowed as he was lost in his own head. What could he be thinking about so intensely? Felix wondered as Chan showed Seungmin and Minho out and Hyunjin carried him to the living room.

“I think I’ll be okay now.” He joked to ease the tension of being alone together, finally drawing Hyunjin’s attention back to him.

“Huh? Oh, right. Sorry.” Hyunjin giggled behind his words, carefully tilting Felix back onto his feet. The dizziness wasn’t nearly as bad as before, and Felix managed to make his way, albeit slowly, to the couch without falling. 

"How are you feeling?" Chan's voice startled him as his brother entered the room, his eyes still deep with worry.

"I'm okay Channie-hyung. I promise."

"I looked through your cabinets and couldn't find any pain medication."

"Ah… I might've run out." Felix frowned, trying to recall if he had any upstairs in his bathroom. The effort made his head throb, and he had to close his eyes to make the dull ache fade. Chan was silent for a moment, locking eyes with Hyunjin who held his intense gaze steadily.

"I'm going to run to the store. I trust you." He said finally, his voice equally intense as his stare. Hyunjin nodded,

"I'll watch him."

Felix's heart flip flopped at the words; the thought of being alone with Hyunjin already making him flustered. The added protectiveness in his tone only added to the fluttering in his stomach, his skin heating up as a result. 

Chan glanced between the two of them and smiled, though it didn't reach his ever-worried eyes. Hyunjin turned to the couch as he left, letting out a heavy sigh.

"Thanks for taking care of me." Felix murmured, his voice coming out shier than he wanted. Still, it made Hyunjin's cheeks and ears turn the prettiest shade of pink he swore he'd ever seen.

"You scared me- all of us." Hyunjin quickly corrected himself, nervously fidgeting loose strands of long blonde hair behind his ear, "I just want to make sure you're okay. Are you?"

"I'm okay with you here." God that sounds so cheesy, why did I say that. He cringed internally as the comment lingered in the air. Felix wanted desperately to squirm away at each passing second until a shy giggle burst out of Hyunjin. Baby hyena was the closest description that Felix could come up with for the cutest, sweetest sound he'd ever heard. He had to bite his lower lip to stop the grin that threatened to split his face in two, "I'm pretty tired though."

Hyunjin perked up as he spoke, reaching his long arms across Felix's body to steal a pillow from the neighbouring chair,

"Here, lay down carefully." Felix sucked in a breath as Hyunjin's large hand pushed very softly against his chest, guiding him to lay down with his head on the pillow. He felt a little dizzy with the new position, but the exhaustion was worse. Quickly shifting his limbs into a comfortable position, he shut his eyes, letting the dizziness turn to drowsiness. Slipping his uninjured hand into his pocket, he produced his phone, using it to bring up music on his speaker system,

"Do you mind if I play some music? I like to listen as I fall asleep."

"I don't mind at all. It's your house." Felix smiled at his words, hitting play on one of Chan's slower, softer songs. Shapes shifted around in his mind's eye, recalling the gentle and fluid movements of the choreography Hyunjin had once danced to the melody. 

The sweet hum of Hyunjin's voice singing along was the last thing he registered before the waves of deep sleep overtook him.

|-------------------- Hyunjin --------------------|

Soft snores fell from Felix’s pouted lips, sleep finally overtaking him now that he was safe and warm in his own home. The sight made Hyunjin’s heart squeeze with affection, the love that was growing there spreading even farther into his chest.

Hyunjin knew he was fucked at this point; he couldn’t go back to pretending he didn’t have feelings for the sweet angel sleeping next to him. He no longer felt the need to restrain the adrenaline rushes that new love sent through his veins, no longer felt ashamed at the urge to hold and touch the boy his fingertips craved. He reached them out now, brushing silver strands of hair out of Felix's face. 

Fingers trailing down the sleeping boy's cheek, Hyunjin let them rest there for a moment, thumb rubbing softly, rhythmically back and forth across the freckles there. The urge to press his lips to the soft russet skin was overwhelming.

Hyunjin drew away before the impulse overcame him. There would be time for that at a later date, when Felix was fully awake and blushing eagerly under his touch.

Instead, Hyunjin let his affection bring back the guilt he felt having caused Felix to be oblivious to his surroundings. Guilt that his injury stopped him from baking for the town he loved so dearly. This time, it didn't pain his heart nearly as bad; allowing himself to accept his love cushioned the blow. Now he was determined to fix things, not run away.

He wouldn't run away again. He couldn't.

Certain now Felix wouldn't wake at his touch, Hyunjin slowly pried the phone from his small fingers. Thankfully, his phone remained unlocked while music was playing, giving Hyunjin easy access to his contact list.

A smile burst across Hyunjin's lips at the sight of the cute names on the list. Each person had their own string of emojis that no doubt described who they were. His smile grew with each name he recognized:

Channie-hyung🐺🌜🥰

Minho-hyung🐈😈🔥

Seungminnie🐶🧁💙

Hyunjin paused briefly to wonder how Felix would save his number, the thought of Felix having his number save at all making his stomach squirm excitedly.

Quickly he copied Seungmin's number into his own phone, dismissed the contacts app so Felix wouldnt see he'd opened it, and slipped the device back into the sleeping boy's hand. The front door clicked shut just as Hyunjin did so, making his heart leap as though he'd been caught. 

Chan shuffled into the room, and all Hyunjin could do was pray guilt didn't show on his face.

"How is he?" Thank God, he didn't see.

"Sleepy. I think we should let him rest for a little while."

"Thank you for watching him."

"You don't have to thank me. I'll do it again whenever he needs me."

The worry melted from Chan's face for the first time in hours,

"He really likes you, you know."

"I really like him too." The weight of speaking those words out loud brought tears to Hyunjin's eyes. There really was no going back now.

"Are you two….?"

"I don't know. We'll see after tomorrow."

"Why?" Chan cocked his head, confused.

"I'll explain later. I'm gonna go for a walk for a bit, but I'll be back for dinner." Carefully sliding off the couch so as not to jostle Felix too much, Hyunjin grabbed his thick coat and gloves from where they were discarded on the floor and made his way outside.

It stopped snowing since they'd gotten Felix home, but the cold still punched Hyunjin in the chest. With shaky fingers, he pulled off one glove to pull up the dialpad on his phone, selecting the new number from his contact list and hitting the call button.

Hello?

Seungmin? This is Hyunjin, Chan and Felix's friend.

Hi! Is Felix okay?

Yeah, He's doing well and resting. I was wondering if you had time to go to the bakery right now?

Uh, sure. Why?

I have something planned, but I need your help.

[fckinwild-kiwi]

Time to Realize Pt. 4

Warnings: Swearing; Smut Word Count: 5.2k+ Author’s Note: This is the long awaited fourth installment of this series. I’ve clearly been in a little it of funk creatively but I’m hoping you enjoy this chapter. I had a lot of fun writing it even though it took me like fifteen years. *Sigh* Thank you for your patience though! <3  This is now *Edited* and longer!

Important Note: The Greek mythology throughout this piece does not accurately represent Greek mythology to its fullest extent. Some things are changed for the sake of the story. One major point is the relationship between Hades and the rest of Mt. Olympus. With that being said, their relationship isn’t family-oriented, but Hades is welcome throughout Mt. Olympus and everyone gets along enough to be considered tolerated.

Y/n didn’t sleep a wink. Even though she was wrapped in Harry’s arms her mind wouldn’t stop racing. She didn’t have a doubt in her mind that the lunch with her mom would go smoothly, but what happened afterwards? Would they build a relationship? That’s something that y/n had always dreamed of and fantasized about with the thought that it would never be attainable. She reached over grabbing her phone to check the time it read: 3:52 A.M. 

‘Ugh,’ she thought, putting the phone back down and cuddling back into Harry’s side.

“You’re still awake,” Harry noted as he tightened his grip on her body. “Baby, it’s almost morning, close your eyes.”

“I can’t.”

“You haven’t tried.”

“What the fuck, of course I have,” She said feigning hurt before unwrapping herself from his grasp and kissing his cheek. “I’m going to go watch some tv, you go back to sleep.”

“I’ll come out there with you, we can cuddle while we watch.”

“You’re so annoying,” she grumbled, letting her lips quirk into a smile. She waited a minute in order for him to catch up to her so they could walk into the living room together. As Harry sat down on the couch, y/n quickly grabbed the throw off the back of the couch in order to cuddle up to Harry in a warm burrito-like embrace. 

Y/n sighed as she rested her head in the crook of Harry’s neck. The slight stubble of beard rubbing against her forehead brought a calming sense of familiarity. She reached up, pressing a gentle kiss to the base of his throat causing him to tense up. 

“What are you doing, love?”

“I’m just loving up on you,” Y/n said, shrugging before tightening her hold on him and placing another lingering kiss against his throat. 

“Fuck,” he moaned out before flipping her over. “You have a big day tomorrow darling. I don’t want to wear you out before then.”

“I’d like to see you try and wear me out,” she scoffed.

“Baby,” Harry said as he flipped the two over, pinning Y/n underneath him. “Challenge accepted.”

Harry started kissing down her neck, nibbling on her pressure points with enough force to cause her to moan but not hard enough to leave a mark. He reached down to her panties before slipping his hand inside and feeling her slit. “You’re dripping baby, is all this for me?”

“You don’t even know how ready I am for you at all times,” She moaned out as he inserted a finger. “I’m ready for you baby, please fuck me.”

“As you wish, lovie.” Harry said as he withdrew his fingers from her pussy before pulling his pants off and slipping a condom on. Slowly he rubbed his cock along her folds to get himself all slicked up. “Fuck baby.”

“Fuck me, H”

Harry let out a guttural moan at her words. He took his cock and slowly started to sink into her, inch by inch before he finally bottomed out, waiting a second so she could adjust.

“You’re so big,” Y/n whined. “Please move, Harry.”

Harry quickly understood as he set a rapid pace. Pounding into y/n as his life depended on it.

“Yes, Harry, right there,” Y/n whined. “You’re fucking me so good.” 

“Right there?”

“Mph, yes,” She all but screamed as Harry hit the spot that made her curl her toes and pull his hair, clenching around him as she felt the burning sensation fill her lower belly. “I’m going to come!”

“Wait for me,” Harry urged, as he continued his rapid assault on her pussy. “Come now baby!”

“Oh my, fuck!” Y/n groaned, her moans coming out almost pornographic. 

“Let me grab a towel, I’ll be right back baby,” Harry said, before kissing her sweaty forehead and walking into the bathroom. 

“Thank you for tiring me out,” Y/n said as she smiled down at the man cleaning the mess between her thighs. “I’m going to sleep like a baby now.”

“I’m happy I could help,” Harry chuckled as he laid back down and wrapped his arms around Y/n, pulling the blanket over both of their clammy bodies. 

As Y/n snuggled into Harry’s body, she wrapped her legs around his and closed her eyes. “I love you so much, Persephone,” she heard Harry whisper as she fell asleep.

The next morning, her alarm jolted her awake causing both Harry and she to fall off the couch. “Ow,” Harry grumbled, rubbing his face with his hand not wrapped around her waist. 

“I’m so sorry, bub,” y/n said, before sitting up and kissing his cheek. “Thank you for staying out here with me, you should go lay down on the bed though. I’m going to start getting ready to see Demeter.”

Y/n got up and walked to the bathroom attached to her bedroom. After turning on the water to a warm temperature, she undressed before stepping into the steaming water. A few minutes later once she was finished shampooing her hair, she heard the bathroom door open. 

“Harry?”

“Just me, love.”

Y/n sighed before conditioning her hair and finishing her shower routine. “Would you mind handing me my towel?” 

“‘Course love,” Harry said as he pushed the towel past the shower curtain into y/n’s grasp. 

“Now it’s go time,” y/n said as she wrapped the towel around her body and stepped out of the tub. Y/n took her time getting ready, putting the time and effort into her appearance to look and feel presentable for her big lunch. Two hours later, she felt confident and at ease, ready to meet with Demeter. She walked out of the bathroom into her connected bedroom to face Harry, hands on her hips. 

“How do I look?”

“You look stunning, love,” Harry said as he smiled widely before whispering, “C’mere.”

“I have to get going,” Y/n whispered back as she climbed onto his lap, kissing his cheek and leaving a lip gloss stain on it. Once she noticed the mark, she smiled before beginning to clean it off. 

“I know, but give me a proper kiss first, yeah?” He said, grabbing the wrist that was rubbing his cheek.

“Of course, bub,” y/n said, rolling her eyes before slotting her lips against his. Quickly the kiss turned more passionate as Harry dragged his tongue across her bottom lip.

“I really need to go now,” y/n said as she pulled away breathlessly.

“Yes, go go. Have a good time with Demeter. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Can I call you tomorrow? Classes start then and I should probably try to get organized…”

“Of course, now get going,” He said before kissing her forehead and ushering her out the door. 

—

Y/n got in her car and pulled out her phone, plugging the address for the restaurant into the GPS. The drive to the restaurant was quick, perfect for eliminating the overthinking that Y/n was bound to do. As she pulled into a parking spot and put the car in park, Y/n slowly let out the breath that she didn’t realize she was holding.

After getting out of the car, she walked into the fancy restaurant before spotting Demeter. “Over here, dear,” said the voice she recognized previously as Demi but now, her mother. Y/n smiled before walking across the room. 

“Hi,” Y/n breathed out, before being engulfed in a hug. 

“Hello sweetheart,” Demeter whispered before releasing her grip. “I hope the drive here wasn’t too long…”

“No, no, it was actually rather close to my apartment so it didn’t take long at all.”

“That’s so good to hear, now, tell me all about yourself.”

“Oh, well,” Y/n began, eyes widening as she tried to think about all the memorable moments of her life. “I’m now a junior in college… I have this really great group of friends surrounding me which has been a blessing, I’m studying botany but you already knew that.”

Demeter gave a knowing smile before saying, “I’m sorry that I wasn’t a part of your life sooner.”

“I don’t want you to beat yourself up over anything,” Y/n said. “Harry explained what happened when I was younger. I can imagine we both felt similarly about things. It’s just nice to know that I wasn’t alone because you didn’t want me.”

“I was devastated when you were taken from us,” Demeter said, her eyes beginning to glow brighter. “I spent years trying to track down the person who was guilty. I felt your presence when you began school, though. I saw that you were doing okay and I was relieved.”

“Growing up how I did was hard,” Y/n began, trying to choose her words carefully. “I had to deal with some difficult things on my own but as much as I felt like I struggled, I like to believe it made me a better person…I don’t really take shit from anyone now. I know how to handle myself on my own…The hardships are what made me, me.

“Don’t feel guilty for anything. We’re in each other's lives’ now and that’s what’s important. I don’t think I would be as independent or resilient if I had not lived such a human life.”

“Oh, Persephone,” Demeter said, her eyes glassy. “I’m so proud of you, really.”

Y/n smiled before grabbing the cup of water in front of her and taking a drink. She finally felt at ease, almost completely comfortable. Before she could respond to Demeter, they were interrupted by the waiter.

“Hi, are you two ready to order?”

“Uh yes, I’ll have the Cobb salad with dressing on the side, please,” Demeter ordered before closing the menu and holding it up towards the waiter. 

“I think I’ll have the bacon cheeseburger with sweet potato fries,” Y/n said, before handing her menu to the waiter as well.

Lunch couldn’t have been going any better. Y/n hadn’t felt this comfortable and at home since she started seeing Harry. In such an odd and unexpecting way, for the first time things were starting to click into place for her. 

“So, sweetheart,” Demeter started, “I know this is all very new to you, but I’m sure that Hades has explained to you the gist of everything?”

“Oh yeah, Harry has been an absolute blessing in this chaos… I’ve visited the Underworld with him and he spent the whole day breaking things down for me. It’s a lot but I think I’m getting more comfortable with everything.”

“You went to the Underworld with Hades, alone?” Demeter questioned as she narrowed her eyes on her daughter.

“Well yeah, he claimed it was to explain things a little easier, which is probably partially true, but I also think he’s calmer and less anxious in a spot that’s familiar to him.”

“Mhm,” Demeter mumbled, her face being set in stone quickly turning the atmosphere into something less comfortable. Much to y/n’s relief, a few moments later, their waiter returned with their orders.

“This is so good,” Y/n moaned out with a mouthful of her cheeseburger. 

“It’s so wonderful to see you enjoying yourself like this,” Demeter said before allowing a small smile to settle on her features as she stared at her daughter.

“I’ve never been here before but I’m definitely going to need to bring Harry here, he’d love this place.”

“He’s making you happy, then?”

“Endlessly happy,” Y/n said. “He might just be the most incredible person on this planet.”

“Ah, young love,” Demeter said, as she put on a smile. “Be careful though darling, he is the King of the Underworld.”

“I know he is,” Y/n said before narrowing her eyes at her Mother. “What are you insinuating?”

“I’m just saying sweetheart,” Demeter said as she sighed before continuing, “His soul has been hardened over the years and it would pain me immensely if he hurt you. I want you to have everything in this world but I guess if he’s who makes you happy then who am I to stand in the way of that?”

“With all due respect, I’ve known Harry for a few years now and he’s always treated me with the most respect and kindness, even more than some people I’ve been friends with for longer,” Y/n said. “He’s the most special soul I’ve ever encountered and even if he does eventually hurt me, that’s something that I need to go through on my own. You’re my mom, and I’m so excited to get to know you but unfortunately you haven’t been involved in my life for long enough to have a say or to dictate who I’m going to love.”

“You love him?”

“I’m getting there.”

“You’re right honey, I’m sorry that I just threw in my opinion like it was wanted. I want our relationship to grow; I want to know my daughter.”

“I want to get to know my Mom, too,” Y/n said as she smiled before grabbing Demeter’s hands across the table. “Thank you for lunch but I really should be going, I have to get ready for classes because they start tomorrow!”

“Of course!” Demeter said. “I’ll call you later this week and maybe you could come to Mt. Olympus for dinner soon?”

“I would absolutely love that.”

—-

Y/n walked through the front door of her apartment before releasing a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. Everything went smoothly, of course her fears were for nothing. Her mom loved her; she loved her mom. She was a goddess? And had a whole ass family? And the best boyfriend. She felt proud of herself. Proud for standing up to her mom about her feelings with Harry. But also proud of doing something that she knew was scary and intimidating which was meeting her mom. 

Tomorrow though, school would start and instead of things being as beautiful and flowing as it has been, she was going to have to buckle down and study. Just because she was a goddess, that didn’t mean that she still didn’t have to work hard. Y/n walked into the kitchen and filled up her bottle with water before going into her room and getting ready for bed. Tomorrow would be the start of her senior year of college.

The next morning, y/n got up and made her way around the apartment, gathering everything she would need for her first few classes of the year. By 8:30 she was out of the apartment and walking into the campus coffee shop.

As she walked along the sidewalk to her first class, she shot Harry a text, letting him know that she would be done with class around 11 and asking him if he wanted to meet for lunch after. He responded with an ‘of course, xx’. 

—

After walking into the cafeteria area of her school, looking for an empty table for her and Harry to sit at, she noticed Christine reading a book at a corner table. “Hey Chris,” she said as she sat down.

“Hey babe, where’s the dreamboat?”

“On his way, I think-“

“Hello, ladies,” Harry said as he sat down beside you pressing a kiss to her forehead before sitting down beside her. “What are we talking about?”

“Oh you know,” Christine said before smirking. “Just about how great of a boyfriend you are.”

“Shut up Chris,” Y/n said before nudging her friend. “We were actually just talking about where you were. You are a great boyfriend though. Chris is just trying to pry details about our relationship out of me.”

“Damn Chris, the look on your face had me worried for a second. It looked…deadly,” Harry said as he put his arm around y/n before leaning down and whispering, ”By the way, in case I haven’t told you, you’re a great girlfriend too. The best actually.”

“You two are ridiculous, I regret trying to make a cute moment between you two. It actually makes me want to puke up my lunch once I actually eat it,” Chris mumbled as she brought a fry to her mouth. “Actually, there is something I wanted to run past you two.”

“What’s that?” Harry asked as he grabbed a carrot stick of Y/n’s plate.

“Well there’s a costume party this weekend at a frat and I was thinking we could all go,” Christine said before quickly looking down at her plate of French fries.

“I know, Harry and I talked about the party the other day, so why are you being weird about this?” Y/n asked as she narrowed her eyes.

“Well, the party is at Rowan’s frat. I know you’re not talking, and rightfully so, but I just needed you to know that beforehand.”

“Dammit Chris,” Y/n said.

“It’s fine Christine, we will still be there,” Harry said as he squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “If you’re comfortable going of course, babe.”

“If you’re okay with it, I am too,” Y/n said before leaning up to kiss Harry’s cheek. “I just haven’t talked to Rowan since our fight and I just don’t want it to be awkward.”

“Ignore him,” Christine scoffed. “He was being a shit head and I don’t think you need to talk to him. When he finally comes to his senses and apologizes then, a reconciliation might be in order.”

“She’s right, Y/n,” Harry said. “I’m pissed off that he disrespected both you and us in that way but you shouldn’t have to limit your fun and your experiences because you’re afraid he might be there.”

“Okay, well I have to go, my next class is in twenty minutes,” Christine said as she scarfed the rest of her fries down before grabbing her bag. “I love you both and I’ll see you two later.”

Y/n sighed as she watched Christine walk away. “These last two weeks have been a lot,” she mumbled before leaning her head on Harry’s shoulder. 

“I know baby,” Harry whispered as he kissed her temple. “How was lunch with Demeter yesterday? Did everything go well?”

“For the most part everything went really well. We had a heart to heart about the kidnapping issue, she felt terrible but of course I assured her it wasn’t her fault. I’m content with how everything turned out and proud of myself for my growth because of it. We also talked a little bit about you,” Y/n whispered before kissing his cheek. Harry’s grip around her shoulder tightened a little bit. 

“What did she say?” Harry questioned, his whole body going stiff. “Tell you how awful I am being the King of Darkness and all?”

“She tried to make a comment about how you might not be the right decision for me-“

“I fucking knew she was going to pull a stunt like that,” Harry said, his tone of voice rising a bit due to his newfound anger.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it though Bub,” Y/n said as she kissed his lips, pulling away too quick for his liking as he chased her lips. “I definitely put her in her place. You’re the one for me. I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else, she doesn't know me well enough to make those kinds of decisions for me.”

Harry relaxed at her words before letting a smirk take over his lips. “My knight in shining armor,” He joked as he nuzzled his face onto her cheek.

“Stop it,” She said as she was giggling before looking up at him with a serious glint in her eye. “I’ll defend you forever, I hope you know that.”

“I do, baby, and I would do the same.”

—

The rest of the week flew by, Y/n was busy with her classes, Botany 507 being her favorite course. A free weekend seemed to be exactly what she needed to unwind from the overwhelming classwork. That and spending quality time with her boyfriend, of course. Y/n picked out the costumes that the two were going to wear to the frat party on Friday.

By the time Harry showed up at her house to get ready for the party, Christine had already left to go get ready with a new girl she was talking to. When she heard the light tapping on the door she walked over to reveal a dissolved looking Harry. 

“Bub,” Y/n whispered as she pulled him into her apartment. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Harry mumbled as he reached out to grab her cheeks bringing her lips to his, harshly. Y/n quickly got the memo that he wasn’t in the mood for talking and surprisingly, she was okay with that. She felt his tongue slide across her lower lip to which she quickly allowed him control. 

“I just need to love on you for a minute, is that okay?” Harry asked as he walked them backwards towards the couch.

“That’s more than okay,” Y/n mumbled against his lips before sitting down in front of him, getting comfortable on her couch. 

“Thank you baby,” Harry said as he started working her pants down her legs. “You’re sure this is okay?”

“Yes,” She said, spreading her legs out for him. 

“So beautiful baby,” Harry whispered as he admired her pink lacy underwear on display for him. He got down on his knees before leaning down and pressing a chaste kiss to her clothed clit. 

“Fuck, Harry,” Y/n moaned out at the sudden contact. “I’m going to make you feel so good, lovie,” Harry whispered, looking up at her with a devilish glint in his eyes. He grabbed the elastic of her panties as he slowly started to drag them down her legs. Y/n raised her hips in order to help him get them off.

“You have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” Harry whispered looking at her like his last meal.

“If you don’t do something right now Harry, I’ll take care of it myself,” Y/n said, frustration radiating through her body. 

“Patience, petal,” Harry said before licking a long stripe up her slit. The sudden contact making Y/n jump and harshly grab onto Harry’s hair. Slowly, Harry pushed a finger inside of y/n all while continuing his assault on her clit.

“So good Harry,” Y/n moaned out as she felt the fire in her lower belly start to burn. Harry noticed her clenching and inserted another finger slowly so as to not hurt her.

“Oh my god,” Y/n moaned as she pressed Harry’s face deeper into her core. Harry quickly got the memo and replaced his fingers with his tongue. Quickly fucking his tongue in and out of her core, relishing in way he was making her feel.

“Feel so good, H,” Y/n moaned. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, I’m going to come.”

“Let go for me baby, come all over my face,” Harry moaned back, her pleasure going straight to his dick. Y/n quickly reached the point of no return as she screamed his name loudly.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m coming,” Y/n yelled while clenching her legs around Harry’s face before leaning back onto the couch and looking down at her boyfriend with her juices still covering his face. “Please kiss me.”

“Oh baby,” He whispered before leaning up and kissing her softly, relishing in how she molded against him. 

Y/n quickly took charge, reaching her hands into Harry’s boxers and slowly stroking his cock. “You know, I haven’t had a chance to give you a blowie yet, and it’s literally all I can think about.”

“Yeah, you want my cock in your pretty little mouth?” Harry asks, his chest rising and falling at a quicker pace.

“It’s all I want, H,” Y/n said before pulling his pants down his legs just far enough to let his member spring free and then pushing him on the couch. Slowly falling to her knees, y/n pressed a small kiss to his leaking tip, causing Harry to let out a small moan.

“Seeing you on your knees for me, is doing more for me than I can even begin to describe,” Harry moans out, watching her take him into her mouth.

Y/n just smirks as she looks up at him through her eyelashes and fully taking him into her mouth, hitting the back of her throat. “I want you to fuck my throat, Harry.”

“What?” Harry says, eyes wide.

“You heard me, fuck my throat, use me.” 

Harry let out a guttural groan before saying, “Please tell me if it gets to be too much.” Y/n nodded, giving Harry the okay to take the reins. He grabbed the back of her head, pushing himself fully into her mouth before lightly thrusting his hips, causing y/n to gag.

“You’re doing so good for me baby, being daddy’s bad girl and letting him use her,” the dirty words causing y/n to moan out and send vibrations onto Harry’s dick, making it twitch. Soon, Harry was thrusting into her mouth relentlessly, y/n was gagging but trying to breath through her nose, with saliva running down her chin. The whole thing was quick, dirty, and hot. Y/n reached up beginning to play with his balls to try to get him to reach his high. 

“Oh my god,” Harry groaned, his pace picking up speed. “I’m

going to come.” 

“Come for me, baby,” Y/n moaned out before taking him back in her mouth, working him with everything she had. Moments later she felt his cock twitch followed by strings of cum hitting the back of her throat. After swallowing every last drop, y/n wiped off her lips, looking Harry in the eyes.

“What the fuck, y/n,” Harry said, trying to catch his breath

before kissing her on the forehead.

“That was fun,” She said giggling to herself before adding,

“Daddy.”

“Oh my gods,” Harry mumbled, his face turning a bright shade of

pink. “I didn’t know that was something I would be into, but in the heat of the moment, it slipped out.”

“It’s okay, I thought it was hot,” Y/n said, winking at Harry

before getting serious. “Do you want to talk about it yet?”

“Talk about what?”

“We both gave each other great head, and it was a lot of fun 

but I can tell something was bothering you. So,” Y/n said, moving to sit on his lap before crossing her arms. “What happened today.” 

“I just had to deal with some awful souls today. A few of the things that the freshly dead souls did were terrible. Some even tried threatening you,” Harry mumbled, his hard exterior breaking down in her presence. “I was so mad; I came here right after. I needed to see you and remind you how much you mean to me. No one is going to do anything to take you away from me.”

“Bub,” Y/n sighed as she brought him towards her in an attempt to comfort him. “No one could do anything to me. To us. I’m with you for the long term. I’ll fuck anybody up who thinks otherwise, we’re like the strongest duo out there.”

“Thank you,” Harry said before smiling up at his love.

“I should be thanking you,” Y/n said as she nudged him. “You just gave me mind blowing head. ”

“And you just gave me mind blowing head,” Harry said, chuckling. “That was literally the kind of head that will kill a man. I didn’t know you were such a minx.”

“There’s a lot you still have to learn about me, baby,” Y/n said before smirking at Harry, devilishly. “Now I need to go take a shower so we can get ready for this frat party. You, handsome, have a costume to put on, it’s on my bed.”

Y/n got up off the couch, slowly. Her legs were very tired and a little wobbly. She got into the shower, quickly washing her hair and shaving her body. The costumes she picked out for her and Harry were perfect but they also required her to have her entire body hairless, if only for the aesthetic of it all. 

“Are you sure this outfit is okay?” Harry asked, looking at her with an unsure glint in his eye as she finished blow drying her hair. Y/n had picked out a Hades and Persephone-esque ensemble that required both of them to wear togas. Harry had a black toga with a black crown that had intimidating small black spears atop of it. Y/n’s outfit consisted of a white toga with a beautiful flower crown that complimented her freshly blown out hair. To complete her look she accessorized with gold chains and bracelets. They looked like the God and Goddess that they were.

“Bub,” y/n said, her eyes crinkling with amusement as she looked at her boyfriend. “I can assure you, everyone at this party is going to be dressed up. You’re not going to be the only person in a toga-like ensemble.”

“I feel ridiculous. Why do you get to look so beautiful and I have to wear this uncomfy dress? We didn’t even wear things like this back then!”

“Harry, oh my god! It doesn’t have to be historically accurate,” Y/n said, smiling at his discomfort before looking up at him innocently. “And for the record, I think you look insanely fucking hot.” 

“Y/n,” Harry warned, “Don’t start because we won’t leave this house otherwise.”

Y/n just smiled up at him before kissing his cheek and walking back to her vanity to put the finishing touches on her outfit. “I’m going to finish my makeup and afterwards, I think it’s time to do yours as well.”

“I am not putting makeup on,” Harry said to Y/n. 

“You are though,” Y/n assured him. “It completes the look and it’s how my modern-day Hades looks in my mind.”

“Ugh,” Harry groaned as he wrapped his arms around his girl. “I don’t know if it’s bad for me or not, but you definitely have me wrapped around your finger.”

After they finished getting ready, and Y/n got Harry to put on the eyeliner, even though it was begrudgingly, they were walking out the door of the apartment and towards Harry’s car. 

“What’s going to happen if you see Rowan tonight,” Y/n whispered as she grabbed Harry’s hand across the console.

“I’ll beat his ass,” Harry joked as he looked across to a frowning Y/n. “I’m kidding baby, if need be, I’ll probably talk to him and clear the air. But I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do. I’ll respect your wishes on this one.”

“Thank you, H,” Y/n said as she leaned across the console to kiss his cheek. “Handle it however you want, but please, no violence from you. If it comes to that, I’d prefer to handle it.”

“Whatever you say,” Harry said as he smiled before putting the car in park in the crowded driveway of the Fraternity. “You are the Queen of Darkness after all, it’s game time baby.”

[dessarious]

The Angel of Death Pt17

Inspired by this Story Starter by @someone-ev

AO3   Prologue   Beginning   Previous   Next

Three days. That’s all it took for Tris to decide that she wanted nothing to do with this school or the teachers who insisted on talking down to her because she knew their material better than they did. One even had the audacity to correct her and when she cited six different primary sources to back up her position he’d sent her to the headmaster's office. The man didn’t seem to know what to do with her, no one in the school did.

“Which teacher did you piss off this time?” She looked up from her seat outside the office to see Adrien coming towards her. His always cheerful expression made her worry about him sometimes but he was pleasant to be around.

“All of them.” He let out a bark of laughter but then frowned at her.

“You’re not serious are you?” She just frowned back.

“Of course I’m serious. What else would I be?” He didn’t seem to know how to respond to that. “They’re all in there trying to get the headmaster to expel me.” His eyes grew wider with every word.

“By all of them you mean…”

“All of them. Even the study hall teacher because apparently he took offense to my comment about it being a wasted period since the classes here are far too rudimentary to require any serious study.” Adrien coughed to cover a laugh before pulling out his phone. She didn’t see what was funny about any of this. “What are you doing?”

“Texting Chloe. If she finds out I knew about this and didn’t warn her so she could make sure you stay enrolled I don’t think anyone would find my body.” Tris rolled her eyes, but given that Chloe's father had hired the Angel of Death it was possible she could find someone capable of that. Not to mention Kagami was a bit of a wild card. Tris couldn’t be sure exactly what the girl’s skill set was.

“Tell her not to bother. There’s absolutely no point in my being here to learn if no one is going to teach me properly.” They didn’t even teach proper study techniques given the fact that she’d helped all her roommates, including Luka, with their study habits. It was no wonder burnout was an issue when they didn’t give their students the proper tools.

“What if you switch classes to subjects that you don’t already know so much about?” Adrien was still typing away on his phone and it sounded like an off hand comment but Tris frowned in thought.

“Given some of the misinformation I’ve heard come out of the teachers here I’m not sure I trust the staff to teach me anything accurately. But I suppose I could supplement their teaching with my own research. What kind of classes though?” Adrien gave a thoughtful hum.

“Well you’ve been banned from the gym so sports are out.” She scowled at the reminder. She still didn’t think it was her fault that the teacher had told her not to hold back and she ended up breaking another student's nose within the first five seconds of the match. She also didn’t understand why the boy had cried about it. “There’s music, art, architecture, religion and cultural studies, design… oh and they just started a graphic design and video game development course!”

“Why would anyone waste time on such a useless pursuit? Video games are a complete waste of time when you could be doing something productive.” Adrien’s expression fell and she was once again reminded of a kicked puppy. She really didn’t like that look. “I guess art or design wouldn’t be terrible.” At least the knowledge would be useful and creative thinking was always an asset.

“Great! I’m sure Chloe will get everything figured out. Just try not to injure anyone else, or make another teacher cry.” He sounded extremely amused by the last part though she couldn’t understand why. Watching a grown man cry as she picked apart what was apparently his doctoral thesis had been rather pathetic. If he can’t handle the criticism he  should have put more effort into it in the first place. She’d heard a rumor that he’d taken a sabbatical and checked into a mental institution, but wasn’t sure she believed it.

“If the teachers were competent it wouldn’t be an issue.I should not have to correct their misinformation and it honestly worries me that so many people have been taught such flawed curriculum.” Adrien let out a sigh before sitting down next to her. They all seemed to be under the impression that she was being far too critical of the school.

“Perhaps you’re right, but nothings going to change and long as you keep putting their backs up. People get defensive when someone challenges them. Maybe you could try being nicer about it? That way they might actually be willing to listen to what you have to say. Because right now all you’re doing is forcing them to stick to their flawed teaching or admit that a student that has far less education than them knows more about the subject they’ve basically dedicated their lives to. No one likes to admit they’re wrong, especially if they feel like it’s being rubbed in their face.”

Tris considered his words carefully. Criticism had been a daily, if not hourly occurrence in her life from the time she was taken. It had ceased to bother her not long after, but she did vaguely remember being annoyed when anyone corrected her at something she felt she knew. She hadn’t realized that’s what she was doing to those teachers. She still thought they needed to get over it, but this might be one of those things she was supposed to learn.

“I’ll try to be more sensitive in the future.” Adrien beamed at her.

AO3   Prologue   Beginning   Previous    Next

Ko-Fi

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[libermachinae]

Fault Lines Under the Living Room

Part I: Listen - Chapter 1: A Commotion, Eager and Anxious (Previous)

Also available on AO3! Summary:  Arcee arrives on the Lost Light just as someone else is getting ready to leave. Chapter Word Count: 3010

---

“Hey, you’ve reached Captain Rodimus’ personal hailing frequency. If you’re calling to complain again about mandatory hab sweeps, please refer to recent events involving briefcases and the hereafter outlawed opening of. If you have news involving foolish, ridiculous, or nonsensical obstacles in our quest, input 1 to be transferred directly to Megatron’s personal comm line. If you have a complaint regarding sign placement, grammatically incorrect maintenance manuals, or that weird temperature difference between floors 7 and 8, input 2 for Ultra Magnus. If you’re lonely and want someone to talk to, input 3 for automatic directions to Swerve’s. Input 4 to be connected with me, provided I’m—”

Beep.

“Rodimus?”

“Blaster! Great timing, we just got back from Fortuna. Don’t talk too long, though, Magnus just handed me my prep for the hearing and these datapads are engraved with his personal insignia.”

“Sure, Rodimus. I’ve got incoming transmission from an unknown caller, not laying down any codes I’m familiar with. Tried pressing for details, but all they’re letting slip is they want to talk to you. Want me to patch them through?”

“Hm. On the one hand, unknown caller with mysterious intentions almost always means trouble, right?”

“We’ve ended up in some axel grease for it in the past, yeah.”

“And the reason we set down on Scarvix was to avoid creating more problems while we deal with the fallout from the last batch.”

“I thought it was to give the crew a day off?”

“And that’s why you’re our morale guy. Ratchet would probably tell me to ignore it, right?”

“I guess.”

“You don’t think he would?”

“Not really sure how the CMO’s opinion is relevant.”

Because Ratchet’s vote was the only one he knew.

“Yeah, never mind,” Rodimus said with a shrug, almost losing his balance in the process. “Ultra Magnus would say the same thing, anyway, and he’s counting on me to get to the hearing on time. He cares so much , he ‘summarized’ Brainstorm’s alleged code infringements himself.” He shifted the armload of datapads. The topmost pad was hanging off the edge, preparing for freefall, but trying to tilt it back to safety risked upsetting the rest of the pile.

“Nice of him,” Blaster said.

“Yep, super nice. He went to so much trouble. Really dug into the details, researched historical precedents, looked at the case from every angle. He probably buried his essay on the origins of Decepticon as an adjective somewhere in here.” The datapad tilted and dropped. Rodimus shifted his weight to one leg and kicked with the other, bouncing the pad off his knee and catching it with his teeth. “You know ‘at? Hure, ‘ut the comm hrough. ‘robably just a co’arketer, anyay.”

“Yes, sir.”

The familiar click and beat of a line being transferred. Rodimus deposited the datapad on top of his stack and started walking again, forgoing his office in favor of a detour to the middle decks. The view there was more impressive, the angle revealing the organic landscape that stretched between the Lost Light and Fortuna, a popular interstellar rest stop with enough mechanical business to make it worth the daytrip. Chomskians were their patrons of choice, but a hand over the faction insignia and most folks would let it slide. Walking the length of the Lost Light revealed a subtly changing view as the gleam of the mechanoid hub altered the silhouette of the city, and Rodimus busied himself tracking the shuttles, jets, and personal aircraft traveling in and out, letting it distract him until his comm came back.

“Am I speaking to Captain Rodimus?” an unfamiliar voice asked. Cybertronian, definitely, but otherwise unknown.

Cool .

“Yep, captain of the Lost Light and quester for the Knights of Cybertron,” he said. “What’s up?”

“This is Autobot Arcee, requesting permission to dock in the Lost Light’s shuttle bay.”

“Arcee?” Rodimus went through the list of all the Autobots he knew, ignoring the space where Arcee’s origin should have been. Some folks, MTOs especially, didn’t like to broadcast that information, and it wasn’t strictly necessary for a personal database search. Regardless, “Sorry, Arcee, I’m not remembering you. Who did you serve under?”

“New recruit. Was working with Prowl for a bit, now Optimus Prime. We’ve met.”

He had to hold himself back from shutting down the call. The datapads wobbled and he quickly righted himself.

“We have?” People who worked for Prowl were strategic about when they released that information. If she really was a new recruit, it was possible no one had explained to her yet that, ultimately, everything led back to him. It was the only justification he could find for staying on the line and not telling Ultra Magnus to initiate an immediate sweep for unauthorized listening devices.

“Well, no. But I crashed a shuttle for you. Into Galvatron.”

“You did?” And just like that he had forgotten Prowl entirely.

“I did. Me and a few others. It didn’t do much, but you and Optimus managed to take care of Vector Sigma anyway, so, bygones.”

Why couldn’t he remember this? It sounded awesome .

“Totally,” Rodimus said, feeling a swell of pride as he remembered the moment Optimus had set aside his doubts and trusted Rodimus’ word on the Matrix. Up until that point, his chosen name had felt ill-fitting, like the myriad of function tests that preceded a new harvest’s official classification. Or, in his darker moments, like the Primes of old, who claimed the Matrix’s blessing despite no legitimate connection to it. Optimus had put his faith in Rodimus, though, in his connection to the Matrix, and that faith had been rewarded , not punished . For once, his destiny hadn’t been priced in spilled energon.

Not that they hadn’t seen any.

“So you decided to get the brand and make it permanent?” he asked, pulling himself back to the present.

“Yes.”

“Then yeah, come aboard. ‘The more the merrier,’ as Megatron would never say. When do you estimate your arrival?”

“I’ve just breached atmosphere, should be there in an hour.”

“Perfect. I’ll send instructions along to open the shuttle bay doors and will be there to meet you.” He passed the news to Megatron and Ultra Magnus and was unsurprised when only the latter acknowledged the alert, as well as a bunch of forms that seemed incredibly tedious and not worth the bandwidth. Maybe once the hearing was over, he could sit down with his co-captain and remind him of the responsibilities he had agreed to as part of his deal. That would be a proper, leader-like thing to do.

Or he could let Megatron continue to wallow in whatever new misery he had concocted for himself. It certainly made his shifts easier.

He and Arcee exchanged farewells and his comm powered down, leaving Rodimus to strategize. Arcee’s arrival meant he did not have enough time to get back to his office, read through all of Magnus’ files, and make it to the shuttle bay, especially with all the effort it would take to even work himself up to unlocking the datapads. Better to make a good impression on their new guest and bump out the least pressing task. He could do his reading once Arcee was settled.

Walking around weighed down by the burden of knowledge was a drag, though, so he stuck to the part of the plan that involved getting rid of the datapads. He spent the remaining walk to his office (longer now after he had inadvertently walked in the opposite direction while on the comm) thinking about what he could do with the surprise free time. Maybe take a quick lap around the lower decks or make his first official visit to “Visages”. Something fun, carefree, and just barely skirting regulations; something normal , to start the work of convincing everyone, again, that things were going to be fine.

~*~

Ratchet was not stalling.

There was a chance he was overpreparing, but better that than the opposite. The galaxy was a big place, and if he was even slightly accurate in his guess of how far Drift would wander in his search for redemption, he would be touching corners of it even the war had never brought him to. So, an abundance of fuel was necessary, at least enough to last two bots a month plus about half that for the journey outward. Then medical supplies: wiremesh bandages, nanite gel, intravenous lines, sparkstarters, sorted boxes of nuts and screws, antiviral uploads, rust repellant, strut stabilizers, soldering wires… The shuttle was turning out better equipped than some of the mobile surgeries he had worked from during the war; even some hospitals had been dangerously low on materials he now found in abundance. For the first time, he had the resources to make sure nothing and no one would be lost to shortage, and he intended to take advantage of that new luxury.

Following that, the next logical step had been to make the rest of the shuttle comfortable as well. Two Morphy berths with recharge docks. A media library of music and movies to pass the time (the former Cyclonus’ recommendations, the latter, Swerve’s). A few selections from his private engex stash. A box of data blockers he had buried deep among the medical supplies and would claim were standard for any med kit if interrogated.

He nudged the box of Hex pieces against the wall with his foot. Was it alright there was nowhere to sit beside the naviconsole and the berths? He had though Drift would appreciate the economy of a smaller shuttle, but with the cargo loaded the atmosphere was shifting from cozy to cramped. Would Drift feel claustrophobic, reminded of squatters’ dens and Decepticon outposts? Drift was also a high-energy bot, who would probably itch for a chance to spin his wheels from time to time. Were the fuel reserves large enough to accommodate multiple planet stops?

Ratchet’s knuckle had worked its way between his teeth before he realized what he was doing. Dropping his hand, he forced himself to turn around and exit the small spacecraft. He was committed. Out of anyone on board, Drift had done the most to earn this home. If no one else was going to step up and do the right thing by returning it to him, Ratchet would resign to do it himself.

He heard a commotion, eager and anxious, as he stepped out into the shuttle bay. The hangar doors were opening, sunlight slipping through the growing crack, and several parked crafts were being taxied out of the way. Not wanting to get cut off by wandering shuttles, he hurried to the pedestrian entrance, where most of the voices were coming from: a small crowd, loiterers looking for the new source of intrigue. Whirl and Tailgate were among them, providing running commentary as the unwieldly ships skirted just shy of scraping each other’s paint off, so it was no surprise to find Cyclonus standing further off.

Perfect. Though Ratchet and Cyclonus were not on bad terms, neither had ever tried to expand their relationship past the occasional long-suffering glance. If it had been one of the bots who had his spark twisting every time he bumped into them in the hallways, Ratchet would have worried about giving his plan away, but he doubted Cyclonus cared whether the something-like-guilt was visible.

“Cyclonus,” he greeted.

“Ratchet.” The older of the two offered a polite nod, though his gaze returned to the door.

“What’s going on? Somebody forget something in Fortuna?” Ratchet kept his voice light, curiosity without investment. A change in routine could mean nothing, but by now everyone knew it could also be the start of something weird, dangerous, or a combination of the two. Either way, it would end up among Swerve’s stand-up material.

“New arrival,” Cyclonus said. “Arcee of the Darklands: a tested warrior with a spark that rivaled Galvatron’s.”

Might as well have called herself Foreboding of Doom and saved his declarative archives the search. Ratchet wondered if he should move his departure up.

“Is she here? Did I miss it?”

Rodimus’ panicked shouts preceded his stumble into the hangar. Ratchet greeted him with a pointed look, which he shouldered by simply not noticing it while his gaze darted around the room.

“Not yet, Rodimus,” Hoist announced over the loudspeaker. “We’re just getting the last shuttles cleared for landing.”

“Oh, thank Primus,” Rodimus said, tilting his head back as his fans released a cloud of warm air. “Fantastic.”

“You look like you gunned it to get here,” Ratchet said, waving away the smell of an overheated engine.

“No, that would be speeding, which is definitely against spacetime law,” Rodimus said, straightening to flash Ratchet a deeply unappreciated grin. “I ran. I told Arcee I would be here to meet her, and it would make for a pretty bad impression of the ship if the captain failed to live up to his promise.”

“Don’t you have a hearing to be getting ready for?” Ratchet asked, the question slipping past his censors. Slag. That was not the note he wanted to leave on. The stress of his impending departure was getting to him more than he had realized.

Rodimus shrugged, unaffected.

“Magnus gave me all the materials, just need to read them. Won’t take long.”

That stirred something in Ratchet’s spark.

“Good to know our justice system is under such attentive care.”

“Perhaps this is a conversation that would be better saved for when we are not moments from new introductions,” Cyclonus interjected, his deep bass distracting enough to halt those emotional processes of Ratchet’s that started to loop out of control whenever Rodimus opened his mouth. He set his vocalizer to standby, not trusting it to wait for his command, and wondered whether it would be better to get out sooner. Before his own smart mouth made his worries a reality.

The appearance of the approaching shuttle did not ease his concerns. Starting as a speck above the horizon, all optics were on it as it approached, a little blob of a spacecraft dangling over the city of Fortuna. Big, for a single occupant. Ratchet hoped he was wrong, but he noticed something further odd as it came nearer.

Whirl took care of that loose thread of optimism.

“It’s purple,” he said, with a coy look at Cyclonus, who ignored it with enviable steadiness.

“It’s a Decepticon vessel.” Ratchet had seen enough in his time. After the fall of Tyger Pax, Autobot regulations had outlawed all colors between navy and magenta for ships, and he could think of no other species brazen enough to steer a spacecraft directly into civilian airspace. “Rodimus?”

“Blaster confirmed Arcee’s ident after our call,” Rodimus said. “Bit of a garish choice for a ride, but it’s her.” He had maneuvered himself to the front of the group, standing at the front like he was putting himself on display for an honored guest.

“That is rich, coming from you.”

“Thanks, Ratch,” Rodimus said, casting over his shoulder a wink and a grin before he turned back to face the oncoming ship. Ratchet’s frown deepened and he ignored the way the gesture reminded him of Drift.

He never knew what the bot had seen in Rodimus. Short-sighted, selfish, and with an ego that could have powered the ship if he could have been bothered to contribute that much, Rodimus’ ability to perform feats no one else would attempt meant he was also prone to making mistakes they neither could have imagined. For all the time Ratchet had spent on the Lost Light , he still had no idea the limits of chaos Rodimus was capable of summoning to it, so he let triage and combat protocols idle in the background while they waited.

It was not a nice landing. The thrusters were still burning several hundred feet out, so they all heard the roar of wind buffeting ailerons as the shuttle struggled to slow itself down. It was only by the combined effects of the Lost Light ’s buffeting shield and the shuttle’s reverse engines that they did not suffer a catastrophic collision, and even then, the shuttle bounced as it finally touched down, coming within feet of kissing Huffer’s personal speeder. Ratchet still did not remember to vent as it struggled through taxiing, twice having to reattempt a maneuver as the combined efforts of Hoist, Rodimus, and a group of volunteers guided it to its designated space. Only when the engines finally shut down did Ratchet hear the collective sigh of multiple hydraulics systems releasing their tension.

“Guess Darkland warriors don’t need to know how to drive,” Ratchet muttered. He thought he heard Cyclonus huff, which was enough to get a chuckle out of him.

That was it, though, because in the next moment Rodimus was rushing to the lowering hatch, his spoiler flicking behind him like an insect wing. Ratchet caught a glimpse of a labyrinthine cargo hold before Arcee stepped forward, filling the space, and descended rapidly. He tensed, ready for something else to come charging out from behind her, but besides a look passed between her and Cyclonus nothing immediately hostile revealed itself.

“Welcome to the Lost Light,” Rodimus said, standing aside to let Arcee descend. The hatch raised as soon as she was standing on the Lost Light’s floor, blocking Ratchet’s view again.

“Yes, thank you.” Her tone was clipped, not the melodic veil of sophistication Ratchet had come to associate with Cyclonus, and she scanned the assembled bots with a look of blatant suspicion. Ratchet could relate to that, if nothing else.

He glanced at the purple ship once more while Rodimus led Arcee in the direction of the rec rooms while the rest of the crowd dispersed. Ratchet himself would never believe in anything as a sign or omen, but the sight of the purple plating made old welds ache, and he found his resolve. He would go get a drink. He would attend the hearing. And then, goodbyes or no, he was leaving that night.

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Wedding Colors (Part 3)

(Hayffie ❤️🧡💛💚💙💖. An exploration of Effie’s evolving character as she faces past and present personal intensities while making preparations for Finnick and Annie’s wedding.)

13:00—lunch. For the first time since the ominous day in July that she’d descended into the gloom of 13, Effie’s belly was full. As weeks had turned into months, she hadn’t felt hunger. She’d picked at meals and pushed unpalatable food around her tray. But now something was different. Flint scraped over steel inside her like the wind across her cheeks that morning. Her spoon repeatedly clinked the bottom of the bowl of squash soup. It took every ounce of restraint to not bring the whole bowl to her mouth and tilt it upward to collect the last drops.

Keenly observant, Cressida noted, “That’s new.”

“What?”

“You finishing a meal here.” She dropped her voice. “Are you pregnant, Trinket?”

Effie’s face flushed scarlet, blushing through burnt cheeks. “Bite your tongue!” she snapped.

Cressida glanced at Pollux, and Effie recognized her own faux pas. “Please excuse me. I wasn’t thinking about...”

Interacting with an Avox who was a regular citizen rather than a servant of the Capitol was still a new experience for her.

Pollux signed, “No problem,” and his brother offered the translation.

Effie returned her attention to the inquisitive filmmaker. “I’m JUST hungry. Must a woman be pregnant in order to finish a bowl of soup?” She whispered “pregnant” as if saying it too loudly might invite the situation. Or just as worrisome, Haymitch could walk in at that moment, hear the word, flip out, and not touch her again. Now that she’d opened the Pandora’s box of sex with him, she didn’t want to put a lid back on it.

“Okay. I get it.” Cressida was intrigued by Effie’s blush, but otherwise mollified. “You like the soup. End of story.”

It was golden orange in color and lightly flavored with spices that tasted like autumn. Ginger was recognizable, but the others were a mystery to Effie. Her experience with cooking was mostly limited to a course she’d taken a decade and a half prior at Charis School of Grace, Beauty, and Charm.

Her mother had insisted on “Finishing School” for Effie after she graduated from the Academy. The summer classes had been a compromise, since her father was resolute in his intention to send her to University. He’d even dipped into his personal inheritance to pay extra tuition when her test scores didn’t qualify her outright for admission.

“Charis will focus Euphemia on the most sophisticated etiquette and deportment, preparing her for marriage into greater wealth,” her mother argued.

“University will prepare Effie for a practical career suited to her strongest skills,” her father contended.

“Grace, beauty, and charm ARE her strongest skills. Face it, dear. Like you, our daughter lacks the talent to be a Gamemaker.”

“She has the talent to be more than a rich man’s wife.”

“If I were the wife of a RICH man, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?”

Their barbs stung each other. After years of practice, the Trinkets knew just where to aim them. They agreed that Effie needed a path which would secure an optimal future for the family. Neither of them asked her what she wanted.

If they’d asked back then, she would have had one specific answer. And if she was honest with herself now, her deepest desire was exactly the same. If she’d voiced it then, her parents would have sent her to the Asylum first before anything else. So she said nothing about it.

By 18, she’d become a master at the art of knowing when to hold her tongue. She’d internalized the pressure to please her parents and reflect positively on her family’s name and station in society. The burden of doing so was a heavy weight on her shoulders.

Effie’s shoulders ached too from the physical work of gathering and carrying around large sacks of perfect leaves. She daydreamed about a bath full of bubbles followed by a nap on a real bed. Allowing the fantasy was a mistake because then her body screamed for it.

She wondered if even babies were allowed to nap here, or did they get merely a half hour of “reflection” before dinner like everyone else? Did they have daily schedules imprinted on their chubby little arms? Eat. Poop. Sleep. What else did the tiny things do? She’d never paid much attention to them in the Capitol. Had she ever seen a baby in 13? She couldn’t recall.

***

14:00—volunteering. The children would be out of school soon. Plutarch told her to expect them along with anyone who was between work shifts. Coin was allowing more flexibility than usual in order to encourage volunteerism. Effie considered the irony in the word spelled out on her arm in purple ink. Following schedules was mandatory. Once “volunteering” is tattooed on your body, doesn’t it cease to be voluntary?

That place made her head hurt if she thought about it too much. She pulled her rose-tinted sunglasses out of her pocket and put them on, hoping the change in light would temper some of the ache, and help her feel less vulnerable.

“Ready or not, here I go,” she said out loud.

She approached the kitchen staff for permission to use large plastic serving bowls to hold the leaves at the tables. The kitchen manager, a middle aged woman named Cuire, put up resistance, muttering something about needing authorization from the president.

Greasy Sae showed no qualms about interjecting. “Now, those leaves ain’t all that different from a salad. We’ll have the bowls washed again long before dinner service.”

The older woman, with her hair up in a kerchief more plain than Effie’s, carried a stack of serving bowls through the doorway without waiting for the manager’s consent. She returned to the kitchen for more until every serving bowl in 13 was in the dining hall. Cuire pursed her lips but said nothing.

Sae pulled a handful of leaves out of one of the canvas bags and dropped them into a bowl. “The list of procedures here’s a mile long. Sometimes the only way to keep these folks from sayin’ ‘no’ is to just not ask ‘em. And then work fast.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Effie joined her efforts to quickly transfer the leaves to the bowls. “Thank you, Sae.”

“Thank YOU, girl. Gatherin’ up all these to make pretty things for the weddin’, you must be exhausted.”

“I had help. From Haymitch.”

“Did you?”

“I had to ambush him.”

“Nah. As often as that boy looks at you, I’d guess he went willingly.”

Ambushed and willing. Yes, he was.

Beetee wheeled up to her with several spools of wire, wire cutters, rolls of electrical tape, and several pairs of scissors.

“The copper color is PERFECT!” Effie gushed.

“This wire is at least a hundred years old,” he replied with little emotion, “The only reason it shows no corrosion is because 13 is fastidious about its storage conditions, including adequate air circulation. The gauge is small. The electrical current from present technologies, would overload and overheat it. The wire is rather useless actually.”

“Well, we’ve found a use for it!”

“In the absence of copper tape, this seems the best match, which is ironic since brown is typically used for high voltages. And high voltages would burn right through this particular wire.”

“We’re just making garlands today, not blowing out an arena!”

“You’re speaking non-metaphorically, of course. We might hope the propo will play a role in shattering the Capitol’s grip on the restless minds of its citizens... That said, it isn’t my intention to imply that YOUR mind is gripped and restless.”

A gripped and restless mind sounded fairly accurate to Effie. “I doubt the Capitol views me as its citizen at this point.” I guess that makes me homeless, even though my family home, my apartment, my belongings, my entire history are all there.

Beetee noticed her smile fade. “You might be right about that. ...I’m sorry.”

After seeing what her victors had been through and what they were still going through, she felt uncomfortable being apologized to by a victor who she held in high regard. I don’t deserve an apology, though manners dictated the proper response to an apology was a gracious, “Thank you.”

“Will you be staying to help?” she added.

“I’m needed in Special Defense. Bring the leftover supplies when you come down later.”

“Beetee, thank you for this.”

The clock was ticking. Effie went to work immediately, arranging leaves in alternating colors and shapes and adhering the stems to a long length of wire.

“What a beautiful pattern!” A friendly voice spoke over Effie’s shoulder. She turned to see Delly Cartwright whose blonde hair fell free of its usual braid.

“An artisan! Delly, I’m grateful you’re here to help with production and quality control.”

From their occasional chats at mealtimes, Effie had learned that Delly’s parents had been shoemakers, and 13 put her to work in textile production as soon as she’d turned 18.

“Me? An artisan?”

“You WILL be, dear. I’ve seen your stitching. I’ve also observed your congenial way with people.” Effie cut a long length of wire for Delly and set her up with supplies to work at another table. “Let’s spread around the talent.”

When school let out, Delly’s younger brother was the first to arrive, not wanting to go “home” to empty quarters. Posy Hawthorne followed close at his heels, skipping to keep up with his much longer legs.

“Stop followin’ me!” he told her.

“I’m not followin’ you. We’re just goin’ the same place, that’s all.”

“Well, you’re a baby, and I don’t want you sittin’ at MY table.”

“Cordwain!” Delly interjected, “That’s not polite!”

“I’m FIVE years old, and I’ll sit wherever I please, CordWAIN.” With three older brothers, Posy could hold her own in disagreements with just about anyone, especially boys. Effie admired that along with her manners.

“Aw, Dellyyyy,” her brother whined, “You’re supposed to call me Cord!”

“You apologize to Posy, and I won’t have to be so stern.”

“Do I HAVE to?! She’s just Vick’s little sister.”

“And you’re MY little brother, so, yes, you do. You know Ma and Pa would say so if—“

“Ma and Pa are dead!” Cord sat at the table with Delly and folded his arms across his chest.

Delly sighed, and her tone softened, “Cordy, honey, that’s all the more reason to apologize.”

His lip quivered, and he muttered in a hoarse voice. “Sorry.”

“I’m sorry they died,” Posy empathized, “My daddy died b’fore I was born.”

She sat across from Effie and looked at her for a long fifteen seconds. Effie wasn’t used to children being so young. The girl’s dark hair fell long past her shoulders in two braids. Her gray eyes were deeply set. She had the look of a person who’d seen the shadow of death and kept going.

“I like your pink glasses.” Posy twirled one of her braids around her finger. “I used to have pink ribbons. Two of ‘em.”

“When I was your age, I wore pink ribbons in my hair. Pink was my favorite color.”

“Mine too! Gale says we can’t go back fer the ribbons. He says they’re gone. Do you think they’re gone?”

“Well... I...” For goodness sake. What does one say to a child whose district was fire bombed to rubble?

Cord muttered some more, “Of course they’re gone!”

Posy ignored him, waiting for Effie’s response.

“Your brother, Gale, is wise, dear.” Effie saw her expectant little face fall. “I am going to your district tomorrow. With Katniss. Would you like for me to look for the ribbons so you know for certain?”

Posy nodded.

“Then I’ll be sure to do that. In the meantime would you like to help make a garland? There aren’t any pink leaves, but there are other pretty colors.”

Posy reached into the bowl and pulled out a red one. “Can I do this one?”

“Of course. Let me show you.”

Effie demonstrated with a different leaf then watched Posy’s small fingers peel and cut the tape and use it to add her chosen leaf to the copper wire.

“How’s that?” the girl asked.

The tape was crooked. The leaf was crooked, and it didn’t fall in line with the pattern. Effie considered telling her so. Aemilia Trinket certainly would have. And for that reason if no other, Effie said to the five-year/old, “That’s wonderful, dear.”

Posy beamed. “You’re nice. You’re not scary at all! I’m gonna go tell Rory that he’s wrong.” She hopped out of the chair and skipped away, turning around long enough to say, “I’ll be back!”

Effie watched her go, not knowing quite what to think. Rory?... She couldn’t remember who that was. One of the Hawthorne boys?

“This year would have been Rory’s first reaping,” Delly explained.

Effie didn’t need to hear anything more in order to understand. The truth split her heart. Half of it dropped like lead into her stomach. The other half rose up into her throat, threatening to choke her.

The children are afraid of me.

Even without a reaping ball in front of me, they are still afraid.

In that moment, she didn’t have time or space to process the realization. She just sat there, forcing a smile, trying to keep the vacant feeling in her chest from showing on her face. As volunteers streamed into the dining hall, she swallowed the lump in her throat, pressed her palm to her stomach, and directed the project as planned.

More children arrived giggling and singing, 🎶”Come live with me and be my love...”🎶 It was the beginning of District 4’s wedding song, which they’d started learning in school. 🎶”...I'll take you out upon the sea...”🎶 drew them into conversation about how the ocean might look, feel, sound, smell, and taste. None of them had ever been to the seashore. They’d only seen it in books.

🎶”...To share the starry night with you...” 🎶 intrigued them too. Some of the children from 12 tried to describe the stars to the kids from 13 who had never been above ground at night. “A star is like the tip of the flame of a candle that never flickers.”... “They just pop out in the sky as it’s changing from blue to black.”... “My grandma says stars are ghosts that come to visit us at night. Good ghosts, not scary ones.”... “Ghosts ain’t real.”... “Are so!”... “Are not!”

Dozens of adults were there to cut wire and strips of tape for the younger children and to ensure the garlands turned out beautifully.

With so many helping hands, Effie had to let go of her precise plans. The work of other artisans became apparent as some patterns emerged which were even more pleasing than what Plutarch and Effie envisioned.

Boggs showed up, carrying his son on his hip. The boy seemed younger than Posy, though Effie was far from an expert about children under 12. Boggs sat at a table with the boy in his lap. The little one reached for the leaves just as Boggs’ communicuff started flashing wildly. “Damon, buddy, President Coin is calling. I’ve just lost my break time. I’m going to need to take you back to daycare, but maybe Miss Trinket will let you take one of the leaves with you?” Boggs gave Effie a pleading look. The last thing he needed just then was an upset kid.

Damon’s big brown eyes welled up with tears. He wiped them away with the backs of his hands which were filled with leaves that he didn’t want to let go. Since the epidemic, Boggs and his son had been on their own. Looking into those teary eyes, Effie couldn’t help but feel for them. The feeling seeped into that empty space in her chest, and eased a bit of the void.

“Your son can stay awhile, if you’d like. Then I can take him back to daycare.”

“Are you sure? He’s a handful, and you have a lot going on here.”

Seeing herself in the moment as “scary ghost” rather than a star, Effie definitely was NOT sure that she was the right person to be looking after a young child. “Of course, I’m sure,” she spoke through her smiling mask.

“What do you say, buddy? Do you want to stay with Miss Trinket and make a garland, or do you want me to take you back to daycare now?”

“It’s Effie. The only one who calls me Miss Trinket around here is Mr. Heavensbee.” She laughed.

Damon climbed down from Boggs’ lap and up into Effie’s. “Oh! Well, hello,” she said, pushing her chair back far enough to make room for him. He was heavier than he’d looked in the strong arms of his father. He squirmed around reaching for everything at once: more leaves of every shape and color, scissors...

Boggs’ eyes widened.

Effie handed Damon a roll of tape in trade for the scissors. “You can hold the tape, and I’LL do the cutting.”

‘Thank you,’ Boggs mouthed the words then told his son, “This is an important job, soldier. Effie is your commanding officer. Are you going to take this work seriously and mind what she tells you to do?”

“Yeth, thir, Daddy, thir!” His lisp melted Effie’s heart.

“At ease, little man. I’ll pick you up from daycare at 18:00.” Boggs kissed his son’s forehead, and Damon was already hard at work attempting to peel tape off the roll.

As Effie helped the boy put leaves on the wire, Posy returned, accompanied by one of her brothers who hurried to claim an open seat next to Cord. Posy skipped up to Effie and patted her head. “I got Vick to come, but Rory’s stubborn. YOU know how boys can be.”

Effie looked up from the table to see Haymitch leaning against a pillar near the edge of the dining hall. He was watching her closely. The expression on his face was a loaded mix of curiosity and seriousness.

“Yes, I do know how boys can be,” Effie agreed, “Especially when they are afraid.”

Haymitch had never seen Effie around little kids, and he was fascinated. The Hawthorne girl chattered on and on, tucking leaf stems into the top knot of Effie’s kerchief. Boggs’ kid was in Effie’s lap, crushing leaves with his hands and unwrapping tape for her to cut with scissors. A girl Haymitch didn’t recognize sat to the side, touching Effie’s bracelet. “Is this silver and gold?” the kid asked.

“This s costume jewelry,” Effie answered.

“What’s ‘costume’?” the girl wanted to know.

“A costume is... something you might wear when you are... pretending.”

The Hawthorne girl said to the other one, “You can wear one of my pink ribbons sometime, and we can pretend to be twins... if Effie finds my ribbons in 12 tomorrow.”

Effie locked eyes with Haymitch. “I promised I’d look, Posy, but please don’t get your hopes up, dear.”

He was trying to make sense of the situation. Effie’s going to 12 tomorrow? Why? And why is nobody telling me anything! Pissed off, he started to walk away.

“Excuse me, girls. Damon, let’s go talk to Haymitch for a few minutes.” Effie stood up, holding the boy on her hip as Boggs had done. “Haymitch! Wait...” She caught up to him before the staircase. If he’d really wanted to avoid her, he would have already been long gone.

“What are you thinking!?” he asked, unsure of what he was wondering about most... Why was Effie going to 12 where the burned corpses of his people were still rotting? Why didn’t she tell him about her plans? And what the hell was his heart doing as he watched her with those little kids?

“Annie needs help selecting one of Cinna’s dresses for the wedding, and Katniss asked if I could go with them for support. So, of course, I said yes. ...Not that I owe you an explanation.”

“You owe me nothing, sweetheart. But it’s bad there. You’re going to see things that’ll change you.”

“I’m already changing.” She boosted the kid up on her hip. “There’s nothing I can do to stop that. ...And I don’t think I want to stop it.”

Damon dropped the leaves and rubbed his eyes. “Are you tired... buddy?” Effie hesitantly used one of Boggs’ nicknames for the boy. He shook his head ‘no’, but rubbed his eyes again. “How about we take these leaves to daycare so you can show your daddy?”

Damon nodded and opened his hands to the floor where the leaves had fallen. Haymitch bent to pick them up and handed them back to the kid. He stood close to them. Effie smelled like the woods, faintly like ginger, and mostly like her. The fragrances helped him feel less agitated. They were familiar, as if less was changing all at once.

“Thank you,” she said about the leaves, “Will you please tell Delly where I’m going and ask her to stay until I return?”

“Sure”

She rested her palm on Haymitch’s shirt where his sweater gaped open. She brushed her fingertips along the buttons. “Will YOU stay until I return? I could really use your help hanging these garlands in Special Defense.”

Her touch felt too good for him to say no.

The peace in his expression was answer enough for her.

As he watched her walk away, a smile crept over his face. He was far too amused to remind Effie that the Hawthorne girl had embellished her head wrap with at least a dozen leaves. In all the years, it was the best *wig* he’d seen her wear. If she was going to roam around 13 looking like a tree, then who was he to stop her?

[skelebonecentral]

Hothouse Rose chapter 2

more with the skele sweeties (lust boys show up next chapter i promise)

words under the cut

Sans…felt better.

Therapy worked, who knew? Well, Toriel had been telling him to go, Alphys had, too, and he finally listened because he just couldn’t lose Papyrus.

The therapist was nice, he’d done a lot of research before choosing one, and they listened. He wasn’t usually as talkative, but if you don’t talk to a therapist, they can’t help. So he talked.

About losing their dad, about raising Papyrus by himself, about running six jobs just to keep the rent on the house up and let Papyrus continue training for the guard. About feeling de ja vu for months at a time and not being able to fix the machine that would maybe bring their dad back and having the burden of knowing he had the knowledge to help others but was so incompetent he couldn’t. Then there was acting as the Judge of the underground. That was a whole other thing that he hadn’t even told Papyrus about.

But it felt good to finally spill all the secrets that had weighed him down, especially knowing that nobody else would be told. He had more energy now, since he didn’t spend as much time on worrying. Well, that and the medication. A lot of healers from the underground had started working with humans to develop medicines that would be effective for monster patients, and he was using one of them. It was a real relief, not feeling like a weight was sitting on his head all day, or that he was the only one trying to help anybody.

Of course, having more energy made him work harder on things. His various jobs, his jokes, and working on the machine. It was actually nearly done, just needed testing, and it sparked a hope in Sans for the first time in a long time. Maybe he could do this. Maybe, now that his head wasn’t clogged with negative thoughts about the world and himself, he could fix this thing and bring back his dad. Would he be proud? Angry? He didn’t know.

He also didn’t realize the machine was in the ‘on’ state when he first plugged it in, and thus was utterly shocked when it sputtered and whirred to life…before violently exploding.

---

Normally, you’d be so happy about moving into a proper house this semester, and for the first few days, you had been.

But normally was not what was happening right now. Papyrus didn’t come to class for two weeks, and you were very worried.

You knew, from his texts, that he was okay, but it really didn’t make sense what he was saying.

“PLEASE GET MY WORK FROM CLASS FOR A FEW DAYS? SOMETHING VERY LARGE HAS HAPPENED.”

“HELP ME, PLEASE, THEY ARE ALL DRIVING ME UP THE WALL. LITERALLY, I AM USING BLUE MAGIC TO CLING TO THE CEILING AT THIS POINT TO GET AWAY FROM THEM ALL.”

“I HAVE TO MOVE HOUSE. WELL, TO BE ACCURATE, I HAVE TO MOVE MY STUFF TO A NEW HOUSE.”

Those were just some examples of the things he’d sent you, and you had been gathering the information for him on what had gone on during each of his missed lectures (at least the ones you had with him). Still, it was not like Papyrus to miss school, at all.

But at least your classes were not harsh on attendance as long as work got done, and Papyrus had been sending all his assignments in.

Finally, after almost another full week, you get a phone call, “Y/N! FINALLY! I’LL BE IN SCHOOL TOMORROW.”

“Thank goodness. What happened? I couldn’t piece it together from your messages,” you ask, very concerned.

“OH. WELL, IN SHORT, MY COUSINS APPEARED OUT OF THIN AIR AND ARE NOW LIVING WITH US. THAT’S WHY SANS AND I HAD TO MOVE, OUR HOUSE WAS GOING TO EXPLODE. THERE WERE ONLY THE TWO OF US, AND TWO TURNED INTO EIGHT, SO WE MOVED! WE’RE STILL CLOSE ENOUGH THAT IT’S NO TROUBLE FOR ME TO RUN TO SCHOOL, BUT WE’RE OVER IN THE…WELL, MY COUSIN SPICE CALLED IT ‘FANCY TOWN’.”

“You mean that edition on the west side with all the weird mansions?”

“YES! WE’RE IN A WEIRD MANSION THAT LOOKS LIKE A FRAT HOUSE. BIG COLUMNS, BRICK FRONT, COLONIAL LOOKING.”

“Okay. Wow, yeah, family emergency makes a lot of sense now that you say that. I’m just glad you weren’t sick or something, Papy. I’d be so lost without you.” You feel your face heat up saying it out loud, but it was true. These three weeks had been torment without his bubbly commentary and gentle pushing to do better.  Everything had seemed very empty without Papyrus around.

“Y/N, MY DEAREST FRIEND, I DO SECOND THAT, BUT ABOUT YOU!” you could hear him clicking a pen over and over on the other side of the line, and that told you he was anxious, “IT’S BEEN SO HARD TO KEEP MY PATIENCE WITH MY COUSINS WITHOUT THE BREAK GOING TO CLASS AND BEING WITH YOU GIVES ME. YOU JUST GET ME WITHOUT EVEN THINKING ABOUT IT. MAYBE…MAYBE I CAN COME OVER AND WE CAN DO THAT ALIEN WARLORDS OF JUSTICE MARATHON THIS WEEKEND?”

“Consider it done, Papyrus, I have missed you far too much to ever say no to a famous Papyrus sleepover. Do you want me to invite Frisk, too?” You just wanted to be with him again, no matter what form that took.

“YES! BUT ALSO NO. I THINK I WANT SOME ADULT TO ADULT TALKING TIME AWAY FROM THIS MAD HOUSE MORE THAN I WANT SILLY FRIENDSHIP DOODLES OR SOMETHING. I WANT TO RELAX, AND NOT WORRY ABOUT MISS TORIEL BEING ANGRY IF I MESS UP.”

Aw, Papyrus, the sweetheart. “Then just us, the show, and some popcorn and soda and maybe candy? Sound good?”

“I AM ALMOST CRYING I’M SO READY! I’LL SEE YOU TOMORROW?”

“Without a doubt,” you giggle, “Love you, Papy.”

“I LOVE YOU, TOO! BYE BYE!”

It felt good to say it out loud. You loved Papyrus, that was not in argument at all, and hadn’t been since the incident with Sans. It’d been more than six months now since then, and you’d actually gotten on good terms with the other brother. You’d hear his deep voice mumble something over the phone on occasion and Papyrus would begrudgingly tell you what Sans had said, and when you did occasionally run into Sans at one of his odd jobs (or on campus coming out of the science building) you’d engage in small talk and your mutual admiration of Papyrus.

You weren’t afraid of the little guy anymore (he was just as tall as you, but much smaller than Papyrus so he seemed small) and would actually tentatively say you were friends. You had his number now and occasionally would get jokes texted to you specifically about language. He seemed to have remembered you were in linguistics, and was making the effort to connect on that. You’d send him back gifs of skeletons doing weird things, and that seemed to go over well.

So now you weren’t surprised when you got a text.

Punny bones: no matter how kind you are, german kids will always be kinder.

You laugh and text back.

You: so I guess papy told you about the sleepover?

Punny bones: yeah. he yelled so loud everybody in the house heard him. did he tell u about the cousins?

You: just that they’re driving him crazy and he wants some time away. Hence accepting his idea about the sleepover.

Punny bones: heh. He needs it. hard to compress eight different personalities into one house, so this is good for him. remember to lock the door, though? plz?

You: 😊 yes sans~

It had really surprised you when he’d started ending his texts to you asking you to be safe and reminding you of small things, like smoke detectors and door screws. He had stopped being afraid OF you and started being afraid FOR you. It was kind of nice, even if you didn’t quite know what had happened in his mind to flip that switch.

He still would apologize to you on occasion for his initial behavior, and you had told him you’d forgiven him. You had, of course, because you realized you thought about doing a very similar thing when you found out some human child you didn’t know had started making friends with Frisk. To be fair, it’s because you’d seen their parents and they were rich, making them very suspicious to you, but it helped you realize Sans’ actions weren’t THAT outside the realm of normal thought.

Still, that was Sans. Your thoughts were more toward Papyrus at the moment.

You gave Papyrus a bear hug when you saw him the next day, and pretty much every morning thereafter until the weekend. This would be his first sleepover in your new house, and your plant-crazy roomie was out on a research trip.

“YES! WE WILL WATCH OUR WONDERFUL SHOW ON YOUR COOL TV AND RECONNECT PROPERLY!” he cooed as he set up his sleeping bag in the living room. “AH, I CAN’T EVEN TELL YOU HOW MUCH MORE COMFORTABLE I AM ALREADY JUST KNOWING I CAN SLEEP WITHOUT SIX OF MY COUSINS MAKING NOISE AT ALL HOURS!”

“Isn’t that all of your cousins?”

“YES!”

Ah you’d missed his jokes while he was gone. “Anyway, what do you want for dinner? We making it together or you want me to surprise you?”

“PLEASE LET ME MAKE IT WITH YOU! AND I’D LIKE SOME SIMPLE, HOME MADE SOMETHING OR OTHER. I’M SO TIRED OF THE TAKE OUT WE’VE BEEN EATING NONSTOP JUST TO KEEP US ALL FROM FIGHTING OVER WHO IS COOKING.” He did look tired, which was unusual for Papyrus, but you knew he’d perk up after a break.

“Okay, how about French bread pizza? I made the sauce for it yesterday since I knew you’d be over,” you headed to the kitchen and Papyrus followed, pulling his apron out of his inventory. It was pink and said “My kitchen, my rules” on the front in white letters.

“PERFECT! I WILL ASSIST YOU IN CUTTING UP THE TOPPINGS!” He had gotten a lot better at cooking since the two of you had first become friends, and now you more than trusted Papyrus to not turn your ingredients into confetti.

The evening was golden, just the two of you cheering for your favorite show, exchanging theories and popcorn, and diving into the lore on the internet afterward, in your room.

It was getting late, and you yawned, but didn’t move. You just…you wanted to stay up with Papyrus. You’d missed him so badly and it felt like you were being cheated out of time with him if you went to sleep.

But he noticed, as he always did, and asked, “FRIEND, YOU’RE TIRED. GO TO BED AND I WILL BE MORE THAN HAPPY ON MY OWN. I WANT TO EXPLORE YOUR NEW HOUSE.”

Running on fumes as you were, your next thought left your mouth before you could really think about it, “Only if you stay with me till I’m asleep.”

Papyrus looked at you a moment, a slow creep of orange blush creeping over his cheekbones, then said, “UM…Y/N, I’D BE HAPPY TO, BUT I’D FEEL BETTER IF I SAID SOMETHING FIRST. IS THAT ALRIGHT?”

“Y-yeah, of course.” You got up and sat on your bed, watching as Papyrus sat backwards in the computer chair you’d vacated.

“YOU KNOW, IT’S BEEN A FEW YEARS OF US KNOWING EACH OTHER, AND IT’S BEEN AMAZING.” He smiles but can’t quite look at you, “AND, WELL, IF I’M HONEST WITH MYSELF, AND I ALWAYS TRY TO BE! THEN I HAVE TO SAY I’VE GROWN TO COUNT ON YOU AS A STAPLE IN MY LIFE. YOU’VE HELPED ME FIND AN AVENUE FOR MY PASSIONS, BEEN A WONDERFUL FRIEND, AND HELPED SANS SEE HE NEEDED TO SEE SOMEONE FOR TREATMENT.”

You take his hand when he holds it out, and smile.

“YOU’VE DONE SO MUCH, ALL THESE LITTLE THINGS, AND….AND I’D REALLY LIKE TO ASK IF YOU WANTED TO TRY A GROWN-UP DATE. WITH ME.  N-NOT THE CUTE LITTLE TEENAGER DATE I PLAYED AT WITH FRISK, MIND YOU! SO…SO WOULD THAT BE OKAY? US DATING?” He had such a shy, nervous tilt to his smile, and you felt yourself tumble over the edge of affection as you squeezed his hand.

“That sounds fun, Papyrus. I’m very lucky if I get to call you my boyfriend,” you beam as you’re tackled onto the bed by a happy skeleton, hugging him tight as he nuzzles into you.

“NYOOHOOHOO YOU’RE TOO SWEET! MY DATEMATE! MY BEST FRIEND IN THE WORLD! I LOVE YOU!”

His teeth are tickling your neck and you wriggle, “Papyrus! I love you, too, but stooooooop, hahaha! You’re tickling meeeee!”

He gets up a bit and smiles, “SORRY NOT SORRY! BUT YES, NOW WE CAN CUDDLE WHILE YOU FALL ASLEEP AND THEN I WILL EXPLORE YOUR HOUSE WHEN I CAN’T FOLLOW YOU.”

You have to catch your breath, but your cheeks are burning while you scoot under your covers and hold them open for him. He slips in very gingerly and soon you’re bundled up to his chest. He’s warm, as always, and can’t seem to stop his million watt smile. You don’t blame him; it feels like there is a sun in your chest from the pure joy his question had brought to you. Papyrus was everything you’d ever wanted in a friend, and you can’t imagine ever having a life without him in it. It just seemed natural to date him, and clearly he felt the same about you.

Safe and happy, you fall asleep very easily in his arms.

--

Dating Papyrus was exactly the same as being his friend, except now you’d hold hands a lot more and occasionally he’d nuzzle his teeth to your forehead and go “MWAH!” very loudly.

Sans had texted you the morning after your sleepover.

Punny bones: congrats on being the new datemate

You just stared at it, then looked up at Papyrus (who had made you breakfast) who was blushing, “I’M SORRY! I WAS JUST SO EXCITED THAT I TEXTED HIM AFTER YOU FELL ASLEEP.”

Shaking your head, you’d just sent an emoji of sticking your tongue out to Sans.

Punny bones: aww u r shy~ Punny bones: he told me he was gonna ask you weeks ago. Punny bones: only like 2 days without you and he was ready.

“WHAT IS HE SAYING?!” Papyrus looked over your phone and groaned, and you’d had to nurse his bruised ego a little afterward because his big brother was embarrassing him.

Still, you were both happy that Papyrus was excited, and proud that Sans had bettered his thoughts enough to react positively to this news.

Understandably, you had Papyrus over to your house several more times, mostly to have private movie viewings rather like your first sleepover. It was just more your speed, and his, to have dates just be the two of you doing something fun. Of course, you had a few at Bungle Land, cause who doesn’t like cute clumsy cartoon parrots, and going to see premieres at the theaters or eat at a nice place, but the vast majority of your weekly official dates were spent in your pjs on the sofa with Papyrus curled around your body as you watched movies.

Sometime during your dating, your roommate moved out. She transferred to a college with a better botony program and more specializations for masters’ degrees, so you bid her a fond goodbye and kept in touch by text. Sure, you hadn’t been super close friends, but she’d still been a great roomie and had been all for your relationship with a sweetheart like Papyrus. It hit all those rom-com beats that made you both squeal happily.

He was a very physical person, Papyrus, so you got hugs often and he tended to just like holding you. It made you feel very good, even if sometimes you both ended up getting tangled because he was so long-limbed. Your hair was fascinating to him, and he’d stroke it gently when his hands weren’t otherwise busy.

“YOU ARE SO SOFT ALL OVER. IT’S VERY ATTRACTIVE! I’M JUST GLAD MTT PUT OUT SPECIAL CREAMS TO MAKE MY BONES MORE FLEXIBLE AND TENDER!” He said one night as you both were walking home from a musical at the campus theater.

You laughed, and he squeezed your hand gently, “You don’t need to be softer, Papyrus. I already adore your strong bones and the only part of you that is soft is your heart, and that’s the most perfect kind to have.”

“I DON’T HAVE A HEART THOUGH?” he acted clueless, and you smack his arm gently and get him to giggle as you caught him in his jest. “WELL I DON’T! I GAVE IT TO YOU!”

You gently tug on his scarf and he leans down while you get on your tiptoes, giving him a soft kiss on the teeth that makes him hum wistfully. Then you both flinch back as a siren sounds, a firetruck zooming from a corner nearby and down the street.

Looking up you feel your stomach drop as you see the smoke. “Papy, is that coming from my house?”

He picks you up and starts sprinting after the firetruck, you holding tight to his neck and praying you were wrong. But as the two of you ran up to the front of your house, you saw the fire department spraying water on your blazing home and police cordoning off the area.

“Oh no…” you felt your self start to shake, even as your vision tunneled.

Papyrus holds you tighter and you start sobbing, hiding your face in his shoulder as he murmurs, “It will be alright, Y/n. I’m right here. We’ll figure this out. Do you want to stay at a hotel tonight?”

“I don’t want to be alone,” you wheeze, out of breath from crying already.

“You won’t be.” He did not let you go, not even when the police came to question you two. He handled the answering since you were too broken to speak. Realizing there was nothing you can do to help them, the men leave you two alone, telling you to find a place to stay and they’ll call you when it’s safe for you to pick through the debris.

Papyrus calls Sans as he walks, easily holding you while using his magic to hold the phone close to his skull, “Sans, I’m staying with Y/n tonight. N-no no I’m alright, it’s just that…their house has burned down. No, we were out at the theater, remember? Right. Yes, I’m taking them ther- Oh. Yes, that’s probably best. Thank you, Sans.”

Sans appears and looks frantic, but seeing you both unharmed and soot-less, he relaxes a little, “heya, pal. stars, I’m sorry this happened. let’s use one of my shortcuts to get you to a hotel. long walk otherwise and you need rest.”

Papyrus keeps hold of you as Sans takes you both through a surprisingly short distance to…

“Oh, Mettaton’s hotel,” you manage to say, and Sans smiles up at you, clearly stressed from the tightness in the edges of his grin.

“felix is workin’ tonight, and he won’t ask rude questions. Specially if I’m here. just sit in the chairs and I’ll take care of this. least I can do for ya,” he was really searching your face, looking for any sign of more he could do.

“Thank you, Sans. Really I…I just want to go to bed.”

“that I can do. stay with them, pap?”

Papyrus has walked you into the lobby and sets you delicately in one of the plush magenta chairs inside, “THAT WAS THE PLAN, YES.”

“okay,” Sans gives your hand a supportive squeeze, sighing through his nose a bit, “hang tight, pal.” Sans takes care of everything, and Papyrus stays by you, getting out his handkerchief and drying your face for you. “THERE, DEAREST. WE WILL RELAX TONIGHT AND FIGURE OUT WHAT TO DO IN THE MORNING.”

You just nod, leaning into his touch gratefully.

--

The room is very nice, smelling of make-up and perfume, and the sheets on the single, queen sized bed are soft. You aren’t surprised when there’s two pairs of pajamas lying folded on the bed, after all, this is MTT’s place and he likes his guests to feel “SUPER FABULOUS, darling!”

“OH GOOD,” Papyrus smiles as he takes up one pair, “I WAS WORRIED WHAT WE WOULD SLEEP IN.”

You pick up your set, “I’ll change in the bathroom and you can use this room. I need to shower anyway.”

“TAKE YOUR TIME, LOVE,” he nuzzles you softly, “I WILL ALWAYS BE HERE, JUST TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF.”

You kiss his cheekbone and head to the bathroom, running the water and finding your mind focusing on the taps. The temperature gauge has markers for “monster level cold”, “human cold”, “human hot”, and “monster hot”. You smile, turning them to “human hot” and stepping in after shedding your clothes.

The warm water helps ease your body, releasing the tension, but it also lets you sit on the provided ledge and cry. Your home is gone, you don’t know how much of your belongings survived the fire, much less the water, and you don’t know where you’re going to go.

After an unknown amount of time, you hear a knock, “Y/N? IT’S BEEN QUITE A WHILE. ARE YOU ALRIGHT? WELL, AS ALRIGHT AS YOU CAN BE?”

“I’m fine,” you call back. “Just lost track of time. I’ll be out in a moment.”

“OKAY. REMEMBER, I LOVE YOU.”

“I know, thank you,” you really appreciate the reminder. You aren’t alone tonight, and you aren’t unsupported. Papyrus will help you, and make sure things work out for the best. You get your bath quickly, the magic in the soaps helping you feel better before drying off on the warm towels and stepping back into your underwear before putting on the pajamas. It just felt weird to wear clothes without underwear, you don’t know why.

Papyrus is sitting in the bed, smiling at you as you come over in the soft, warm light from the bedside lamp on the near side. Climbing in next to him, you sigh, turning off the light before lying down and snuggling in close.

“You know I will do anything you need me to, correct?” Papyrus asks, whispering.

“I know, Papy. I’m really glad you’re here,” you cling to him, needing the comfort. “I just need you to be with me right now. I’ll tell you if I think of anything else.”

“Of course,” his ribs began to vibrate just a bit, and you smiled softly. That was his ‘purr’, that you had discovered on one of your first outings together. “Your wish is my command, Y/n. Goodnight, and rest well.”

“Night, Papy. I love you.”

--

It was three hours since Y/n had fallen asleep, and Papyrus felt secure enough in their continued rest to get up. Heading into the bathroom, he sat on the closed lid of the toilet and dialed the number of one of his cousins, who he was absolutely certain was up.

“Hello, Papyrus, dear! It’s good to hear from you,” came the cheery, energetic voice on the other end.

“HELLO CHARM,” Papyrus sighed, “DID SANS TELL YOU ALL WHY I WASN’T HOME TONIGHT?”

“No, but we’d hoped you and your lovely were together.”

“WELL, YOU’RE HALF RIGHT. I’M WITH THEM BUT NOT FOR GOOD REASONS. THEIR HOME HAS BURNED DOWN.”

There was a gasp and something rattled off a table, “Papyrus! Are they alright? Are you at the hospital?”

“NO, NO, NOTHING LIKE THAT. WE WERE BOTH OUT AT THE THEATER AND CAME BACK TO FIND IT ENGULFED. THEY’RE ASLEEP NOW BUT I NEEDED TO TALK TO SOMEONE AND YOU’RE THE MOST RELIABLE AND LIKELY TO STILL BE AWAKE.”

Relief, and a small laugh, “Oh, well, that makes me feel good. And good on you, staying by their side when they’re having a very bad experience. You’re a very good partner, if I may say so for them.”

That made Papyrus relax a little, smiling as he leaned his head on his hand, other knee jittering, “THANK YOU, CHARM. BUT WHAT I NEED TO TALK ABOUT IS WHAT DO WE DO FOR THEM? Y/N IS WITHOUT A HOME, AND WHILE I THINK I HAVE AN IDEA, I ALSO AM A LITTLE NERVOUS ABOUT PROPOSING IT.”

“Well, they can stay with us! They’re your partner, Papyrus, we aren’t going to be upset if you have them move in with you.”

His skull exploded in warmth and an orange glow, “CHARM! I-I WOULDN’T BE HAVING THEM IN MY ROOM! Y-YES, WE OCCASIONALLY SHARE, LIKE TONIGHT, BUT THEY NEED THEIR OWN SPACE. WE HAVEN’T….GOTTEN THAT FAR. RELATIONSHIPS MOVE SLOWER HERE, REMEMBER?”

“Oh. Sorry, dear, I forgot. Well, more accurately I was hoping to sort of push you because, GOODNESS, Cousin, they’re a catch and a half! But that’s not what makes you comfortable, and that’s okay.” A deep breath, and a more cheerful tone, “But we can always move Whip’s collection out of the room across from yours and have him put it elsewhere. That way they’re close to you, but you aren’t quite so…intimate.” He giggles and Papyrus can’t help joining as his nerves ease.

“AND YOU’RE SURE YOUR BROTHER AND THE OTHERS WON’T…BE OFFENDED?”

“No! No of course not, Papy, we’d do the same thing!” Charm scoffed then cooed, “No, my brother and I are all for helping the poor dear out, and you know Boa isn’t going to turn down a chance for someone to maybe befriend his brother. No, you tell them they’re more than welcome here, and if they decide to come, we’ll be there with bells on to help them get settled.”

“THANK YOU AGAIN, CHARM, I JUST REALLY…REALLY NEEDED SOME SUPPORT, TOO.”

“Oh cousin, what else is family for? We love you, so you try and relax with your lovely and I’ll talk to Boa so we can gang up on Whip and make him come around.” A laugh, teasing and very pleased, “Goodnight and good luck, Papyrus. Keep us posted.”

“I WILL. GOODNIGHT, CHARM!”

He hung up the phone and sighed, leaning back a bit. Thank goodness some of his cousins were relatively normal most of the time. Well, It was probably another five hours or so before Y/n would wake up, so now he had to occupy himself. Thank stars MTT rooms all came with bookcases full of Mettaton’s various memoirs!

---

It was hard to wake up, mostly because you thought you were at home at first before you opened your eyes.

Papyrus was sitting in a by the window, reading a book from the shelves in the room, and everything was ridiculously sumptuous and glittery. That pulled you out of your sleep and through confusion before landing on devastation.

“Good morning,” you say halfheartedly, and Papyrus looks up.

“GOOD MORNING, DEAR. I’M GLAD YOU SLEPT WELL, AS THE POLICE LEFT A MESSAGE FOR YOU A MOMENT AGO. I’VE ALSO BEEN LOOKING FOR OPTIONS FOR YOU TO STAY AT, BUT BEING THE MIDDLE OF THE SEMESTER, EVERYTHING SEEMS FULL UP. I ALSO EMAILED ALL OUR PROFESSORS, SO YOU HAVE AT LEAST THREE DAYS OFF CLASS TO DEAL WITH THIS. I’M AFRAID YOU’LL HAVE TO ASK IN PERSON IF YOU NEED MORE.” Well, your lovely skeleton had been quite busy, and helpful, as always.

“Thank you. I hadn’t even thought about class till you mentioned it,” you get up and sigh, not quite knowing what to do, “I guess I’ll just…go home? Maybe drop the semester and save up to try again?”

“NOT IF YOU DON’T WANT TO!” Papyrus blushed a little, “YOU DO REALIZE I HAVE A VERY LARGE HOUSE THAT YOU COULD HAVE A ROOM IN, RIGHT? WELL, SANS AND I HAVE A VERY LARGE HOUSE, BUT THAT’S SEMANTICS.” He was holding his own hands, head tilted slightly down so you knew he was looking upward at you, hopeful. “I CLEARED IT WITH MY MORE ENERGETIC COUSINS LAST NIGHT AND GOT A TEXT THIS MORNING THAT THE VOTE IS SEVEN TO ONE FOR YOU BEING WELCOMED IN.”

You really don’t want to cry but you can’t help it, and Papyrus moves to pull you back to sit on the bed with him. He holds you tight, “Papyrus, you’re just so good! I don’t…Are you sure?” You clung to the very soft fabric of his provided pajamas, “I don’t want to, to upset your cousins or overload your house.”

“OH, YOU WON’T. YOU’RE A WONDERFUL PERSON, AND YOU KNOW SANS AND I ARE IN YOUR CORNER NOW. I JUST KNOW YOU’D RATHER NOT WASTE THE TIME AND MONEY YOU SPENT THIS SEMESTER, AND GOODNESS KNOWS IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT YOUR HOUSE DECIDED TO INVITE FIRE OVER.”

That gets you to laugh through the tears, “Oh, I didn’t know my house decided to do that. I should complain to Grillby, then?”

“WELL, YES,” Papyrus gives you a squeeze and nuzzles your hair, “IT WAS VERY RUDE OF HIM TO WALK INTO YOUR HOUSE WITH HIS WHOLE FAMILY AND MAKE SUCH A MESS.” He laughs softly, too close for a full volume one, “OH, DEAREST, YOU REALLY ARE A WITTY ONE. NO, DON’T BOTHER THAT POOR MAN, HE ALREADY HAD TO DEAL WITH SANS AFTER ALL.”

The tears are drying as you continue to giggle, squealing when Papyrus turns your hug into a tickle fight that he obviously wins.

“HAHA! THE GREAT PAPYRUS WINS A VICTORY OVER SADNESS ONCE AGAIN!” he declares as he finally lets you breathe and hops up, “NOW, I HAD YOUR CLOTHES FROM YESTERDAY CLEANED BY THE COMPLIMENTARY LAUNDRY SERVICE, AND THEY’RE IN THE BATHROOM FRESH FOR YOU. W-WELL MOST OF THEM ARE FRESH; I COULDN’T,” he looks away and his smile gets wobbly in nerves, “I COULDN’T TOUCH YOUR UNDERTHINGS WITHOUT YOUR PERMISSION SO THEY AREN’T.”

You blink, then hold in a snort of laughter. “I forget monsters consider socks underwear. Oh, Papyrus, I love you so much. I don’t need them cleaned, don’t worry.” Getting up, you pull him down for a kiss on the cheekbone, “And you have my permission to touch any laundry of mine you like and move it if you see fit. I trust you to treat them kindly.”

He exploded in orange all over his skull, and you giggle as you head into the bathroom. You’d never ever get tired of him, your utter gentleman in shining cardboard armor.

--

Papyrus was more than eager on the bus ride back toward your home. He babbled about how you’d love his cousins, and that some of them were almost as cool as he was (you didn’t doubt that, but how?) But he also was fiddling with a notebook to have it ready to make a list of things you needed to replace.

That was going to suck. Going through the rubble was going to be awful. The message the police left said that they were working on determining a cause for the fire, but that they’d left a few things they’d found in a bin for you with the person guarding the site.

That person turned out to be Dogamy, a large, floppy eared dog monster with fur resembling a mustache on his upper lip and a very large axe,  and Papyrus ran over and got a hug. “DEAR COMMRADE! HELLO! IT’S SO NICE TO SEE YOU!”

���it’s good to see you, too, Papyrus.” He was wagging his tail and smiled, “I made sure nobody touched this place till you and your date got back. Now that’s done, though, so I do have to be off. Other places to guard, you know.”

“YES OF COURSE! THANK YOU ONCE AGAIN!”

You shyly echoed his thanks, and Dogamy nodded before running off quickly…on all fours. Oh.

Picking up the bin he’d left behind, you sighed. Scorched frames holding photos, a few plates and cups that happened to be ceramic, and what looked like your whole silverware drawer, sat in the bottom of it.

Looking around, your living room and kitchen were gutted, as was your roommate’s former room, and the wall that led to your bedroom. Papyrus helped you get the door open (it had warped) and you found a lot of water damage on the floor, but it was otherwise mostly intact.

Well, that was what you wanted to say, but you just knew you were in the realm of “nothing but the clothes on their back” (well, and the pajamas, those are included in the room fee) and it felt BAD.

Papyrus has his finger up to his teeth, one arm crossed over his chest and tapping his foot, “YOU KNOW, UNDYNE’S HOUSE BURNED DOWN ALL THE TIME UNDERGROUND. I KNOW JUST ABOUT WHAT CAN BE SAVED AND WHAT CAN’T, BUT I DON’T THINK I CAN DO THIS WITH JUST THE TWO OF US. WOULD YOU BE OKAY IF I CALL MY COUSINS AND GET AT LEAST TWO OF THEM DOWN HERE TO HELP?”

Staring at your bedroom, all the grime everywhere, you just nod.

Papyrus goes into a corner and holds his phone up, “CHARM? GET BOA AND HAVE SANS BRING YOU TO Y/N’S PLACE. HM? OH, YES, THEY AGREED TO MOVE IN.” He jumps a bit and you can hear cheering from the phone. You smile a bit; at least you know you’re wanted where you’re going.