#which isn’t gonna b for a long time I still have all this roving

[viciousewe]

My previous wheel project! Some mystery wool I’m fairly certain is polwarth. Came out to about 550yds of light fingering 3 ply.

[bitchin-beskar]

honey and clementines - chapter one

Rating: T (eventually changing to M)

Warnings: brief mentions of injuries/blood, but nothing too graphic. 

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: hey all!! this is my first ever Marcus Moreno fic!! this is one-hundred percent the fault of @mxndoscyarika, she is my thot twin and an enabler and I love her so much. y’all need to check out her series, Honeydew, which is a beautifully written Marcus Moreno x OC fic. it’s seriously one of my favorite M.M. stories ever!!! I really hope y’all like this story!!!

Please consider reblogging and leaving a comment! I love hearing what y’all think!!!

“Have a good day at school Missy!”

You waved to the young girl as she dashed into the building, her backpack disappearing inside the doors just as the warning bell rang. Slumping back in your seat, you sighed, scrubbing a hand over your face. This morning had not gone according to plan, and you’d barely managed to get her to school on time. It wouldn’t be the first time Missy was late, but you always felt guilty whenever she was. Usually her teachers were pretty understanding, what with her dad being the Marcus Moreno, afterall, but you tried to avoid tardiness whenever possible. 

Pulling out of the drop-off lane, you began the short drive back to the Moreno household, mentally going over the list of things you had to accomplish today. Marcus had some late meetings tonight, so you and Missy were going to be on your own for dinner. 

You were mentally going through the list of ingredients you’d need for spaghetti when you pulled into the driveway. Grabbing your purse, you shut the car off, climbing out and locking the doors behind you, double-checking with a quick yank on the handle. 

So lost in your thoughts, you nearly tripped over a package sitting on the front porch, placed dead center of the welcome mat. Sighing, you bent down, picking it up and tucking it under one arm as you unlocked the front door, and stepping inside. You needed to be more aware of your surroundings, isn’t that what Marcus always told you? 

Shutting the door behind you, you dumped your purse and keys on the table in the foyer, walking on autopilot into the kitchen. You set the package down on the counter and grabbed the notepad you always kept sitting beside the bowl of fruit, beginning to write down the things you needed to pick up when you went to the store. 

You were startled out of your scribbling by the feeling of your phone vibrating in your pocket. Pulling it out and glancing at the caller ID, you smiled. “Hey Marcus, don’t worry, I got Missy to the school in time–”

“I need you to listen to me carefully.” 

Back straightening, you jerked up in surprise at the low growl of Marcus’ voice. He sounded scared, which worried you, a lot. When the leader of the Heroics sounded scared, you knew it was serious.

“Was there anything suspicious laying around when you came home? Is there anything out of place?”

You quickly scanned the kitchen and living room, looking for anything strange or out of the ordinary. You couldn’t see anything, everything looked pretty much how you left it. In fact, the only thing that looked any different was the package you’d brought in–

Marcus could hear you suck in a sharp breath over the phone, and his frantic voice crackled through the speakers. “What? What is it? What do you see?”

“I–I brought in a package–” You stuttered, slowly backing away from the counter where the small brown box was sitting innocuously. “I–It was sitting o–on the front porch–”

“Get out of there! Get out! Now!”

Turning, you dashed for the front door when there was a sudden explosion of sound and heat, and your world went dark.

***

Marcus stared horror-struck at his phone, the sound of an explosion still ringing in his ears, even though the screen showed that the call had dropped. 

He was standing at his desk in HQ, phone held limply in his hand as the giant screen at the front of the room flashed with the warning they’d received from Explosivo only minutes earlier. 

 B I G  S U R P R I S E S  C O M E  I N  S M A L L  P A C K A G E S,  M O R E N O. 

His heart had stopped when he’d first seen the message, and his first thought had been to call you. When you’d answered, he’d breathed a sigh of relief, but the panic came back full force when he heard the explosion just before the phone went dead.

“Moreno?”

Granada’s voice cut through the haze, and he jerked his head up frantically to look at her. 

“Send a team to my house and Missy’s school. Now.”

He didn’t wait to see if she listened to him, turning on his heel and sprinting out of the room. He called Missy’s school to warn them of the potential threat as well as the fact that a team was on their way to secure the building as he raced towards his car. 

He probably broke every single traffic law in existence in his effort to get to his house as quickly as possible, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. His heart sank when he saw the multiple fire trucks and ambulances parked outside, as a team of firefighters worked over the smoldering ruins of his home. 

Screeching to a stop, he ripped his seatbelt off and threw his car door open as he practically fell out of the vehicle in his haste. 

He frantically scanned the people milling about outside the caution tape, trying to spot you. He finally spots you, sitting in the back of an ambulance, a shock blanket wrapped around your shoulders, a paramedic tending to a bloody cut on your head.

His feet are moving before his brain can even process what he’s seeing, and in what seems like seconds he’s standing just behind the paramedic, eyes roving over your figure as he tries to see if you’re hurt anywhere else.

***

You winced as the paramedic dabbed at the cut on your head, your fingers tightening in the scratchy grey fabric of the shock blanket one of the many first responders had draped over your shoulders. You were still shaky and a little dazed from the explosion, but miraculously, you weren’t too badly hurt. 

 Your eyes drifted shut for a moment, and when you opened them again, you saw Marcus standing in front of you, just behind the paramedic. Eyes flying wide open, you went to stand, the paramedic placed a hand on your shoulder to keep you still. 

“Marcus–!” you gasped, and he jerked forward, coming to stand next to you, his hand hovering just above your shoulder, hesitant to touch you. 

“Are you okay?” He demanded, eyes frantically flicking between you and the paramedic who’d just finished bandaging your head. “Is she okay?”

The paramedic nodded, before turning back to you. “You’re gonna be just fine, ma’am. The cut on your head isn’t as bad as it looks, head wounds tend to bleed a lot, but you won’t need stitches. You’ve got some bruises that’ll be tender for a few days, but nothing worse than that. You’re incredibly lucky ma’am.” 

“Thank you,” you whispered, and he nodded again, closing up his medical bag, and stepping away, leaving you and Marcus standing alone at the back of the ambulance. 

You barely had time to open your mouth before Marcus was pulling you up and into a frantic hug. His grip was tight and unyielding, and he pressed his face into your neck as you felt him take in a deep, shuddering breath. Your own arms came up to grip the back of his leather jacket in your shaking grip. 

He holds you for a long time, longer than is probably appropriate. You can tell he’s reluctant to pull away, and you’re reluctant to let him go. But eventually, he does pull back, only to cup your cheeks as he turns your face to both sides, eyes scanning all the little superficial cuts and scrapes along with the larger, bandaged cut on your forehead. 

“You’re sure you’re okay?” He murmurs, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “I’m so sorry, I called you as soon as I got the warning–”

“I’m okay,” you reassured him, letting him check you over to confirm for himself. “How did you know? What– Am I allowed to know what happened?” You knew that unfortunately, being a civilian, you weren’t always allowed to know what threats the Heroics faced, even with your connection to Marcus. 

Marcus sighs, and releases you to drag a hand over his face, and you faintly notice that he looks exhausted. “It’s a new supervillain,” he starts, speaking quietly so as not to allow the emergency personnel milling about to hear him. “Calls himself Explosivo, has a fascination with bombs and explosions. He sent HQ a message that mentioned me directly, right before I called you. I don’t know why he’s targeting me specifically, I’m so sorry–”

You placed your hand on his chest, stopping his apology in its tracks. “Don’t you dare apologize, Marcus Moreno. I knew what I was signing up for when you hired me as Missy’s nanny. This is not your fault.”

You can tell by the look on Marcus’ face that he doesn’t believe you, but before you can argue, a team from Heroics HQ arrives, and immediately descends on the ruined house. You watch, dumbstruck, as heroes use their powers to begin repairs immediately, undoing the damage left behind by the package bomb. 

Suddenly, your eyes widen, and you frantically grasp at Marcus’ arm. “Wait, what about Missy? Is she safe?” 

Marcus’ eyes widen, and he quickly yanks his phone out of his pocket, frantically checking for any messages. He lets out a sigh as he sees a message from Granada confirming that Missy is safe and waiting for him at HQ. 

“Missy’s safe at HQ,” he confirms, and you let out your own relieved sigh. “I’m gonna take you to HQ too, until the house is repaired and the security is updated.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the look on Marcus’ face killed your arguments. You let him maneuver you towards his car, knowing that Marcus isn’t going to rest until both you and Missy are safe. You know his wife was killed in a supervillain attack, and you’re not surprised he’s being so protective right now. You’ve been Missy’s nanny for close to five years now, and you’ve grown extremely close to the leader of the Heroics. 

The drive to HQ doesn’t take long, something for which you’re grateful. Now that you’re no longer in immediate danger, the adrenaline is leaving your system, leaving you feeling drained. Your whole body aches from being thrown into a wall, and you feel slightly dizzy from the blood loss. 

Marcus is driving, but his right hand is resting lightly on your knee, thumb rubbing small circles as though to reassure himself that you are indeed sitting beside him in his car, and not in a bloodied heap of twisted limbs and broken bones under the rubble of his house. 

He’s not usually this tactile, preferring to try and keep a more professional relationship, what with you being his daughter’s nanny and all. But right now, touch is a comfort he’s willing to indulge in, and you’re certainly not going to complain, no matter how your heart is going to hate you for it later. 

When you walk into HQ, you’re nearly bowled over by a tiny, curly-haired freight-train named Missy. She wraps her arms tightly around you, burying her face in your stomach as she tries to get as close to you as physically possible. Immediately, your own arms come up to wrap around her shaking form, smoothing over her hair, already whispering reassurances. 

Marcus just stands back and lets the two of you have this moment. You’ve become almost like a mother to Missy in the five years you’ve been her nanny, and he couldn’t be more grateful. You love her like she was your own flesh and blood, and Missy adores you. 

He tries not to think about all the times Missy has begged him to ask you out so that the three of you could become a real family. 

He’s much too old for you, in his forties with a child of his own. You’re barely thirty, not even considering you were only 25 when he first hired you. You’ve got so many options, so much still ahead of you, he’s not going to try and ask you out and ruin things between you. 

He’s content with how things are, secure in the fact that you’re not going anywhere soon, and that he’ll have you in his life for as long as he can convince you to stay. He’ll do everything in his power to keep you safe. He already lost the first woman he loved, he’s not about to lose you too.  

Permanent Tags: @theocatkov, @cosmicbug379, @marydjarin, @perropascal, @mxndoscyarika, @hayley-the-comet, @phoenixhalliwell, @ahopelessromanticwritersworld, @pedroepascal, @roxypeanut, @rynadjarin-reading, @anerdydragon, @justanotherblonde23, @rosiefridayrogersunday, @meshlamando, @sunsetmando, @bucketbunny, @mudhornchronicles, @huliabitch, @nerdypinupcrystal, @blackmarketmummy, @dinsbeskar, @mischiefnevermanaged94, @randomness501, @bisexual-space-slut, @lucifer-, @captainmunroe, @liadamerondjarin, @tulipsun-flower, @marvgrrl, @waatermelon-sugaar, @pedrospunk, @areolanya, @computeringturtle, @starlite41, @driftllocked, @gallowsjoker, @firstofficerwiggles, @pedro4ever

Marcus Moreno Tags:  @tulipsun-flower, @captainmunroe, @thevoiceinyourheadx, @snow30285, @pedro4ever

If your name is crossed out, I couldn’t tag you! sorry!

[babybubastis]

Inspired by the prompt “Welcome to fatherhood” sent to me by @prettylittlebirds82. I hope you don’t hate it lol. And I’m sorry it took me so long 🙈

Just some angsty, domestic WinterPrincess.

Warnings: pregnancy, pregnancy complications, hospitals

———————————————————————

He moves as the mattress shifts, rolls over in his sleep to place his hand in the warm indentation left by her body.

Footsteps, rustling, whispering flutter on the edge of his consciousness. He burrows into the covers, groaning when his hand still searches, comes up empty, searches again.

“James.”

The whisper of his name is what does it. Whatever is in her voice sets off an alarm and he’s out of the bed and at her feet, blinking his eyes against the bathroom light.

“What’s wrong, sugar?”

Shuri looks up from her perch on the toilet, hands clutching her round belly, then drops her gaze again.

“I can’t stop,” she rasps. It’s then that he notices the steady trickling sound.

Bucky frowns, tilts her chin up so he can look her in the eyes. “You can’t stop what, angel?”

A sniffle. “I had an accident in bed, so I got up to use the bathroom, but I can’t stop peeing.” She shakes her head, whispers under her breath to herself, “It can’t be, it’s too early, it’s not time.”

The crease in his brow deepens, and his stomach drops even before his brain fully registers what she’s saying.

For maybe five seconds, he doesn’t breathe. His chest feels heavy, his right hand shakes, his vision tunnels.

Then she grabs his arm to try to stand, and a switch flips.

Bucky lifts his wife into his arms and strides over to the counter top. He sets her down like glass, eyes and hands frantically roving over her slightly trembling form.

“Are you having any contractions?”

He’s read enough to know that rupture of membranes doesn’t always mean labor is coming immediately. But it’s a damn good indicator, and he has to fight down the panic flooding his veins.

Panic isn’t something Bucky’s accustomed to, despite his whole life basically being one long shitstorm. From being taking captive as a prisoner of war over eighty years ago, to literally being snapped out of and back into existence, he’s had enough stress for three lifetimes. And somehow none of that has prepared him for the slow but powerful dread gripping his gut as his fingertips slide through the small puddle gathering on the cold marble underneath his very-pregnant-but-not-quite-pregnant-enough wife.

A large tear spills over and down Shuri’s cheek, but she shakes her head. “No, I feel fine, otherwise. This doesn’t make any sense...”

Bucky lifts his hands to cup her face, fingers gently wiping away the moisture before placing his right hand on her belly.

“You’re both gonna be okay, you understand me?”

His Queen nods once, bottom lip trembling before she presses both lips together and closes her eyes. She sucks in a breath and blows it out. When her eyes open, they still shimmer. But there’s resolve there, a determination and strength that makes him straighten up. He presses his lips to her forehead and lingers there, breathing her in before pulling away.

The next few minutes are a blur as he rushes around their suite grabbing clothes, shoes, phones, keys, wallets.

She’s still sitting on the counter when he comes back. Her eyes are closed again, head bowed, lips moving silently as both hands rub her belly. Bucky falters as he notices the towel now tucked between her legs. And there’s the panic again. He swallows it down and walks over to Shuri.

When he places his hands over hers, she sighs.

“Let’s get you dressed, baby, then we’ll head to the hospital.”

Her eyes flutter open and she nods. They’re silent as he helps her dress, a cloud of anxiety gathering around them.

“Wait, Bucky.”

“Hm?”

“How are we getting there?”

Shit.

He’s so out of sorts- exhausted, terrified, and trying to shove it all down enough to think straight, but he forgot to actually secure them a ride. Today was only the second day of their “baby moon”. Shuri had wanted to see New York City at Christmas time, just the two - make that three - of them.

Her water breaking at the end of her second trimester wasn’t part of the plan.

Bucky finishes helping Shuri tie her shoes before he runs into the bedroom again to grab his phone.

An ambulance is their best bet, but it’s 8:07 on a Friday morning in Downtown Manhattan. And according to his phone, it’s snowing. Heavily.

Shit.

“What about Tony?”

He whips around to find Shuri slowly climbing down from the bathroom counter. Rushing over to help her, his heart swells in spite of everything at the adorable grunt she lets out as her feet meet the floor.

“Now what about Tony, doll?”

Shuri huffs. “I thought I told you he and Pepper bought a second place in the city? They had their youngest last year at one of the hospitals here, but I forget which one.”

Bucky’s brow furrows. He doesn’t remember any of that.

His wife rolls her eyes and steps past him, waddling over to the desk near the door to grab her phone. “He invited us over for Christmas when I was on the phone with him last night, so they should be nearby. Maybe he can help.”

Before he can say another word, Shuri is on the phone, nervously chewing her bottom lip as her hand cradles their baby.

“Tony-“

Bucky can hear Stark’s voice on the other end then, way too loud for as early as it is, and he busies himself with double checking the small bag he’s packed to avoid becoming agitated.

He really doesn’t have anything against the other man. Despite their history, Bucky can’t blame Tony for what transpired between them all those years ago. And after Tony nearly died to defeat Thanos, Bucky only has respect for the man.

Tony had flatlined on that battlefield.

It was Shuri who sprang into action, refused to take no for an answer. She shouted orders at Doctor Strange to open a portal to her lab, and within minutes, she had Stark on a table while she ran diagnostics and went to work.

She was behind closed doors for hours, allowing only Pepper and Bruce back, along with Strange.

Bucky has no idea what exactly happened. He had waited outside of her lab until his eyes drooped, and the sound of the doors sliding open jolted him awake. Shuri emerged, hands bloody and shaking, but her expression gave nothing away. When it was all said and done, Tony Stark ultimately had her to thank for giving him his life back.

The friendship that bloomed between them after that made Bucky uneasy for... a while. Even after Bucky managed to work up the courage to confess his feelings to Shuri, and she confessed that she loved him back, he couldn’t shake the streak of possessiveness that flared unreasonably whenever Tony was around.

But he never begrudged his love her friendship, even when she decided to build a second Wakandan Outreach Center in New York, and Tony - who was making every effort in using his resources to help rebuild the world he’d saved - eagerly offered to be of assistance to Shuri in any way he could, in exchange for some “playtime,” as Stark called it, in her lab.

And Tony wasn’t the only one who had become a bit enamored with the then-Princess; the entire Stark household loved her, too. And yet, the retired Iron Man and the former Winter Soldier had barely ever exchanged more than two words and a few terse nods over the last few years.

Shuri calls to him, effectively bringing him back to the present, and Bucky realizes he’s nearly worn a tread into the carpet with his nervous pacing.

“Tony is on his way.” There’s a tinge of relief in her voice, but her left hand hasn’t left her belly, and she taps her phone against her thigh in an uneven rhythm.

Bucky walks over to his wife and grabs her hand. He brings it to his lips and inhales deeply.

“You ready?” It’s an effort to keep his voice steady.

She nods once, attempts a small smile that barely reaches her eyes at all.

Then Bucky interlaces their fingers and leads her toward the door and out of their suite. He slings their duffel bag across his shoulders and scoops her up into his arms, barely breaking stride on the way to the elevator. Shuri gives a surprised little yelp that, under different circumstances, might make him chuckle.

Instead, he holds her a little tighter and fights the urge to tap his foot while they wait for the car to reach their floor. It feels like an eternity waiting in that hallway, Shuri’s shallow breath against his neck, their baby cradled between them. He can hear Shuri’s heartbeat, wishes he could hear their little Bean’s heartbeat, too.

When he steps inside the elevator and reaches toward the button for the lobby, Shuri grabs his hand. He arches a brow in question.

**

To Tony’s credit, they don’t wait long at all. It can’t be more than ten minutes since Shuri hung up the phone when Bucky hears their ride approaching.

Any other time, he might roll his eyes and accuse Tony of having a flair for the dramatic. But he’s never been happier to see a Stark Industries helicopter in his life.

The chopper barely lands before Tony hops out, waving them forward. Once inside, they get buckled and take off in record time.

“How you feelin’, kid?”

Shuri looks up and gives a small smile. “I’ll be better when I know Bean is alright.” Bucky runs his thumb across the back of her right hand, and Tony reaches across from his seat to briefly squeeze her left.

“Don’t you worry about a thing, alright? Pepper’s OB owes me a gigantic favor, I already called ahead of you at the hospital. All we need to do is get you to OB Triage, and her colleagues will take it from there.”

Bucky exhales slowly and clears his throat. “I don’t know how to thank-“

Tony waves him off before he can finish his thought. “It’s the least I can do.”

Bucky nods. Shuri sags against him, and he turns his head to place a kiss to her temple.

“But if you want to repay me,” Tony interjects after a moment, “Anthony could be a great middle name.”

Shuri snorts. “You’re insufferable, you know that?” But there’s humor in her voice, and a genuine smile on her face this time, and Bucky is grateful to Tony for the second time that day.

**

By some miracle, triage isn’t busy at all. The on-call doc and a nurse greet them and take Shuri back while Bucky deals with the paperwork and Tony goes in search of caffeine.

It takes everything in Bucky not to chuck the clipboard back across the reception desk and follow after his wife. By the time he’s done filling everything out, every nail on his right hand is bitten down to nothing and his stomach is full of lead. He hands everything over and leans both hands on the desk, fighting the urge to crush the cheap fiberboard.

“So if you could tell me where they took my wife...?”

The middle aged woman behind the desk gives him a sympathetic smile. “Gimme just a sec, hun, I have to make sure they’re ready for ya.”

Before he can object, she stands and disappears through the door behind her desk. Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose and counts down from ten in Xhosa. He has to start over twice before the receptionist comes back.

“Mr. Barnes? They just took your wife down the hall for an ultrasound. She should be back in the room shortly, and then we’ll have someone take you back. Just sit tight, okay?”

But Bucky’s already been away from Shuri and Bean for ten minutes, and ready to crawl out of his own skin for every second. He tries for a smile - something charming yet authoritative, but hopefully not menacing - and sets his fists on the desk, leaning forward.

“Look-“ he starts, but a hand taps him on the elbow before he can finish his thought.

“Hey, let’s take a breather, huh?” Tony nods toward the double doors to the unit.

Tony must see the hesitation in Bucky’s eyes, because he gently nudges him.

“Just a few minutes. You look like you need it,” he says.

Bucky flicks his eyes to the receptionist, then back at Tony and the two large cups of coffee in his hands. He sighs heavily and gestures in front of him. “Lead the way.”

**

The waiting area is blessedly empty. Bucky walks over to a TV in the corner and searches for the remote. He can hear Tony slowly approaching behind him, but decides to distract himself with finding a decent show. But almost every station he clicks on is on commercial. He swears under his breath and slams the remote back down onto the coffee table.

“You break anything in this room, I’m not payin’ for it.”

Bucky whips his head around to find Tony smirking at him, and lets out a little puff of air.

“I just... I want to do... something.” He rakes both hands through his sweat-dampened hair. Then, almost so quietly, he’s not sure Tony even hears: “I’m goin’ a little outta my mind, here.” His voice cracks at the end, and he squeezes his eyes shut against the burn of unshed tears.

“Welcome to fatherhood.” Tony claps a warm hand to Bucky’s back.

“Yeah,” Bucky chokes out through a watery, humorless chuckle. All of his weight slumps into the chair behind him then, and it teeters backwards on wobbly legs. “Baby’s not even here yet, and they’re already giving me a frickin’ heart attack,” he mutters into his hands.

“Like I said,” Tony replies, “welcome to the club. That kid’s gonna scare you shitless about a hundred more times before they’re even outta diapers, so,” he pauses to take a sip of his coffee before saluting the weary man next to him with his styrofoam cup, “buckle up.”

Bucky groans.

Slumped in this stiff chair under too-bright fluorescents, the adrenaline is beginning to wear off.

His hands are beginning to shake again, and a shiver runs through him.

“How far along is she, again?”

“Hm?” Bucky lifts his head, blinking to clear his vision.

“How far along is Shuri? I forget,” Tony repeats.

Bucky blows out a breath. He doesn’t even need to think twice, he’s been keeping track just as closely as her. “Twenty-four weeks, three days.”

“Hm.”

“Yeah,” Bucky rasps, panic threatening to clog his throat again.

Tony clears his throat after a moment. “She still insisting you guys don’t find out the sex?”

“She told you ‘bout that, huh? She uh, she thought it would be a nice surprise. Now I’m not so sure we should’ve waited to find out...” Bucky rubs his mouth.

Another silence.

His fingers twist the fabric of his pants, knees bouncing and jaw clenched as he resists the urge to go up to the nurse’s station for the twentieth time and ask when he can go back and be with his wife.

Tony gently pats his knee, and almost automatically, Bucky stops fidgeting. A little bit of the tension leaves his body and he inhales slowly to keep it at bay.

“Twenty-four weeks, three days,” Tony muses. “That’s early. But-“ he says as Bucky opens his mouth to respond, “but, it’s not terribly early, and you’d be surprised at the things they can do. This is the best place on the East Coast.”

Bucky drops his head again and nods.

“Shuri told me you guys had Arlo here.”

“Sure did.” A small smile lifts the corner of the other man’s mouth as he presumably thinks about his rambunctious and adorable youngest child.

They sit there for several minutes, Tony sipping his coffee quietly while Bucky ignores his in favor of chewing on his nails again.

He doesn’t know how long they’ve been sitting there, but he has half a mind to just burst through the doors and bypass the receptionist all together to find Shuri. He’s halfway out of his seat when Tony pulls his phone out and glances at the screen.

A twinge of guilt shoots through Bucky, and he sits back down. “You can take off whenever you need to. You really didn’t have to keep me company. I appreciate it.”

Tony finishes typing something on his phone and puts it back in his pocket before looking up.

“Believe it or not, I’m happy to do it. Couldn’t just leave you here.”

Bucky flicks his gaze to Tony’s, searches his eyes for any hint of falsehood or irritation.

The corner of Tony’s mouth lifts slightly. “Really, Barnes. I know you and I have some shit to work through. But a lot of that got put into perspective after... all the other shit.”

Bucky huffs out a laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.” The knot in his stomach unravels just a tiny bit

“And that woman in there,” Tony gestures toward the doors to triage, “I would do just about anything for her. She’s done a hell of a lot for all of us over the years. And she indulges my old ass when I need a virtual lab partner and Bruce is too busy to be bothered. My kids love her, Pepper loves her. I know she saved you, too.”

Bucky’s throat is clogged again. He looks down at his hands, rubs at the upgraded arm Shuri gifted him on their wedding day: black inlaid with gold and purple, a permanent ring of gold Wakandan lettering etched into his left third finger.

“And you feel like it’s your turn to save her.”

Bucky chuckles, in spite of himself, in spite of everything going on right this second. Because Tony is way too on the nose. He sighs, a heavy, weary thing that seems to leave him deflated. He doesn’t look up as he replies.

“How do I save her from this? How do I fix this? This isn’t the way any of this was supposed to go...”

“You don’t fix it,” Tony interrupts. “Just be there. Whatever happens, don’t hide from her, and don’t try to shield her, either. Just be there and take care of them both. I know I don’t really need to tell you that.”

Bucky takes in Tony’s words. He nods, presses his lips together as he looks up to meet Tony’s eyes. A thank you is on his lips when one of the double doors behind them swings open, and his heart stutters for a second.

“Mr. Barnes?” A petite woman in navy blue scrubs looks back and forth between Bucky and Tony.

Bucky shoots up immediately. “That’s me.”

The nurse waves Bucky forward. “Your wife is back in her room, you can come on back.”

He shoots a glance over his shoulder as he heads toward the door. Tony is on his feet now. “Tell the Her Majesty I’ll call her later to check on her. Rub that belly for me. And take care of yourself, too, yeah?”

Bucky tries for a smile, hopes he makes it. His heart rate is climbing again. “Will do.”

**

Bucky pulls open the curtain and Shuri opens her eyes.

The bed practically swallows her up, she’s so tiny, even with her large belly. The pang in his chest is so acute, it takes him a couple of tries to find his voice.

“Hi, babydoll. How are my two favorite people?”

She gives him a wan smile and shrugs. “We’re okay, I think. Bean has been moving a bit, and the ultrasound looks alright. But,” she pauses and closes her eyes briefly. Bucky walks over and sits on the edge of the bed, reaching out to take both of her soft hands in his.

“It’s okay, angel.”

She clears her throat and looks up at him. “The doctor says my amniotic fluid index is 2 centimeters.”

Bucky frowns. “Is that low?”

“Normal range is 5 to 25 centimeters. Almost all of my fluid is gone. Somehow my cervix is still completely closed, but they want to keep us until the baby is born. The doctor said most people go into labor within 72 hours of their water breaking, so traveling back home is too risky. They’re bringing one of the NICU doctors up soon to discuss things.” Her teeth gnaw at her bottom lip as she pauses, gives him a chance to absorb what she’s saying.

He feels what little breath was in his lungs being knocked out. They’re stuck here. And they’re baby is coming 16 weeks early. The dread in his gut builds. Feels like it’s clawing its way up from his stomach to his chest, and he clamps his mouth shut to keep it from escaping. Something else is bothering his wife. Truth be told, he’s not sure he wants to know what else she hasn’t told him, but he needs to know. He reaches up to pull her bottom lip out from between her teeth. His fingers linger there, caressing her face and memorizing every detail for probably the billionth time.

“What else did they say?”

She sucks in a long breath, then puffs it out. “They said I’m at increased risk for infection now that my water has broken. There’s significantly less protection for Bean and me, the longer I stay pregnant, so they’re putting me on antibiotics, and betamethasone shots to help speed up lung development.”

Bucky swallows thickly. “Do they know how this happened?” She’s been doing everything right - sleeping eight hours a night, taking her vitamins, eating clean, drinking tons of water, exercising appropriately -he can’t wrap his head around this.

Shuri gives a shake of her head and another tired shrug. “I tested negative for any kind of infection. Apparently, most cases of premature rupture have no known cause. Not that that makes me feel any better.” She looks down at her stomach and rubs it slowly, methodically. “According to the scan, Bean is only 1.4 pounds. So tiny, Buck.” Her voice catches on that last part, and then her face crumbles.

Bucky feels like he’s fracturing into a million pieces as he leans forward and draws her into his chest. One hand cradles the back of her head while the other rubs up and down her back. Her belly presses into his, and his control slips.

He’s terrified. For Shuri. For the baby. Heartbroken, because he honestly doesn’t know if their Little Bean is even going to make it. And frustrated, because there isn’t a damn thing he can do about it. Except be here.

Shuri feels the gentle shake of his shoulders. She lifts her head to press her forehead to his, the salt of their tears mingling together as their lips meet. The life inside her belly stirs enough that they both feel the movement, and everything else ceases to matter.

**

She manages to stay pregnant for six more weeks.

Six weeks of daily ultrasounds and bed rest and no privacy and lab draws and living in the hospital because the risk of traveling back home is too great.

Bucky is sure his back will never recover from sleeping on the hospital cot, but he’d give the health of his back and more to have his sweet baby and their Bean safe. He refuses to leave her. Even when Shuri flies in her mother, her OBGYN, her doula, and a couple of the Dora Milaje and puts them all up in a hotel, Bucky sleeps by his Queen’s side.

And when, six weeks to the day that she was admitted, their sweet baby boy makes his way into the world, Bucky is by her side for that too, holding her hand and supporting her as she pushes with more strength than he ever thought any one person could possess.

Ikemba T’Challa Buchanan Barnes is beautiful. Way bigger than predicted for a thirty-weeker, and so strong, but still tiny in the grand scheme of things, and vulnerable.

Bucky barely sleeps because he can hardly stop marveling at the long fingers, the soft tuft of dark brown hair, the satiny chestnut skin. He stays up nights talking with Shuri until she passes out, then quietly reads to baby boy until the wee hours.

It’s another five weeks before they get discharged- five weeks of Shuri faithfully pumping breast milk around the clock until their baby is strong enough to nurse, five weeks of her barely even leaving his room. They’re both a wreck, The White Wolf and the Queen, trying to hold it together enough to make sure their baby boy makes it out of the NICU and back home with them where he belongs.

They can’t get out of there fast enough the day he’s finally discharged. Shuri dresses him in the tiniest little onesie made of black and gold Vibranium thread. She made it herself, embroidered the insignia of the Golden Tribe on the front, and her hand lingers as she brushes softly across it. Bucky’s chest tightens a bit as he watches her eyes squeeze shut for a moment. He knows she’s thinking of her brother.

Silent tears stream down her face as she hovers over Ikemba in his car seat. Bucky flies the Royal Talon himself, because he’s too on edge to let any of the Dora do it. He trusts them with all their lives, but he’s too fidgety to sit in the back with his family.

Home. Get them home. That’s all he wants, and his shoulders don’t settle back down into a normal position until they step onto the tarmac.

Tony calls just as they’re walking into their quarters. Interestingly enough, he calls Bucky’s phone.

“Stark?”

“Hey, daddy, how’s it goin’? You guys in safely?”

Bucky suppresses an eye roll. “Stop calling me that, it sounds gross coming from you.”

Tony laughs on the other end, and Bucky finds himself chuckling as well.

“Whatever, you like it. And you better get used to it, because once my godson learns ‘daddy’ and ‘mommy’, that’s all he’s going to want to say for a while.”

“I think we’re going with ‘baba’ and ‘mama,’ actually,” Bucky replies as he takes Ikemba out of his car seat and hands him to Shuri. He puts the phone on speaker and busies himself with putting their luggage in the closet.

Tony huffs. “You know what I mean. Anyway, how’s my girl?”

“I’m fine, Tony,” Shuri chimes in, settling in the recliner to nurse.

“I’m giving you a week, and then Pepper and I want a ton of pictures of baby boy.”

Shuri chuckles. “Of course. Give Pepper and the kids our love, okay? Well call you later in the week.”

“Alright, Your Majesty. Try to get some rest. You too, pops.”

Bucky snorts as he walks out of the bedroom and into the sitting room to give his loves some peace and quiet. He pauses briefly at the threshold, watching his wife nourish their son, his tiny little grunts and sighs practically melting him into a puddle of gratitude and adoration, before closing the door. “I’ll try. And Tony?”

“Yeah, Barnes.”

“Thank you.”

Tony hums in response. “Nothin’ to thank me for. You guys are family. Just take care of each other.”

Bucky’s chest warms, and he nods. “Of course.”

“Oh, Barnes.”

“What’s up?”

He can hear the smile in Tony’s voice as he replies, “Welcome to fatherhood.” And then the call ends.

A wide grin blooms across Bucky’s face as he walks over to the window overlooking the city. Bright, bustling, beautiful. Home. He closes his eyes and takes a real breath for the first time in three months.

After several minutes, the sweet lilt of Shuri’s voice singing a Wakandan lullaby reaches his ears and Bucky’s face hurts, he’s beaming so hard. He takes one more look at the landscape in front of him, then heads back into the bedroom to bask in the warmth of his family.

[undeerqueen]

leave me to dream

SM:FFH fic below! spoilers abound! full summary within! hurt!peter. title from imagine dragons song

this film was full of good peter whump but no irondad to make him feel better afterwards! so i wrote this...because even spider-man can’t get run over by a train and just be magically okay. especially when it’s also the perfect opportunity for tony to come out of his ‘faked-my-death-to-retire-ment’. enjoy!

________________________________________________________________

As he all but crawls down the aisle of the train car, Peter knows one thing.

It's bad. It is very, very, very, VERY bad.

The pain is staggering. Peter can barely get his legs to work under him—the pain racing down to his toes—but he knows he has to move, just move.

Keep moving, he urges himself, weaving around the holes in his vision that are opening up. Blearily, he recalls Strange's portals on the battlefield all those months—a lifetime—ago. He remembers their searing orange light, how they'd opened up reality itself and revealed the impossible war on the other side.

The holes in Peter's eyeline are like that, except waiting on the other side of them is nothing but black. If he was pressed to describe it, Peter would say it's not even black but nothingness, the kind of nothingness that comes when you close one eye and nothing takes up the space at the side of your head.

Something primal and urgent in the back of his mind warns Peter that if he falls into one of these holes, he won't come back out. Keep moving, he tells himself. If you stop, you won't get back up again.

His foot catches one of the seat frames and he goes down, barely able to spin himself around so his broken back thuds hollowly against the wall of the train car. His legs, splintered and bent, slide away from him like liquid. He slumps back, gasping.

Broken things are shifting inside of him, splintering and crunching. In a twisted way, Peter feels more at home in himself than he has for eight months, his body finally matching the shattered fragments of his soul. His head tips back against the wall of the train car. The vibrations of the moving carriage shudder through him but he doesn't hear anything. Another hole opens up above him. The blackness comes tumbling down, crushing, engulfing, but on the other side, it is blessedly—finally—nothing.

________________________________________________________________

"Yeah, it's bad. You need to get here, Tony. I'm calling it. Code Reichenbach." Someone's—a woman's voice—stirs the pool of Peter's mind. He swims up to it, his eyes slitting to drink in strawberry red hair and a blue metal suit.

"M's P-Potts," he murmurs, trying to get his eyes to open fully.

"Hi, honey," Pepper says carefully. He hasn't seen her for so long. She looks good, despite the stress lines creasing her face. Healthy and well. Her eyes are sparkling. He kind of gets lost in them. It used to make Mr Stark laugh, the way Peter could never keep his cool around his mentor's super pretty better half.

Her hand sifts through his sweaty hair. He moves slightly and groans, the pain a sharp shock that electrifies him all the way to his fingertips. Her hand tightens incrementally. "Don't move okay?" Pepper instructs. "You're really banged up."

"The trai..." He can't get the words out. His voice fizzles out like a spent battery.

"Shh, it's alright, kid," she says. "Try and follow my voice. I have a surprise for you. I think you're gonna kill us when you're back on your feet, but for the moment just focus on hanging on in there. There's someone coming to see you. He's missed you a lot."

Peter tries but he can't follow what Pepper's saying. But when the whine of repulsors splits the air—a sound he hasn't heard for so long—he realises he didn't have to.

At the far end of the cab, a laser shears off the wall. Peter startles, barely able to turn his head, hands trembling where they lay in his lap. Glowing eyes and an arc reactor meet his dim gaze, Iron Man stepping into the train car.

He shudders and gasps, shoulders heaving. "'M I...'m I dreaming?" he whispers, feeling tears run down his cheeks to match the blood dripping from his nose and mouth. "M’s P-Potts...p-please...i-is this a dream?"

Pepper's face is heartbroken. He knows what her anguish looks like, because he saw it after Mr Stark died. He really must be in bad shape. She grips his hands where Peter paws at her softly. "Not a dream, honey," she says softly. Then, she smiles ruefully. In a voice almost too quiet to hear, she announces, "Dad's here."

The mask retracts and...There he is.

It's him. Mr Stark.

He's missing an ear, that's the first thing Peter takes in. The whole right side of his face, in fact, is a mess of bubbly scar tissue that runs down his neck. And Peter suspects, from the way it moves and attaches to the rest of the suit that, the right arm is a permanent addition. But he's there. Alive.

Peter gasps, swallowing blood, head grinding on metal as he struggles to get his eyes to focus. His heart flutters and squirms.

Mr Stark lays eyes on him and his face falls apart. Peter must lose some time, the shock and blood loss taking their toll. One minute Mr Stark is across the cab, the next he is knelt in front of him, out of his suit save for one metal arm which is holding Peter up, the other running lightly over Peter's face and shoulder, trying to rouse him.

Peter can't focus. There's so much he wants to...If he could just breathe. He heaves a lungful of air, blood gushing out from between his parted lips, disappearing down his neck and chin and into the dark fabric of his stealth suit.

"You're he-here, you..'re...alive" he struggles, panting thinly. There are tears in Mr Stark's eyes. They match his own.

"Hey, kid." It's his voice. Softer than Peter's ever heard it before, barely audible over the roaring in Peter's ears. A hand brushes over Peter's forehead, smoothing the hair back, warm, heavy, and alive.

"I'm here," Mr Stark soothes. His eyes rake over Peter and whatever he sees makes his expression crack. His nose wrinkles, eyes brimming with regret. "I'm sorry, kid, I'm so sorry. Jesus, look at you." Mr Stark's hand swipes at the blood dripping off Peter's chin.

Peter shakes his head, train cab swirling around him, nearly delirious with the sickly sweet combination of sheer joy and raw agony tearing through him. His face splits in a grin he can't contain, even as his vision blurs with even more tears.

"'M so...hap..." His voice hitches and deserts him again and Mr Stark shudders, pointedly drawing a huge breath through his nose.

"Don't worry about all that now. God, what did they do to you, huh? FRIDAY, read vitals," he commands.

He needs to tell Mr Stark. The urgency lights within him. "B-Beck," he stammers, trying to hold on to his cloudy thoughts. Shame douses his exhilaration. "Needa tell...tell you..."

"Shh, kid, not right now." Mr Stark's eyes are roving all over him, hands hovering like he doesn't know what to touch.

Even through the blood pounding in his ears, Peter can pick up on FRIDAY's whispers in Mr Stark's ear. Broken bones, lacerated organs, bad internal bleeding, bruising...Beck is going to kill him, has all but murdered him already. He needs to tell Tony...

"My fault," he grits out, the words escaping with a whimper.

Mr Stark rears up, eyes like flint, like he's flipped a switch. "Stop it, kid, stop it. We're gonna lose you if you keep talking. Save your strength, alright? Help's coming. We'll debrief when you're not bleeding internally."

"N-No...you needa...need to...I did t-this...m not...next Iron Man...Not worthy." He can't gather his thoughts, the blackness that stole him earlier is inside him now, creeping through his mind like one of Beck's illusions.

"N-Not worthy," he repeats, copper on his lips.

It's like Mr Stark can't bear to listen. Heedless of Peter's damaged body, he draws him forward slightly, tucks Peter's head against his shoulder where he can nestle into the crook of Mr Stark's neck. Hazily, Peter feels Mr Stark drop a kiss to the crown of his head. 

Gently, Mr Stark arranges him against the wall again. "It's not your fault, kid, okay? You'll be okay, c'mon. Save the heart to heart stuff for later."

Grief swamps Peter like a wave, his failure oceans deep. "I just wanted to be like you," he croaks out, tears spilling.

Mr Stark sniffs, shakes his head. "You're better than me, kid. I'm so damn proud of you, it's ridiculous. C'mon, Spider-Man, where's your fighting talk, huh? Pep, how long?" 

Dimly, Peter is aware that Pepper is standing over them, watching with infinite concern. "Medics are two minutes out," she says bitingly.

Peter gasps, more blood trickling out of his lips he slumps back against the wall and sinks, unable to sit up any longer.

"Kid? Kid, hey, talk to me."

It's like the old Peter is back when he wants to playfully retort, "Weren't you just telling me to shut up?" Peter's missed him almost as much as Mr Stark. His chin goes to his chest, unable to hold his head up anymore. Mr Stark's fingers dig into the pulse point at the side of his neck.

Eyes dimming, he tries to embed in his mind the sight of his mentor's immaculate goatee, his shaven head to match the missing hair on the right side of his scalp. He relishes the glinting metal arm that means survival and the shining brown eyes, so open without his glasses, so full of a love that Peter once wasn't sure was imagined.

He knows now. But still, Mr Stark is here. It's a miracle he doesn't know how to process.

"'M I...'m I dreaming?" he whispers, black crushing him again.

A hand grips his scalp, trying to hold him there. In that moment, Peter isn't scared. If Mr Stark can beat impossible odds, then he can too. He just needs to rest a moment, just for a little while.

"Not a dream," Mr Stark says, and that's all the hope Peter needs. "I'm here. I got you..."

The promise follows Peter into the dark.

________________________________________________________________

i imagine pepper’s rescue as being like first aid for the avengers and only calling in tony when it’s absolutely 100% necessary, hence code reichenbach. had to get my holmes ref in there somewhere.

[popatochisssp]

Snips & Snails 5/7

Series: Undertale, Horrortale Relationship(s): HT!Sans & HT!Papyrus, HT!Sans/Reader, HT!Papyrus/Reader Chapter Warnings: Brief panic attack, healthy discussed polyamory

It's hard to feel 'morally upright' when you're in love with your brother's spouse.

AO3 Link

INTEGRITY (Optionally Canon)

Janine was looking at him flatly, in that no-nonsense way that had so endeared her to him in the first place.

He isn’t sure how much he appreciates the look now.

“Papyrus,” she says. “Do you really think that’s a fair assessment of yourself? That you’re ‘the worst brother in the world’?”

Papyrus considers it.

“No, I Definitely Think That’s Just About The Size Of It!” he decides. “I Am, Actually, The Worst!”

And he is.

He has to be.

Because a good brother wouldn’t go and do something as stupidly selfish as develop feelings for his brand new sibling-in-law.

Papyrus isn’t quite sure how Janine even got this out of him except that she’s very good and very sneaky.

It’s the whole reason he started seeing her as his therapist, but it’s also considerably jarring when she manages to finesse the exact thing he wants to talk about the least and make it the center-stage of discussion.

It had just seemed as if one minute, they were talking about how things were finally settling back down after Sans’ wedding, and then the next, he was talking about you, in all the ways a brother-in-law shouldn’t.

Your smile like sunshine, your laugh like music, your eyes the most incredible color he’s ever seen, and…

Stars above, he’s a piece of work for even having these thoughts.

“They’re My Friend,” he says aloud. “They’re Married To My Brother! I Was The Best Man and Skeleton Of Honor At Their Wedding, For Fuck’s Sake! This Is… Romance Is Not An Option Here, Why Am I Like This?!”

“So…what are you going to do?”

Janine’s voice is enough to nudge Papyrus back from the ledge he’d been rapidly approaching.

“…What Do You Mean, ‘Do’?”

Janine shrugs. “You like them, don’t you?” she prompts. “You’re going to do something about this, right?”

Papyrus frowns. “I…Well, Of Course, I Like Them, But—”

“So, what’s the plan, then?”

“There Isn’t A Plan, I—”

“Well, you’re gonna break up your brother’s marriage somehow, so you can be with them instead, aren’t you?”

“NO! STARS ABOVE, NO,” Papyrus exclaims, utterly aghast. “I WOULD NEVER! THOSE TWO ARE MY FAVORITE COUPLE OF ALL TIME! THEY MAKE EACH OTHER SO HAPPY!”

Papyrus was absolutely, totally sure of that.

Seeing you and Sans together never failed to make him feel all gooey and soft, like looking at a whole bucket of kittens. You were his best friend and Sans was his best brother, and your relationship made you both so adorably happy—Papyrus loved that, more than anything!

“JUST BECAUSE I’VE BEEN…WONDERING ABOUT THINGS LATELY—” like the feeling of holding your hand in his, or pressing his teeth to your cheek, “—THAT DOESN’T MEAN I’D EVER DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT! I WOULD NEVER TAKE THAT KIND OF HAPPINESS AWAY FROM SANS AND—Ohhh, You Tricky Therapist, You, I See What You’re Doing…”

Janine just smiles beneath Papyrus’ squinting glare.

“I’m just letting you talk, Papyrus,” she says lightly, and he hears all the smugness in the world in it. “Having feelings like this for somebody you’re close to and care a lot about… it’s very natural and there’s nothing ‘wrong’ or ‘bad’ about it.”

Papyrus huffs. “Yes, It’s Not Bad At All To Lust After Your Own Brother’s Spouse.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t work here,” Janine gently reminds him. “And I don’t think you’d be nearly so upset about these feelings if they were only ‘lusting.’”

Oh, damn her.

She sees through everything Papyrus puts up and he hates it.

(He needs it and he knows it: a kick in the pants is the only thing that works to make him actually deal with his problems instead of pretending they aren’t there.)

(But he still hates it.)

“Just thinking and feeling a certain way, even if it seems wrong, is totally fine. It only becomes ‘bad’ if you’re planning on doing something harmful to the people and relationships in your life over these impulses. And you said it yourself— you have no intention of doing anything about this.”

“I……I Suppose So,” Papyrus grudgingly admits.

Janine’s smile is patient. “You need to keep working on giving yourself a break sometimes, Papyrus. You’re a great guy, but you’re only—”

“If You’re Going To Say I’m ‘Only Human,’ Please Don’t!” Papyrus cuts her off. “That’s Such A Species-Centric Phrase. You Know, I Really Don’t Care For How Human-Coded Language Is Up Here On The Surface. Surely, There Are More Inclusive Ways To Get One’s Point Across Without Defaulting To ‘Human’ As An Adjective?”

“Is this something you’re actually upset about, or are you just trying to get out of talking more about your feelings for your human-in-law?”

“I Was Certainly Trying To,” Papyrus readily agrees, “But Our Session Is Almost Up, So I Figured You’d Let Me Get Away With It.”

His blunt honesty makes Janine chuckle. “Well, you’re not wrong, there’s no way we have enough time to unpack all that in two minutes. That can just be our food for thought next time.”

Fantastic! Papyrus is dreading it already.

They wrap up the session and Janine only briefly stops him on his way out to say, “You’re not the worst brother in the world, Papyrus. Seriously, go easy on yourself, you’re only…skeleton.”

“Terrible Execution,” Papyrus returns, “But The Effort Is Noted And Appreciated!”

He’s not sure he believes her. He still feels like the worst brother in the world, but there’s one saving grace to this entire SNAFU.

Sans is, as a rule, oblivious.

He undoubtedly has no idea that his brother has developed these shameful feelings for the love of his life, and Papyrus can keep up the charade for as long as he needs to! Just until the feelings go away on their own!

He has no Plan B for if they don’t.

He barely has a Plan A.

But!

He doesn’t call himself ‘The Great Papyrus’ for nothing and he’s survived much, much worse than this!

Everything is going to be…fine.

It has to be.

-

Or not.

Papyrus is only allowed to live in his wonderful, ‘everything is fine’ fantasy for a few more days until cruel reality barges its way in.

Or at least, Sans does.

His big brother’s skull pokes its way into the kitchen, right in the middle of Papyrus making dinner.

Sans’ red eye-light roves slowly over the familiar scene and in response to Papyrus’ wordless, ‘Yes, Excuse You, How May I Assist You?’ stare, he speaks the most unnerving words of all time into existence.

“ya’ need any help in here?”

Suspicious.

So terribly suspicious that a lazybones like Sans might’ve developed a wild urge to be helpful, and yet…

Papyrus can’t quite bring himself to discourage such a (fishy, dubious, weird) miracle.

“I Suppooose So,” he says warily as Sans ambles his way into the room. “You Can…Start Peeling The Potatoes For Me While I Throw The Casserole In…”

“yeah, sure,” Sans agrees, picking up a tuber. “no prob.”

Papyrus refuses to let Sans out of his line of sight, even as he slides the casserole dish into the oven. This is just too odd, must be some kind of prank or joke and Papyrus will not be caught unawares!

He decides to ask after you; if you’re not here to help him with dinner because you’re still sleeping or something.

You had the day off today, not for any particular reason, but just because.

Normally, Papyrus would find that so abominably lazy, clearly Sans rubbing off on you in the worst possible way, but…

He knows how hard you work the rest of the time.

You do so many things, often before they’re even asked of you, just because you feel like it’s the right thing to do, and that’s so… so…

Papyrus firmly believes that someone like you deserves a break now and then.

Sans smiles at the sound of your name, the way he always does.

“nah,” he says, “they’re awake. just hangin’ out in our room ‘til dinner.”

Which…

Begs the mildly terrifying question of…

Why aren’t you here now?

And why isn’t Sans with you?

“………hey, actually… while we’re talkin’ about ‘em…”

Oh, no.

Oh, no.

Instantly, Papyrus knows what’s going on—he can tell by the set of Sans’ shoulders, the tone of his voice, this whole suspicious trap he should’ve seen through from the start.

Sans knows.

Sans knows everything.

“Oh God,” Papyrus breathes. “Oh Stars, Fuck, No, No, No, No…”

Sans turns to face Papyrus and his eye-light shrinks at whatever he sees in his brother’s face.

“whoa, whoa, hey,” he says, abandoning a half-peeled potato on the counter. “Pap, it’s… you’re, relax, ya’ don’t gotta… ya’ look like you’re gonna have an attack or somethin’…”

“Yes, It Sure Does Feel Like That!” Papyrus wheezes, hand to his chest.

It feels too tight, suddenly, which is so stupid because he doesn’t even have lungs and yet, it’s getting harder for him to breathe.

He’s…he’s light-headed and his soul is vibrating at a frequency fit to shatter glass and it’s starting to feel a little like he’s dying, but that part at least feels appropriate.

Sans knows, he’s figured it out or maybe just seen—maybe it was obvious, the things he’s been feeling every time he looked at you, things that only Sans should be thinking about you and not him because Sans married you, he was your husband and Papyrus was just…was just…

The absolute cad who wanted you, too.

“I’m…I’m Sorry,” Papyrus manages to get out, voice tight. “Sans, I—Oh Stars, I’m So Sorry, I, You…! You Were Never Supposed To Find Out, And I, Obviously I Would Never, I, I, I…I…”

He stumbles a little, his damned knees giving out, but he half-catches himself on the counter.

Sans looks alarmed to say the least.

In the blink of the eyes that neither of them has, he’s right there next to Papyrus, under his arm and trying to support him.

Which honestly makes Papyrus feel worse.

Sans is such a good brother, always trying to take care of Papyrus in some way or another.

Even now, when he knows what a horrible little brother he really has, the kind who’d want to date his spouse behind his back.

It’s a vicious mantra in his skull right now, The Worst, The Worst, The Worst on repeat, and he almost doesn’t hear it when Sans tries to talk to him.

“alright, alright, take it easy, bro, i think… think we might’ve gotten some wires crossed here? but that’s, it’s fine, just…can we chill out a little for a second?”

“I’m Sorry,” Papyrus apologizes again, grimacing. “Please, Sans, I…Yuh…You Have To Believe Me, I Never, I Was Never Going To…To… Please…”

“okay,” Sans agrees. His voice is a low, steady murmur, almost infuriatingly calm if not for the way it slightly eases the sheer panic that was making Papyrus’ bones rattle. “okay, Pap, i believe you, i know, everything’s okay.”

Lies, probably.

…But Sans almost never lied to him these days, not since before the famine.

He sounds…sincere.

And even if it is a lie, the ‘everything’s okay’ lie is one Papyrus really wants to believe right now.

“hey. can ya’ breathe with me for a sec, Pap?”

Oh god. The breathing exercises.

Papyrus supposes it’s just that kind of night.

“This Is Stupid,” he grumbles weakly. “This Is So Stupid, Sans, We Don’t Even Have Lungs!”

“yeah, i know, it’s dumb as hell. let’s try it anyway, huh?”

And so, reluctantly and cursing himself, Papyrus takes a deep breath and holds it, exhaling slowly when Sans does and starting it over again.

It must not have been as severe an attack as he thought because it only takes three long breaths before he can feel his soul steadying, his nerves quieting. He starts to feel less like a panicky mess of a skeleton and more like…himself.

Which is of course when the embarrassment rushes in.

Papyrus hates losing control like that. It’s probably his least favorite souvenir from the Underground and it always manages to rear its ugly head at the least opportune moments.

“……Thank You, Sans,” he says eventually, somewhat meekly.

He half-wants to apologize again that Sans had to see that, but he holds himself back. Sans never accepts those apologies anyway, shrugs them off and points out all the times Papyrus has done the same for him, and there’s no point rehashing that old chestnut.

Not when there are…much bigger fish to fry.

“forget about it.”

Papyrus sure would like to!

But he knows how very much ‘not over’ this conversation is, and sure enough, Sans keeps talking.

“just tryin’ to see if we’re on the same page here, don’t… don’t freak out again, but……that was about you wantin’ to smooch my human, yeah?”

Papyrus winces and can’t hold back the apology this time. “I’m…I’m Really, Truly Sorry, Sans,” he says desperately. “I Never Meant To… And Of Course, I Would Never Want To Come Between The Two Of You, You… You Make Each Other So Happy! And That Makes Me Happy, So…Please, Can We Just…Never Bring This Up Again?”

Sans frowns and Papyrus tries to talk faster.

“I’ll…! I’ll Get Better At Hiding It! You Were Never Supposed To Notice In The First Place, And—……”

A horrible thought occurs to Papyrus.

You and Sans talk about everything.

Everything.

“Oh Stars, Do… Do They Know, Too?”

Sans shrugs.

Of all the inane things to do!

“yeah?” he admits, almost like it’s a question. “i mean…we talked about it, so…yeah.”

Wonderful!

Papyrus bites back a moan of humiliated despair, forcing himself to smile instead.

“Of Course They Do!” he chirps. “I’ll Have To Move Cross-Country To Escape The Shame Of This, That’s Cool!” He takes a step forward. “I Guess I’ll Go Start Packing My Things!”

Sans catches his arm before he can get any further.

“whoa, whoa, whoa,” he chuckles, “let’s…can we slow down a sec? you’re, like…pole-vaulting to conclusions here, Pap, can we…actually talk about it, or…?”

The suggestion soundly throws Papyrus off his footing.

“I’m…Not Sure What There Is To Talk About,” he admits. “I’m A Terrible Brother And I’ve Fallen For Your Datemate. Ugh, No,” he corrects, “Worse—Your Spouse.”

“and…what’s bad about that?”

………

Well, that just stuns Papyrus silent.

“they’re…cute an’ sweet an’ honestly, probably the best human i ever met,” Sans says. “i get the attraction.” He laughs a little. “trust me, Pap, i get it—i married ‘em, i’ll be the first to tell ya’ they’re the best. ain’t it kinda…natural? that you’d like ‘em, too?”

If Papyrus were wearing pearls, he feels like he’d be clutching them about now.

“‘Natural’?” he echoes.

Sans just smiles at him. “‘cause you’re the best, too, bro.”

“……Oh, Shut Up, Sans!” Papyrus snaps. “Now Is Not The Time To Say…Very Nice, Flattering Things About Me! I’m A Home-Wrecker, I’m Trying To Destroy Your Marriage!”

“…are you, though?”

Papyrus looks at Sans, uncertainly.

“‘cause…if you’re tryin’ to split us up, you’re doin’ a real terrible job of it,” Sans explains. “looks like you’re just sorta…quietly havin’ feelings over here an’ supporting our relationship instead of tryin’ to make ‘em ditch the zero and get with the hero.”

“……Don’t…Call Yourself A Zero, Sans. You May Not Be A Ten, But You’re At Least A Positive Integer.”

Sans’ expression turns smug, like Papyrus had just proved his point for him.

…He sort of had.

“yeah,” he says, “s’what i thought. so, first of all…relax? nobody’s mad at’cha, bro, this is…fine.”

Papyrus scoffs. “And how can this possibly be fine?!”

“maybe ‘cause…they like you, too?”

If Papyrus had eyes, he’d be rolling them.

“Of Course They Do,” he says. “Recent…Developments…Aside, I’m An Exemplary Brother-In-Law, Of Course They Like Me!”

But Sans shakes his head. “nah, bro, nah. they like-like you.”

And those are the simple, juvenile words that flip Papyrus’ world utterly upside down.

“No!” he exclaims when they finally register in his skull, shock and dismay on their heels. “That’s The Last Thing I…! They…! They’re With You, No, This Is Terrible! How Could They?! I Thought—…Sans! Why Are You Laughing?! This Is The Farthest Thing From Funny!”

Yet Sans chortles on, like the fact that the human he married is in like-like with another skeleton doesn’t bother him at all.

“no?” he giggles. “it ain’t? this is like…funny-adjacent, dude…”

…

Alright, well now Sans is just plain not making sense!

Papyrus’ indignant confusion must show on his face, because Sans reaches up, grasping at his brother’s shoulder.

“look, Papyrus…” he says. “i love ‘em. i do. they’re, like…literally half of my whole world these days, y’know?”

Papyrus squirms a little. “I…I Know, That’s Why—”

Sans cuts him off. “but the other half is you, bro.”

Papyrus’ jaw shuts with an audible click.

“i love you. i trust you. and hey, if you wanna smooch my human sometimes, too, that’s… it’s really not gonna bother me.”

Papyrus…can’t quite believe the words he’s hearing.

…But Sans still doesn’t look like he’s lying.

Which is only more confusing.

“I… Why Aren’t You… I Don’t Understand, Aren’t You…Mad? Or…Or Jealous? What If They…Wanted To Choose?”

Sans shakes his head and that’s not nearly enough of an answer, but he catches Papyrus’ gaze with his eye-light and holds it, looking deathly serious.

“Pap…we shared souls. i know how much they love me ‘cause i felt it, and that’s…”

He trails off briefly, a soft, private smile coming over his skull.

“it ain’t goin’ anywhere,” he finishes confidently. “whatever they’re feelin’ for you too…it’s with what they feel for me, not ‘instead of’.”

It sounds too good to be true, that there could really be a world where Papyrus could be this lucky.

And despite himself, he finds his curiosity is piquing.

“How…How Do You Know They Like Me?” he asks hesitantly, but the more he talks, the less he finds himself able to shut up. “How Does That Even Come Up? Did…Did They Say Something? What, Exactly, Was Said? Or Are You Only Inferring From… Little Hints Or Cues Or Something? I Feel Like There’s A Lot Of Things Here That I Should Know, Sans, Please Tell Me Something???”

Sans is grinning in that way he does when he’s trying not to laugh and Papyrus feels his magic rushing to his cheekbones.

That was…definitely too eager, wasn’t it?

This was still Sans’ spouse they were talking about and there was Papyrus, badgering his brother like a teenager who just heard a rumor that the most popular kid in school had a crush on him.

Ugh, thoughtless! Stupid!

As if he could somehow sense the negative thoughts, Sans squeezes Papyrus’ shoulder carefully, reassuring.

“i think,” he pointedly suggests, “that maybe this is a conversation you oughta be havin’ with them.”

He’s right.

Of course he is. Sans is the laziest person Papyrus has ever known, but he’s very rarely actually wrong.

But…

The thought of you—facing you, talking to you, teetering on the cusp of this strange and impossible possibility…

Papyrus is nervous.

“sorry, bro, no excuses,” Sans says, before Papyrus can even attempt to think of any. “i’ll finish up with dinner tonight. you two gotta talk—they’re waitin’ for ya’.”

Papyrus is gently yet firmly nudged toward the doorway, out of the kitchen. He turns to say something, but Sans already has his back to him, picking up the potatoes again, and Papyrus’ words die in his nonexistent throat.

Slowly, he…starts walking.

He passes Buddy, asleep on the couch in the living room, and allows himself a second of envy for the dog, utterly oblivious to the turmoils of higher life forms.

But only a second.

That’s all he can spare just now.

You’re waiting for him.

-

…You may have gotten more absorbed in the cute little cat game on your phone than you had intended.

You had meant to be sitting there, somber yet welcoming when Papyrus (hopefully) came up to see you, and you would gently pat the mattress in invitation. He would sit and you’d have a whole touching, idyllic heart-to-heart, it would be a thing of beauty…

But he and Sans were taking an awful long time down there and you’d started getting a little…bored.

So instead of that lovely scene, what happens instead is that Papyrus throws the bedroom door open and you jump, hastily dropping your phone and blurting, “Shit, hi, hey, Pap!”

You try to adopt a casual pose, but of course you have no idea how to force that so you probably look very awkward right now.

And then…your phone meows, so you have to scoop it up, shut it off, and shove it in your pocket as fast as humanly possible.

Damn, you’re smooth.

Surprisingly, though, Papyrus just…cracks a grin at you.

It looks fond, affectionate like many of the looks he’s been giving you lately when he thought you weren’t looking, and it makes you smile back at him.

When he says your name with the same feeling, on the heels of a simple hello, you feel…

Hopeful.

Confident.

If he’s here, he wants to talk about this and that, you’re ready for.

“So…you and Sans talked?”

“…Yes,” Papyrus says. “We…We Definitely Talked.”

When that’s all he says for a long, drawn-out moment, you prompt, “……And?”

Papyrus sighs, rubbing at the back of his skull. With obvious reluctance, he admits, “I’m Considerably Confused, Honestly!”

“What about?”

He just…gestures, vaguely, at everything. It’s as if the entire universe is a source of frustration to him at the moment and he finds its gall offensive.

You hold back a laugh and finally get to do your scripted mattress pat. Papyrus takes the invitation and sits down beside you, slumping onto the bed with a huff.

“I Don’t…I Don’t Understand This,” he says. “You… You Love Sans, Don’t You?”

Well, that’s an easy question.

“Of course I do,” you answer without hesitation. “I’m, like…super in love with Sans.”

“And You………Love Me, Too…?”

You snort in amusement. “Well, duh, Pap.”

Your tone seems to give him pause…and something like a revelation.

“Ah,” he says at length. “I Get It. It Isn’t… You…Love Me As A Friend. And A Brother-In-Law.”

Papyrus actually sounds disappointed and it bolsters you to take the next step.

“Stars, Papyrus, of course I love you as those things, but… I think we both know it’s not just that? With us?”

His silence is nothing less than utterly suspicious.

So you press on.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me sometimes, Pap.” He flinches guiltily and you’re quick to reassure him, “I like it! It makes me feel like… I don’t know, like there could…be something here, if you wanted to…explore that?”

Your words only seem to confuse him again. “So You Want To… What, Date Me?”

“Do we have to put a label on it?” you wonder. “I mean…you love me, right?”

Denim blue starts to glow all along Papyrus’ skull.

“I! Well, That’s! Something Of A Strong… Uh, Not That I Don’t! I… I’m… Obviously, I………”

His rushed and flustered words trail off and you let them.

That jumbled mess of a sentence may not have said anything, but at the same time, you’re…pretty sure it said everything.

You smile, just a pinch teasingly, and say, “And…you’d love me whether anything actually happened with us or not…right?”

On that one, Papyrus doesn’t waver for even second.

“Yes,” he says firmly. “Of Course.”

Your grin widens.

“I feel the same.”

Papyrus looks at you like… well, like he isn’t sure he believes you, like it can’t possibly be that simple…

But it is.

“Papyrus, aside from Sans,” you explain, “you’re my absolute best friend. We have fun together and…and I really care about you and honestly, the last time I felt like this about somebody, it was just a few weeks out from the first time I kissed my husbone.”

Papyrus makes a face at the terrible pun, just like you knew he would, and you laugh.

The slightly-betrayed disgust on his skull is a much better look for him than anxious uncertainty.

“Pap,” you say seriously, “it is…totally okay if this is too weird for you and you’d feel better just forgetting about this whole thing. You’ll still be my friend and the best brother-in-law a human could ever have, that won’t change— ever.”

You reach out, settling your hand on the bed between you. You don’t touch him, not yet, but you feel like he should see you offering; putting yourself out there first.

“But…if you want to give this a try… maybe turn our dog-dates into…y’know, actual dates, see if romance is a thing that works, for us… Then, I’m here.”

You’re not psychic.

You have no idea what must be going through Papyrus’ skull right now as he stares down at you, looking stunned.

But if you could read minds, you might be knocked flat by the force of his awe.

Papyrus is marveling at you, honestly dumbstruck.

He thinks that the human heart is truly an incredible thing— it’s a small muscle, weighing less than a pound, and yet it pumps two thousand gallons of blood a day, beats seven-hundred thousand times a week, and in just a few short years…

It can come to hold enough love for two skeletons who’ve been through hell and come out the other side.

But you’re not psychic.

So all you see is a kind of determination coming over Papyrus’ face and then he’s reaching out, ever so slowly settling his hand atop yours.

It’s huge, dwarfing your fingers entirely when your turn your hand over so you can properly hold it. His bones are spindly; smooth and cool to the touch, like pearl or marble.

You like the feeling against the skin of your palm so you squeeze his hand, chancing a look up at him.

Papyrus still looks a touch nervous, as if he’s not sure that this is something he’s really, truly allowed to do.

You can fix that.

With your other hand, you reach up, fingertips grazing the side of his jaw.

“Papy…can I kiss you? Would that be okay?”

The blue returns to his cheeks and he swallows audibly. You’re still not sure how that works without a throat, but you’re pretty used to physics-and-reality-defying skeletons by now, so when he nods, you don’t ask any more questions.

You pull him down at the same time you lean up and gently, carefully press your lips to his teeth.

He’s…still, at first, stiff against you in probably the most one-sided kiss you’ve ever been a part of…but it doesn’t last.

After a moment, Papyrus nuzzles at you, just a little bit, and you find yourself smiling against his mouth.

You angle your head and keep peppering itty-bitty smooches along his teeth and jaw and the more you give him, the more his hesitance starts fade.

Boldness suits Papyrus far better.

He squeezes your hand in his while the other comes up to wrap around your shoulder, holding you still so he can nuzzle you more firmly.

Not that you were going anywhere—you can feel the passion behind each warm, affectionate movement and it sparks a thrill in your chest.

It’s… it’s good and nice and as much as you like it, you can’t quite believe it’s happening.

…And neither can Papyrus, apparently, because he abruptly jerks back from you.

His eye-sockets are wide behind his glasses and the two of you stare at each other for a moment, just…processing.

That happened.

You kissed.

The world is still in one piece and you…

You don’t regret it.

You don’t think Papyrus does, either, but you get the sense that it was just a bit too fast, for right now; that he might still need a little time to get used to the idea of…this.

And that’s fine, too.

You smile with just a hint of flirtiness. “Not bad for your first kiss, huh?”

His brother may be the comedian, but you know damn well that Papyrus knows a set-up for a line when he hears one and he doesn’t disappoint.

He smirks at you and says, “What On Earth Makes You Think That Was My First Kiss?”

It’s suave and over-the-top and probably a lot bolder than Papyrus actually feels right now, but it makes you laugh, anyway.

You have no idea, but the sound makes Papyrus’ soul sing and he understands now, intimately, how Sans must’ve fallen in love with you.

You make everything seem so easy.

-

You keep it easy, too, when the very next thing you do is get up and tug Papyrus along with you by the hand.

You tell him that it smells like dinner’s about ready and that the two of you should probably go check on Sans and see if he needs any help setting the table.

Papyrus recognizes it for exactly what it is—sort of an out, but without denying the thing that the two of you just started, and he’s grateful for it.

It’s funny, in a way, but Papyrus never really understood the concept of ‘going slow’ before, at anything.

Why wait when you know what you want to do? Why drag your feet when you know your feelings? What point is there in hesitating?

But this…this just feels like the kind of thing where slow is… good.

And for once, Papyrus feels like he’s okay with that.

Sans doesn’t seem to need any help when the two of you reach the dining room, three plates already out and Buddy’s bowl in hand to join them.

It’s a struggle for Papyrus not to pull his hand out of yours when Sans looks up, as if you were doing something you weren’t supposed to.

But when his brother’s eye-light falls on your joined hands, the expression that comes across his face is a smile.

There’s no other way to describe it except ‘beaming.’

Echoing you, Sans asks, “you talked?”

From Papyrus’ side, you chime, “Yep! All good,” and somehow, Sans manages to look happier.

You only let go of Papyrus’ hand to go over and give Sans an adorably saccharine kiss and as the three of you (and your dog) sit down together for dinner, Papyrus is struck by how utterly…normal it all is.

The casserole is normal, the same thing they have every Thursday night. Buddy finishes his kibble much faster than everyone else eats and passes the time staring beseechingly at all the other plates, like he always does. You and Sans are even telling terrible, lazy, cliché jokes trying to make Papyrus either laugh or scowl, whichever comes first, and that’s par for the course.

And Papyrus is sparing glances at you, thinking about how wonderful you are…and that’s…normal, too.

It’s normal and it’s okay.

“…Papyrus?” you seem to say suddenly, looking a tad concerned. “You really don’t have anything to say about that?”

You must’ve said a particularly horrific pun that Papyrus hadn’t heard.

Feeling bold, though, he shrugs. “I’m Sorry, Sunshine, I Wasn’t Listening, I Was Too Busy Getting Lost In Your Eyes.”

Your brows shoot up, color creeping across your cheeks as your gorgeous eyes go wide. You can’t seem to think of anything to say in response, too flustered for a witty retort and Papyrus feels his soul swell with pride.

He’s even prouder when Sans laughs, loud and genuine, and pokes at you a little.

“Pap’s right, ya’ know,” he coos at you. “eye really see what he means.”

“If You’re Going To Turn My Flirtatious Comments Into Puns,” Papyrus retorts, “You Could At Least Be A Little More Creative About It! I Swear, Sans, Your Jokes Are Getting Cornea By The Day!”

Your mouth drops open in surprise that Papyrus actually busted out a pun, but there’s a happy sparkle in your gaze and not even Sans’ imminent, lazy pun-recycling can ruin that for him.

“…heheheheheh, oh my god… oh my god, i’m so proud right now, Pap, you’re…you’re really a man after eye own heart…!”

Papyrus gives you and Sans his most put upon expression. “Irisk My Dignity Any Day To Make Our Human Smile, Sans! I Shouldn’t Have To Tell You How Blindingly Beautiful They Are When They Do.”

Sans’ grin widens.

“nah, that goes without sayin’,” he says and your flush deepens.

“Oh my god,” you mutter, sounding almost dismayed. “Is this my life now? Are you guys just gonna flirt at me for the rest of forever and try to make me blush?”

Papyrus and Sans share a considering look across the table, and their answer comes in unison.

“yeah, pretty much.”

“Probably, Yes!”

You cover your face a bit, but you’re laughing as you dramatically groan, “What have I done…” and Papyrus feels…

Pretty damn good!

Janine is going to be insufferably smug next week, but he’s really not the worst brother in the world, after all.

Papyrus is just a normal skeleton with a great job, a handsome dog, a lazy brother, and an adorable human—and he loves it all.

Optionally canon postscript to Fur a Good Time, Call…  

A/N: Maybe Sans is your one and only true love and that's fine but for all the Papyrus-smoochers out there disappointed that they didn't get to romance both brothers... Now, you do! ;3

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[alluran]

a/n: pre-lion swap and fairly early months of voltron / female pronouns for pidge / also the subject of feeling overwhelmed in a crowd is the focus. I got the name for the random planet here.

summary: Maybe if he throws the glass in his hand hard enough against a wall or something it would be enough to get things to pause long enough for him to figure out what on earth he’s supposed to be doing or where he should be going. “Ah, Keith, no. ”The glass is taken from his hand and set on a window sill. So apparently, 1. His arm had already been raised to throw the glass. 2. Lance had somehow gotten them across the room without him even noticing. Admittedly, things were not going great for him.

He’s got no idea where Coran got the color coordinating capes, but he absolutely hates them.

Keith does his best to kick it out from around his ankles, but the fabric just lays back, stifling and too much on top of the paladin armor and diplomacy feasts and being extremely thirsty but not knowing if the drink in his hand is safe for humans. He’s got nothing to do with his hands and he just feels ridiculous. He promised Shiro to try, so he can’t really just leave and curl up in the comfort of Red’s maw where her understanding would soothe his terminal social cues and hopefully tell him whether or not the drink in his hand is the alien equivalent of drinking drain cleaner with a splash of Hawaiian Punch.

So, Red’s out because Shiro would absolutely check their first and drag him back. The floor obviously isn’t about to swallow him whole and while he doesn’t like the capes, he figured it would be easier to spot someone to help him at least look like a friendly defender of the universe - like Hunk. He had a really good time with him and the Arusians. Or at least Pidge, she would stand in solidarity with him on being too tired for this crap.

Shiro was definitely out, he would just tell Keith to go mingle or something equally embarrassing like “shake loose”.

Keith sweeps his gaze across the room, doing his best not to make eye contact with anyone that wasn’t someone he knew - which was harder than it looked, some of the species of the planet had four eyes or more. He’s not going out of his way to seem mean or standoffish, he just doesn’t have the energy.

Finally, he spots an empty part of the far wall that would do just fine for him and give him the chance to try to spot any of the team because seriously, they were wearing bight colored capes and matching armor. Were they even here???

And wouldn’t that just be the ultimate nightmare? If he missed some glaring memo that they were leaving and nobody bothered to count heads as they left.

His armor makes a muffled clink against the wall where he rests as he tries to breathe for the first time since being led into a grand ballroom with ceilings dizzyingly high and waves of beings wearing colors that have his vision blurring.

“A lot different from the Arusians, huh?”

He startles, his armor clacking with movement and woven with the teasing chuckle of his nightmares.

“You’re kinda jumpy tonight, aren’t ya, red?”

Lance is swimming in the blue of his cape that’s a little darker than the accents on his armor and Keith could only bite his tongue. He’s leaning against the wall like him, but he leans his head forward, eyes roving over the crowd. His long legs stretch out in front of him a little and cross at the ankle. It’s a very aloof stance, Keith thinks. Vulnerable if someone decides to just attack. Aaand he realizes a little late that it’s maybe one too many details he’s filing away.

Right, he’s creating an awkward silence.

He takes a breath.

Patience yields focus, they weren’t allowed to make any scenes, also he wasn’t allowed to leave five minutes after arriving.

They were currently standing at 3 minutes, 27 seconds.

Keith tries to keep in mind that part of him that strives not to disappoint Shiro. “I’m not a big fan of parties.”

“Y’don’t say.”

Keith cuts him a look, only to see Lance nonchalantly taking a drink from his cup then dipping his head politely as a couple passes them with a reverent greeting.

“Paladins.”

Keith waits until they’re back out of earshot before shooting Lance a halfhearted glare (he was tired). “Look if you just dropped in to give me a hard time, the cape and all of this already beat you to it.” His throws his hand weirdly out in front of him, disjointed with his nerves. “Besides, don’t you usually have some audience to brag to?”

“The drink is safe for consumption by the way.” Lance doesn’t even blink, doesn’t follow the line of Keith’s arm into a crowd that seems barely contained as their suns - that’s right suns, there’s two and a half - dip past the windows lining the hall and below the horizon

“I- What?”

“It’s not alcoholic. Shiro went to great lengths using Allura as translator to really get that point across. Though, I think I’d be more worried about it basically being battery acid if anything.”

This entire interaction has already deviated so far from how Lance and Keith navigate parties and each other. It has his brows scrunching in thought as he stares into his cup. “I was thinking Drain-o and Hawaiian Punch.”

Lance laughs, not boisterous when he’s exaggerating some grandiose tale about him and Blue. Not the one that he’s come to recognize as the rival cackle. It’s this something that he can only name as just Lance and isn’t that a terrifying thought that he can differentiate the various sides of Lance McClain? He gulps down the drink in his hand.

Better than nunvill, at least.

There’s a barely veiled snort from beside him. “Yeah, just give me a heads up if you’re gonna spit this one out though.”

Oh, he said that out loud.

It feels like a carpet is about to be pulled from under his feet. 

“Lance, why are you over here?”

And Lance - Lance finally jerks his head in Keith’s direction. He’s searching Keith’s face with this focus and weight that makes everything in Keith’s body go still. “Why wouldn’t I b-”

A surge of energy splits the crowd for a moment as music crescendos like a sonic boom in his chest plate before the crowd comes back together then splits and zigzags in any and every direction. The planet beneath their feet -  Indira, his mind distantly supplies - pulses and it’s a few moments before Keith comes to recognize the turns and movements are a dance. There was no ratio of dance floor to not dance floor and it’s only Lance’s warm fingers hooking in the crook of his elbow pulling Keith out of the pathway of five Indirans swaying and stomping into the spot he had been standing in.

He would have been fine, but no, Shiro insisted they honor some old paladin tradition and humoring Coran on the ridiculous capes. The fabric is tangling between his boots as he stumbles and there’s a drink in his hand that he’s not supposed to be spilling and they just got done with a battle, why do they always have to party immediately after?

An enthusiastic brunch would work just fine for him.

The music does something else that rattles his bones and he feels Lance tense up behind him.

At least then he knows it’s not only him.

Early onset heart arrhythmia wouldn’t fly very well with being a defender of the universe.

They’re just buyout in a mass of bodies as Lance tries to right their balance and find a safe corner. Keith should probably be helping with that.

But this, whatever this is, is a thing and he can’t think straight.

Maybe if he throws the glass in his hand hard enough against a wall or something it would be enough to get things to pause long enough for him to figure out what on earth he’s supposed to be doing or where he should be going.

“Ah, Keith, no.”

The glass is taken from his hand and set on a window sill.

So apparently,

1. His arm had already been raised to throw the glass.

2. Lance had somehow gotten them across the room without him even noticing.

Admittedly, things were not going great for him.

“Hey. Lemme get this.” And then, there were only Lance’s focused eyes and deft hands in his line of vision, taking away the cape and it feels every inch of the weight of the world lifting from his shoulders.

A punched out sigh beats out whatever communications skills he possesses. Which is great. Perfect even. Just the right fuel for fire Lance needs on him.

Except it doesn’t happen. Lance bunches up the cape and sets it next to their glasses on the window sill. Broad shoulders block the heightening festivities and any wayward dancers from Keith’s toes and general personal space. A warm hand splays at the small of his back and it’s nice. Sound stays at the fringes of his senses as Lance leans closer to Keith’s ear and it’s nice. New territory and a little terrifying since he and Lance are known for their more frequent louder moments.

He tells himself he doesn’t turn his face another minuscule fraction to incline himself further into Lance’s shoulder.

“-eith, are you good?”

Who’s talking to him, he dimly realizes.

Keith has no idea how long he’s been talking to him or how long he’s just sort of been standing there like a fish frozen in shock. He nods curtly. There’s a crest of gratitude that sweeps over him when Lance doesn’t move away when he stands up straighter.

Did Lance really just square his shoulders?

Or is it a trick of the light?

He feels the ghost outline of long fingers flex against his back. Having their lower spine unguarded is technically a huge design flaw in his honest opinion, but it’s good right now. It’s just their flight suits separating them.

“Like I said, I don’t really do parties.” And okay, he does lean into the touch but, like, because of a pulled muscle or something. “Thanks.”

Lance blessedly doesn’t tease Keith about owing him one, he shakes his head, fervently searching the crowd. “This....is not a good time. Also, how can Allura, Shiro, and the space mice collectively know what we’re up to every second on a huge castle-ship, but stick us in one room when we actually need them, and suddenly they’re invisible??”

He swivels around, following the up line of balustrades to Keith’s left. “Hey, do you think if I climbed into one of those balconies things and did like a store page, they’d come? “Four unaccompanied Earth minors are looking for their adults. If they belong to you please come get them. They need rest.”“

Keith huffs a laugh. “I mean, that would definitely get someone’s attention at least.”

He feels the covered fingertips graze over their spot on his back, absentmindedly scratching. His muscles relax a little more before the warm spot is replaced by a rush of cool air as Lance’s hand drops back to his side and a blur of green and yellow reel past them, then double back.

“Did you guys feel that?” Pidge’s eyes are owlishly blinking from behind her glasses and she sounds winded. “That was-”

“Unpleasant,” Hunk pouts next to her, one hand loosely hanging onto her cape.

“Agreed, buddy.” Lance groans and stretches to crack his back, arching his neck in yet another search of Shiro, Coran, and Allura.

“Well, I’m getting out of here,” Pidge huffs. She takes the sides of her cape and yanks them up around her like bat wings as she turns and makes for the door. A few Indirans pay enough attention to duck out of her way as Hunk falls in line behind her.

Keith snatches his discarded cape and makes for the entrance with Lance beside him. “Why do we always after to party right after a battle?”

It’s the ghost of Lance’s hand on his back, the same hand falling on his shoulder to rub comfortingly over it even though he can’t really feel it through the armor, that makes it all a little okay. A little worth it.

It’s a development.

Maybe an experiment in future diplomacy dinners. For science, the ratio to him wanting to vault himself out of a room and take off in Red to the number of times Lance whimsically appears at his side.