#it's the greasy camera lens for me
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Still thinking about Tatum's obsessive gross girl tweets
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Vogue Beauty Secrets With Lyla Blair & Mystery Man
(aka Jeremy Swayman)
Jeremy Swayman x Lyla Blair
A ‘The Masterminds’ Fic
Warnings: none that I can think of (let me know if I missed any)
Takes place late April 2024
“Hi, I’m Lyla Blair and this is my guide to glowy skin and the perfect date night look!” Lyla introduces herself to the camera.
Her eyes flit to everything laid out on Jeremy’s ensuite countertop, patting herself on the back for not forgetting her skincare and makeup when she was hurriedly packing a bag for the weekend. She accidentally forgot that she had to film a beauty secrets video for Vogue, so she took the opportunity to film it before her date with Jeremy.
“I have fairly good skin. I mean don’t get me wrong, I get the sparse breakout every now and then- usually during my period, but I’d say my skin is pretty clear. My first step in my skincare routine is this Vanicream cleanser,” she showcases the bottle and pumps some of the liquid in her hand.
“It’s very light and when you lather it, it gets slightly foamy. I love it because my skin can be sensitive. I think it’s important to remember to treat your face delicately, so don’t harshly rub your face when you wash it.” The girl says, demonstrating her words.
“Babe, which watch should I wear?” Jeremy’s voice can be heard in the background, making Lyla hesitantly turn toward where he walks in. Her face is covered in suds and water drips down her arms. She tries to remain stoic to the camera, but on the inside she’s freaking out a little bit. Her relationship with Jeremy isn’t public, but this could very well launch them in the public eye.
“The silver one. It pairs well with the blue,” she says, turning back around as if she never looked away.
“Next up is a light serum! I like to use something with vitamin C to brighten up my skin, and basically even out my tone.”
She pats a small amount of the serum around her eyes, a small giggle bubbles up her throat at Jeremy purposely singing obnoxiously to one of her songs.
“Next up is moisturizer and sunscreen. I love sunscreen, especially as someone who grew up in Houston, Texas. Everyone knows it’s very hot and sunny down there. For moisturizer I use the vanicream brand, because it’s not too light nor too heavy and it’s not greasy at all,” Lyla explains, continuing working the products into her skin.
“Here you go, Ly,” Jeremy places a glass of ice water next to her, a glimpse of his arm being caught on camera.
Lyla can’t contain her emotions, not when her eyes soften and cheeks grow a light shade of red. Jeremy knows that she loves to have a glass of water while getting ready. It can be getting ready for the day, an outing, or to go to sleep.
“Thank you, baby,” she says in awe, her eyes fixated on him and his dazzling smile.
“I love a good glass of cold water while getting ready. Also putting on lip balm before I start any makeup,” Lyla says to the camera, still feeling awfully giddy by her boyfriend’s sweet gesture.
It’s the little things!
“Do you guys have a small skincare routine or a long one? I’m always so curious because I’ve met many people who do simple routines since their skin is acne prone, but I’ve also met people who have a long routine with many products but it just works so well for them. I love the versatility,” she talks animatedly while going on a tangent about skincare.
“So, we’re done with our skin and now we move onto makeup. As I said in the beginning, this is my favorite look for date nights.”
“She doesn’t need any makeup whatsoever,” Jeremy inputs, coming closer to Lyla. Only the bottom half of his face (starting at his bottom lip) and down is captured by the lens.
Lyla looks up at him, cheeks continuously burning and eyelashes batting at him.
“I don’t?” She asks with a sly smile. She reaches out to his wrists and rolls up the sleeves of his button up. Butterflies flutter around her stomach at the way he looks at her.
“No, you’re perfect, baby,” he whispers, but it’s still caught by the mic of the camera.
She flashes him a toothy smile, biting on her bottom lip when he leans closer. His hand goes to her throat to tilt her head back and he slants his lips over hers. Lyla’s breath hitches and she can feel the want transferred from his saccharine kiss. When he pulls away, she has to shake off all her other thoughts and focus back on the video. A difficult task when she can still taste him on her tongue.
The camera lens only captures the sight of his hand on her throat and how his bearded jaw and lips encase hers. Little did they know that the familiar motion would spark up many comments later in the week.
“Sorry about that, guys. That was my boyfriend and we’re actually going on a date in like an hour. That means we have to do a speedy routine,” she says, trying to act unfazed even though she can still feel her lips tingling.
“The lineup for tonight's pretty small as I’m staying at my boyfriend’s house, so I don’t have all my makeup products,” Lyla explains as she gathers and organizes her makeup.
“Tonight we’re doing light concealer, a smokey, siren type of eye look, with some blush and a nude lip. It’s very simple!”
The singer shows each product she’ll be using before she starts with her eyeshadow.
“So… did y’all buy tickets for my tour? If you did, leave a comment stating what show you’re attending. I’m so excited! I think I saw that my Houston, Boston, and New York shows were sold out. Like you don’t understand how amazing that is. It makes me very happy! My music career has come a long way,” Lyla rambles, pausing her strokes on her eyelids in between each few words as the excitement takes over. There’s a noticeable shine glimmering in her eyes.
She catches a glimpse of Jeremy smiling proudly at her from the corner of her eye. It makes her blush even more than she already is.
“Okay! This is the eye look. The messier the better, especially bc J and I are going to a place with low lighting,” Lyla does a little pose, not realizing she said her little nickname for Jeremy.
As she puts on her eyeliner and mascara, she can feel Jeremy’s stare on her.
“I usually tend to start applying my mascara to the tips of my lashes just so that they stay curled,” she turns toward him, eyes playfully glaring at him before getting back to what she is doing.
The hair on her arms and the back of her neck still rise, the intensity of his stare is strong and lingering. She tries to not let her eyes slide back over to him, but she can’t help the way they move on their own accord. She also can’t help the infectious giggle that slips from her mouth when he smiles at her.
“Is it weird that I apply my winged eyeliner after mascara? I just find it easi-“ she also can’t help the way her words die on her tongue while she’s under his gaze.
“Sorry, easier,” she finishes her interrupted sentence, another giggle going past her lips.
“Baby, can I put on your blush?” Jeremy asks and Lyla immediately nods her head.
“I’m just going to let you do it and not instruct you,” she giggles and turns to face him.
Her eyes are level with his chest, so she uses his shoulders to help her stand on her tiptoes. A hand holds her blush brush while the other settles on her waist, making her feel light and on fire all at once.
“Ohhh the pressure is on. Okay! I got this. On the apples of the cheeks right?” He asks, poking one of her cheeks.
“I don’t know,” she teases, poking at his ribs.
Lyla giggles as he drags the brush along her cheeks. Her hands reach out to clutch onto his button up.
“So J decided to do my blush. Let’s see if he does a good job! I’m not a makeup artist at all, but I have learned a lot from previous concerts and shoots. I think I’m pretty decent at doing my own makeup now,” Lyla turns her head to the camera and talks, trying to distract herself from Jeremy’s attention and the way his slight touch on her skin makes her shiver.
“Okay, how does it look?” His voice is low and honeyed, it makes Lyla’s knees weak.
She walks closer to the large mirror, inspecting her boyfriend’s work. She hums and haws in a way to tease him while he waits patiently for an answer. Eyes crinkling up in a smile when Jeremy lets out a playfully, tortured laugh.
“What do you guys think? Did my boyfriend do a good job? I think he did pretty good,” she speaks to the camera, a twinkle in her eye because she’s actually impressed with how well her man did.
“Thank you, baby,” again, his hand comes up to her neck to keep her still while his lips encase hers. It’s a sucking kiss, almost too much to be filmed for many people to see, but they don’t care.
“Time for the lips,” Lyla giggles, eyes half lidded and lips red.
“Baby, what lip product should I use? Lipstick, so I don’t get glitter in your beard?” She asks, holding up different options for him to choose from.
“Ly, I don’t care if you get glitter in my beard. Really, baby,” Jeremy says, reassuring her when he catches her questioning gaze.
Lyla looks at the camera, a smile plastered all over her face and her eyes looking lovesick. Her shoulders rise and fall with the contented sigh she lets out.
“Okay! Lip gloss it is then,” she jumps in excitement and applies her lip gloss while dancing around.
“This is my date night makeup look. Now all I have to do is toss my hair around and put on an outfit and I’m set. This has been really fun, and I hope you all enjoy my beauty secrets. And I really hope to see all of you lovely people on tour. Love ya, bye!” Lyla blows kisses to the camera, smiling in genuine happiness.
“My girl is so beautiful,” Jeremy comes up behind her and encircles his arms around her neck, his chin resting on the top of her head.
“You’re so handsome. Let me get dressed and we can head out,” she presses a chaste kiss to his lips and walks over to her bag.
He slaps her ass, smirking at her when she turns around with a loud squeal. She sends him a half glare, half smile, but winks at him before she’s out of sight.
Later that week, both of their phones are blowing up with various notifications from different social media platforms. Every tweet and post is about the rumored man in Lyla’s Vogue video. Everyone is shocked to see that the newest pop sensation has a man, and one that they have no idea who it could be. But that’s the thing, many of Lyla’s fans also happen to be hockey fans who know that beard and voice anywhere.
a/n: Okay! I really enjoyed writing this one, so I hope you all love it!!
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PICTURES WITH EDDIE HIM COVERING YOUR BOOBS WITH HIS HANDS WITH HIS RINGS OMG AHHAHAHAHAHWKSUWJDJAJSHJKAHDKAWJND I NEED A ONESHOT OF THIS
it’ll last longer
A/N: oh my god & him totally leaving them in places he knows you’ll see just to get you flustered as f*ck 👹
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Bimbo!Reader
Summary: You show Eddie your new Polaroid camera, and he already has a few ideas. 1.4k words
Warnings: tibbies, boobies, bReasts, + hands on ‘em, being naked but nonpenetrative so it is technically smut, praise, taking nudes, hand kink, flustered and horny eddie, mention of drug use, mention of gun violence, everyone is over 18 here
Eddie had been royally pissed off a second ago. With the pounding on his door like goddamn thunder spiraling him right towards a raging headache. But then it swung open to your smiling face, your arms clasped behind your back, and he couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed anymore.
Not with the slight curve of your mouth and the soft squint of your eyes and your pink mini skirt peaking out beneath the hem of his leather jacket. Not with your cherry lipgloss laid on thick and the locket stuffed with his likeness jingling just above your cleavage reflecting the golden lamplight past his shoulder.
“Hey, bug, how’s my favorite conformist doing?” 
“She’s busy,” you say, suddenly pouty and sullen. But you can’t just wipe the remnants of that giddy look off your face or dim the stars in your eyes, so as bitter as you try to be, he knows you’re still beaming somewhere under there.
“Busy?”
“Snorting white in Milan with millionaire heartthrob: John, Jr.”
“How very metal of her,” he teases, dipping down and pressing a chaste kiss to your bottom lip. But you disappear past him into the depths of the hallway, and he finds you perched on his bed kicking your legs out in front of you.
A click, a whirr, and a blinding flash: he’s staggering backward, fluorescent yellow burned into his vision. He blinks the static away to see you wide-eyed down at a small, square picture edged with a thick white border.
“What the shit?”
Propping yourself up on your knees, you tuck a boxy, grey camera under your arm and offer him the little photo. On film, his big hands are outstretched and overexposed, his silver rings reduced to a couple black bands at the base of his fingers. The grainy lens caught him grimacing though his knuckles, lips pursed, eyes shut.
“When’d you get it?” Eddie nods to your sleek and shiny Polaroid camera that flicks back open when you slip your thumb across the back.
“It was sitting on the dash when daddy drove me home from the rink.”
“Well… I’m keeping this,” he says, mouth pressed in a line when you bounce up to glance at the blurry picture with a sweet giggle.
“I can take a better one for you,” you coo, but he grabs a fistful of the leather jacket draped over your shoulders, tugging you closer, and slipping it into the inner pocket.
“How ‘bout I take some of you, bug?”
“Me?
“Yeah, you,” he breathes, taking in a lungful of your sugary, jasmine-spritzed perfume that peppers your neck in sloppy kisses of springtime and pie-eating contests at greasy carnivals. You fill him with wistful nostalgia, prodding around in his heart and guts for the tenderest spots and prodding some more when you realize how supple they are between your teeth.
“Doing what?” you say with a shrug. And that look in his tired eyes is all-telling. It’s like he can see through your top, and doesn’t even bother with being subtle because you’re so perfect, the risk is nothing compared to the reward
“That’s rotten, Munson. Don’t be vulgar.”
“Why, ‘cause your daddy bought you that camera? What’s he gonna care that Hawkins’ resident freak is defiling his daughter on a Thursday night?”
“He’d also buy me a shotgun, if I asked.”
“Is that supposed to scare me, bug?”
“Big, too, ‘n I’d aim it right here”—your rounded, ballet-slipper-pink fingernail draws an ‘X’ over his sternum—“break your heart real easy.”
“Don’t need a shotgun for that,” he huffs, guiding your fist open against his waist, slotting his fingers beneath the weighty underbelly of your Polaroid camera, and pressing his plump lips to your brow to get you to transfer its weight to his palm.
He holds your chin between thumb and knuckle, even though you pout and fiddle with the chain hanging from his belt loops. He lifts the camera to eye-level, sputtering and snapping when he fingers for the bright red button, tapping it gently.
The flash rings in your ears, leaves behind a distorted blob of darkness when you look up. The camera spits out an onyx plain of undeveloped film before slowly flooding with splotches of bronzy green.
“Hello, Miss America,” he mumbles, wobbling the delicate picture back and forth in the air, and you shriek, wrapping both hands around his forearm.
“Fuck, Eddie!”
“Yes, ma’am—”
“No, the ink, baby, it’ll bubble,” you whine, pinching the picture and blowing softly along its face.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” he says when you turn away from him. He rests his chin on your shoulder, pecking just below your diamond-studded ear with a sigh. “You still look incredible.”
And you do. Like a model, as always, he thinks, but you’d make fun of him for dreaming where you won’t. He always tells you to remember him when you’re strutting through Manhattan, being clobbered by psychos with expensive cameras.
The photo’s abandoned atop his amp and the kisses are slow and sweet with your jacket draped over the edge of the bed and your fingers in his hair and his lips lazy and wet against yours. You taste biting and bubbly like cheap champagne, royal and bold under his tongue.
He picks at the barbie-pink bandeau across your chest, and you arch into his touch when his fingertips brush your pert nipples through the stretchy fabric. He ducks his head against your collar, tonguing the smooth skin with a harsh breath. Two fingers hooked between your tits to drag the spandex down around your waist. His eyes are half-lidded when you draw your fingernails up his cheek.
“Get the camera,” you huff, his wild eyes peering down at you as his fingers scramble for the heavyweight thing leaving a shallow dent in his mattress. He aims it right at you, capturing your chest, up your neck, and the careful swoop of your baby soft cupid’s bow.
But you whine, “not of me!” and plant your palms over your face with a squeal. He’d scold you for it if he wasn’t completely taken with the likes of you. The photo slips onto the pillow next to your head, camera sitting beside your bicep while he licks his lips and leans slowly, mouth waiting with bated breath as it meets the tenderness of your bare breasts. One hand cups the other while he laps at your nipple with a soft groan rattling shockwaves through your chest like a battering and deadly riptide.
You weave your deft fingers into his messy hair and lift the camera above your head, fumbling your thumb against the button, and shuddering when he blinks up at you from between your breasts. His eyes go light for a second for the camera, flashing deep hazel rimmed with brown as he’s blinded. But it doesn’t matter with your skin lush and salty on his tongue.
He’s a little foggy when you sit up, but you nod to the wall his mattress is shoved up against, and he slumps towards it, gripping your hips until you wiggle into his lap.
With his heart beating on your back, you tilt your head to the side, and he slides the pad of his thumb just beneath your hairline where his name is tatted in sloppy black ink. He kisses it and hooks his fingers under your jaw to look you in the eye with a hungry grin. You lift the camera, and it clacks when he kisses you, full of tongue and saliva and gutterbrain when his grip goes slack, both hands down and cradling your ribs as they expand with air. With staggering and stuffy satisfaction. With life when his thumbs swipe beneath the curve of your breasts and he hums into your mouth.
You’re buzzing on high in his hands, and he can tell. Whether or not he’s touching you most of the time, it still makes you skittish and hot like this. Jumpy and tense and precious all under his roof and in his hands.
He brings them to cup your breasts, holding them against you because it makes you purr into his mouth. Heavy rings cold on your nipples, pinching with every flex of his antsy fingers. And it makes him harder against your lower back. Click, and the photo spits out against your calf, developing under your leg. And the camera is abandoned once his knees pin your thighs open wide.
The photos still litter his bedroom the next morning.
The boys creep up on him at his cluttered locker as he tucks the corner of a Polaroid picture beneath one of the heart-shaped magnets you bought for him. His ringed hands are clearly outlined, palms covering a pair of tits, hickey bruised against the girl’s jugular. Their eyes go wide, exchanging glances before Dustin shifts and clears his throat.
“What do you want,” Eddie barks, turning on his heel with a squinted glare
“Isn’t that the necklace you bought for—”
“Hi, Eddie,” you chirp, “hi, boys.”
Their sneakers shuffle back and forth on the squeaky linoleum while they narrowly avoid your eye contact and mumble nervous greetings. And you survey them slowly, with blind curiosity, at first. You blame it on their early-pubescent-nerves and brush it off. Then Eddie rocks forward with a grin, kissing the edge of your bubblegum pink mouth, giving way to a glimpse of the wide open door of his locker, newly decorated with a picture you recognize all too well with a rush of mortification.
Heart pounding, you glance back at the boys who have already scuttled halfway down the busy hall, whispering and giggling at each other. Eddie slips his arms around your waist with a content hum pressed to your warm temple.
“Good morning, bug.”
masterlist
#eddie munson x you#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson#x reader#x fem!reader#stranger things x y/n#stranger things x you#stranger things x reader#stranger things 4#st4#st4 spoilers#stranger things spoilers#god i love this man#how can u not#smut#18+#*
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I might be a little late, but for blurb requests I’d love to see Harry and YN backstage either before or after the ONO show(s)!!!
anon: I would love blurbs about each of the one night only shows!!
anon: i feel like HH y/n meeting fans outside the ONO place and just the interactions would be adorable bonus if she meets Brittany Broski
what you guys want you guys get...
oh and also warning on smut ;)
May 20th 2022
“Harry!” You sang his name, holding the camera up at him whilst he was practicing on stage.
It was One Night Only in NYC tonight and the buzz around the crew and the band was electric. This was going to be the night that started everything. It was the night where Harry would finally get to hear his favourite songs being sang back to him.
He was currently on stage, holding his guitar as he readied himself to rehearse his new songs. He was dressed in a tight top and baggy trousers and honestly he’d never looked better. He was dressing above the nines for this era and you had to thank Lambert for that.
He turned to you and smiled.
“Hey love.” He continued to strum on his guitar as we walked over to you.
When he reached you, you moved your arm out to the side and pointed the camera towards the side of you face so you could capture the moment that Harry softly kissed your lips. You hummed in delight as his perfect lips got a taste of yours. He tasted like the mint chewing gum he was no doubt still chewing.
“Tell the vlog how excited you are for tonight.” You directed him to look towards the camera.
“Hi!” He gave a cute little wave and dimpled smile, but you could tell that he was putting on a slight front because he reserved his happiest moments for you, “I hope you are all loving the album and I can’t wait to see you all tomorrow night. Please come with the intention of lots of dancing and singing. I am very excited to get to play this album for you, because I wouldn’t be doing this without a single one of you.” He kissed the camera lens before moving back.
You turned your camera off then, feeling like you got a good amount of footage from his on stage preparation.
“Y’look really good right now y’know?” You told him.
“Do I now?” He smirked, staying close to you but couldn’t be infinitely close due to his guitar strapped around his neck.
“You know y’do.” You rolled your eyes.
Reaching your hands up, you undid the little clip he had in his hair and his hair fell down everywhere. It was a mess and slightly greasy, but you knew he was waiting for his pre-show shower. You gathered his hair back, drawing the little pieces of hair that had escaped last time, and put his hair back in the little clip.
“Thank you, baby.” He smiled and leant down to kiss you again.
“H! As much as I know you love your wife we really need to rehearse.” Jeff shouted, standing next to Molly and some of the sound guys.
“Duty calls.”
“If you need me, you’ll find me hanging out with Brittany.”
“I can’t wait to surprise her later.” Harry laughed.
“She’s going to faint, I fear.” You said, before walking off and leaving Harry laughing on the stage.
He had set up this Instagram takeover with Brittany because he knew how much of a huge fan she is of him. There was no denying that Brittany basically ran the Harry Styles promotion agenda on TikTok, seeing as you didn’t have it. Brittany deserved to meet your Harry and you were so excited to meet her too, what with being such a huge fan.
You walked outside of the venue, with one of Harry’s security guards like he’d politely asked you to, and went in search of Brittany. You’d been viewing the HSHQ stories and knew that she was interviewing fans in the line.
“OMG Y/N!” A girl screamed and then a lot of other girls screamed too. Your hands clammed up a bit over the large uproar and you had a brief moment of panic, before realising they were on the other side of a barricade so wouldn’t swarm you.
“Hi! You look amazing!” You complimented them, due to one of the girls wearing a recreation of the outfit that Harry had worn for Coachella night 2.
“So do you!” They complimented back and you had to suppress a laugh because you weren’t even in your evening dress yet. You were still in jeans and a Bode jumper that was Harry’s. Harry would argue that you looked beautiful right now, so you blushed and smiled at them instead.
“Is it okay if I film us for my vlog?” You took out your camera.
“Yes!” “OMG please!” “Stop it right now!” Were a few of the voices from the chorus of shouts urging you to record them for your vlog, probably because they knew that Harry watched your vlogs and ergo Harry would see them.
You held out your camera almost selfie style and tried to fit as many of them in the frame as possible. There was some minor shuffling and pushing, but nothing too out of control.
“Are you excited for tonight then?” You asked.
“We just want to be in and watching him already.”
“Yeah, like we’ve never seen him before so we’re struggling to believe that he’s even real.” They made you laugh.
“He’s real. I can assure you, but I do understand what you mean too. What are your guys’ favourite songs?” You were curious and Harry would be too.
“Definitely Matilda.” One of them said and it made your heart burst a little bit.
It was crazy that somebody’s favourite song was based off your childhood trauma, but you didn’t see it in a bad way. You thought Harry was special to have written a song so deep and meaningful to him through you. Matilda was a song that could be for anyone, yet it was only you and Harry that knew how much gravity the song truly held to you both.
“That’s like the saddest one!” You laughed, but also agreeing with them silently.
“He’s just so real and raw in it. I can’t even explain how bad I love it.” They looked like they were about to cry.
“Oh, honey. It’s okay. You’re okay.”
You didn’t know whether this song meant the same thing them as it meant to you so you leant in to give them a hug. You always wished you had had someone to hug you in your darkest moments, so hearing that maybe this fan felt the same way made you just want to hug their pain away. The security guard stood a little closer to you, but didn’t feel like this would be the time to interrupt.
“Thank you.” They said with a teary voice.
“I promise you H loves you so much, okay? And he’d want you to be happy tonight. Let’s smile and have fun and then cry later.” You said to all of them.
After saying your goodbyes and hugging few more of them, you went off in search of Brittany again. You wandered through the car park, admiring the chalk written on the floor, whilst keeping your head down to avoid a rush of fans towards you.
Eventually you found Brittany at the end of the carpark with a bunch of fans that clearly didn’t have tickets. You handed your camera to the security camera, who had filmed for you many times before, and instructed him to film you and this group of people.
As you were walking towards them, the fans started screaming and what made you even more surprised was Brittany started screaming too. You walked to her first and gave her a huge squeeze.
“I was starting to believe you weren’t real with how like perfect you and your life is.”
That was something that always stumped you, that just because you were dating a famous person that it automatically meant that your life was perfect. It was a weird social complex and it definitely wasn’t true. You and Harry had some horrible arguments sometimes and then it wasn’t like your childhood trauma stayed hidden in the closet all the time. You were a emotionally challenged individual, so it sometimes made you feel a bit misunderstood when people brushed that off.
You laughed anyways because that was just a personal thought. “So lovely to meet you!” You hugged her tightly, before letting go.
“You’re literally gorgeous too!” Brittany continued to compliment you.
“Says you! You look amazing and this outfit.. I mean I’m so jealous.”
“Yeah but you get to wear Harry’s clothes so, who’s really the jealous one? It’s me. It’s definitely me.” She joked.
You had a bit more of a conversation with her about what she was doing and where management had told her to go next. First, though, you thought you’d surprise these fans. Harry had given you the green light to do this when you’d asked him.
“How are you all doing? Are y’not cold?” You asked, seeing some of the girls were only wearing vest t-shirts and tiny skirts and it wasn’t exactly summer weather yet.
“We’re good. Just thought we’d come and join in with the activities in the car park.” One of them said.
“So none of you have tickets?” You questioned, furrowing your eyebrows at how dedicated they were and yet they still don’t get to see him.
“We tried but it was so difficult.”
“Yeah and then the resales were crazy expensive.”
“We’re just happy to get experience some of it though.” One of them said and the others nodded and agreed. That’s when you decided to step in with your surprise.
“Do you guys want to go to ONO?” You asked and they looked at you in confusion, as if they weren’t sure what you were asking and whether you were just teasing. You pulled out several tickets from your back pocket then. “’Cause I have spare tickets if you guys want to go?”
That’s when they started crying.
One girl literally crouched down because their legs wouldn’t hold them up. Another girl turned to their friend and hugged them whilst they cried together. Some of the parents even looked teary eyed as they got to see their daughters live out their dreams.
“Are you serious?” One of them asked through their tears.
“Yeah. If you wanna go, they’re yours.” You handed a ticket to the girl and helped them off the floor to give them a hug. “It’s okay.”
That was when you realised this was the second time you were giving the ‘it’s okay’ speech today. It reminded you of how much Harry’s fans loved him and how important he was in some peoples lives. Not everyone would get this kind of opportunity, so you stayed with them for a little bit as you tried to navigate this happy and surprising situation with them.
It was an hour later that you found Harry in his dressing room getting changed.
He was halfway through getting ready. By the looks of things he had freshly gotten out of the shower and had put on his leather pants to start assembling his outfit. Normally he was left alone to get dressed and have a shower, before Harry Lambert would come and fix everything up to look perfect and his hair stylist would come and blow his hair into place.
He looked up from where he was putting on deodorant, giving you a view of his ever-so-slightly- growing hairy armpits. He had had to shave them for the ‘As It Was’ music video, but now he wanted them to grow back.
“Hey bub, where’ve you been?” He asked, putting his deodorant down and stood waiting to listen to you.
“Meeting, hugging, consoling and gifting your fans.” You smiled, dropping your camera and phone on the counter.
“Consoling? Were they crying already?” Harry chuckled, opening his arms for you as you wandered over for a hug. He squeezed you tight when you reached him and the feeling of his warm chest against your cool cheek was comforting.
“Yeah they were talking about Matilda.”
Harry pulled you back slightly so you could rest your chin on his chest to look up at him. You could see the concern in his eyes, knowing how much that song means to you and the heavy story that it carried with it.
“And how did they make you feel? When they were talking about it?” He asked, bringing a hand up to caress his thumb over your cheek. You leant into his palm before talking.
“Proud that I’m still here and got to hug someone that might’ve been feeling like me years ago.” You bit your lip to refrain yourself from getting upset.
Harry nodded his head and remained silent, until he leant down a bit closer towards you and your lips.
“I have never been more proud to love someone as much as I love you.”
“Harry don’t...” You warned him, feeling the tears burn up in your eyes. He knows that you have a hard time taking compliments, but you had worked hard on it over the years. It’s only because you didn’t feel like crying right now that you wanted him to be quiet.
“No. You don’t. I get to be proud of m’wife and m’baby’s mum.” When he mentioned the last thing a tear slipped down your face. “I get to love you for being so strong. I get to tell you how I feel about this and you because I love you so fucking much.”
You started crying then.
“I said don’t.” You laughed through your tears, moving your head to rest your forehead on his chest.
“And I don’t care.” You felt him kiss the top of your head. He left a few kisses actually. “Hey, look at me.”
You lifted your head back up and didn’t even have a moment to comprehend what he was doing before his lips were on yours. He pushed himself into you, closer than before. He kissed and kissed until he knew your lips would be raw. He moved his tongue across your lips and tasted your cherry lipstick, before moving back and having a look at his work.
“Shut me up again?” You joked, giving him a kiss on his scruff filled chin.
“I have another way to shut you up.”
He sat himself down on the couch and manspread his legs, smirking as you watched him undo the buttons on his pants.
You bit your lip as your knelt on the floor. Your hands ran along his thighs, over his leather trousers, from his knees to area of skin exposed just above his trousers. You looked up at him before you planted a kiss to his already heaving chest. It was always flattering to know that you turned him on this quickly.
You moved his hands out of the way and carried on unbuttoning the pants. Once they were undone he moved his hips up for you to take them down. You were expecting to have to pull down a pair of boxers too, but when his length sprang out it seemed he was going commando.
He was already hard, pre-cum leaking from his tip as his cock pressed against his toned abs. He looked at you with so much hunger it was intoxicating. You gave him one final look in his eyes before dipping your head down.
You took him in your hand, softly kissing his length from the bottom to the top. You trailed your tongue down the length on your way back down. He groaned at every detail of contact. He was absolutely gone for you. Weak as a piece of paper holding a door open.
“Fucking hell.” He groaned, grabbing the back of your head and pushing you to take him in your mouth.
You rushed to get there first, inhaling as his length travelled through your mouth and hit the back of your throat. He held you in place, your nose touching his chest with him fully inside of you. You couldn’t breathe, but in the best way possible. You tapped his thigh when you needed air, Harry moving his hands away and letting you breathe again. Your eyes were watery red, but for a different reason now, and your lips were covered in a mix of saliva and his cum.
You moved your hands up and down his length, only taking the tip in your mouth this time. You swirled your tongue around it and moved your hands quicker.
Harry’s breathing became more and more laboured as he whined out praises to you. You couldn’t get over how good he tasted and how much better he felt sliding in and out of your mouth. He pushed your head back down and you took him all again, feeling every vein and bump his cock had to offer. You gagged and he nearly pulled back, but you took control and showed him you were okay by taking more. You let your tongue lick him as he hit the back of your throat again.
“God Y/N. Only you.” He mumbled, using his other hand to hold onto your hair.
You didn’t need to tap a second time because Harry came down the back of your throat before you needed another breath. You took him all, feeling his cock pump every last drop down for you to taste.
After he had finished, he let your head up and you giggled at how fun that was. You licked your lips to not waste any of his release. It was you who stood up and went to the small bathroom to retrieve a wet wash cloth.
You helped him clean himself up, before tucking him back into his trousers. He patted his thigh for you to come sit down on and you were instantly straddling him. Your hands went around his neck and fiddled with the hairs on the back of his neck, whilst his found home around your waist.
“That was a good way to shut me up.”
“Yeah? Y’liked that?” He teased, pinching your sides.
“Mhm.”
“I’ll love on you later. Promise.” He pouted his lips and you leant down to meet them, giving him a loving kiss.
“Oh. I’m expecting you too.”
Before you could mess around any more, Harry Lambert walked through the door. He sighed and made an exhausted noise and held the door open for a few more stylists to walk through.
“God you two.” Harry Lambert groaned.
“What?” Harry laughed, keeping you close to his chest as if it would somehow protect you.
“You’re too in love.” He mumbled, before directing people on where to set up.
“We’re not too in love, are we?” Harry quietly asked you.
You kissed him softly.
“How can we be, when I love you more today than I did yesterday?”
#harry styles#harry styles x reader#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles x y/n#harry styles fanfic#ask finelinevogue#finelinevogue#harry blurb#harry styles concept#harry oneshot#harrys house youtube video#harry’s house blurbs#harrys house#harrys house masterlist#harrys house finelinevogue#harry styles blurbs#harry styles fluff#harry styles smut#harry styles ono#one night only nyc
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HUG PROMPTS!! Fall for rulie?
Growing up with his parents, Reggie was never one to dream of marriage. To him, marriage was a flawed institution, keeping unhappy people together until they grew to resent and hate one another. He vowed that it would never be him, and he'd never get married.
That all changed when he met Julie Molina.
She was a model assigned to one of his shoots, promoting some clothing brand or another, and he stopped in his tracks when he walked on set and saw her. Looking radiant under the lights, grinning wide as the assistants pinned the clothes to her.
She looked like an angel.
During the shoot, Reggie found her a pleasure to work with; taking direction well, but also throwing out some of her own ideas that ultimately ended up in the final looks. "You really know your stuff," he said as they went through the images at the end of the day.
"My dad's a photographer," she said with a shrug. "You pick up a thing or two."
"Well feel free to keep learning and any time you're in front of my lens I'll ask what you think," Reggie said. "It's always nice to have a subject who has an opinion and knows what they're on about."
Julie ducked her head, curls almost obscuring her blush, and Reggie's hands itched to grab his camera once more and capture it. The image would stayed burned in his brain regardless.
After that, Julie all but demanded he be her sole photographer, so Reggie found himself with a deluge of work. High profile shoots with major brands that kept rolling in. And at every shoot, Julie was there with her suggestions and her gorgeous smile that Reggie couldn't get enough of.
She always wanted to see the final images too; not because she was vain, or trying to control her image, but because she respected his work. "I love how you see me," she confessed one night as he showed her the latest campaign shoots for McQueen she was doing.
"I only see you, nothing more," he replied.
Julie threw herself at him in a hug then, and Reggie lost his balance, toppling over onto the floor, but held her tight, even as the pain ricocheted through his back. She was giggling, her hair shielding their faces, and Reggie just gazed up at her, her twinkling brown eyes, that adorable gap in her smile, the tiny scrunch in her nose.
And he kissed her.
Thank goodness she kissed him back honestly, because Reggie wasn't sure he could bear it if she hadn't.
They went out for their first date that night; greasy pizza and thick peach milkshakes at a local all night diner. Talking until the early hours, just getting to know one another. Kissing her on her doorstep as the sun rose. And Reggie swore his heart was beating along with the early morning rhythm of the city.
And so it went. They kept seeing each other, walks and museums and shows. Remaining completely professional at work, because Julie claimed no one else could really capture her essence other than Reggie. But then once the camera was put down and she was back in her comfy clothes, they were inseparable.
Of course, they couldn't keep it secret forever, but her manager didn't care as long as they were only model and photographer on set. So it came out and Reggie tried not to laugh when half his staff exchanged cash-apparently they had been taking bets.
Then there was the shoot.
Julie was chosen to model for the bridal issue of Vogue, showcasing Vera Wang, Stella McCartney, even Chanel. And Reggie got to take all the pictures. It was the highest profile job he'd ever done.
And god, Julie looked more and more radiant in every gown she came out in.
That's when Reggie realized-he wanted to see Julie in a wedding dress. Only, not on a set, but walking up an aisle towards him on her father's arm, pledging to love him forever.
Fuck, he wanted to marry Julie.
Sure, part of him was still terrified, because he couldn't bear ending up like his parents. But he also knew that Julie wanted marriage. To have a loving union like her folks had up until her mother passed. That her grandparents still had, back in Puerto Rico. Reggie couldn't remember much about MeeMaw and Pop-Pop's marriage, and Pops had been gone so long now... he didn't want to ask, least it make MeeMaw sad. But maybe they had been happy? Maybe every marriage wasn't doomed to end in resentment and hatred?
Maybe... maybe he wanted to find out.
So he bought the ring, a glorious looking gold band covered in diamonds and amethysts, and waited until their anniversary. Brought Julie to his studio on the premise that he needed to pick something up before dinner. And delighted in her gasp when she saw the candles everywhere, the champagne chilling next to the picnic.
And Reggie down on one knee, smiling up a her.
Truthfully, Reggie barely remembered what he said when he asked, all he knew was that Julie knocked him flat on his back when she jumped on him to say yes, reminiscent of that first kiss.
But later, when he checked the cameras he set up, capturing the whole thing, well, he gave a good speech. Julie hooked her head over his shoulder, looking at the video, the shots he'd captured, and pointed at the one he'd got of them smiling at each other on the floor, her now ringed finger cupping his face.
"That one's my favourite."
Reggie grinned and turned his face to capture her lips. "Yeah, mine too."
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i want dick grayson to be annoyingly perfect in the smallest of unimportant ways. and i want it to irritate the living hell out of everyone around him
every now and then, jason and dick will go to different chili dog carts around the city, and dick will sit and nod in agreement as jason nitpicks the food, occasionally offering his own two cents. the conversations are tense and if the topic strays from anything except food jason books it, but it’s progress, and dick’s grateful. but he doesn’t understand why jason always growls at him when he’s preparing his chili dogs, chalking it up to jason’s obsessiveness about that food in particular. dick figures he’s probably doing it wrong. until one day, jason bites out a rough question, asks him how he did that. dick’s confused, until jason points out, “you tear open the top of the ketchup packet in a perfect line every time. and you get all of the ketchup out of the packet in one smooth squeeze, and you never get any on your fingers, and i don’t understand how.”
roy was, arguably, a better archer than ollie. green arrow had been birthed from the island, from the trauma of survival. roy, however, had been practicing since he was a kid, and now that he was well into his twenties, he could safely say he was one of the best shots in the world. he could beat all his friends at darts, shoot an apple off wally’s head, and was generally pretty awesome. or, he would be awesome, if only dick fucking grayson would stop making every single shot of anything he threw in a trash can. no matter what he was throwing away, no matter the angle, no matter the wind or rain, as long as the trashcan was in eyesight, anything dick tossed would inevitably end up inside the garbage. sometimes, dick barely even glanced at the damn thing, just took note of it a threw the trash, expecting it to land in the proper place. and it always did. the worst part was, dick didn’t even seem to notice it. he wasn’t actively trying to make every shot. when asked, dick just shrugged and said “we had some pretty good knife throwers in the circus.”
tim’s memories starting out as robin were a whirlwind, a push-pull of bruce’s mistrust, then bruce’s acceptance, of dick’s fear and hesitation, then of dick’s love. he still remembered dick making the two of them hot chocolate in the kitchen after a day of training, tim’s muscles sore and entire body aching but the feeling of pride, because he was good enough to be robin, he knew he was. he hadn’t expected that to happen anytime soon again, given the way their relationship had fractured after tim had left dick’s batman, a terrified fury in his eyes. yet, he’d been proven wrong when, after a particularly rough arkham breakout, alfred asked both dick and tim to stay instead of returning to their own apartments. just because the manor brought back a feeling of warm nostalgia, however, doesn’t mean it kept the nightmares away. he came down to the kitchen and saw dick already up, moving around the stovetop. with a knowing look in his eyes, dick grabbed another mug to make tim some hot chocolate. tim was washed over with a feeling of relief, of acceptance. dick slid the mug towards him and tim took a sip, letting the rich chocolate warm him up from the inside. it was delicious. his little sigh of pleasure must have been audible, but then he remembered something he noticed. “dick. did you use alfred’s recipe for this?” and dick laughed, responded with, “nah. too much work. i just sort of tried to remember what was in hot chocolate, and eyeballed most of the ingredients. i’m glad it turned out good though. no clumps too, that’s good.”
donna didn’t care how old she got, playing in the park with dick never got old. as one of her oldest friends, the two of them could just walk around the park, in companionable silence, just letting themselves relax and enjoy the moment. so, of course, dick would break the silence and ask if she had any earbuds, because it was getting to quiet for him. donna laughed, and reached inside her pocket, fingered past the keys, and grabbed the headphones. the tangled little ball that came out made her sigh, and she pulled on an earbud to loosen it, only managing to make one of the many knots tighter. then, dick took the headphones out of her hands with a here, i got it, and with a few quick tugs, the tangled monstrosity unraveled easy as breathing. then, completely unaffected, he handed her an earbud, putting the other in his own ear. “i’m the one who’s got a lasso,” she said, ignoring dick’s snort and quip about how earbuds and a lasso are two completely different things, donna.
cass hadn’t expected to enjoy such a gentle, graceful form of athletics, but after a few lessons, it had become apparent that ballet could be far from gentle. it pushed her, made her practice and strengthen herself, and she’d fallen in love with the art quickly. however, the most frustrating part of the entire thing had little to do with actually dancing. the school bruce had helped pick out was prestigious, which meant a strict dress code, which meant her hair had to be in a bun. unfortunately, her hair never seemed to want to cooperate. after her latest attempt, falling into a mess of hair at her nape that had so many locks falling out, cass contemplated how mad the teacher would be if she showed up in a ponytail. at that moment, dick peeked into her room, having heard her frustrated noise, and asked if he could do anything to help. cass pointed to the mess of hair, not even remotely contained by the hair tie, and blew a strand out of her face. dick smiled with understanding, then came into her room, grabbing the comb on her bed and standing behind her in front of the mirror. he smoothed her hair with the comb, then pulled it this way and that, twisting and turning and wrapping until, two minutes later, a picture perfect bun sat atop her head. cass blinked with surprise. “first try,” she said, staring up at him, but he just shrugged and said, “it’s not that hard. you want me to drop you off?”
bruce could admit that he rather enjoyed undercover missions. it was an extended game with high stakes, a test of his own acting skills. with makeup changing his face, an expertly made wig, and a demeanor completely different from both brucie wayne and from batman, he swept through the crowd of greasy men, looking for a specific contact. then, he caught sight of someone specific indeed, though they weren’t his contact. eyebrows raised in a what are you doing here? gesture, he slid onto a barstool. from behind the bar, dick offered him a blinding smile, cleaning a glass. he tapped his wrist twice, a clear message. undercover, same as you. then, dick grabbed a couple bottles from underneath a shelf, flipping them in his hand and pouring with grandeur. bruce noticed he hadn’t put any alcohol in his little mixture, only making it seem as if he had. the flashy moves were entertaining, bruce could give him that. dick slid him the drink and bruce took a sip, eyebrows raising in brief surprise. “this is good. bartending?” dick put the bottles and the lemon away, unimpressed. “it’s not like it’s hard. just mixing a couple ingredients. no biggie.” bruce was fairly certain bartending was more difficult than that, but just then, his target came into view.
steph understood some of the bats’ frustration with dick, she really could. he hadn’t exactly been a welcome and opening batman, that’s for sure. regardless, as the few masks left in gotham had to work together, and she’d gotten to know the man pretty well. and she enjoyed his company as nightwing much more than batman. she dropped onto his balcony in his bludhaven apartment, announcing her presence in that loud-subtle way. dick was nestled in a couple blankets on the couch, going over a couple files, apparently just back from patrol if the small bandage on his neck and bags under his eyes were any indication. nevertheless, he brightened when he saw her and she nodded when he asked if she wanted to spend the night. he moved some of the papers to make room for her on the couch, but she flitted into his bathroom, going through the nail polish bottles she knew he had, and grabbing a shade of red that caught her eye. she tossed him the bottle and put her fingers in his lap, talking aimlessly about a movie she watched with cass. dick seemed to relax amidst her jabbering, and he shook the bottle a couple times before opening it and focusing on her right hand. but as he started, steph paused her rambling and focused on him instead, holding her hands gently and brushing paint onto her nails. he managed to cover her entire nail in three easy strokes, smooth and glossy, not a hint of paint on her skin. the nail was practically perfect. oh god she was jealous. “got a lot of practice with this, grayson?” she asked, and laughed at dick’s mock-offended of course not!
damian wasn’t one for photography, and he could grudgingly admit drake was far better at that particular skill than he was. however, his art class had promised to cover all types of media, and had upheld that pledge. the next two weeks were dedicated to photography, and their final project for the unit had to be a small collection of photographs. animal photography, of course, was damian’s chosen subject, and the knowledge that animal photography was one of the hardest skills to master only had damian wanting to do it more. days later, however, he could admit that it was trickier than expected. how had he never noticed how active his animals were? they never sat still, and every single picture came out blurry. grayson, upon coming across him in the manor grounds, noticed his futile attempts and asked if he could help. damian acquiesced the camera to grayson, who looked through the lens, finding the right angle and background, adjusting the focus settings slightly. then, he let out a sharp whistle and snapped his fingers. in nothing short of a miracle, damian’s pets pasued to look at him, only for a second, and the shutter clicked furiously. damian flipped through the photos, a good many of them clear and wonderful. damian snapped in irritation when dick ruffled his hair and said, “now you try!” it definitely wasn’t as easy as grayson made it look.
babs didn’t really know what she was expecting when she broke up with dick. there was hurt on both ends, and distance for a while, and she had no idea how much she’d miss him. but after a couple months of working together, of remembering that underneath the romantic tangles, their friendship was strong, she’d gotten to the point of dick randomly dropping by her apartment again. the downside was, dick kept randomly dropping by her apartment again. he stole her snacks and messed up her filing system and was so irritating that barbara almost forgot how relieved she was at having one of her best friends back. fortunately, it did come with benefits, because when he was bored, he did some of her chores for her. pausing in the doorway, she smiled at the sight of dick folding her clothes and putting them away. the gesture was platonic now, but no less appreciated. she pushed her wheelchair forward, and in greeting, dick told her how much he wanted to steal all her patterned socks. babs reminded him they wouldn’t fit, and laughed at his pout. dick grabbed one sock off the top of the laundry basket, then dug his hand into the pile of clothes randomly, coming up with the second sock in an instant. folding them together, he repeated the process for each pair. “that...that was fast. you got all of them?” babs asked in confusion. “yes? why, did you expect some to be missing?” was dick’s reply as he shook the wrinkles out of a sweater.
wally was never surprised. he knew dick better than probably most people in the world. he’d gone from frustrated and jealous of dick’s random talents, to admiring and appreciative, to just accepting them as a fact of life. dick’s phone never cracked if he accidentally he dropped it. dick never buttoned up shirts wrong, aligning each button with the right hole perfectly on the first try. dick could plug in usb ports the right way. dick always remembered which light switch was for which room, no matter whose house they were at. dick could pop a cd out of its case without ever smudging the disk, holding it by the rim perfectly. and dick always seemed to know when wally needed a day off, to just visit their old haunts, grab some ice cream, and spend the day talking away on a rooftop. that was just something his best friend could do. and wally would never tell dick, but underneath his fake irritation at it, but he loved him for it.
tag list: @comicsandhoney @birdy-bat-writes @elles-shitposts-personified @subtleappreciation @screennamealreadyused @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @astroherogirl @yesboopityboop @dangerduckjpeg
#scribbles from the swamp#dick grayson#nightwing#jason todd#red hood#roy harper#arsenal#red arrow#tim drake#red robin#donna troy#wonder girl#cassandra cain#black bat#batgirl#orphan#bruce wayne#batman#stephanie brown#spoiler#damian wayne#robin#barbara gordon#oracle#wally west#the flash#batfam#dc#dick grayson headcanon#nightwing headcanon
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Wait a minute! Wait a minute!
You know how Dick and Jason have that polaroid picture together? Okay. Hear me out. What if they took a video camera with them on that trip they took? And what if there was actual sporadic video clips of them documenting their trip?
Imagine it.
Dick’s driving the car. Jason is narrating as he films the scenery passing by. He pans the camera over, and with a terrible Australian accent, he says, “A wild Dick appears! I gotta tell ya, folks, I’ve never seen anything quite as ugly as him! And look at that hair! I think I might have found Chewbacca’s long lost brother!”
Dick shoves the camera out of his face. “If I’m his long lost brother then what does that make you, shorty?”
Jason refocuses the camera back on Dick from a distance. “I’m his cousin twice removed.”
“So you’re twice as ugly then.”
“What? No! I come from the super rad side of the family with good genes. You’re just—Dick, look! A Dairy Queen! Pull over, pull ov—”
Static.
Dick and Jason are sitting across from each other in a booth. They’ve both got hamburgers, fries, and chocolate shakes. Dick’s got the camera trained on Jason.
“Are you gonna try it or not?” Dick asks, panning from the fry pinched between Jason’s greasy fingers to the shake on the table.
“No! What kind of person dips fries in a milkshake? Weirdos like you that’s who!”
“Just try it.”
“No!”
“Don’t be a baby! Come on. Just one bite.”
“Gross!”
“I’ll give you five bucks if you do it.”
Jason looks at him distrustfully. “You swear?”
“With my pinky and everything,” Dick says, sticking his pinky out in front of the camera.
Jason points directly at the lens. “You just said that on video. You have to stick to your word now.”
“You haven’t sealed the deal yet,” Dick says, waggling his pinky.
Jason rolls his eyes and hooks his pinky around Dick’s, only to yank his hand back a second later with a grimace. “Ow, asshole! You didn’t have to squeeze so hard!” Jason suddenly goes stiff and grips the sides of the lens. “Alfie, pretend you didn’t hear that! He made me say it! You saw what he did to my pinky!”
A waitress appears to Dick’s right. “Do you boys need anything?”
Static.
The car is parked along the side of a road with the headlights on. “Summer of 69″ is playing low on the radio. Jason is in the passenger’s seat with the camera pointed at himself.
“Why did nobody tell me Dick has the smallest bladder ever? This is the second time he’s pulled over to pee in the bushes. I wonder if there are any bears out here. What if they get mad because they think Dick is trying to mark their territory? Wait. Is Dick strong enough to fight a bear? Is there a protocol for that?”
Dick suddenly taps on Jason’s window, and Jason lets out a surprised shriek that has him fumbling for the camera.
There’s the sound of Dick’s muffled laughter and Jason’s whining.
Static.
Part 2
#gah i could go on all day but i'll stop now#Dick Grayson#Jason Todd#Nightwing 63#video clips#mountain trip#hc
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Triple Treble High school AU??
Read on AO3 | Request prompts here
The darkroom wasn’t originally in the blueprints for the high school. It was a small space that was wedged between the back stairwell, something that still smelled so thickly of drain cleaner, and sawdust, that the developer only added a twinge of vinegar to the mix.
Beca had pestered and persisted until the school board agreed to convert the unused storage area into a place for the yearbook committee to soak and hang their film. It could fit about four people at a time and left her blinking away the red light when the bell rang, load and enough to vibrate the whole room.
She leaned against the table that woodshop had constructed, mindful of the surface that could splinter at any moment. She was putting the finishing touches on her book report for Mr. White’s third-period English. She was cutting it close, but the photos from the pep rally the day before still had a good three minutes left of the egg timer.
She twisted the dial and listened to the satisfying click that accompanied it.
Beca had learned a long time ago that it was better to be unseen than seen by the whole world. There were no standards that way, if this batch of photos didn't turn out, or darken fully, that would be okay- because it wasn’t like they had noticed her, other than the small flashes of light, or the click of her Nikon.
She scribbled the finishing touches on her interesting take of “To Kill a Mockingbird” and shoved the crinkled lined paper into her backpack. She hadn’t put much thought into it- having read the novel more than once and never finding it as moving as it was intended to be.
The timer sounded off and her heart caught in her throat. It always did, even though she was the one that set it. She knew it was going to hiss eventually, and her hands moved before her mind could catch up. She peered over the edge of the basin at the photo that developed fully.
Chloe Beale beamed charismatically, her arm around Kaylee Eli, brow glistening with sweat. The logo of the cowboy shining under the lights. Beca was a damn good shot, but Chloe was an even better model. She stared right into the lens like she actually saw Beca- she noticed and posed and smiled with the same type of vigor as always.
The second warning bell sounded off and Beca fished the photo from the solution with her tongs. She shook it once, then twice, before clipping it on the line. She shouldered her bag and then emerged into the hallway, breathing in to clear out the sharp acidic scent from her lungs.
She nearly collided with a warm body, also trying their hardest to get through the hallways and into homeroom in time for the third and final bell to sound. Her sneakers squeaked against the floor, and her shoulder did make contact with something soft, and hot, and she stumbled with an apology before even realizing who it was.
Posters, and buttons scattered across the floor with a deafening clatter, and a pile of books were soon to follow. They were obnoxiously red, white, and blue. And Beca was on her knees, very suddenly, scrambling to pile them into a stack that they had once been.
“I’m so sorry,” She said, her own backpack forgotten.
“Were you in a supply closet?”
Beca glanced up, meeting hard and ripe green. The girl in front of her was a mass of blonde hair and lip gloss. She shoved her bangs back and gave Beca an inquisitive look. The posters were stacked now, and the two raised to a standing position.
“No, I mean, yes.” Beca frowned “It’s not a supply closet anymore, though. It’s a dark room. For photography.”
The girl studied her. She looked vaguely familiar. Those posters did too- Aubrey Posen for Student President. She realized she was still gripping them, reading them. She flushed and handed them over.
“I’m afraid I’ve made you miss the final bell.” She said.
“Don’t worry about it. Have a fantastic day.” Beca replied, even if she didn’t’ mean it. She grabbed her bag from the floor and maneuvered her way around the girl and walked off towards her first class- one that she wouldn't be paying much attention to.
Aubrey glared down at her posters. The word Fantastic was outlined in blue and slanted in a way that screamed desperately. She swallowed back the suddenly queasy feeling in her stomach and pulled her shoulders back. It didn’t’ matter if the candy-cane stripes and the blue lettering were tacky. It would win her the vote.
She felt disheveled, the pink late slip in her pocket burned like dry ice. She hated breaking the rules, and even this, even having the permission to skip the first half of the morning to work on her campaign, made her feel like some kind of common criminal.
Aubrey walked all the way to the gym.
She was meant to set up the ballot tables for the three lunch periods. She hadn’t thought that many people would skip out on the greasy scent of fried chicken and the brothy greens that were slopped next to them to vote for student council. Not many people cared about the election, and sometimes Aubrey questioned her own dedication to the cause of no cause at all.
The gym always smelled thickly of sweat and floor wax. It’s bright lights seemed to be the only thing in the school that ran on an automatic timer. The last moments of morning cheer practice had just concluded, and Aubrey waited dutifully by the double doors for the girls to clear out.
Most of them- she knew cordially. She was nod at them and say hello, and even give them a button to strap to their bags. So they smiled kindly as they exited past her, and wished her luck on today's vote. She figured she needed it.
“Are you nervous?”
“Huh?” Aubrey had started to study the sound system in the corner, but her focus was suddenly on the one remaining cheerleader in the gym. Her voice echoed, and her smile radiated. “Oh, uh, no my opposing candidate is a gerbil so.”
“he’s got a solid campaign.” She replied, walking across the seal in the center of the floor. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re going to do great. You’ve got my vote.”
Aubrey hadn’t been this close to Chloe Beale. Not in school- they usually avoided one another after Bumper’s Halloween party, two semesters ago. She didn’t remember, much- the fowl taste of beer, the flashing lights, a kid in a skeleton mask, and Chloe Beale’s lips on hers. Cherry, and tart with alcohol.
Her cheeks reddened at the thought, all-encompassing. “Right, I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to tell me that.”
“Oh?”
Chloe took a few steps backward before turning completely and walking towards the double doors. Aubrey struggled to avert her eyes, knew that she had to, but couldn’t find a way to do it. Chloe could feel them on her- swinging her hips intentionally.
She found herself letting out a trembled breath once she exited into the hallway. Her arms were burning, and so were her cheeks. Aubrey M. Posen had always been intimidating; in her fancy blazers and thick reading glasses. Her lips tingled, and she pressed two fingers against them to quell the sensation. The girl probably didn't even remember her on Halloween night, that stupid skeleton kid, drenched in fake blood, and the flashing lights that spurred her drunken stupor.
Chloe pressed her back against the painted brick wall and let the coolness drip through her sweaty t-shirt. She hadn’t slept well the night before, and practice before the day had even begun made her bones ache and her stomach turn.
She was going to be late for class, she knew that before they had even finished listening to coach Morris reminding them (for the third time that morning) about the pep rally on Friday. She peeled herself from the wall, blinking away the light from the trophy cases, before slinking into the locker room. It was empty now, the remaining scent of body spray and lotion clouding her lungs.
Chloe quickly changed and pulled her bag over her shoulder. She didn’t’ have a pink slip, not as she should, but figured that Mrs. Gordon would excuse her this once. She would slide into first-period Chemistry and try her best not to disturb the room more than she had to.
“Miss Beale,” She felt her heart seize, Mrs. Gordon’s eyes on her, lifting from the workbook that she was struggling to flip through. The rest of the room had taken to staring at her too, roaming eyes and giddy for a distraction, no matter how small. “Take the nearest seat.”
It would certainly be easier than working her way around the room, through the bags and the lab stools. She glanced sparingly at the empty seat closest to her. Beca Mitchell lifted both of her eyebrows and shifted the camera bag to the floor, allowing her to take a seat.
“Flip to page seventeen, The building of Electron’s and Neutrons”
Chloe reached for her bag, but before she could Beca shifted the textbook towards the middle of them, letting her scan her eyes over the annotated version of the paragraphs. She had never expected Beca Mitchell, resident outcast and photographer, to go through the nightly reading and actually absorb it.
She smelled thickly of cloves and chemicals. It was earthy but comforting. It almost relaxed Chloe from the morning, brought her down to a familiar buzz after sharing a conversation with Aubrey in the gym. She blinked through her lack of focus and tried to concentrate on something other than how close the alt girl was, and how their knees almost met under the lab table.
Beca reached up and turned the page, Chloe realized she hadn’t read a single line.
#Beca Mitchell#Chloe Beale#Aubrey Posen#Pitch Perfect#Pitch Perfect Fanfiction#triple treble#Triple Treble Franfiction#Request
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An Interview with R. Wolf
((I will be uploading a small backlog of things over the next few days, since I forgot I used Tumblr for this actually.))
The spotlights at half strength. The distant dots of emergency signs, camera lights and half-illuminated crewmembers peering over thick tablets. The idle murrmurrings of technicians and engineers, insuring the interviewee was safe and secure. “Are you sure?” Questioned one, tapping the pleather so hard the steel frame pressed into it. “Last time was a fluke. Didn’t tell me they were gonna jump.” Confidently replied another. “Again. Are you sure?” “It’s reinforced steel with a few extra bars. The floor gives in before this will.” “That’s no better!” “Then don’t fuck with the aluminium endo next time.”
On the other end sat a balding man with an equally impressed and anxious crew. Despite the heroic efforts of the barber, his hair could not, in fact, be tamed into a suitably fashionable comb over. Unlike his victim, the questioner was talkative. His eyes did not glisten and shine, stare forward or anything. They were animated, vivid, his frown growing at every answer he got.
“So much fanfare for a damn robot!” He insisted in a voice that caused the camera crew to double check the airtime delay.
“Remember you can’t call her that on air.” Said the man holding a clipboard, before returning to repeating each question and topic. It was like a mantra, becoming second nature to the interviewer. There is no room for error in the world of professional teeth pulling, even if the subject is more talkative in this context.
His hairdresser nervously gestured at a gopher, demanding a bottle of matte paint to help remove the excessive shine of his increasingly sweaty and greasy scalp. The beaming light was a gift on any tropical isle, but in a confined studio it does nothing but force excessive dehydration.
“I’ll call whoever I want whatever I want on my show! I’m not making exceptions for a damn robot!”
“Footage is for a promo trailer, sir, remember the legal boundaries.” The snazzy, suited man looked more suited for a live funeral than being anywhere near the highlights. He kept leafing through papers. Some printed documents, others obvious notes written by hand. As with the other two, he insisted that his reminders were most important. “Their legal team isn’t as kind as the court of public discourse, sir.” Was the glue between his statements.
“Airing in t minus five, everyone, get ready.” The producer gestured at the air, unaware the majority of the staff was too fixated on perfecting the picturesque stars. Even his cries were muted by the flurry of information clouding the stars.
“Why me! Why do I have to see it again after she broke my goddamn couch! I was going to sell that season one original for millions!”
“No swearing during the key topics, sir, I’ve marked them in bold, or we’re in breach of contract.” “The engineers assured me the new chair can hold a truck, and the live demo put me at ease.” “Please sit still… nevermind. Can I get some more remover here!” “Remember, it’s Roxanne, Roxy, not Miss Wolf, or robot, or whatever else. Branding!”
“I need air!” The crowd dispersed long enough for his flailing limbs to settle down. “Why couldn’t I at least get the damn bear!”
“Get it out of your system, sir, just like that. A good hour interview like this is nothing. Show them why you are money well spent.”
The metaphorical curtains were drawn as flashy animations cleared from the camera’s view. The dolly rolled in on a collision course, stopping only just far enough that the lens could catch his face in full view. Then it bounced off, seamlessly switching to a boom that showed off the waving machine on the other side. The producer fist pumped at the transition, and sweeped his hand in the air, allowing a start to the proceedings.
“Welcome, my eagle-eyed viewers, to Goodnight with James Holiday, your premiere celebrity news… with a smile.”
The producer’s elation became a migraine as James insisted his timing was better than what was agreed upon. His brain ached with the knowledge of commercial timings that required fine-tuned adjustments.
“Today’s guest is technically a second, but technically a first. Coming from Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizzaplex, it’s the blaze, the craze, and certainly not just a phase, it’s Roxanne Wolf!”
The large machine engaged with a wave. Not a simple wave, no, she gave a wink, a smile, a show of the teeth, a slight sweep of her form, as if the camera itself was the hottest hunk at the beach. Luckily, the camera was operated by a consummate professional.
“Last time we had the whole gang right here, and what a fun time festival that turned out to be. Don’t worry, the couch is recovering nicely and his wife received a nice flower arrangement. Miss Wolf, let’s jump right in, as you always do. A tour is quite the surprise given your, well, particulars.”
“For god’s sake, James, don’t call her that, and don’t hint at the metal.” The producer’s teeth could grind hematite to raw iron, and his stare could turn performers to stone.
While the audience could see no such thing, there was a brief, intense stare between the two. James looked down at her eyes as if they were the pits of hell, and took all his strength to resist spitting right in them. The robot, in turn, did not respond and maintained the agreed upon emotion of hype.
“Well, yea.” The wolf was animated, and her production crew relieved the chair wasn’t noisy as it supported her animated weight. She even swept her hair to dazzle the audience. “If anything it’s a necessary thing. Can you imagine all my fans who can’t make it to me! It’s my obligation as the best to ensure everyone knows I’m the best.”
James remembered the other time. At least there was a human representative he could make eye-contact with. The round eyes just unnerved him, and her attitude felt faker than his appearance after the crew did their best.
“I can’t imagine it’s an easy operation, moving so far abroad just for a few little performances.”
“I’ve no idea what you mean. Nothing’s too big for me to overcome if it means sharing me. And the rest can be there if they want to.”
“It’s a shame it means cancelling all the shows at the Mega Pizzaplex, ain’t it?”
“As if they’d be worth anything without the gang there. Some things you just can’t copy. And that includes the magic of the band. Besides, they’re redoing the stage and its layout, so by the time we’re back it’ll be better than ever.” The wolf leaned in on the camera, her arms against the armrest. Her wink definitely killed a man on the other side of the lens. “But the stores are open for those who want merch, and autographs are free at the goodbye reception.”
“And Miss Wolf, what made you all think of a tour. Surely your current venue is more than enough to handle things.” He couldn’t help the sneer drooling into his words. Subtle stuff, but his producer knew when he needed to apply small warnings before the dam breaks.
“As I said, I’d loathe to leave a fan behind. And ol’ Fredbear’s such a sap. All the Make-A-Wish arrangements and more.”
“I’ve heard quite a few applications for that, despite your recent arrival to the stage.” James leaned back into his comfortable leather chair, as close to the cooler’s fresh breeze as he could. His face held a smile, but how genuine it was fluctuated from moment to moment.
“Chica said a few hundred. And they’re not even all for me. Understandable we’d get them, we’re incredible. And even if we weren’t, to each their own. I’m sure you’ll all get to see the footage of kids swinging off of Monty like he’s a swingset.” The robot’s motions kept her gaze and attention between camera, interviewer and audience, as if she had attention and care for every side of the performance.
“Ah yes, a shame he couldn’t be here to demonstrate how well he took my weight.”
“No worries, he’s on right now on sister channel Nine-Eighty, having a delightful interview with your extreme sports commentator.”
“Any reason you couldn’t be there with him?’ He took a gulp, feeling the words she stole from his lips, and needing to push them down, lest repetition bore the audience.
“Busy busy, dear, it’s all so busy.” Her posture shifted from merely sitting stiffly in her seat to crossing her legs and playfully leaning forward. Her tongue even grazed her teeth. A mostly hidden gesture, away from the camera side. “Chica’s doing that silly health thing again, Monty’s got that new extreme crazy and well we all know where Freddy is tonight.”
“I mean, aren’t you a better fit for sports, given your background.” There was a pause. In the world of TV, seconds are years, and the producer’s gestures grew to a frenzy as time passed.
“As a race driver. As a race driver. James, the lines.” He hissed, feeling every new gray hair breaking through his scalp. The drops of sweat drowned him as they crawled like snails over his skin.
“After all, your racing career is far more suited for extreme sports than his particular penchants.”
“His new Monty’s Megamix Master’s Gator Golf is far more extreme than my little bouts on the track, and you’ll all know what I mean after its debut at our first stop on tour.”
The audience reactions were subdued so far, and the producer’s endless charades required constant crew intervention to avoid hitting buttons. It was the usual affair, and even the legal advisor prepared himself for the debriefing and all the classic repeats it contained.
“I still would’ve preferred his enthusiasm over your siren song.”
“He would’ve smashed your second couch, who knows how you’d feel about that.” The wolf’s chuckle was buried in the sudden “oo” of the crowd, surprised she’d go there. The producer tapped his earpiece and frowned as he tried to contact the visiting rep, wanting to know what that was all about. An idea he made clear by loudly hissing it as he went along.
“Well, since we’re on the topic of smashing couches, plenty of rumors about you and Chica.” His face twitched. His tongue felt like it just lapped up a fresh spill of motor oil, just saying such a ludacris thing. Kayfabe is one thing, this charade another.
Roxy didn’t take it too well. Neither did the producer, until his legal council politely informed him this was not part of the promo cut, so the script was looser. Even the rep telling him it was allowed didn’t cool his temper.
Roxy, however, started to properly frown. An expression that wasn’t loose seduction or crowd appeal. James felt a brief worry, as one might if they were to taunt an oncoming wolf the weight of a car. He’s had worse, though, as the kayfabe of Terror the Terrible can attest.
“Geeze, ouch, meow, kitty.” She clawed playfully at the air. “I know the lights are hot, but cool down. At least I know how to keep a lady around.” The crowd was about to give another remark, but she interrupted. “After all, the band’s been together longer than your… third marriage?”
James had been shocked on camera. This time, however, the sweat that beaded on his forehead was cold and chilling, and the thick lump he had to swallow felt almost existential. “How would you know anything about that!”
“Looking up a rumor online is easy.” She remarked, leaning her head back with a wink, all calculated so her wild hair landed just right. “Surely you've prepared for interviews before.”
“Puppets like you shouldn’t act out of line.” He knew his lapel microphone picked it up, despite his whispering tone.
“Well, your puppeteer is right over there next to the camera man, so if you want to have a philosophical debate you can bring him onstage so I can talk to the real person directly.”
James composed himself as best he could, clearing his throat silently before sitting upright. “At least I’m not replaceable, like every part in your body.”
“Nah, if they want to keep you they’ll make a cute moving picture of you. At least they won’t have to spray paint your hair on when it’s all digital. Or better yet, they could make a robot out of you! Your contract probably covers that!”
“James, keep it up, the social media response is killing it.” The producer looked up at his tormented puppet and gave him a small wink. Clearly oblivious to the plight of the brave warrior’s crusade.
“Not that you’d get any of it. By the time I’m on my way out you’ll already be out of minutes of fame! So you can look up all about my graceful retirement. Don’t dogs age faster than humans anyway?” The interviewer snarked, content with its delivery.
“Perfect never tarnishes~” The performer threw a killer pose at the camera, which prompted the producer to nudge the next topic.
“Drop it, James, that’s a perfect cut. Next topic, remember, back in promo clip turf, keep it in line.”
When the segment was over, James dragged himself to the refreshment table. Roxy moved in the corner of his eye, eventually getting berated. Although, with her hand in her hip, her pose relaxed and her face neutral, it was clear it was more to get it off the humans’ chests than to have any real result.
He poured himself a cold drink, his lips parched and his tongue dry. No spotlight can match the dehydration of feeling icy cold bullets of sweat flee one’s flesh. Despite the lower pitch of Roxy’s fire, the rest of the show made him feel an existential uncertainty that ruined his appetite. Even though he was thirsty, every drink of water felt like a ball of lead, aching his chest.
The human looked over his hands, and at himself in the reflection cast by the overgrown bowl of bite size snacks. He saw the producer, now lit well enough to be more than a shadowy master of presentation.
“Amazing, James. Rough start, but we pulled through. The engineers are glad there’s no floor to fix, and they got the clips they needed. You can take that bonus and buy your wife a nice fat present for Christmas.”
James blinked. A long, methodical blink. Timed, planned. He turned to his producer and nodded. “I am the best, after all. King of the industry. Was that true, about the CGI crap?”
“Depends. This isn’t a serialized show, James, nor some movie franchise. Your charisma is what makes the stage. Your timing and humor, nothing a CGI department can copy. Anyway, your little draw means the commercial block is a pinch longer, so have a sit down for the next segment.”
“The future of entertainment.”
“It’s one hell of a tagline, and I gotta say, they fool me sometimes. But James, it’s a fad. It’s always a fad. If it wasn’t, there’d be some CGI clown in that chair, instead of you. People fawn over her for a few days, and then it’s done. Leave the big ideas to me.”
“Yea yea, just keep the lawyer off my ass. I’m sure he’d bite a big chunk off at that shewolf comment.”
“Live editing, James. We can fix your little slip of the tongues with a crisp delay and a swift hand. Otherwise I’d have five heart attacks already.”
The human looked at Roxanne, who gave a little high-five to some kids who seemed to have entered just recently. His mind twisted, but everything was perfectly the same as if the wolf was a person. Its head began to hurt.
“Disgusting people who think a robot’s anything like that.”
“I recommend you avoid the internet, James. Even the, ahum, normies, are taking a shine to her. Aesthetically, she’s quite appealing. I can’t complain. My daughter likes the representation. But like you said, it’s a fad. Toughen up, fads bring copycats, and one of them might afford a visit.”
“Thanks for the heads up.”
“Take a break, James. I need you on full blast for the audience segment.” The producer saw prey slip by. That jackass. He immediately peeled off the shoulder hug and stormed on after a grip operator. “You idiot, fisheye, we were using fisheye!”
The presenter’s gaze fell upon the robot. Another had entered. The two girls exchanged a high-five, a handshake, and a heart-felt hug. Then they turned to the small crowd of kids around them, and before too long it seemed like a whole party had started.
The puppet felt limp and cold. Its puppeteer was gone, the stage unwatched.
It is easy to envy the things you’ve never had.
-
In fact.
-
What did he have to begin with?
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Bark at the Moon, Chapter 2: Reconnections, Recollections
<Previous / Next>
Or read on my Ao3>
Rating, Setting: Gen, Pre-canon
Chapter Warnings: None
Chapter Summary: Sans is at a loss for what to do. He's lucky his brother isn't the only one who looks out for him, and that he's not the only one looking out for Papyrus... But they both have a lot of work ahead of them.
It had been two weeks. Two long, empty, lonely weeks. Sans hadn’t given up on his brother, per se, but he had given up on looking for him. A check on the numbers revealed nothing out of the ordinary; as far as he could tell, Papyrus was definitely still alive, and there was nothing funky with the timeline. More mundane sources of information continued to come up dry, and the few times Sans had gone out, there was a subtle unease in town. If only Papyrus knew his neighbors missed him... not to mention his own brother. It was like he'd vanished into thin air, and Sans knew that was one thing his brother couldn't do. So he was just... gone.
Sans was starting to feel he'd messed up somehow. He knew he was far from being a perfect or even a really good brother, but he didn’t think he’d done anything to make Papyrus feel running away was necessary…. No, Papyrus would have aired his grievances long before that, he was sure.... But then again, would he? It's not like Sans ever did anything about all the things he nagged him for. Maybe after feeling unheard for so long, he'd left. A cruel voice in his mind liked to whisper as much and worse, and without Papyrus to motivate him, he wasn't doing much to combat it.
He rolled over on the couch and ignored the empty chip bag that crinkled under him, the remains of lunch. Going to Grillby’s had become too taxing sometime last week, and most other foods were similarly inconvenient if they sounded good at all. He wanted nothing more than for Papyrus to burst in and scold him for being so lazy, but dreams of exactly that and the knowledge none of this mattered anyway had spoiled his hopes. He’d just wait, like he always did. He heaved a sigh, and was letting his eyelids drift down when a knock on his door startled him.
He waited, and it came again--much harder.
“Sans?” Undyne called, her voice only slightly muffled by the door. “Sans, you better be in there. I'm gonna bust this down if you don't answer now!”
Oh boy. He hauled himself up, brushed off the worst of the crumbs, and answered the door. Undyne grimaced as she studied him.
“Oh thank god, but dude, you look awful. I was here to see if you were okay, but, I think I just got my answer. C’mon, you’re not staying inside anymore.”
“eh, i’m not really feeling up to going out,” Sans mumbled, wondering if he looked as tired as he felt. “was kinda hoping you had info on my bro, to be honest, but…”
“Sans, no one’s seen you in three weeks,” Undyne stated.
Sans looked up at her with brows furrowed, questioning.
“i was just at grillby’s like… five days ago,” he protested, but Undyne shook her head.
“Grillby himself called me in on a wellness check. It’s been three. Weeks. Two since Papyrus… disappeared. I… guess you lost track of time, huh?”
Sans wilted--he was missing a whole week. “… it really flies when you’re having fun. sorry you went through all this trouble. tell grillby…. i dunno. tell him i’m ok, i guess.”
“You’re not okay,” Undyne growled, snatching the shoulder of his hoodie. “What if Papyrus came home to find you like this? Or—or worse!? Come on! We’re getting you cleaned up, making you eat some real food, and then we’re going out to look for Papyrus because if this keeps going we’ll lose BOTH of you.”
Sans didn’t have it in him to protest. She... she was right. He let her strongarm him into his own house and into the shower—though she gave him his privacy once she’d turned the water on, and the warmth felt so nice he considered staying in for a few days. But that would mean missing out on food he probably wouldn't be paying for, and he was actually hungry now. He washed up and put on the change of clothes Undyne had left him, and when he did finally emerge he found she’d thrown most of the trash away and there was an open spot on the couch. It was fated to remain empty though as she hooked her arm around his shoulders and marched him out the door.
Grillby’s exploded in shock when the two walked in, and they were swarmed by the regulars trying to greet them. Undyne howled, ordering everyone to give Sans some space, and they were finally able to make their way to the bar. If Sans was honest, part of him didn’t really want to be here, but more of him could admit he’d missed it. His friends were quick to fill him in on the latest gossip and jokes, and he realized they were doing for him what he'd done for them so many times before. They were trying to cheer him up.
After enjoying good company and a meal Grillby had assured him was on the house, at Undyne's urging they headed out to begin the search anew. Sans dreaded reaching the tile puzzle now, knowing it was the last place with any evidence of his brother and yet be such a glaring dead end. He sighed, and nudged some of the freshly accumulated snow with his slipper as Undyne talked on her phone behind him.
“Wait a minute, I’ll ask. Hey Sans,” she spoke, tapping his shoulder. “You remember what day it was that all this started?”
“yeah. it was… tuesday, exactly two—well, three weeks ago,” he answered.
“Thanks! Okay, um… as far as I know, he starts at 6 AM, sharp. Yeah. It would’ve taken him a little while to… okay, gotcha. I’ll hang on.”
There was a long pause. Sans wondered if he really could fall asleep standing up. Odds were looking pretty good. He let his eyelids slip down...
“So… you do see something? Uh-huh… that’s too bad about the lens, but you can confirm there was movement here during our timeframe? Awesome. Well, not awesome, but, you know. Thanks Alphys, you’re the best. Talk to you later.”
“well?”
“Dr. Alphys set up these cameras all over to watch for humans, and as it happens, they caught Papyrus walking over here, but not getting any farther than that. Thanks to that snowstorm, this area’s camera got iced over--of course--but she could see enough to make out… something,” Undyne explained. “Hold on, she’s gonna text me a couple pictures.”
There was a ping, and she studied the images with a frown before holding it out for Sans.
“I dunno. I definitely see something, but, can you make any sense of this?”
Sans took her phone and studied the blurry pictures. He could barely make out the trees in the background, but at least the division between them and the snow-covered ground was clear enough. There wasn’t anything that looked particularly like his brother, but there was a whitish arch of something and a smudge of orange that seemed to dart across the frame. It was a better hint than anything they’d had before, but what was it?
Sans squinted at the pictures—wait, was the arch a spine? And his tired mind dredged up memories he hadn't known he had. A lab. A scientist. Two living weapons, the pinnacle of magical engineering--and an accident that erased nearly all evidence it had ever happened. A hand on his shoulder steadied him, and he looked up to see Undyne giving him a worried look. He handed her phone back wordlessly and shoved his hands into his pockets, magic racing.
“Are you okay? You got kinda… unsteady there for a moment.”
“’m fine,” he answered, well aware his eye lights had blinked out.
“Sans, dude, you’re freaking me out,” Undyne called as he walked away, inspecting the edges of the clearing and peering into the trees.
“can i ask you a favor?”
“Uh… yeah?”
“go pick up the least greasy thing from grillby’s you can and wait here. i know what happened to papyrus,” Sans stated, staring into the depths of the forest. The indents were distant and faint from layers of fresh snowfall, but he could see the pattern now and wondered how he hadn’t noticed them before. No points for him, that was sure.
“Uh, sure thing. See you… both? Soon,” Undyne said, and in a blink he was gone.
The forests outside Snowdin were thick and ancient, and most monsters avoided their depths. It was largely the threat of frostbite and getting lost that kept them away, but save for a few exceptions monsters generally preferred company and civilization to untamed forest anyway. If this was where he’d run, it made sense Papyrus hadn’t been found by anyone.
Sans followed his brother’s tracks—long, bounding marks that only increased in distance from one another as he’d picked up speed—and called his name, hoping the trees and snow wouldn’t simply swallow his muted voice altogether. It got darker, and quieter, and there was a growing sense he was trespassing. If he didn’t have his shortcuts Sans might’ve been afraid of losing his way, but it didn’t matter. Shortcuts or not, he would have kept searching now that he had a lead. Considering what the last four weeks had done to him, who knew what state Papyrus would be in.
He eventually found himself in a wide clearing where fresh snow and gusting winds had swept the tracks clean, and sighed. His trail had gone cold again, and he gave a halfhearted laugh at the pun. Papyrus would have hated it…. What he wouldn’t give to hear his exasperated groans again. He called his brother’s name, and listened to it echo faintly until silence laid heavily over him once more. That was the worst of all—the utter silence of an empty world.
Wood cracked behind him, and Sans whirled, magic flaring in his left socket. A pair of orange rings that almost matched met his gaze, and for a moment it was all he saw before he made out the rest of the entity’s face and body from the surrounding gloom. His magic faded, and he sank to the ground. He wasn’t sure how much time passed as they simply stared at one another, but it had to have been at least five minutes before he found his voice and finally addressed the being watching him.
“papyrus?”
A raspy whine answered, and Sans winced. It was his brother’s voice, but weaker, and wordless. Papyrus had always been so proud to learn new words, but now he wouldn’t say even one. This was bad.
“c’mere bro, let’s get you home, huh?”
Papyrus stared for a while, and Sans tried not to listen to the rising panic in his soul. He'd come when he'd called, he had to remember, had to recognize him, right? Why was he still standing so far away...?
"... bro?"
Finally, Papyrus shook himself out, inhaled, then staunchly shook his head with a huff. He hesitated, but did walk over, head held low as he slowly approached. He paused again, only a few feet away and studying him warily—then sat and curled around himself. Sans eyed him sadly, not liking how faint his eye lights were or that he didn’t want to come home. He thought for a while, then leaned back on his hands with a sigh.
“look… i get it. you don’t want to show off your cool bod, it’d be too awesome for anyone to handle and you can’t bear to do that to someone.”
Something that sounded loosely like “nyeh heh heh” chuffed from Papyrus’ jaws.
“but… it’s been three weeks, bro, goin' on a month. everyone wants to know where you went. uh… i’ve been… even lazier than usual without you. i’ll warn ya now, you’re gonna have some major vacuuming to do.”
An exasperated groan rose from his brother.
“i know, i know. but… bro… you can’t be okay with living like an animal out here. I’M not okay with you living like an animal out here. c'mon, undyne’s waiting for us with food, somethin’ hot from grillby’s, and i specifically asked her to get the least greasy thing she could order 'cause i know how you feel about it. there’s a whole month of mtt shows to catch up on. there’s… bedtime stories, and i can’t afford to slack on those, heh…”
Papyrus gave a shuddering sigh. Sans watched as he stretched out his long forelimbs and turned his palms up, contemplating the digits tipped with slender, deadly claws. Then, he buried his face in the snow and laid his hands across his skull, a picture of despair.
“bro, papyrus, it’s ok. you’re smart, you’ll figure out how to change back,” Sans comforted, reaching out to pat his brother’s head. "you're not gonna let something like this get you down, are ya? c'mon. let's go home.”
Papyrus finally raised his head. He looked so tired as he fixed him with a weary look, and Sans’ soul ached. He could only begin to imagine how his brother had felt out here, by himself in a body that must have stirred up old memories—too many of which were unpleasant. But the light shone in Papyrus’ sockets just a little brighter, and he stood up swiftly, head held high.
And then he fainted.
Sans did his best to appear at his side to catch him, but even if skeletons weren’t heavy monsters Sans was decidedly not in shape and the impact made him stumble. He took a moment to regain his footing, but with his brother limp but in his grasp at last, he removed them from that part of reality and placed them back in the tile puzzle room. Undyne jumped at their sudden appearance and would have probably summoned a spear or two if she weren't already holding a takeout bag. Her eye darted over them, and Sans might’ve laughed at her dumbfounded expression if his brother hadn’t still been unconscious.
“What. The HELL. IS THAT?!” she finally shouted as he laid Papyrus down gently, and he bristled at her harsh words.
“excuse you. THAT happens to be my brother.”
Undyne gestured wildly before finding words to express herself again. “BUT? HOW?? WHAT??!”
Papyrus finally moved, his eyes blinking open, though it took a moment for his irises to reignite. Sans ignored Undyne’s flailing and snatched the takeout from her, sitting near his brother’s head and digging around for whatever awaited in the small paper bag. A few days without food wouldn’t affect a monster’s health much, and certainly not someone with high stats like Papyrus, but nearly a month was another story and he was more than a little worried. He withdrew what turned out to be a toasted turkey club sandwich, mentally thanked both Grillby and Undyne for listening, and helped his brother sit up to finally eat something. It wouldn’t be enough to bring Papyrus’ energy back all the way, but he’d be better off than where he was now by a long shot.
The sandwich was snapped up upon being offered, and after a moment Papyrus felt strong enough to stand on his own. Undyne had settled into just staring at them both skeptically, jaw slack and hands clenching and unclenching as if to summon a spear at any moment. Sans crumpled up the bag and stuck it in his pocket, and looked from his brother to the guard captain with amusement. Papyrus looked nervous—or maybe embarrassed, and his first attempt to speak came out as a gusty hiss. But he stepped back, took a moment, and coughed into his fist to clear his throat.
“Hello, Undyne.”
If Undyne had been dumbfounded before, she was well and truly stunned now. She sank to her knees staring, and Sans couldn’t help but laugh at her. A scream started to croak from her, and he decided it’d be best they all headed back to their house before her yelling attracted attention from the other patrols. He beckoned his brother over, and took Undyne’s wrist as he laid a hand on Papyrus’ shoulder, and in an instant they were in the living room... not a moment too soon.
Undyne screeched at the top of her lungs, reaching a truly impressive volume even Papyrus winced at. Her next instinct was apparently to fight, lunging for her friend as if to throw him over her head. Sans darted out of the way as she sped past, and a soft ping sounded before she was flung sideways into the couch. Papyrus gave his brother a disapproving look, but he gave it right back.
“no fighting in my house,” he said, wagging a teasing finger. “sorry to burst your bubble, undyne, but until papyrus is back at full strength i’m not letting you beat him up.”
“I’M NOT GONNA BEAT HIM UP! I’M JUST GONNA PUNCH HIM FOR BEING DUMB!!!” Undyne roared, leaping from the couch and promptly hauled flat on her face. She growled and pushed herself up, only to fly to the ceiling and stick flat on her back. “Will you QUIT with the BLUE MAGIC?!”
“not unless you stop trying to hit my bro,” Sans countered, and Papyrus laid a hand across his eyes.
“Sans, please put Undyne, who need I remind you is our boss, back on the ground?" he asked, voice still shaky from disuse. "I am quite capable of handling her rigorous expressions of affection, thank you.”
Sans looked over to him and sighed. “you’re right as always bro. i just… i know you’re tough and all, but you’re also not at 100 percent and undyne is pretty intense.”
“YOU BET I AM!”
“plus, i haven’t seen you in basically forever after you disappeared, so forgive me for bein’ a little protective.”
Undyne drifted down at last, and though she glared at Sans she didn’t seem intent on continuing her charge when she landed. Instead, she sat decisively on the couch and folded her arms, fixing them each with a sharp look. “Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen. BOTH of you are going to explain what the HECK is going on with Papyrus, and THEN! We’re getting him something else to eat so we don’t have to treat him like a delicate flower.”
“Flowers are actually quite tough!” Papyrus offered, but shrank under a skeptical glare.
“SO! Who wants to start telling me why or how Papyrus ended up as a… dog-dragon-horse thing?”
The brothers exchanged looks.
“It’s just a skeleton thing, you wouldn’t understand,” Papyrus dismissed. “Most of the time I am the wonderful tall fellow you are familiar with, but if I so wish, I can become… this! It’s a thing.”
“yup, it’s true,” Sans confirmed, but Undyne didn’t look convinced.
“So, you could transform into this awesome creature this whole time… and you never told me?!”
“W-well, you see, I never had reason to bring it up! My usual good looks are more than enough as well as more practical for my day-to-day life, so, I much prefer them. Not to mention I… actually completely forgot how to change. Such things happen even to someone as great as me, tragically…” Papyrus explained, his claws fidgeting, "but it's fine! This is totally a normal thing."
Undyne considered his words and finally relaxed. “Huh. Well, do you… remember how to change back?”
“do you think he would have run away if he did?” Sans shot, and she deflated.
“Right. But, if it’s just something you can do, why’d you hide it? There’s all sorts of monsters out there, no one would even blink at you.”
Papyrus grunted nervously. “Consider that this form is considerably more intimidating, and I, already a sight to behold… Not to mention! I want to be known based on my merits--my wit, my battle prowess, my shockingly handsome bones! Not a silly transformation gimmick that wears off within an hour of playing with it.”
Undyne laughed, a welcome sound after her furious screams. “I guess that’s fair. Wait, if this is a skeleton thing… does this mean Sans can do it too?!”
“nope. even if i could... i'm way too lazy for any shapeshifting shenanigans,” Sans answered lightly. “my bro has the ‘cool werewolf’ gig all to himself.”
“I am not a werewolf!!!” Papyrus cried, stomping his feet as the others chuckled. "I am still, clearly, a skeleton!"
“Alright, well, I guess that’s good enough for me. You dudes need anything, let me know, but now that this is resolved I have work to get back to. Oh yeah… Papyrus, consider figuring out how to change back your new assignment. If you really don’t want to go out looking like that, I figure it’s pretty much top priority. And Sans… you get half watch shifts this week, since you’ll probably have to help Papyrus out with… a lot. Sound good?”
“you know i won’t complain about working less,” Sans teased, and she rolled her eye.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you punks later, okay? Call me if you need anything--it's... really good to have you back, Papyrus.”
Papyrus looked like he didn't know what to say.
She finally left, closing the door behind her. Sans heaved a sigh, and debated whether to make the effort to move to the couch or just sit on the floor. He decided the floor was good enough. Papyrus made a face but sat too, drawing his own deep sigh.
“Well, what are we going to do, brother?”
“i dunno, bro. you need something else to eat, for one. but beyond that… i dunno. mostly… i’m just glad you’re back too.”
“If I am honest, it is good to be back. You weren’t kidding about the vacuuming though, ugh. Did you do anything while I was gone?”
“… i slept.”
Papyrus groaned. “You would. In any case… I am still rather famished. As you can guess, the forest... didn't exactly have grocery stores. Pardon me if I don’t cook fresh spaghetti for us, I’m sure you’ve missed it terribly.”
“more than i thought i could,” Sans laughed, and it was true. It had never been the flavor that was enjoyable about Papyrus’ cooking.
Sans proposed various techniques for Papyrus to try changing back over dinner, many of which he’d already thought of and attempted. He continued regardless, suggesting progressively ridiculous remedies until Papyrus laughed at him. They curled up on the couch together to watch TV, and Sans was happy to see his brother’s eyes drift closed—Papyrus never seemed to sleep, even when he really needed it.
No doubt he really needed it now.
The next day saw about as much progress, and Papyrus’ happiness fade. Sans tried to ignore the worry growing inside him, but it was clear that the time alone with no success had done a number on Papyrus’ self-confidence. Toss in whatever memories he might’ve relived and no wonder he was having doubts.
Sans watched him pace the living room floor, occasionally sweeping up stray bits of trash he hadn’t noticed before. He was antsy, and judging by the way his tail lashed he was increasingly agitated by the situation. The fact he had to stay inside probably wasn’t helping either.
“you wanna go let off some steam somewhere?” Sans suggested before his brother could start another transit across the carpet, and he startled out of his thoughts.
“Hm? Oh, I’m fine! I just need to think!” he replied, standing stiffly. “The Great Papyrus will not be bested yet!”
“no way, but, i was just thinking you might like to get out before you wear a rut in the floor,” Sans continued, and Papyrus glanced at the carpet. There were a few places where his claws had snagged, and they all aligned perfectly with where he’d been pacing.
“Ah. I see your point. Where could we go? I don’t want anyone to see…”
“i was thinking the woods, middle of nowhere. kinda where you ran away to, but not for another three weeks, heh.”
“That sounds suitable. Alright! We do have a nice house but I can admit it is rather cramped for someone of my stature at this time, so! Take us away, brother!”
Sans obliged, and in an instant they stood in the clearing where they’d reunited only yesterday. Papyrus inhaled deeply and took off running, and Sans happily watched him tear across the field—getting some exercise was just what an active guy like his younger brother needed, and it wasn’t fair to make him stay indoors all the time. He leapt, and rolled, and sprinted through the snow, cackling all the while as he exerted himself. Sans waved to get his attention, then summoned a maze of bones for him to dodge and weave around. Papyrus raced through it flawlessly, and Sans couldn’t help but swell with pride. His brother was so cool.
As he watched, he could almost remember what it was like too.
Something juddered out of sync in his soul, and he froze. Oh no, nope, he was not doing this now or ever again. He shut his eyes and thought about how nice it was to be what he was now, tried to focus on how his soul had felt before something else had awakened within it, and was relieved to feel that foreign sensation die away. The Underground didn’t need two of them running around, and Papyrus had always had an easier time switching forms than he did—even when they both remembered how it all worked. Rubbing the side of his skull, he sat in the snow, and when the magic maze dissipated Papyrus came over to see what was wrong.
“Sans? Are you alright?”
“yep, fine. all those bones wore me out.”
Papyrus made a face. “You really do need to work out more! That was hardly anything compared to what you used to do.”
“yeah, well, that was before i discovered being lazy is the best thing in the world.”
Papyrus groaned. “If I need exercise you do too! Come on, lazybones!”
He was hauled up with a clawed hand and nudged in the back by a toothy snout, and gave an exaggerated groan as he stood. “these legs were not made for running, i’ll have you know.”
“Oh, come on Sans, I know you can do it! Chase me!”
Papyrus dashed off once more, and Sans took a few steps before simply cutting into his brother’s path. The indignant howl he got in return was worth being shoved into the snow, and in retaliation he used a touch of blue magic to bowl his brother over. Papyrus kicked, sending a shower of slush over him, and for a moment they just laughed at one another.
“I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything else from you,” Papyrus finally said, pushing from the snow. “You have grown to enjoy a much slower pace ever since we… since whatever happened."
“yup, i’m gonna enjoy every moment i get. though, i will say… without you around to push me, i do get… too lazy,” Sans admitted, then sighed. “to be honest bro... it woulda been fine if you’d given me a sign you were okay, a note, anything, but not knowing if you were ever gonna come back... or why you left... well, it was rough. so, uh, i guess what i’m saying is… don’t do that again or i’ll have to ground you.”
Papyrus studied him, then hung his head. “I’m sorry Sans, I know I should have, but… I was. Uncertain.”
It was Sans’ turn to prop himself up and look quizzically at his brother. “about what?”
Papyrus fidgeted under his gaze, clearly considering his words before he continued. “How much do you remember of what happened to us?"
Sans furrowed a brow. "more than i'd like, but less than i should."
“S-so, w-well, when this, happened, I—I didn’t want you to see. I didn’t want anyone to see, but especially not you, because I remembered—I remembered a little of how bad we had it, and if you didn’t remember, I didn’t want to accidentally remind you,” Papyrus explained, digging his claws into the ground. “And then you came and found me, and didn’t care that I was what I am, and I felt like a fool for thinking it was better I had left without a word. I’m sorry, brother.”
Sans leaned back with a soft, bittersweet chuckle. “and here i always kept the fact i remembered anything a secret ‘cause i didn’t want you to worry either. we’re hilarious, a real comedy of errors.”
“Indeed.”
“anyway. the important thing is figuring out how you can change back. i don’t remember a thing about that myself, and obviously neither do you. seems like a thing you just gotta feel.”
“Agreed,” Papyrus huffed. “It used to be so easy! How did we do that? As effortless as the bones we conjure, as natural as breathing! It’s so… so frustrating Sans. I… I don’t want to be this. It’s so easy to just... let my thoughts slip away. And I remember that... they wanted us to lose them, wanted us to... be less of us. And after all I've worked for, I refuse to go back to that!”
"you got this, bro. despite everything that's happened, it's still you."
“I know… It’s hard though. But! Hard things have never discouraged me before! We just have to keep trying no matter how long it takes!”
“you got it,” Sans said, his mood lifting at his brother’s boundless optimism. “you ready to head back home then?”
“I think I’m going to take one more lap! You should try to as well, and no cheating!”
“if i did we’d be here for another hour. you go ahead, i’ll be right here.”
Sans watched him rise and make one last circuit around the clearing, then in a blink they were both back home. Papyrus shook snow from his talons and gave a contented sigh, then sat with a determined look on his face. He puffed out his chest, and Sans knew he was in for one of his brother’s monologues.
“Now that my restlessness has been cured, it! Is time! I can approach the issue of my transformation with a clear head! The simple fact remains that my memory of the technique has been obscured by forces strange and concerning, but! I was able to recall how to turn with the simple triggering of a distant memory of the instruction to do so, so! It stands to reason that a memory of the opposite instruction will have the same effect. Said memories may be distressing and difficult to pinpoint, but! The Great Papyrus has never been one to back down in the face of danger! Nyeheh!”
“nope. like i said bro, you were the bravest one there,” Sans affirmed, sifting through his own tenuous recall of their old lives. “i was never strong enough to do anything, and the... assistants, well... they never spoke up about animal cruelty either. says a lot about them, and none of it’s good.”
Papyrus looked at him sadly. "You know, Sans... I don't think they knew what we really were. With how he was, how could they? I think even he pretended not to sometimes..."
Sans huffed a short sigh. "yeah. think you might be right about that."
“… I wish it all could have been different.”
“me too.”
“But! It’s different now! We’re the determiners of our fates! And I say I will be this beast no longer!” Papyrus declared brightly, banishing the grim mood that had settled in momentarily. Standing proudly, he scrunched his eyes shut and concentrated—to no avail. He sighed, and let his legs slide out from under him until he lay spread-eagle on the carpet.
“i can’t believe i’m seeing my brother lay down on the floor with my own two eyes,” Sans teased, and Papyrus scrambled to rise.
“Nyeh! Do not think for an instant I was being anything remotely close to ‘lazy’ or ‘tired’!” Papyrus refuted, glaring at him with comically bugged eyes. “The effort of trying to overcome my natural inclination for this form simply took some recovering from!”
“so, you were tired,” Sans summarized, earning more disgruntled complaint from his brother. He’d missed this so much.
“Fine! Yes! I required a brief respite,” Papyrus conceded, sitting back on his haunches so he could fold his arms. “If I am honest I am quite tired of this form’s stubbornness! I know I must have been instructed to change many times, but I cannot recall how I managed such a simple task and it! Is! The! Worst! Thing!”
“wow, and that’s pretty bad, since that means it’s even worse than my jokes,” Sans commented, and his brother stamped his forefeet down.
“It is!”
“well, we better get to work then. undyne said this was your new assignment, i can’t believe how much you’ve slacked off on it already.”
“No! Nooooo!” Papyrus howled, clasping his head in his hands.
The banter continued as the brothers worked to recall what had once been a regular part of their lives. Some memories slowly filtered back, hazes of shadows and sharp objects resolving into people with needles and too-bright rooms full of instruments. Long nights that sometimes became days that became nights again, spent alone and shivering in an empty room. Hours of training for a task neither of them really understood, harsh tests of every aspect of their abilities imaginable, pushing them to the limits of their endurance. Fleeting moments of happiness together.
All encouraged and directed by a man whose words could seem kind, but masked a cruel curiosity and an unbending will. They were never meant to have souls or personalities. He was going to ensure his work continued despite those.
But for all these memories, there were still gaps. Black holes that would never divulge the information that had once been there--and considering the nature of what Sans did remember, he couldn't help but feel perhaps that was for the best. But if Papyrus' memory of how to shift back had been engulfed by one of these voids... then he might not ever remember, and have to figure it out all over again. On Sans’ part, he’d at least recalled why he didn’t know the method to change back, and it had nothing to do with a spotty memory.
“AT LEAST IN YOUR OTHER FORM YOU LOOK MORE LIKE A SUCCESS. NEVER TAKE THIS SHAPE AGAIN.”
The words had stung anew, a biting remark on a small, frail body that was useless to a lab that only made weapons. He ought to at least look the part, and wasn't allowed anything else. It was only the third time Sans had taken that smaller form in the lab; from then on, he'd slowly accepted his life as a beast. It was easier that way.
"I think perhaps we've had enough," Papyrus said in a low voice, shaking him out of a flat stare after recalling that particular memory. "Let's take our minds off things for a while!"
Sans was glad to get up and laze in front of the TV as Papyrus reheated leftovers for them both. MTT had something mindless on as usual, and it was just the thing for drowning out painful memories. Papyrus snorted when he noticed his brother had fallen asleep, and busied himself with cleaning up the dishes before rejoining him on the couch to doze himself. It had been a long day, but more were sure to follow. They needed all the rest they could get.
It wasn't going to come easy.
#undertale#undertalethingem writes#gaster blaster au#sans (undertale)#Undyne (undertale)#papyrus (undertale)#bark at the moon fic#in which papyrus is a cryptid XD#a little less angst this chapter but there's still a lot =u=;
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stay professional
college au where remus is a photographer and sirius is a very flirty model inspired by this art!!
read part 2 here!
***
Remus glanced down at his watch. Shit. He was going to be late. He looked back at the long line behind him. He was next up, and plus, coffee. I mean, if I get some for the model, I’ll probably be fine, he reasoned. Which reminded him, he had no idea what this guy looked like. Lily had just grinned at him when she suggested James’ friend. He was probably one of those greasy guys who never emerged from their mothers’ basements. Or he looked like a frequent visitor of Epstein’s island. He shuddered.
When it was finally his turn, he ordered a hot coffee with cream and sugar, and iced tea for the model. He figured you could never go wrong with iced tea. The minutes stretched into an eternity as he checked his watch anxiously. The barista finally called his name and he rushed out of the coffee shop and down the street to his apartment. Outside, the most gorgeous human being he’d ever seen checked his cellphone. Arms covered in tattoos, his face full of piercings, his fingers full of rings. He was attractive in a how-the-fuck-is-this-possible way, with a sharp jawline and clear, gray eyes. Brushing his long, black hair out of his face, he looked up at Remus. This was James’ friend? Hell, Lily could’ve mentioned something so he’d have time to compose himself.
“Hey, are you James’ friend?”
He gave a low laugh. “’James’ friend’. Yeah, that’s me. Nice to meet you.”
“Sorry I’m late. I, uh, brought you an iced tea from down the street.”
The model took the tea and nodded thanks. “Thanks.”
They stood there a moment, while Remus admired the way the light refracted in his eyes. He shook himself. “Christ. I’m supposed to open the door, aren’t I?” He laughed awkwardly, hoping the model hadn’t noticed him staring. Digging his keys out of his pocket, he let him in.
“Sorry, it’s a bit disastrous.”
The model looked around his apartment. “Homey. I like it.” Remus blushed in spite of himself. “Okay, so the set is in my bedroom. Out of the way of my roommate.” He quickly explained himself, turning his face so the other boy couldn’t see his face turning deep crimson.
“You live with Lily, right?”
“Yeah.”
He grinned. “Bit of a parallel, isn’t it? I live with James, you live with his girlfriend...” He trailed off, but Remus understood the implication. His eyes had a twinkle of... flirtation? Mischief? Both? Remus reminded himself that he was supposed to be professional. This was no time to be flirting with James’ mysterious, albeit insanely attractive, friend.
The model followed him down the short hall to Remus’ bedroom. He’d attempted to straighten it out, but the books still overflowed from the shelves in the corner, where his bed had been unceremoniously shoved to make room for the set. Photographs and movie posters covered the walls, as well as Lily’s art, which he had refused to let her throw out.
Remus pointed at his bed. “You can sit there while I sort myself out. Sorry it’s messy, I had to rearrange everything for that.” He gave a small chuckle.
The model waltzed over, admiring the things covering his walls. “So, Lily’s friend. Do you have a name?” Remus paused, setting the lens of his camera down.
“She didn’t tell you my name either, huh? Strange how she and James are dating and I don’t even know his roommates’ name.”
The model laughed again. “I’m Sirius.”
Sirius. Remus tested it out in his mind. He liked it. Sort of whimsy, just like him. “Remus.”
“Pretty name for a pretty boy. Nice to meet you, Remus.” Sirius stuck his hand out, eyes full of daring.
“Hey, you’re supposed to be the drop-dead gorgeous model.” Remus shook it and pretended make a disapproving face. The truth was, his heart was racing at the ethereal human being calling him pretty. “Do you mind if I put makeup on you?”
“Not at all. I’m a man who appreciates good eyeliner any day of the week.”
“Good.” Remus dug through his drawers until he found the makeup bag he kept for shoots. He sat on the bed opposite Sirius, close enough to smell the mango iced tea he’d brought him earlier. Sirius closed his eyes, allowing the other boy to brush his eyelids with pink and line his eyes. Remus could feel his heart beating so loud that he hoped Sirius was hard of hearing. After a few minutes, he stepped back to examine his work.
“All done.”
Sirius’ eyes fluttered open. “Thanks.”
Remus was about to say No, thank you for letting me do that, but he refrained. “Now, go stand over there.” He waved his hand at the wall set up with a red sheet and plants. Sirius complied and hopped off the bed. He dragged the lighting that he’d borrowed from his professor in front of him and studied the way it struck his face, tweaking the lights until he had the desired earthy look. Remus could not lie, he was absolutely breathtaking like that.
“How should I pose?”
Remus thought a moment. “However you want. Do what feels natural.”
Sirius had that twinkle in his eyes again. “Alright.” He sat down and spread his legs, bending one so it looked like someone lounging against a couch. Remus quietly sucked his breath in as Sirius unbuttoned the top several buttons of his shirt, slinging the open top over his shoulder. Beneath, even more tattoos splayed across his chest. Remus couldn’t help but wonder how it felt to run his hands across them, studying the lines with his fingers. Snap out of it. He scolded himself.
“Is this good?”
“Perfect.” So perfect, jesus. “Now I’m going to go for some wider shots before I move in for closeups.”
He adjusted the light and crouched down, holding the lens up to his eye. Sirius gave the best sultry-model look he’d ever seen into the camera. Remus took a few photos, and he couldn’t help but feel like those somber eyes were for him. Nonsense, he’s just modeling. Remus moved a little closer and zoomed in to get his face. If he didn’t do well on this assignment, he was going to officially lose it. Sirius’ olive complexion and gray eyes under that lighting... anybody would want to see that on a magazine cover.
After a few new poses and adjustments, Remus felt satisfied with the pictures he’d gotten. He stood up and set his camera down. “I think that does it.”
Sirius relaxed from where he had been standing, not bothering to re button his shirt. “Not very chatty, are you?”
Remus was taken aback. He’d been so caught up in trying not to say all of the stupid things that went through his mind at 100 miles an hour that he’d forgotten to say anything at all. Shit. Now he’d blown his chance with somebody he barely could have gotten in the first place. “I’m just... I just get nervous in front of people I find attractive.”
Sirius grinned cockily before Remus had a chance to regret what he said. “You find me attractive?”
Remus nodded, too surprised to do anything.
“Well, Mr. Photographer, the feeling is mutual.” He walked up to the other boy and put his hand on the side of his face, studying it. Remus could barely move, frozen in time by those gleaming gray eyes. He was very aware that Sirius’ chest was still exposed, and they were barely standing four inches apart. Sirius dropped his hand and took a slip of paper from his pocket before pressing it to Remus’ palm.
“Lily told me you were cute, so I came prepared.” He winked before turning and leaving his room. Remus stood there, stunned. His mind attempted in vain to sort what had just happened out, before he realized he should probably go out and thank him for modeling. He rushed out of the room and down the hall.
“Wait!”
Sirius looked up from the door handle. “Yes?”
“Thanks for that. For- for being my model, I mean.”
He smiled. “No need. I’d enjoy modeling a lot more if every photographer was as cute as you. You can thank me over dinner.” And with that, he turned the handle and left the apartment.
#wolfstar#wolfstar fic#WOLFSTAR FLUFF#wolfstar oneshot#Remus Lupin#remus x sirius#Sirius Black#the marauders#college au#lgtb#lgtbqia+#mlm fic#mlm
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Whump Prompt #445
Submitted by anon- thanks!
Hey! So, I have a whumpy little short story in my life, and I was wondering if you could give me some prompts or dialogue or something to help me take care of it? Basic situation is one character gets captured by the villain, and the teammates eventually lose hope of finding them, until they stumble across their missing friend, either being sold at a slave auction or being held as the villain's slave. Prompts? Dialogue? Something to help a desperate, brainblocked writer out??
“A? What are you doing its 3am.” B says, stumbling into the kitchen where A is sat at the table, frowning at their laptop - the same way the group left them hour before.
“What are you doing.” A counters, agitated, voice rough and eyes strained at the LED screen.
“Getting some water.” They say passing behind A. They notice A’s screen.
“The dark web?”
“Just in case...” A tapers off, scrolling aimlessly past questionable material in search for their missing friend. It had been too long, and the police had even given up the search... but not A. A moment of searching later The pairs eyes landed on a mysterious video, the thumbnail of which was of a body turned away from the camera, bleeding profusely and terribly skeletal. On a whim, A clicks on it and waits. A few anxious seconds later, a man enters the view, though as the frame is focused on the floor and the body, only his legs and feet are visible. He walks over to the body and grabs the collar of the body and drags it easily towards the camera. Another person enters the shot and helps manhandle them until the body is on their knees and facing the camera lens, greasy hair falling in matted strands across the skeletal, bruised and battered face. A hand reaches down and forcefully pulls the body’s face up and through half lidded eyes, the person looks into the camera.
A and B can recognise those eyes from anywhere.
A launches out of their chair, ignoring the foreign language being spoken and retches into the sink. B drops their glass of water.
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cotton candy skies always look better in person
(also available on AO3)
1.
The truth is, none of Jens's friends knows what happens on Thursdays.
They'd stopped pestering him years ago (although they started for a bit again when Aaron joined the group), and it just became accepted as one of his Things, one of his trademarks. Toothpaste, greasy food, and the fact that he fucks off to God-knows-where every Thursday after school are some of the things he's known for within the group.
Not even Robbe knows. Robbe, who knows close to everything about Jens, save for a few things, including what the fuck he does on Thursdays.
It's not that he's ashamed or embarrassed, he's not.
But really, he'd rather his friends see him in a hoodie and on a skateboard than in pink tights, holding on to a barre.
So yeah.
Every Thursday, Jens the skater becomes Jens the ballerina, like some sort of superhero transformation. That's why he declines to hang out with the Broerrrs after school, even if there's the promise of cute girls wherever they plan on going. (Jens never tells them that there are plenty of cute girls where he goes, too.) (Not that he ever actually checks them out; he's too busy keeping track of the music.)
None of the other dancers go to his school, and none of them live in his neighbourhood, so he never worries too much about someone coming up and greeting him when he's out with his friends. Just to take precautions, though, he had told his friends, the few he had at the studio, "If you see me in public, don't greet me," and they'd laughed, but shook his hand as a deal. Thursday dance practise is a secret.
Of course, he didn't only practise on Thursdays. He'd gotten a barre installed in his room when he was fourteen, and coincidentally, that was around the time he'd begun making excuses for his friends not to come over until it became another unspoken agreement: they don't hang out at Jens's. He supposed he could have said it was Lotte's, but that wouldn't have explained it being in his room. He'd decided not to risk anything.
Jens has thought of ways to tell the about the ballet.
1) Just invite them over and when they ask about the barre ("Why do you have one of those ballet things in your room?"), just tell them ("Because I do ballet.").
2) Stage it like a coming out. ("I have to tell you guys something.") (Jens will have to do that too, he figures, eventually, but that's a problem for another day.)
3) Invite them to a recital. Tell them to dress nicely, actually nicely, and tell them where to go at what time. Jens likes this choice the best. It was mysterious, cryptic, maybe a little weird, and maybe he should have them see him actually performing, instead of letting their imaginations wander to little girls in pink slippers and skirts upon hearing the words "I do ballet."
He still hasn't done it, of course. Three recitals have gone past since he came up with the idea, and truth be told, every time he walks out of the theatre, bouquet from his mother in hand, face almost covered in stage makeup, he is absolutely terrified that he'd going to walk into one of them. There's always a text message the night of a performance, an excuse to not chill with them:
Sorry, I can't I have to babysit Lotte
I'm just gonna take it easy tonight
Can't, my mom needs me
a heavy pit in his stomach every time, like one of them is going to call him out on his bullshit. But luckily, the recitals weren't on a tight schedule and were spread out enough on the calendar that none of them noticed a pattern.
After practise, he always changed into jeans or sweatpants and a hoodie, his tights and two pairs of slippers stuffed deep in his duffle bag, under an extra hoodie and his water bottle. He knows that even with all evidence of ballet hidden in his bag, it'll still be hard to explain him standing outside a dance studio, talking to people still in dance attire, and carrying a bag if one of his friends (or worse, someone from school who definitely won't keep it a secret) were to see him.
It's rare that he doesn't completely change into street clothes after practice.
But tonight, with Moyo's drunken texts, and everybody's Instagram stories full of flashing lights, plastic cups, and music so loud you can barely understand the lyrics, Jens figures it's safe.
He throws a hoodie over his long-sleeved leotard and runs a hand through his hair absentmindedly before pulling socks on over his tights and slipping on his sneakers. Standing, the hoodie reaches his mid-thigh, and he tugs it down when it hikes up as he pulls his bag over his head. After pulling his pointe slippers on his bag, he makes his way to the exit, putting a thin gold hoop through his ear lobe. He always takes it out before practice, not wanting it to get caught on a girl's tights.
The air is cool outside, enough that he shivers slightly in his thin tights. He scans the sky for a second, admiring the pastel blue and pink, the kind of colours he'd see at a baby shower, before pulling his phone out of his pocket. There's a text from his mother, "On my way," sent a minute beforehand. He runs a hand through his hair again before shoving both hands into the pocket of his hoodie, shrugging the cold off his shoulders.
"Jens!"
He startles at Damien's voice and then makes his way to where he's standing, leaning against the wall of the studio building. Damien is a sweetheart; he'd offered to hide Jens if he sees any of his friends after practice. And he could. Damien is bigger than one would expect a ballerina to be, but the way he picks up the girls in practise and tosses them looks almost effortless.
"Hey." Jens bumps his shoulder against Lena's, who is standing facing Damien.
"Fucker." She turns and hits him, a reaction possibly a little dramatic for his greeting, Jens thought, but he giggles and shoves her hand away anyway.
"All's good?" Jens asks as he holds his hand out to Rosa.
"Yeah, you?" She slaps their palms together and their fingers hook for a second before they both let go.
"Yeah."
This is the four of them: Damien, Lena, Rosa, Jens: a group of assorted souls that only match in the studio.
"You're going out tonight?" Rosa asks Lens, jerking her chin up at her.
"Yeah, what makes you ask?"
Rosa points at her face first, before looking her up and down and pointing at the rest of her. Lena usually didn't put her makeup on, her big, winged eyeliner, black lipstick, and thick, heavy-looking false eyelashes, nor did she get dressed, with her fishnets and all her ripped fabric, after practice, unless she planned on going out.
"Right."
They all laugh, Damien a little too loudly, like always. It's part of his charm.
Jens straightens his back, his arm lifting off of Rosa's shoulder, and stretches, groaning quietly.
"You good? Tough practice?" Damien asks, amused. He was supposed to help Jens stretch today, and he may have pushed him harder than usual.
Jens groans again, lifting his middle finger to Damien, who snickers.
"I'm out of here," Rosa says, looking up from her phone. She blows a stray curl out of her face.
"You don't love us anymore?" Jens asks innocently, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She snorts, digging her fingers into his sides, and he yelps, pushing her back.
"My brother's here, idiot." She kisses Damien's cheek, stretching up as he bends down, and does a handshake with Lena. "See you next week."
They wave as she skips down the sidewalk and gets into a car.
"Damien, you should ask her out," Lena says loudly and flatly as the car drives out of sight. Jens can't help but agree. Damien and Rosa have been dancing around their feelings for each other for years. (Pun intended.)
"She doesn't like me like that," Damien replied, exasperated.
"She just kissed your cheek." Jens looked at him, equally exasperated.
"But-"
"Just do it, dipshit," Lena interrupts, smacking his shoulder.
"If I came here just for you guys to harass me..." He trails off as they laugh and glances at his phone as it buzzes. "Actually, I do have to go, I have to watch my brother tonight."
Lena grunts in disgust and holds her hand out to him. He takes it and lets go, bumping their fists together, before turning to Jens. They do the same.
"Later, buddy." He watches as Damien walks away, his ballet slippers swinging from his bag with every step.
"If they don't figure their shit out soon, I'm gonna come up with a scheme," Lena says after a second.
Jens snorts, elbowing her, and faces forward again. He catches sight of a teenage boy leaning against the wall of the convenience store outside the studio. He must have been hidden by Damien's form because Jens doesn't remember seeing him there before.
For a moment, his heart drops to his stomach in a panic, thinking it's one of the guys or someone from school, but when the boy lifts his head from looking at a camera he's holding, Jens calms, not recognising him.
They make eye contact, Jens and this boy, and Jens feels like his heart rate picks up and slows down at the same time. His eyes are blue, and intense blue, blue like Jens has never seen it, and one of them is covered partially by a lock of curly hair. They stare at each other for so long it's beginning to be weird, even though it doesn't feel weird.
"Is your mom coming to get you?" Lena's voice startles him out of his trance, and he looks at her, breaking his eye contact with the boy.
"Yeah, if she ever comes." He pulls his phone out of his pocket to see if there are any notifications (there are none), feeling the boy's eyes burn into him.
"You know I can always give you a ride home," Lena says, oblivious to the feelings ripping through Jens's body. She holds up the keys to her motorcycle, dangling them between herself and Jens.
"No, thanks," he says. It's suddenly difficult to talk.
"Don't know if you're scared or if that's your 'no friends outside the studio' rude."
"Hm." They narrow their eyes at each other, teasing.
Their staring contest is broken when Lena's phone buzzes, and she fishes it out of her pocket. Jens glances at the boy when she does. He's looking down at his camera.
"Well, you won't be getting a ride anyway, because that's Elsa." She sticks her phone back in her pocket. "I gotta go."
"You love your girlfriend more than me?" Jens feigns hurt.
"Yes."
"Oh, okay." He holds out his hand and they shake, bumping their fists together. She leans in and presses her cheek to his.
"See you next week," he says.
"Bye, babe."
As she walks away, Jens turns to look at the boy with the camera. He's looking at him too, a slight smile on his face. They stare at each other for what feels like both hours and seconds until the boy slowly lifts his camera and points it at Jens. Jens tries to suppress his smile, but can't, and it creeps across his face until he's practically beaming, and the camera flashes. The boy lowers the camera, looking at the screen, and looks back up, flashing Jens a grin and a thumbs-up.
Jens shoots him a wink and looks away as his phone buzzes, pulling it out of his pocket, seeing a text from his mom.
"I see you"
He looks around and catches sight of her car just across the street. Putting his phone back in his pocket, he sends the boy one more smile and makes his way to the car, suddenly self-conscious in his tights as he jogs across the street.
As they drive away, Jens sees the boy look back down at the camera.
#this was supposed to just be a drabble but#idk how long its gonna be yet itll probably be longer than i meant it to be#anyway#lots of original characters my apologies#van der stoffels#vds#vds week#jens stoffels#lucas van der heijden#lucas vdh#jens and lucas#jens x lucas#lucas x jens#cotton candy skies#cotton candy skies always look better in person
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Rouge
A/N MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING. if you are easily triggered to spiral please DO NOT READ ANY further. If you want/ need to know the actual trigger warnings pls dm me before reading.
If you could kill yourself without anyone finding your body you would.
And honestly you may have found a way.
To turn your body into nothing but particles on the wind.
Ashes to ashes.
Dust to dust.
Your heart swells at the thought, its simple, easy really, this new solution.
No one will have to deal with the trauma of finding you.
No one will say "I never knew" at your eulogy while fighting back tears when the signs, although extremely subtle, were there.
They will only say your "great" life was cut short too soon as they look longingly at the one and only photo of you smiling that was enlarged for all to see.
As if that's how you looked majority of your life.
Content.
Happy.
You joined the hero course for the sole purpose that it put your life at greater risk adding to it the perk of what would be viewed as an honorable death.
And maybe your departure would be less sad for some, if anyone would even be upset in the first place.
The only problem was making your "accidental" death look good. It did not help that you were at a disadvantage with your quirk.
You were the unlucky soul with the rare quirk of adaptability or as others deemed it, instant evolution.
Literally giving meaning to what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
You should know, you've tried, doing nothing but worsening the situation for yourself.
And tried countless times at that.
Grey knives drawing grey blood while grey skin snaps back together forever closing the open wound.
Grey bones jutting at odd angles punctured through grey skin snap back into place as everything rights itself.
So hero work was your only option. Someone somewhere would HAVE to have a quirk you could not adapt to.
So every mission you decided to put yourself in dangerous situations and not for the sake of others.
At one point you thought that, maybe over time, saving others could help deviate you from your search for the end by another's hand.
But even after almost a decade of hero work you have yet to change your mind. Stead fast on the idea of resting six feet deep at the ripe age of 25.
What better irony that it cannot fix the emptiness that gnawed at your innards.
You're not sure why you feel this way. It's not as if anything traumatic happened to you. You had a loving family, a quirk, everything to be thankful for.
One day you woke up feeling an ache in your chest that over the years turned into a weighted emptiness.
Almost like a phantom feeling of knowing something should be there and suddenly you realize it is not.
As if living your life like you were the foot that fell asleep.
With the slow absence in your chest the universe began to present itself differently. Not as if turning itself at an odd angle, no it turned itself into a painting that had faded from overexposure in the harsh sun. Colors bleeding into depressing tones of grey washing with it your ability to feel.
None of this stopped you from making friends or taking some lovers, you were well liked, popular even. Plus the internet said these things would help ease the dull ache that weighed heavy in your ribcage.
But the internet was wrong. If anything it amplified your desire for that sweet embrace of Death. Every single relationship was tainted with a greasy film, making them hazy in your eyes. A camera lens fogged over from heated breath capturing still moments of superficial dull feelings.
Everything forever diluted in those heavy tones of grey.
Until one day luck was on your side when you spotted potential in someone.
Someone who became blindingly vibrant even in their hues of grey as they reached their dried flesh outward, hair white as snow.
You often dream of the following moments.
It all happened in slow motion, his fingers slowly curling around the arm of a hero that called you for backup. Suddenly you felt something in your chest, it beat with a ferocity you hadn't felt in *years.*
Others would read into your frozen form as fear but honestly it was shock, *pleasure*, as your plan began to form into something tangible. Eyes fixated on the forgotten hero that slowly turned to dust. Grey ash carried on a heavy summer wind.
Abrubtly your life had been given purpose.
"OI Y/LN!" You look to see a grey haired man approaching at blinding speed, his fingers spread wide, palm facing outward telling you with his faint crimson eyes to move.
But you cannot if you want this villain to aid you later. You swallow thickly as you think of a good plan to fuck this up. You pretend to be too stunned and Katsuki has to waste his blast by hitting the ground by your feet to jump over you.
You do not know that he's fought this villain before, having transferred well after USJ and the kidnapping. You watch as greedy flaked hands reach out towards him, hungry to devour as dry lips pull too wide over white teeth. All the while Bakugou steadily closes the distance.
Something grips your stomach as your mind replays what happened just moments ago.
You jump with enough force that the pavement buckles beneath your powerful legs. You catch up to Bakugou with ease pulling him back by his skin tight shirt. You yank harder than you intended and the two of you return to the Earth with sickening cracks. Toppling over one another until you land on top of Bakugou. Instantly a warp gate opens up and the white haired man steps through it. Disappearing for now.
Not exactly how you planned it but effective.
"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Katsuki explodes beneath you and you take the massive explosion point blank. Blinding pops of white and grey while you land on your feet like a cat. Not a single burn in sight.
At this point you've pretty much become immune to his attacks from being forced to train with him at UA and the other countless "accidental" explosions that have kissed you with white hot heat during missions. Rage and resentment fuel his actions.
Katsuki jumps to his feet giving you a deadly glare when he cannot spy what you've deemed your new found hope he lunges for you. Forcing you back with a barrage of explosions until your shoulders slam into brick. Indenting your thick shape into the dudty wall, causing you to question the integrity of the structure.
Would the weight of a crushed building be enough?
No you already tried that.
When the smoke clears you're met with burning red ember eyes. He leans close, pressing his forehead against yours as he glares at you with such malice. If only he could act on that malice, especially with how it worsens everytime the two of you cross paths.
You're an ugly reminder that someone can withstand him and his deadly assaults.
"Stay the fuck outta my way." He growls and you say nothing, you just hold his heated faint scarlet gaze.
Tonight you cannot dream your wonderous dream instead numb tears fall down your cheeks like a movie star during a dramatic scene. Lying in the dark, mind plagued with two things.
One being hot ember and the other being a greyed hand.
It keeps you up and this endless sleep lasts for longer than you'd like.
A week and a half longer than you'd like, though you have survived longer without.
Learning the hard way that you can go *months* without eating, drinking, or sleeping.
As if you're some living statue in the renaissance representing the entire purpose of mortality as you lie in the dark. Moon light cascading over your shimmering cheeks.
Black night lightens to a grey sunrise just to pull the sun back into a deep pool of darkness once more.
All the while you sit at the agency in front if your messy desk. Working but not, it's more as if you're AFK in real life. You look at yourself almost in third person as you watch yourself stare at your screen and your mountain of paper work that you've been avoiding.
About six months worth and it's exactly why the Director has you in the office today. Its quite in the office, which is normal for seven PM.
Although thanks to winter it looks like midnight out. The darkness envelops you but it does not protect you from the weighted emptiness.
Its the loud footsteps that pull you into reality. Blinking furiously to soothe your burning eyes as you pick up your pen trying to bullshit your way in case it's the director.
But it isn't, instead its Bakugou who pauses at your open door with an ever present irritated snarl, still draped in grey. Cruel blood red eyes rove over your pitiful form.
"Oi, Director told me to check on you like I'm some sort of fucking baby sitter. So are you working or fighting a fucking possession?" He growls and you blink a few times, unsure how to answer.
Normally you were a master at the facade, of donning the mask appropriate at the time. As sadness was not always needed.
So for someone to notice your odd behavior was off putting. Worrisome. You would have to step it up a notch.
"I'm fine." You smile widely, sure to make it seem as if its reached your eyes. Like you've practiced countless times in the mirror. When he makes no move to respond you scribble on one of the reports, pretending to write. Doing anything to bullshit your out from under his scorching gaze. His maroon eyes narrow in suspicion.
"I'm leaving so get your shit done."
"Yea." Is all that you say, it must be good enough of a reply for him as he takes his leave.
Soon your body becomes stiff as you hardly move for the next hour and a half, slumped over inky paper. Truly staring through the reports on your desk. You blink slowly as you try to ease the pain in your eyes.
Maybe Bakugou was right. Maybe you were fighting off a possession but before you can give it a second thought your hero phone lights up with an alert.
Indicating you're the closest hero to whatever villainy is transpiring in the cold icy streets.
*"White haired suspect spotted by civilian wandering around the old warehouse district. Believed to be Tomura Shigaraki heavily associated with the league of Villans. Use extreme caution quirk decay."*
Decay.
The word sends a shiver of ecstacy down your spine.
Tonight was the night, tonight you would finally get your dance with Death.
You lunge, loading the rest of the report as you fly down the stairwell two steps at a time. Before breaking out into a full sprint.
How lucky could you be that your agency was only seven blocks away from the old warehouse district.
You silence your breath and your foot falls learned from years of practice as you near closer.
Opting out of standing in the dim light of the street lamps, that illuminate nothing more but spooked rats and rotting trash.
Oh this was just getting better and better.
The setting was perfect, late at night, pitch black alleyways that were narrow to boot.
Honestly you couldn't have asked for a better place for him to be spotted. It would be easy to fuck this up. You may not even have to force his hand considering he would have ALL of the advantage and all he would need to do was reach out of the darkness to touch you.
Wrap those five grayed fingers around you.
Your ears pick up on scratching. Not the type a rat makes where claws dig at brick or trash. No, that unique sound of nails scrapping into flesh.
You smile wildly, thankful you actually read the full report for once, the sound comes from two alley mouths away. It seems to be the only sound on the whole block.
You walk past the first one, practicing how you will look. Eyes shifting to the left alley then to the right, body language reading guarded.
Careful.
The things you were actually supposed to be doing but couldn't bring yourself to do. You could hear the soothing lullaby hummed through gnashing teeth and bones.
By the second alley you've perfected the look. If there are any still functioning cameras in this are their black glass eyes are sure to see it all. Your perfect final scene.
Because it has become too hard to continue to live the lie.
It becomes silent as you approach the mouth of the alley that the scratching came from. Too silent, confirming your initial thought, that he lies in the dark watching, waiting.
You peek to the left as you did the past two times before peeking to the right coming face to face with pitch black. The alley resembles a vacuum, greedily swallowing all light and sound in its wake. Fear prickles up your spine and your primal instincts tell you to run.
But they are dull, still draping the world in that damned veil of grey so they are easy to ignore.
You take the plunge as if jumping into cold water taking another step, turning away as if you did not see the gleam of his teeth.
Crusted lips again stretched too far over white.
He reaches out, fingers slowly curling onto your bicep as your boyd and your mind declare war with one another.
One demands that you fight, that you do anything it takes to get out of this situation while the screams of how tired it is.
How it can no longer go on.
Four fingers are wrapped tightly around you like a miniature snakes and your heart races with anticipation of the final finger.
You turn his way, eyes locking onto his. Savoring the motion of his middle finger getting ever closer to your sweet skin.
That is until the feeling of the grip is ripped away from you as a new vice grip pulls you into their direction. Strong arms wrapped around to you protectively, strong hand smoothing over the skin that was just touched.
"No." The small gasp escapes you as you turn to face whoever dared to deny you your one true wish only to be met with poison apple red.
"What the fuck were you doing?!" A nasty snarl and a shake before you're shoved to the side. Explosions propelling him closer to the target once more.
You fall to your knees in anguish, fat droplets dripping down flushed cheeks. You are barely able to register the scene in front of you as a trap is activated, pulling Katsuki's arms behind his back with a sickening crack. It echoes in the alley way but it does not reach you.
Cannot reach you as you mourn.
You had fucking tasted it, the sweet end just to be denied.
The ropes pull tighter, Katsuki yells out and suddenly sweat is falling from his grey face.
How long had he been in this position?
Ten?
Twenty minutes?
You weren't sure, time was painstakingly slow and blurring fast all at once.
Glowing red eyes cut to you in the night, demanding, pleading, for help.
You fail to see anything more that what you had once had. Reliving the moment where you felt most alive.
That special, promised hand reaches out for Katsuki, slowly curling itself around his throat.
Slowly enough that grey skin cracks to reveal angry vivid red.
Wait.
Red?
Where else had you seen red?
*Red* muscle tissue beneath sunkissed skin?
Suddenly a certain man is blindingly vibrant against the black back drop of the alley way. Ash blonde hair dampening and darkening with sweat as a rare emotion mixes with the rage in his eyes.
You lunge faster and harder than you ever had before. Quickly enough that there is a delay before the asphalt that was once beneath your feet ruptures, ripping open several feet deep.
Your hand is on a dry wrist that you twist away from Bakugou. You move without thinking as you take his hands into your own. Wrapping delicately strong fingers around two separate middle fingers. Bringing them back until they touch the top of his forearm.
He falls to the ground and for good measure you kick him square in the face. Shinning tooth arching with a red blood trail that slowly fades to grey.
You turn to Katsuki, the color draining from him like a dying star, cutting the ropes of the trap. You keep your hands pressed harshly against his arms as he tries to snap them back.
"Slow." You say sternly watching the ashen blonde of his hair dull into a light grey as he brings hyper extended arms back into their normal positions.
Nothing remains of his color as he shoves past you, forcing Tomura's arms behind him before securing his wrists with a zip tie. He heaves him onto his shoulder like a sac of potatoes and begins to walk away.
Almost leaving you to regret helping him.
After all he did take what you've always wanted, you stare after him as he walks away before he abruptly stops.
"Oi. Y/N." He calls out, "Let's fucking go."
He looks over his shoulder and you see it still there although it is just a flash before he begins walking again once your make way to follow.
Vivid scarlet red cuts through the dark of the night.
#bakugou x reader#katsuki bakugou x reader#bakugo x reader#bnha x reader#bnha x y/n#bnha x you#bakugo katsuki#katsuki bakugo#bakugou katsuki#katsuki bakugou#bnha kacchan#bnha katsuki#bnha bakugou#bnha au#bnha imagine#bnha angst#bakugou angst
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Staying In My Girlfriend’s Apartment Overnight - Colby Brock
A/N: Requested by a lovely anon: “How about one based off he stays at Sam’s house overnight but instead of Sam it’s his girlfriend.”
“Hey guys, welcome back to my channel,” Colby waved at the camera. “Today, I’m going to be spending the night in my girlfriend’s apartment... Without her knowing.” He grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. “This is going to be a little more difficult, because she’s going to be wondering where I disappeared off to,” He giggled, his bright blue eyes sparkling with mirth. “I’ll figure it out as I go along.” He placed his hand over the camera lens, then turned the camera off.
You were laying down on your couch, scrolling through your phone. Colby was going out with the boys tonight, so it was more than likely that you wouldn’t see him tonight. You told him to have fun, take a shot for you, and then you changed into your pajamas. Tara was coming to sleep over. Jake was spending the night at Reggie’s, filming, so you and Tara agreed to a little sleepover. Face masks, junk food, movies, the whole nine yards. Tara was due to come over any minute now, so you kept your door unlocked.
Colby caught up to Tara in the hallway, informing her of his plan. With a chuckle, she agreed to help him get into your apartment. Tara knocked on the door once. “Come in!” Your voice floated into the air. Tara opened the door, then quickly ushered Colby inside. He scrambled into the closet, his camera in hand. His phone, luckily, was fully charged this time. He had finally invested in a portable charger, so he’d managed to sneak that into his sweatshirt pocket, so he could charge his phone when the battery ran low.
Tara dropped her bag of junk food onto the floor in front of you. You grinned up at her, then dug into the bag, taking out your favorite type of chips. “While the boys are away, the girls are gonna play,” You giggled. Tara laughed along with you, but her eyes were focused on your coat closet. She tore her eyes away and beamed at you. “Should we order pizza or Chinese food?” She asked, her voice bright. You grinned at her. “I like the way you think,” You replied. “Chinese, maybe? I’m gonna order Colby’s favorite, so I can bring it over to him tomorrow, so he has something to eat while he’s hungover.”
Colby’s heart fluttered at your thoughtfulness; you knew that he loved greasy leftovers when he was hungover, that he could only stomach that, after a night of drinking. He heard Tara let out a soft coo. “You guys are so sweet together,” Tara said. “I’ve never seen Colby so happy in my entire life.” Your cheeks flushed at that, and you nudged her. “Colbs is still an emo boy at heart,” You insisted, your smile growing shy. “But it makes me happy to know that I make him happy.”
You placed the food order, then collapsed onto the couch next to Tara. “So, how’re you and Jake doing?” You asked, wiggling your eyebrows. Tara let out a girlish peel of laughter, her brown eyes sparkling with adoration at the very mention of her boyfriend. “I love him, so much.” She sighed, twirling a blonde streak of hair around her finger. “I can’t imagine myself with anyone else.” You nodded sagely. “I feel you,” You agreed. “Colby is it for me, I already know it,” You sighed, leaning back on the couch.
Colby desperately wanted to leap out of the closet and take you into his arms, so he did just that. You screamed at the top of your lungs, the bag of chips flying out of your hands, scattering food all over you and Tara. Tara shrieked with laughter, trying to brush the chips off of herself. Colby scooped you into his arms, pressing soft kisses all over your face. “What were you even doing here?!” You squealed, wrapping your arms around Colby’s waist. Colby snickered, then explained his video idea to you. When he finished explaining, you burst out laughing. “You didn’t even last an hour!” You snorted.
Colby’s bright blue eyes glimmered at you. “You try sitting there, listening to me talking about how you’re the only one for me.” You shrugged, conceding. You wouldn’t be able to just sit there listening to Colby talk about you like that, without wanting to jump his bones. You pressed a soft kiss to his lips, then pulled back to look him in the eyes. “So, since you’re not out with the boys, care to join Tara and I for a girl’s night?”
Colby smiled, his expression softening into one of complete adoration for you. “Absolutely.”
#colby brock#sam and colby#colby brock fanfic#colby brock fanfiction#colby brock x reader#xplr#traphouse
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