#depends what totally normal echo flower you are talking about

[justanechoflower]

Hey Flowey. Got a question! Are we friends?

I mean, I'm moots with Nat, but how bout you and me?

'm I someone you'd trust in a hypothetical life-or-death scenario?

Flowey: Unless someone else proves they are worthy and willing!

@tremendouslamppaperhero

[hargrove-mayfields]

Just A Dream Away

Chapter 4/13 read here on ao3!

for @harringrovebigbang

~~~~

Steve doesn’t know why he does this to himself.

It’s been, god how long has it even been since the funeral? Almost a year now according to the calendar, though in his head it’s only been weeks.

Time doesn’t really have much to do with it though. Unless they found a way to go back, Billy would still be gone, and he’d still go back to the cemetery each morning just to pretend he wasn’t, leftover alcohol in his system from the night before melding each passing day into a jumble of numbness.

And Steve, as he falls deeper into this routine of self torture, he’s becoming exhausted. Where he was once optimistic, or at least trying to stay focused on looking for the positives and back on the good times, now he's just empty.

He can’t pretend he’s not depressed anymore, and he can’t pretend things are going to be okay either.

As much as he is still hurting, Robin doesn’t let him just mope. If she knew what was making his heart ache, he thinks she might let him have a little more room to grieve, but she doesn’t know, she doesn’t even know how bad he truly gets when she’s not around, so she had made him accept the video store’s job offer they’d left for when his time as representative was finished.

Work is something to do to take his mind off of things, sure, and it’s a way to get him out of the house, but the only reason he accepted was because halfway between his house and the family video is the cemetery, and every day, whether he drives it or walks it depending on if he’s sober enough to take the car, he stops to pay his boyfriend a visit.

Most often he brings flowers, maybe blows a tearful kiss to the ground and moves on, but some days, like today, he feels a heaviness in his heart that tells him to show up hours before he’s due at his shift, ready to talk it out until he absolutely has to leave.

Maybe it’s a habit from the hospital, starting when he used to be cheerful and sit in the grass to talk about happy stories and good things that happened in his day to make Billy feel better. But a year into talking to the dirt instead of his lover had left him bitter, and he was far past that optimistic point, all that’s left now is guilt, remorse, all the feelings about the loss he’d thus far kept bottled up.

This particular morning, he’d awoken from a nightmare, what happened at the mall never leaving his memory, the flashes of sorrow and pain and death lingering behind his eyes when he tries to get even a moment's peace; everyday is hard, but when he wakes up with tears in his eyes, he knows what kind of day it’s going to be.

So he comes out to Hawkins cemetery, no gift in hand today except his company, and kneels in the muddy grass, damp from an overnight storm that contributed to his plagued rest and left him running on an hour, maybe two, of good sleep, and he just starts talking.

He starts with the basics, the generic greetings and declarations of love that he promises each morning, but his emotions quickly rise to the surface. Reaching out to trace his fingers over the indentations in the upright stone, his voice wobbles slightly, and he shifts from venting to what he came here for:

“Billy. Baby, I’m so sorry. I’ve been pretending things will be okay, but I know they won’t. I failed you. I wasn’t there for you and it’s my fault what happened to you. I don’t even deserve to sit here and cry with you. I know Max has but, have you forgiven me? I don’t know where you are now, but I don’t want you to hate me. I love you so much.”

The silence in response is daunting. Makes him want to scream so loud he could tear the earth apart looking for his Billy, but instead he just repeats his apologies and promises again and again until his tears slow. Eventually, when he’s run out of things to say, he stands, stray tears dripping from the end of his nose and rewetting the soil, and leaves.

Drives away to his job like nothing happened, strolling in some thirty minutes late for his shift. Because today is the premiere of some mainstream pop culture film that’s gone way over Steve’s head on video, the Family Video is packed.

“Hey, dingus. Could’ve used you at the start of your shift.” Robin shouts over the shop noise as he strolls past to his post.

Steve shrugs, an over-exaggerated gesture in case she can’t hear him over the crowd, “Well I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“You are, but I don’t see you working. I need help restocking once those shelves are cleared out.”

“Yes ma’am.” Steve does a mocking salute, the grimace on Robin's face making it clear she can see through his overdone gestures that he’s hiding something, overcompensating for the emptiness he feels.

She doesn’t have the chance to bring it up though, because the both of them get whisked off into separate duties working the over capacity video store. Only, while Robin handles it like she would any other day, with mild annoyance and enough spite to get through it alright, Steve is too fragile. All he can register is commotion, chaos: the buzzing neon lights in the ceiling, surging crowds bumping into him, chatter and bustle filling his ears, and he starts to break down.

But because he’s Steve, he tries at first to just power through. Tries to block it out and resume productivity, but he is already knee deep in a panic attack, so he pushes back through the customers, probably a little too roughly, to tell Robin with that lilt of fear and upset to his tone, “Robin, I can’t be out here.”

She barely looks up as she kindly responds, “I get it, Steve. Go take your break, I’ll handle the rush.”

That’s exactly what he does, is go straight to the back room, but instead of his standard fifteen allotted by the overheads, he stays in the back for an hour, and then another, leaving behind customers arguing over who should get the last copy of the new movie, people in line out the door, tapes knocked off of the shelves, all while people are in trying to do their normal returns and rentals. It’s again total chaos out there, only made worse by the fact that Robin is now alone at the counter.

She would also have to clean up once the rush died, and maybe even replace some tapes if people weren’t going to start watching where they’re walking, and as much as Steve wanted to feel bad for disappearing into the back room for the past hour and a half and leaving her with all of that, he can’t be bothered with coming back out, his morning at the cemetery having taken too much from his emotional threshold to be productive, or remorseful even, now.

There are two big plush chairs and a couch in the back, a much nicer room than the icebox that was the Scoops break area, but Steve sits on the floor instead, his back pressed to the door and his stained up knees drawn to his chest. From where he is, the endless noise and bustle drifts down the short hall to the break room, but he’s too in his head, thinking about nothing and everything to pay it any mind.

It takes probably another an hour and a half for all the crowd to die down, the line clearing out and Robin chasing away most of the stragglers after explaining for the hundredth time that until the already rented out copies were returned, they wouldn’t get any more in and that no, they weren’t hiding any in the back.

Steve can hear her cleaning up a little before she gets too behind, cardboard boxes being broken down and the irritating scrape of broom bristles against dusty tiled floors, followed quickly by loud boot steps toward the door that make his chest ache, pretending it was the echoes someone else instead of his best friend.

The break room is locked behind him, something that is forbidden by company policy, but Steve felt necessary, and Robin beats on it with the palm of her hand, startling him out of the half dazed, half alert state he’s been in all day, “Harrington, what are you doing in there? I just did a whole rush by myself, asshole.”

He can’t father the words to respond, tears welling up and choking anything he might say off in his throat. So Robin calls again, the door knob rattling like she’s trying to get in, her voice more concerned, “Steve? You alive in there?”

“Steve.” She tries again, more desperate, and Steve finally finds it in himself to say something, sniffling and responding weakly, “‘M’fine Rob.”

“Can you let me in?” Robin suggests, just on the side of hesitant, making Steve feel something like guilt for shutting her out, both emotionally and in the literal sense, so he stands, shaky and unbalanced, and unlocks the door for her.

He must look as bad as he feels, because Robin's pinched face of concern melts into one of sympathy as soon as she lays eyes on him.

She steps into the back room with him, after a moment of pause which Steve had come to hate, knowing that meant whoever was speaking was going to take pity on him, asking, “You doing okay in here, buddy?”

“What does it look like?” There’s sarcasm and bitterness in his tone, though it’s muffled by his tears. He doesn’t worry about offending Robin, she’s been dealing with his breakdowns for a long time now, and she knew how he could get.

Patiently, in spite of his snappiness, she asks, “Can you tell me what happened?”

Steve’s not sure how that’s even a question anymore.

What happened was fighting monsters at the Byers. Was getting tortured in the Starcourt mall. Was losing his Billy.

To say that those things had a huge impact on him was a gross understatement. Hell, even Robin was affected too, the both of them incredibly emotionally fragile these days with about a thousand things that could trigger them, both were plagued by nightmares and flashbacks and panic attacks at random points in time. It shouldn’t be a mystery what was wrong now.

But having two hour long breakdowns in the employee lounge, Steve had to admit that was new, and Robin was obviously scared for him because of it.

So he lies, “It’s nothing, Robs. Just the same old stuf.” Steve isn’t a very good liar though, he can’t hold eye contact and his voice trails off, revealing him every time.

“Steve.” It was an attempt to appeal to him, maybe to ground him so he’d open up to her, “Please talk to me.”

An attempt, which he shuts down with, “We’re at work right now.”

Robin frowns, a crease in her eyebrow. He’s never seen her look more frustrated as she says, halfway between an insult and a joke, “No, I’m at work. You’re crying in the break room on the floor.”

But again, Steve is having it, “I’m serious, I don’t wanna talk about it here.”

He feels bad about being harsh with Robin, but his grief, this breakdown, it’s not for the general reasons she thinks, it’s specifically because of his visit to Billy’s grave this morning. The heavy realization of everything he’d vented to that cold stone that stood in place of the beaming face, the beautiful boy that always knew what to say, who he loved and still hadn’t told her about, that was what had pushed him over the emotional threshold.

“Alright, well, we’ve got like, an hour left before our shift is over, so you can just veg out back here or you can come and do some work.” Robing announces with a quick glance at her wrist watch, standing and patting the top of Steve’s head just to mess up his hair like he hated before walking out of the room.

At least she was trying.

It takes him a few minutes to find the will to follow her out, but eventually he does sidle up beside her at the front counter, his posture weak and his muddy shoes dragging on the ground, but he’s there, earning a taunting flash of Robins biggest and snarkiest grin as she slides him a stack of tapes that need rewinding.

They don’t get many customers after the initial rush of the early afternoon where he was out for, but he can tell Robin was still keeping her eye on him, just in case he needed a break, or in case he did break himself. Anymore, and much to his dismay, it doesn’t take much to get him overwhelmed, especially not if he was already upset, but he makes sure not to let that show now, putting on a mask like everything is okay, and he is managing it just fine.

Because the thing is, he isn’t managing anything, he’s still grief stricken and he’s drinking himself half to death and he has no future ahead but more sadness, but he’d be damned if he let anybody figure that out. Let anybody worry about him, when he was still living. In his eyes, it’s selfish to expect pity, when you’ve already survived the worst.

He thinks though, by the time their work is almost done, that Robin is starting to suspect something, because the second their shift is over, before the guys to cover the closing shift even show, she’s dragging him out of the store, snatching the keys for the BMW out of Steve's back pocket.

It goes without discussing anymore that on bad days, Robin doesn’t take Steve back home, which is to say, the two of them had been pretty much sharing her dinky little duplex apartment, the two of them living in the right side with a nosy older lady in the other. They both were afraid of what he could do when he was home alone, and, Robin didn’t really know this, but Steve was also afraid of what his father might say the day the dozens of rooms in that house weren’t enough to avoid him, when he realized how pathetic a state his son was in.

The living arrangement didn’t change much though. Steve still wasn’t very good at talking through his problems, and he still wouldn’t eat or shower or sleep regularly. He knew it scared Robin, because it scared him too, but he had other things to worry about.

Maybe it was true that he was so sensitive that it took practically nothing to send him over the edge, but it's not a big deal, he’ll be alright, how are you doing anyway? Robin always has to fight so hard just to get him to talk to her, his best friend who he all but lives with, because all he is worried about is other people. Something to do with losing the one person he was always caring for, trying to make up for not being able to save Billy’s life, or help him through his hardest moments. He knows that, but it doesn’t matter why he’s selfless, as long as he is, right?

Further, he reasons, so what if he’d had a concussion so bad that he still gets migraines that leave him bedridden at times? His friend is hurting and he needs to be there for her. Who cares if he has nightmares so intensely vivid he can’t sleep for weeks at a time? Robin has panic attacks in crowded places, and each time he has to fret about it for days.

It makes her worried sick all the time, knowing that Steve all but refuses to tell her if he needs something, but he doesn’t like feeling studied, can tell she is always looking for signs that something is wrong, watching him to make sure he didn’t do anything he shouldn’t. All she wants is for him to just stop bottling everything up, because she claims she had and it made everything easier for her to cope with, but he’s stubborn.

That just isn’t the way his brain works, and she’s probably sick of trying to get through to him. Somewhere in the back of Steve’s mind, he knows she’s not far from a breakthrough with him, his own coping mechanisms exhausting him to the point he might consider external help, but she doesn’t have to know that yet. For now, she sticks to what she always does in place of these tougher conversations, and that’s to make Steve tea and try to work him down to the point where he’ll talk to her. Today, it’s not going to take much convincing.

The second day he’d ever come over here, she tried to make a pot of coffee for a little chat like this, and Steve had started crying like a baby just from the way it smelled. It reminded him of his mother, of diner dates with Billy and nurses bringing him breakfast, so she had to switch to tea. He could tell it would always bother her when he wouldn’t tell her why something like that was making him so upset, but as Robin would have to come to realize the more he stayed with her, that was just the first of many things she didn’t understand about Steve Harrington.

There were endless triggers that set him off that she witnessed, and when she comforted him, he could tell she understood some of them, like when the lights would flicker when Dorothy ran her vacuum and he’d stop breathing, or when a siren would start up in the distance and he’d get so dizzy and his hands would shake so badly. But it was those overly specific things, like the smell of coffee, that she was sure had nothing to do with what they went through, and her confidence through those breakdowns would be noticeably a lot lower.

Pine tree air fresheners, the click of stilettos on tiled floors, leather car seats, the busy tone of the telephone, cigarette smoke, rose scented perfume, hairspray, crystalline ash trays. The list of things that reminded him of his parents and the utter helplessness of growing up alone and scared, and of his Billy, of everything he had lost when he died. To Robin, who didn’t have the context of his feelings, it just felt like every day there was something new that would set Steve back ten steps in the progress he’d made, and he knew it was making Robin feel so helpless and guilty.

She was getting better while he was still so thoroughly depressed, and she would take missteps on purpose to not get too far ahead of him. He was sabotaging his best friend with his own misery.

The thought draws stinging tears to his eyes, and Steve sits down at the table without saying a word to Robin, knows his composure will crack the moment he opens his mouth.

She finishes making their tea, specifically lemon flavored with two spoonfuls of honey and one of sugar, sliding him his tea in a tacky mug she’d bought him from a yard sale as a sort housewarming gift, an invitation to stay as long as he needed, and sits in the unbalanced chair across from him. “Are we gonna talk about it?”

Steve taps his fingers on the side of his mug, eyes trained on the paint stained and scratched surface of the table, “What do you want me to say? I freaked out at work, nothing new.”

Robin sighs shakily, and it makes Steve feel a pang of guilt in his chest. Despite her best efforts, he gets so defensive all the time anymore, the careless goof he was before Starcourt buried underneath all that was depressing him, and that he wouldn’t share with her. He was an awful friend, spending so much time with his past actions and losses, he’d forgotten how to live in the present.

“But there’s something you haven’t been telling me, Steve.” She bumps their knees together under the table to get him to look at her, “I’m not trying to be nosy or intrude, really, I just want to help you.”

“I don’t need help.” Steve raised his mug to his face, mumbling into it, “It’s supposed to get worse before it gets better, right?”

That same worried crease above her eyebrow appears, “Who told you that?”

He doesn’t answer, staring into the swirling mug before him. A sign for her that he still wasn’t ready to talk. She must decide that she would do most of the talking then, because she puts her mug down, takes a deep breath before saying, “Listen, you don’t have to tell me everything, I just want you to get better and I don’t think you should do it on your own. I haven’t, and I think it’s time I try to be there for you live you’ve been for me.”

There’s a long stretch of silence where Steve didn’t know what to say, the plastic clock Robin had taken from her grandmother’s kitchen ticking away the seconds, the minutes that passed before Steve swallows hard and looks up from the spot he’d been focusing on, trying and failing to find the right words again before he explains himself, “I just think.. I feel like everyone moved on way too fast.”

“From Starcourt?” What she meant didn’t need to be said. She didn’t need to specify the torture, the battle with an interdimensional monster, the fall out afterwards, for him to understand, but that wasn’t it, and he shakes his head no.

Confused, Robin clarifies, “Then from what?”

“All those people that day, Robs, they died and life is just supposed to go on like normal. We still have holidays and we got jobs again, but all those people, they-“ There are tears in his eyes so he cuts himself off, hoping that Robin got the point anyways.

From the look of clarity on her face, she does understand now where this is coming from. Steve had been struggling with survivor's guilt, Robin knew that because he insisted upon attending each and every funeral he could with his schedule at the hospital, and she’d reluctantly driven him to them without question, no matter how unhealthy it was for him.

He had even told her once, when he was drunk off his ass and knocking on her bedroom door in the early hours of the morning, that he didn’t think it was fair that he didn’t die, but all those other people did. She had never gotten an answer out of him when she asked why he thought he deserved to die, and he hoped she’d have forgotten it by now, but now he was cracking, and she was going to figure it out, so he keeps going.

“It’s just, how are we supposed to go back to normal when there’s so many people who can’t? They died, a-and they left behind their families and friends and partners.” He sniffles, tears starting to roll down his colorless face for the second time that day, “How can we act like nothing ever happened when it’s our fault?”

That makes Robin pause, her eyes going wide, “What?”

Steve freezes, hadn’t meant to say that, and he stays quiet until she asks him a second time, “How is it our fault, Steve?”

“Because we were so caught up with that stupid transmission that we missed our chance to help them. And for what? I was just trying to play the hero for Dustin, but I could’ve stopped it if I wasn’t so stupid.”

“What could you have stopped?” Asking so many questions made her sound like a pushy therapist, and it’s making Steve increasingly frustrated, answering harshly, “The-The shadow, Robin! The Mind-Flayer!”

“Okay, I’m sorry. But Steve, I really don’t think there’s much we could have done.”

Steve just shakes his head, insists, “If I hadn’t been so-so focused on doing something I thought was important, I could’ve done something that actually mattered before it was too late. I wasted so much time in the mall. But they needed me and I-I failed them. You feeling bad for me and telling me it’s not my fault doesn’t change that.”

“Steve, if we hadn’t been down there, nobody would’ve known about the gate, and the mind flayer wouldn’t be dead now.” Robin comforts, a deep frown on her tear tracked face, “There wasn’t anything anybody could’ve done.”

It’s not what Steve needs to hear.

“Stop saying that.. I could’ve saved him, and then none of this would’ve happened.” A sob wracks through his body as soon he finishes, the gut wrenching sound echoing through Robin's tiny  apartment kitchen.

“Who?” Robin asks, reaching across the table and taking his shaking hand in her own, “Steve, who could you have saved?”

Through his tears he’s able to stutter out the answer, accented with a pointed sob, “Billy. I could’ve saved Billy..”

She doesn’t say anything in turn, occupied with putting the pieces together, though she’s still missing the larger context, instead pushing her chair back on the scratched kitchen tiles, pulling Steve up out of his own chair into the tightest hug she’d probably ever given anybody. They stand like that for a long time, Steve crying into Robin’s hair and her trying to comfort him through her confusion until his tears slow, or at least the hyperventilating is under control.

When eventually he does pull away from her, he wipes at his eyes and whispers, “Can I tell you something else? It’s about him.”

“Of course.” Robin answers quickly, something like relief, an unfamiliar look on her face anymore, written behind her eyes, making Steve yet again feel a twinge of guilt for hiding so much from his best friend.

He speaks quickly, struggling to get the right words together again, “You know how I said that the only time I was ever in love was with Nancy Wheeler?”

“Yeah?” Robin frowns, and Steve can see it in her face that she’s trying to work through it, what his love life has anything to do with his grief, but it’s a lot harder for him to admit than it is even for her to understand.

“I lied.” He chews on his lip, the faint and bitter taste of blood on his tongue, “And you know how when Dustin asked if we were together, I told him that you weren’t my type and we laughed about it because I’m definitely not yours either?”

“Steve I told you-“ Contemplation is replaced with fear, but he quickly cuts her off, “No, no, it’s not like that. I-I’m not done.”

Steve takes a deep breath, “You sort of are my type, but it was always someone else with-with wavy blonde hair and blue eyes and freckles all over that I was in love with.”

“I don’t understand. Who?”

Steve’s realizing he’s come full circle in this conversation, almost identical to the one they had on the bathroom floor over a year ago now when Robin can out to him, his tone and the distress in his features softening, “Robin.”

The pieces click into place, a whole range of emotion from shock to confusion to finally, sympathy, crossing Robin's face, “Oh, Steve. I’m so sorry. When did you…”

“Christmas Eve last year. Night of the snowball he apologized for being an asshole, and a few weeks later he kissed me.” Six months. The time that they’d had together was now as long as he was in the hospital, and since then how long Steve had been grieving him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She sounds almost hurt by it, the realization that her best friend didn’t come to her with this, especially when she of all people would be understanding. But Steve doesn’t have an answer to that, he doesn’t really know why.

All he does is shrug in response, tired of talking it out anyways, so with a forced sigh Robin tells him, “Well anyways, I’m glad you told me now. You shouldn’t have been doing this on your own for so long.”

Steve smiles weakly and lies, just as he’s been lying for so long, “It’s okay Robin. I’ve been getting better.”

But it doesn’t have the effect on Robin he wants, because she insists, for the first time not just letting him stew in his guilt and bottle everything up, “I don’t think drinking your life away and breaking down more often than ever really counts as doing better.”

Of course he tries to defend himself, anyone would against that, “Come on, Rob-“

But Robin cuts him off, “No, Steve. I’m serious. You need to get help.”

“I’m not going to a therapist.”

“Okay, but you still need to come to me with this stuff.” Steve looks away, and Robin’s tobw gets more desperate, “Steve, please. You can’t do this by yourself. I understand, I’m your best friend. I just want to be there for you.”

“I’ll.. think about it.” Is the last thing he says before he turns to leave, stopping short when he hears Robin sniffle, even on her worst days almost never seeing her cry, “Shit.. Robs.”

“No, no. I’m done talking about it Steve.” Robin shakes her head, her face flushes red as she fights back tears she doesn’t want him to see, biting her knuckles, “Just.. go ahead. I won’t bother you anymore.”

Numbly, he does. He turns and goes up the stairs to the used to be closet Robin turned into a room for him when he comes over.

~~~~

Billy doesn’t know how long he’s been in this hell.

His hair is getting longer, almost down his back now. It’s a matted mess that’ll never brush out even if someday he gets back to water that runs clear and his Gee conditioner he used to slip Susan a few bucks to buy for him, but he can’t bring himself to cut it.

He does shave though. Takes a knife to his face and does his best to use broken and grimy windows and mirrors for accuracy. It seems pointless, and for the most part it is, but his dad used to grow a beard in the winter, and the very last thing he wants is to look like him. Seeing him again would be one thing, but becoming him? That’s something Billy's willing to take a few knicks from a rusty old blade to avoid.

He used to keep track of the days, measured by the patterns in the storms constantly churning overhead, with a notch in the dying bark of a tree he passed between the convenience store and his house, the two places he’d been able to call his safe haven since he found himself trapped.

But then the dogs, as he’d come to call them now, changed. They used to circle the woods, patrol the other side of town, blocking his access to the downtown areas, like the hospital, the police station, Steve’s house. Then suddenly, they started closing in on his side, and from the many encounters he’s had from strays and crossing their invisible boundaries, he knew he couldn’t stay in that place.

So he’d lost his home, the ghost of his family that had been keeping him grounded, gone as he salvages anything he can, and leaves.

For a while, it feels like relief almost. The burden of how long he’d been here and how alone he was lifted, but he knows that’s just a way of comforting himself. He’s actually devastated.

He wants to be able to sleep on his back porch and he wants to be able to look at all the damaged family photos inside the overtaken house, no matter how fake the smiles and poses are, and he just wants to be home. Not that the building means much, home is the feeling, being with the people who he cares about and who care about him. He’s not sure he ever had the sense of what that really meant, but he’d take any dysfunctional upbringing over this.

The best he had for a while was Steve’s place.

Steve is never there, in the physical sense or in that freaky, spiritual, can be heard but not seen way. Inside the mansion is somehow pristinely kept, even in all of this wreckage that destroyed the rest of Hawkins. Mrs. Harrington would be proud of the intact decor and the spotless floors. Whatever those white particles were, which were slowly making it harder and harder for Billy to breath, were the only blemish, everything coated in at least an inch of the stuff.

Outside is another story entirely. The lawn is ripped up, the chairs and lawn ornaments are mangled or missing, and the pool is completely drained, in the place of water gangly vines and more sticky decomposition than he’d seen in even the most remote areas.

He remembers Barbara Holland. He remembers Steve saying she drowned accidentally in his pool when she got brought up. He remembers the fear in his eyes when they were out at night, the way those honey browns would scan the treeline for danger, on his worst days drawing the curtains and refusing to go out back for anything.

He starts to wonder, if maybe the vines mark the victims. His house, Steve’s pool, both completely overtaken. Heather’s house is only a street over from Steve’s, but he can’t will himself to go in there and see if his theory is correct. Same goes for the steelworks, or the community pool.

But, nice as it was, Steve’s house didn't last long as a refuge. He only stays there for a couple of weeks before he again has to grab what he can and abandon it, the dogs having followed him and cut another chunk out of his territory. There was a pack of them wandering the yard, a couple breaking off to charge at the back doors, and Billy has to decide between holing himself up in that hideously wallpapered room that had come to be another definition of home, and running for his damn life.

He chose the latter, scaling the shed roof from the upstairs bathroom window just as the monsters break the glass double doors. Down the rattling drain pipes he prayed would hold his weight, and into the shed to regroup. He’d gotten out with almost nothing of Steve’s, not that polo shirts and nike shoes were great for apocalyptic survival gear, but he wished he could’ve nabbed anything more, a picture, a coat, a bag, at least something he could use.

All he made out with though was a red bandana, which, if he ever gets out of this hell, he has to ask Steve about that, no way his reformed prep was freaky enough to walk around Hawkins advertising his preference for taking it elbow deep, an empty notebook, a pair of scissors as a just in case weapon, and an old banged up Bic which was out of fluid anyways.

The bandanas alright, paisleys not his pattern of choice and he’s more of a navy blue and grey guy than red, but it’d do well enough to keep that nasty shit in the air out of his lungs. Everything else he grabbed is basically useless to him though, so he scours the shed instead, sneaking in through the back door with a sharp eye on where the dogs broke into Steve’s.

In there he gets a little better of a haul, most of it still just junk he can repurpose for tending injuries, but on the back wall, held up by a barely standing shelf, is the golden find, a machete the length of his arm. Brand new and sharpened, a little worn from the rot but clearly never used, the Harrington’s had a gardener to trim back the branches, and everything in here was just for show so Mr. Harrington wouldn’t feel emasculated by not doing any work but answering phone calls and yelling at underpaid workers anyways, so Billy grabs it, finally having more than an old mower blade and a collection of knives from decorative to army to kitchen, most of which were all too small and almost got his arm torn off.

It’s that machine he’d stumbled upon that bittersweet day that he carries now, dripping with the oozing blood of one of the dogs, slightly bent now because another got it between its teeth and more dull from cutting through rubbery skin. The damn thing has saved his life though, many times over as the territories shift again in quick, unpredictable cycles, this last time ending with him cornered in the hospital's courtyard.

He was over there raiding for bandaging and medicine, anything that might help in the long run, but of course, it would have to come in handy just a little sooner, silly Billy for thinking about the future, because the monsters find him.

Thankfully, none of them actually get him, though one is particularly disgusting, it’s head, for lack of a more delicate way to put it, basically explodes when he stabs through it, another damn pair of his jeans getting ruined by the sticky, reddish spatter. The only worry he has time for before he has to kill, or scare off in most cases, the rest of the dogs that step forward, is the damned stain.

There aren’t too many, and those whose brains aren’t dripping off of his weapon, or as annoying as it is, his clothes, run off quickly, leaving Billy himself to move on.

First Cherry Lane, then Steve’s, and now the hospital. Guess it’s time to fucking leave again.

Hawkins is deceptively big for a country bumpkins paradise. The town and its shops and the surrounding neighborhoods only make up some half of the city, even he used to live on the edges of the civilized part, the rest of town stretching on for miles and miles of rural farmland, a couple of houses here and there the deeper you get into the country.

He’d never been over that way except maybe once when Max flipped the map upside down and they got lost on the way to Cherry for the first. That wasn’t much help now, but he was otherwise out of options. It was getting lost in the woods trying to find the more hidden houses, or it was being dinner for the dogs, which he could still hear chittering somewhere nearby, regrouping  for the next attack probably.

The decision isn’t hard for Billy. He grabs whatever he’s salvaged and just bolts, bandana mask around his neck, machete in the bag on his back so he doesn’t cut himself up and make all this surviving for nothing, just getting the hell out of there before they decide they want to fight him again.

Because frankly, after as long as it’s been, his energy is getting low. He doesn’t know what he’s surviving for anymore, let alone if he’s going to be able to for much longer. His lung capacity is getting lower by the day, he’s got old wounds that won’t heal. The dogs probably aren’t too far from finishing him off if he gets attacked too many more times, so he’s just not chancing it.

Billy runs and he runs, coughing up a little blood in the process, until he ends up in a neighborhood he’s never seen before. Right now, that’s good news, so he slows his pace and takes his machete back out, just in case he let his guard down too soon.

Over here it’s a little brighter, a little less destroyed maybe, but still not right. Houses still slump and there are still pulsing vines all over, the roads still dusted with toxins. But there are a lot of houses, and that’s usually good news for avoiding the monsters.

As nice an area as it is, there's still something bigger drawing Billy to this area. Immediately he thinks back to the cemetery, how he’d felt and heard Steve that day, an event he’d come to think, after so long without a repeat feeling, had been only in his head, and he panics, for just a moment.

He knows he can’t let him slip by this time. Closing his eyes, he tries to pinpoint the feeling in his chest, like an arrow that can guide him in the direction of this, a compass pointing straight to his love.

Trusting that this feeling isn’t a warning, and he’s not about to walk into a nest, he follows it, slowly at first but with more fervor when he hears two echoing voices at the same time his chest clenches. He recognizes one as a vague face in his memory, Steve’s best friend, the one Heather never had the guts to tell about the crush she had on her, Robin maybe was her name. The other voice, well, the other voice is Steve’s.

They’re coming from a rotten duplex with no doors or windows. It looks a lot like a marked house, and he wonders if Robin knows she got a discount because the owner of the house was dead, melted into a monster that has tried to kill her along with the rest.

Approaching the house, he doesn’t know what to expect, if maybe they’ll be inside, or if this is just some delusion from a lack of oxygen to his brain. It doesn’t really matter. He steps up, careful to avoid rickety spots in he steps, and goes inside.

First, he leans his machete against the mushroom wall. There’s two reasons he never brings the weapons all the way in, first being that any mess he made in the house always had to be cleaned up by his step mother, so outside of the deepest throws of teenage rebellion, he always did what he could to minimize dirt in he house, and that included bringing a machete dripping with brains inside, even if there wasn't anyone around to see it, it was a habit built by thankful glances and praise, albeit somewhat backhanded, from his parents, so it was one he continued to honor.

Second, he harbors a deep respect for the houses he’s stayed in, despite the lack of doors on this one, each and every home he’s entered, no matter if it was for five minutes to steal some food or upwards of weeks where he slept there, these buildings were his shelter, and he feels the need to respect them, so, weapons stay at the front door. So far, the dogs haven’t followed him inside.

Looking around, he can tell Steve isn’t here either. The house is definitely abandoned just like the rest, and his heart sinks just a little, until he hears it again. A vague whisper that’s just barely audible to his ear.

He knows he’s in the right place. Every inch of him aches for Steve, but he can’t see him. He tries again to call out for him, an echo of the cemetery, “Steve? Can you hear me?”

No response comes.

“I don’t understand, why can’t you hear me?”

Things have gone silent on the other side, and Billy feels hopeless. A bout of frustration turns him around, the urge to forget about his stupid rules and just tear this house apart until he finds his Steve, curbed by seeing the wall phone.

He’s not stupid. He’s been over here long enough to realize he’s not in Hawkins, not the real one anyhow, that they, Steve and his family and everyone else are instead. The how and the why are another story entirely, but he has the basic understanding that he is alone, and they are parallel to him. Coexisting in different planes.

And if that is the case and he’s not on the worst trip of his life or just completely off his rocker, him and the dogs he kills an Agave and Pentheus type situation, then he can contact the other plane, say, by telephone even.

Luckily for him, Robin is forgetful, and there’s a list of numbers taped to the wall by the phone, only slightly worn with black gooey rot. He picks up the phone and listens to the emptiness, no dial tone in his ear. His hands are shaky as he slowly, hesitantly punches in the numbers, the three and the eight buttons getting monster blood on them from his fingers.

He raises the phone to his ear, the sound of his own ragged breathing echoing back in his ear as he waits for someone to answer, the line ringing, and ringing, and ringing.

[singeramg]

Ruin Me

Quick little reader insert imagine based off this post. Based off a non-ask...

*Update: Now a full length story! Check out Masterlist for my chapters?*

Pairing:  CEO! Henry Cavill x Female! Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Power imbalance, dom! Henry, sub! reader, fingering, dirty talk...

Song choice: Funny How Time Flies- Meshell Ndegeocello

PART 2 HERE

  “ Y/N can you bring me a cup of coffee...please.”

His voice wasn’t raised but his tone told you all you needed to know. 

He was not happy. Not happy at all. 

He had called you from the phone in his office, not even bothering to call through the door or better yet come to the door himself which he usually did when he needed something from you and was in a good mood. You don’t dwell on it much and you get to your feet, and hustle over to break room to make a fresh pot of coffee. 

It doesn’t take long; you wait the ten minutes to brew, taking note that your coworkers are packing up for the night. You look at the clock and realize you better do the same.

Although you have nowhere special to be the last thing you wanted to do on a Friday night was spend more time at the office. You didn’t complain much, the job wasn’t had for you. You hadn’t been with the company long but you were sure you liked it thus far.

You were Executive Assistant to the CEO of Cavill Industries. a company he started with his brothers years ago and had grown to be a world wide force. Henry Cavill may not have been the eldest brother but he certainly was the most determined and invested of the 5 and more so than any man you had met. This was why they made him the CEO. 

You also thought that had something to do with the fact that he honestly was the best looking brother out of all of them.

The face of the company.

He had to stand out in a crowd, oh and Henry Cavill certainly did.

You could admit to no one but yourself that you had found him extremely attractive during your third and final interview where you finally got to meet him. If he wasn’t your boss, he would be exactly the type of guy you went for in terms of looks. Tall, dark curly hair, a jawline that could cut glass, dazzling smile and  sharp blue eyes that seemed to pinpoint everything 

Including any mistakes you made.

He had made adjusting to this new job hard for you.

Pointing out every mistake, forcing you to redo whole reports that people who got paid a lot more than you should have been doing

But nooooo

He ‘trusted ‘ a.k.a could hover over you while you fixed it.’ causing more late nights and overtime than you cared to think about.

Forget a social life, everything had to be about him.

You had to be everything. 

In your job interview nobody had mentioned you would be basically in charge of his life. 

Dry Cleaning, arranging his groceries to be delivered, you were even his dog walker on the days he brought his cute Akita Kal-El to the office. 

Yea that was totally fun in the heels he forced you into everyday.

You had tried wearing respectable flats after your first week with sore feet and he vetoed that almost immediately. 

Saying it wasn’t “seemly“ and that you were the assistant to the CEO and you should dress like it. Needless to say half of the time you wanted to slap him. The other time you were ridiculously turned on. I mean despite being an ass sometimes he played right into your masochistic streak. The way he spoke to you, wasn’t nasty but it had a very direct way that left no room for arguing or confusion. Just like with the heels. You normally would have argued your point, maybe even seen if he would come to some sort of compromise but you didn’t with him. You just kept the flats in your car and a pair under your desk for when you were sitting at your desk and for the days he was out of office. 

That sort of sneaky was not like you at all. You just preferred to pull off the band-aid so to speak, but Mr. Cavill was not for any of that.

All you said to him when the response he wanted was obvious was a yes sir or no sir. 

You made his coffee just as he liked two cubes of sugar, and a splash of cream. He always would like three extra cubes of sugar on the side, adding the extras depending on how his day had been going. The more sugar added the better his day. You walk as smooth as you can to his office, the large dark door. You don’t bother to knock, sliding open the door to his office, begging your heels not to catch on the floor. You sit his coffee on the desk, to his right, and far enough from his hand that he doesn’t accidentally knock it over. 

You smooth out your black mid length dress, and try not to fidget with your red belt that gives a retro theme to the look, and you even had a red purse and red blazer to wear with it (which you had ditched mid-morning). You slip back out the door when he doesn’t look at you. You pick up the tablet you use to keep track of everything on a mobile basis. You pull up his calendar and head back into the large office. 

The office itself had never intimidated you despite the large solid oak desk in the middle of the room. It felt open because of the floor to ceiling windows that had automatic curtains that came down on command. You actually loved his office despite the fact that you didn't spend a lot of time in it. You re-enter his office, and stand in front of the desk looking down at the calendar.

   “Okay before the day ends I would like to go over your schedule for the weekend.”

He finally looked up at you, his blue eyes giving direct contact, that you couldn’t hold and went back to the glowing tablet, where the sun was starting to set outside. 

  “You have a dinner meeting tonight which starts at 6:30pm; a 30 minute commute time which means you need to be out of here in the next 45 minutes,  if you would like to arrive with your 15 minute grace period as normal.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, then takes off the reading glasses off his face and tosses them on the desk.

  “Continue.”

  “ Not too many things on the agenda for this weekend except for family brunch on Sunday. Your mother requests you arrive on time this time.”

You regulate a smirk to the side of your mouth.

  “I’ve arranged for a bouquet of flowers to be delivered to your house by 9am for you to take over there to her.”

  “I don’t suppose I have any missed messages from today?”

You look at him confused.

  “Ummm....no. Were you expecting a call?”

He sighs and rubs the temples of his head, clearly upset something.

  “No...yes...don’t worry about it. You’ve already arranged for a car for me?”

Yep, he was upset and he was not about to share it with you. You didn’t press him, only prayed it didn’t result in a hell of a clean-up for you later. You had been the bad guy with no less than 4 woman, all of them glaring and spiting nasty vitriol at you when you wouldn’t give them access to Henry. You had seen them all come and go.

  “Yes.”

He looks you over, getting to his feet, walking over to the door you knew to be an en-suite bathroom and keeping his extra changes of clothes.

  “ Do you have any plans for tonight?”

He asks you suddenly and puts you on the spot. You don’t even have a lie to cover up how pitiful your life was, but you had to try. He didn’t need to know you don’t have anything planned tonight but a glass of wine and catching up on your TV shows you missed for all the overtime you’ve been working. 

  “Yes.”

  “Like what?”

He asks almost immediately as if knowing you were lying. You had to try and get out of some crazy overtime he was known for. You didn’t want another late night in the office.

 “Ummm...”

As noted earlier you didn’t think well on the spot. He raises an eyebrow at you.

 “You know I don’t appreciate liars Y/N. Anyhow if you are done lying to me, the meeting for tonight requires a...feminine touch.”

 “Feminine touch?”

You echo. He goes into the closet and you can hear him changing. You try not to think about him behind the wall.

 “Yes. The people I am meeting with require a bit of finesse. The negotiations always go better when we bring our women to the meetings.”

“Soo... would you like me to call someone for you. I can have a dress sent over in their size to smooth the deal over.”

He laughs at you.

  “No. Grab your things and call the car service to get here in 10 minutes.”

  “ What stop the press? Are you putting me out of the office before you for once?”

You quip at him. He comes from around the corner his attire changed into a black button down shirt, left with the top few unbuttoned. He adjusts the sleeves and looks up with you.

  “No you are going with me Y/N and we must hurry, you are going to require another dress.”

  “But...”

  “No buts. I need you and you are wasting time.”

He picks up a black suit jacket, his cologne hitting you with an umpf he walks by you to get to the car...

*********

The dinner had gone great from what you could tell. You saw a whole other side of Henry. One that was only observed under the rarest of occasions. 

At least for you.

Overall you weren’t asked for much, Henry had bought you another black dress only this one was a bit more leggy than you were used to around such important people. Its spaghetti strapped and sweetheart neckline, offering way more cleavage than you would ever consider wearing around him, but Henry had literally come in with you, pulling it from the rack along with a few other choices and this was the tamest all the options he left you. You damn near had a panic attack in the dressing room. The women in the boutique had fixed your hair and makeup in the little amount of time you had, once again at Henry’s behest. You hadn’t be so pulled together since... well you couldn’t remember....

Henry had even been nice to you all evening, but you knew it was all an act, even if your body did respond to the compliments and lingering looks, the smile he would shoot you, he had even let his hands skim across your lower back. 

You did your best not to read into anything. Had even gone along with the little game he was playing, being over sweet, playing with the curls on the nape of his neck, your hands lingering on his arms. Enough to suggest without being outwardly desperate and trashy. You were ever the smiling damsel to his associates, laughing at the jokes, ignoring the sexist comments about your dress or the ‘arm candy’ they referred to you as, despite it pissing you off.

You stayed to yourself most for the ride back to the office, and he stays quiet as well. Only then once the car parks do you realize in your haste earlier you left your keys upstairs. He insists he needs to come up as well to grab some files from his desk. You offer to bring them back down but he insists. You scurry to your desk, not finding them in the drawer where you usually kept your purse. 

You don’t see them. You panic and look for them intensely.

Oh you hoped you didn’t leave them at the boutique where you changed dresses. 

  “Y/N. Could you come in here please? I would like to discuss something with you before you leave.”

He calls to you, the voice losing the soft tone he had with you all night, this only serves to make your blood run cold. Have you done something wrong? Said the wrong thing to the wrong person and cost him millions of dollars? You needed your job, and hoped pretty badly that this wasn’t the end of it.

You honestly couldn’t tell if you missed it or not. You disregard the thoughts you are having and push them back in your mind, offering to sort them out later. Preferably with alcohol nearby. You look into his office and see that he is standing behind his desk. Once you come in, thinking he needed something from you.

  “Close the door.”

You close the door behind you, the lights on a dim shade, enough for you to see but not enough to over power your eyes. 

  “Did you need anything from me, because it’s late and I should be heading home...”

He surprises you by cutting you off in a tone that was even softer than any other time he had used with you before. 

   “I just wanted to say thank you for accompanying me tonight y/n.”

  “You are Welcome. I’m just going to go...”

You smile and turn to leave but his voice stops you with a sharp tone that makes you freeze.

   “Did I say you could leave?”

You feel your face get hot and you turn back around to face him. The lighting only showcasing the angles of his face, making you ever more nervous. 

   “No but Sir it's 12am...”

    “I know what time it is. You are so stubborn all the time. Can’t even take a simple compliment.”

  “I thought you were done.”

You shrug, and immediately regret being so nonchalant with him., his gaze intense.

   “I wasn’t. Now before you interrupted me, I was saying thank you not only because you came with me but for playing your role so effortlessly. I didn’t expect you to be so ...reciprocating to me.”

  “I figured that would be best. How would it appear if you showed up with a staff member we rather than a significant other like the other at the table.”

  “Well your quick and astute observation saved me tonight.”

  “All in a day's work. Now if I can just get out of these heels tonight and maybe into a pedicure tomorrow I will have made this all worth while.”

He surprises you by coming from behind the desk where he had been standing, coming to stand in front of you.

And you cursed yourself because it was back again.

The arousal you fought with every lingering look and touch he gave you tonight. How honeyed his words were with you, combined with the animalistic power you knew was just boiling under the surface. 

  “I have had many secretaries before and none of them take your position as seriously as you do. You put a lot of effort into your job and does not go unnoticed.”

Having him so close was unnerving. Especially when you had his direct attention. You can’t hold eye contact and look down at the floor. Henry touches your chin, his fingers tilt your chin up and you lock eyes. It wasn’t the first time you noticed the space of brown in his left eye, but the first time you were close enough to appreciate it. 

You feel your pulse quickening.

 “I don’t think I told you how beautiful you look tonight.”

He blinks slowly and you don’t breathe at all as his lips move toward your own. He is seconds away from kissing you, tension heavy in the room.

  “Wait....Henry...I just...I Can’t go there.”

You say it out loud and it’s like someone let the air out of your balloon. He lets your face go and looks at you confused, for the first time you see just Henry. Not your boss, not the CEO who always had to be ‘on’ and in charge, you just saw Henry. His face was open and unguarded.

  “It’s not that I don’t want you. It’s just you are my boss...”

Henry moves suddenly, and yet simultaneously time slows as he crashes his lips onto yours. The odd duality of soft, yet firm, calming yet passionate overtakes your mind and short circuits you. His hands are holding the side of your face on one side and behind your neck. His kiss steals what little breath you had away. You almost forget why this would have been such a bad idea but he pulls away.

  “Darling, Didn’t anyone tell you? The boss makes the rules...”

He resumes kissing you and you offer little in the way of resistance as he picks you up, in fact you lock your legs around his waist and he deposits you on top of his desk. Everything you had been feeling for him was bubbling up in that moment. You were caught in being wanted to be treated like silk and wanting to toss him down and take exactly what you wanted in no uncertain terms of hatefucking him for all the jackass behavior he had exhibited since you started 6 months ago. 

You slide his jacket off his broad shoulders, tossing it to the room, igniting the soft thud it makes when the expensive thing lands in a heap on the floor. He pulls your hips toward the edge of the desk and his large hands are hot as they slide up your skirt over trembling thighs and his lips move to your neck. He finds the sensitive spots there quicker than anyone ever had while also moving his fingers to play with your clit through the lining of the black lace panties you were wearing. 

Your breath hitches in your throat and Henry grins against your lips, letting you take a second before he kisses you again. His fingers dance around before latching to the hemline and yanking them with enough force that they are torn from your body. Your hips sting from the pull, but you are more than turned on. You fumble with the buttons on his shirt, and don’t look at the skin revealed, but he doesn’t let you take it off him and instead pushes one of his fingers inside of you, you lewdly moan, and grasp his biceps quickly, having been taken off guard. It wasn’t that you weren’t wet, because you were plenty wet, your now ruined panties had been testament to that, but you had expected more of a playful teasing, but as one of your last coherent thoughts, you knew this man never wasted time. 

He was a do-er... 

And right now he was doing you. The amount of focus and precision he took in his work, pouring over contracts, logs, inventory and the like, he was putting in on you. As his finger moves in and out he is staring at you with such intensity you think you might explode.

  “You are dripping baby girl. Melting right into the palm of my hand to be exact.”

He removes the finger that had been inside of you, raising it to his lips, tasting you from it, and you shudder. He kisses you again, you closing your eyes, then you hear in his deep tone like melted chocolate, luxurious to your ears,

  “Open your eyes and suck them.”

He held two of his fingers and you opened your mouth. He wanted to hold your gaze.

 “Get them nice and wet for me.”

You suck on them, imaging the girth that had been teasing you for months in his sacks, was what was actually in your mouth. You had wanted so badly to taste him and feel him you reach down, palming his obvious erection and you hear him growl. It was your turn to smirk, and as soon as he felt that smirk, he pulled his two fingers from your mouth and thrusts them into you. 

You whimper and the one hand you left on his bicep clenched in, digging into his skin. His fingers glide in and out almost painfully slow. You need faster.You try to move your hips to make him move but he chuckles.

  “That won’t work y/n. We do this at my pace. Be still or I will stop.”

He didn’t go any faster, his movements deliberately slow. You could tell he was getting a kick out this, and you whine again. 

    “Beg kitten.”

He whispers in your ear, his thumb teasing your clit again. 

   “Please.”

He moves a little faster.

  “Come on love. You can do better than that.” Teasing.

  “Please Henry...”

He slaps your thigh with a sharp tap and it sends the zing of arousal.

“That's not what you call me. Try again.”

While your brain is shorting out, you fumble on what he wants from you.

 “I..i don’t know sir...”

He rewards you by speeding up more. Your torso drops backwards, your head follows as you rest back on your elbows, and legs move wider, making your dress bunch up around your hips. 

 “There you go. There’s what I was looking for. Now beg me to make you come.”

You worry your bottom lip, ignoring how your chest heaves, pulling against the black fabric of the dress. 

  “Fuck! Please sir please let me cum.”

  “That’s more like it. Begging me like the dirty little slut you are.”

He speeds up, his fingers curling inside, tapping that spongy space that made your eyes cross and your vision blur. You didn’t think you would like being called a ‘little slut’ but it was more of a turn on than you had ever thought it would be. 

  “Sir let me cum please let me cum.”

His dexterous fingers speed up, his thumb rubbing your clit and you were glad no one else was in the office as your moans echo throughout the room.

  “You want to be my good girl hmmm?”

You nod furiously, the edge of your orgasm coming up rapidly, as your walls begin their tell-tell sign of fluttering.

  “Good girls wait until they have permission. You hold it.”

It was damn near impossible, but you try to focus on anything but how good his fingers feel. He pulls your body back up from the desk with his hand gripping behind your neck. His lips crash on your again, he lingers around your lips you breathe heavily against his lips.

  “I’ll be your good girl!”

You yell.

  “Good. Cum then come for me.”

It’s like the world goes silent and all you can focus on is his fingers as your orgasm pulls you under. It’s an out of body experience where you could hear your moans and groans of Henry’s name, where you were literally shaking, but you could bring yourself down. Destroyed, Henry is whispering praises in your ear. Calling you his and how good you were for him. It doesn’t take long to come back down, but when you do you feel wrung out, and as Henry pulls away, you notice the sheen of fine layered sweat on his forehead. You feel self conscious as he stares down  at you, and without the haze of lust in your eyes it settles in you that your boss just gave you one of the best orgasms of your life and hadn’t even taken off his pants. 

Pants that were currently begging you to be taken off. He begins to chuckle and you realize you’ve been staring at his cock outline, and he was laughing at you. He unbuttons his pants, and finally takes off his shirt the rest of the way, finally revealing the god sculpted body that he clearly worked for.

The look on his face says he is going to ruin you and you are going to like it.

Only then, as he begins to work on the zipper to your dress,  do you look to your left on the desk and see your keys sitting there...

***************

A/n: Hope that was what you were looking for @thiccgeralt​  Hope this met your expectations and thank you! 

I am thinking of coming back to this, but honestly I am waiting until @laketaj24​ finishes her CEO! fic The Rules, because its so freaking wonderful and I don’t want to ruin anything by stealing any thunder with a CEO fic OR Ficlet I would plan on doing. BTW if you haven’t read The Rules then please do yourself a favor a go over to her page and check out all of her work. You will not regret a second of it....

However I am tossing this out to see if there would be any interest in a continuation of this fic. Let me know and as always thank you for reading, re-blogging, and liking!

Henry Cavill Taglist: (OPEN! Let me know if this is something you want on!

@msblkfire84  @magdelen69​ 

[helloalycia]

good news [one] // alycia debnam-carey

summary: you're alycia's roommate and hear about the news of her getting cast in The 100

warning/s: none.

two | three | masterlist

"–and it's important to make sure you don't forget this module! It's the one that ties everything together!"

Everyone, including myself, hummed in response to the professor's rant. It was the millionth time in thirty minutes that he'd mentioned how important this topic was to learn. There was no point in stopping him repeating himself though, he would just keep doing it.

"I don't want stragglers showing up at my–"

My heart hammered in my chest as I heard my phone ringing from my backpack at my feet. The professor stopped speaking and everyone's eyes looked to me judgementally. I smiled awkwardly and pulled my phone from my bag. I managed to catch a glimpse of my friend, Alycia's name on the screen, before silencing the call and my phone.

"I'm so sorry about that, oh my goodness," I blurted our nervously, looking to the annoyed professor. "Please, resume."

He gave me a knowing look before looking forward and continuing his rant about asking for help last minute. My heart rate returned to normal, though I was sure my cheeks were flaming with embarrassment. I hated how easily flustered I got in social situations and reminded myself to kill Alycia later on.

"I know you all must be tired of hearing the same old same old, but it's–"

The professor paused and narrowed his glare in my direction when my phone began to ring again. It was on silent, but I had forgotten I'd left it on vibrate. So my phone was vibrating against the wood of my desk and I felt like the whole of the world could bloody hear it.

"Oh my– I'm so sorry, sir, I didn't mean to– sorry," I rambled, cheeks growing warmer as I moved to silence my phone. It was Alycia again. I looked past the dozens of eyes and to my professor, offering an apologetic smile. "Sorry, sir."

He pursed his lips and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, before resuming as usual. I sighed in relief and went to my phone to change my silent settings. I also took the moment to see what on Earth Alycia wanted right now.

Y/N: Dude, i'm in a lecture!! i thought i told you that! what is so important? 😩🤦🏻‍♀️

Aly 💐: I'm sorry omg i completely forgot! long story short, guesS WHO GOT AN ACTING ROLE ON A SCI-FI SHOW IN CANADA??

I screeched and almost dropped my phone as excitement took over me. Alycia got an acting role! She'd been auditioning for months now, but nothing was turning up. She hadn't lost hope and for good reason because she got a role!

"Miss Y/L/N! Is there something you would like to share with the rest of the hall?!"

I jumped, startled at my professor's booming voice. I looked up and my eyes widened when I realised I'd screamed out loud in response to Alycia's text. Oh, god, talk about awkward...

"Sir, I'm so sorry!" I apologised instantly, tossing my phone back into my bag. "I didn't mean to interrupt again! It's just, my friend has been auditioning for so many roles and I was worried nothing would turn up for her, but she got a role just now and it's amazing because she gets to go to Canada!"

My professor wasn't the slightest bit amused and I realised I'd rambled about my life story when he hadn't even asked. He raised his hand and pointed over his shoulder to the door behind him.

I pressed my lips together and breathed out through my nose. I nodded and began to pack my things away awkwardly. I tried to ignore everyone's eyes on me as I walked down the steps and out the hall. I'd have to catch up on someone's notes later or something.

When I left the hall, I searched for my phone, deciding to give Alycia a call. That was my last class for the day, so I guess I could actually get back to Alycia properly now.

"Y/N?!"

"Alycia!" I screamed down the phone, a massive grin on my lips, any previous embarrassment long gone. "Tell me everything!"

I heard her laughter down the phone and ignored the butterflies that swirled a storm in my stomach at the sound. Okay, I may have liked Alycia a little more than friends, but that didn't matter. I'd always pushed it away and it was going fine for me.

"I thought you were in your lecture, though?" she asked, and I could just imagine the confused frown on her lips, making me smile to myself.

I began my walk to the car park as I answered, "I kinda got kicked out for disrupting a few times."

"...That was my fault, wasn't it?"

I snickered. "A little bit, but it's okay. This is important. Now tell me what happened!"

She sighed before diving right in. "Okay, well, I got called to a meeting with my manager before and it was actually a meeting with creator of this show. It's called The 100, you heard of it?"

"Not really, but go on."

"It's some sci-fi show, I don't know, but a month or so ago, I auditioned for one of the characters they're introducing in their second season. Their creator, Jason Rothenburg, loved it! He said he wanted to hire me the same day, but it was only fair to give everyone a fair audition."

I gasped, a smile on my face. "Aly, that's amazing!"

"I know!" she exclaimed with excitement. "He hired me today and well, yeah! I'm going to be in season 2 of The 100!"

I got into my car as I said, "Gosh, I'm so proud of you, Alycia. I knew you'd find something sooner or later."

"Thank you, Y/N. That means a lot."

I smiled as I connected my phone to my car and started the engine. "Where are you now?"

There was some shuffling on her end before a door slammed shut. "Just got home now."

I nodded as I began to pull out of the car park. "Well, I'm on my way back now and we totally need to celebrate this, so what're you in the mood for? Takeout or a restaurant?"

"Y/N, you don't need to do that," she declined politely and I rolled my eyes.

"Aly, we know how this goes. I offer, you say no, I keep bugging you until you agree and we do something. So let's skip to the end where you tell me what you want."

Her laughter echoed into my car and the butterflies returned. Why did something as simple as her laugh make me feel so elated?

"Okay, I guess takeout would be nice," she reluctantly agreed.

"How does Chinese sound?"

"Perfect."

I grinned. "I'll see you soon, Aly. Food an' all."

"See you later."

"Congratulations again by the way. I can't wait to give you a giant hug!"

She chuckled. "I'm going now. Focus on driving, idiot!"

"Love you!"

"Love you, too!"

She hung up and a smile remained on my lips as I thought about the green-eyed girl waiting for me at home.

***

It was about half an hour later when I got home to Alycia and I's flat. I picked up the takeout, as promised, but I also went to pick up some balloons that had 'congratulations' written on them, and a large bouquet of flowers. I didn't have much time to plan anything major since I'd only just been told the good news, but I wanted to do something for her – she deserved it.

"Alycia? I'm home!" I called out as I managed to get the door open.

"I'm coming!" I heard her call back as I tossed my keys on the kitchen counter, along with the bags of food. "Was their traffic? You took a long– oh..." She walked out from her bedroom and waited by the couch, trying to overcome her surprise.

"Congratulations, darling!" I grinned, a bouquet of flowers in one hand and balloons in the other.

Her hands were raised, covering the grin on her lips. "Y/N..." She moved forward and I held out both things for her, but she ignored them and pulled me in for a hug instead.

"I thought it was me who promised to give you a giant hug," I teased, trying to distract from the fact that my cheeks were growing warm at the close contact. I made some attempt to return the hug, despite my hands being full.

"You didn't have to get me these," she complained in typical Alycia fashion, accepting the balloons, and her utmost favourite, the flowers. She was looking down at them with a grin as she added, "But I appreciate it so much."

I shrugged. "It's not as much as I would have liked to, but it will do for now."

She glanced up and I literally froze as she sent a dazzling smile my way; the kind that lit up her bright emeralds and made me reevaluate my whole existence.

"I'll go put these in a vase," she spoke, her smile still present and myself still frozen. "Thank you."

As she did that, I managed to snap back into reality and pull my coat and shoes off. By then, she had already brought the takeout to the couch and laid it out on the coffee table. I smiled at the sight, watching her pull her pyjama-clad legs up on the couch; her lower lip was jutted out with concentration as she made a plate for herself carefully. I would never get tired of the sight.

I joined her on the couch, too hungry to change before eating, and made myself a plate.

"So?! When do you start filming? What's your character? Details, Aly, I need details!" I urged, giving her my full attention.

She rolled her eyes playfully (and ever-so-adorably), saying, "Filming starts in less than a month. I fly over to Vancouver and it should last about three, four months, depending on availability of everything. I don't know the specifics, but Jason said he'll get back to me ASAP."

I beamed at her. "That sounds amazing!"

She mirrored my expression. "I know! And about my character, I'm not sure I can tell you. The whole thing is under wraps..."

I shook my head. "I haven't even seen the show. I'm sure I can keep the secret."

She laughed melodiously. "You gotta watch the show if you're gonna support me!"

It was my turn to laugh. "I'll binge watch the whole first season starting tomorrow. Swear."

She cocked her head to the side and watched me with a smile. "Cute." I hoped I didn't look as red as I felt. "All I know about my character is that she is some Commander. A leader of people. She's cold, ruthless and dangerous."

"So the complete opposite to you," I deadpanned.

"Pretty much, yeah," she agreed with a chuckle.

I sighed happily. "Gosh, this is just amazing. I'm so proud of you. Have you told your mum?"

Alycia nodded, pausing as she finished chewing her food. "I rang her earlier," she said after swallowing her food. "She was thrilled."

"As expected."

"Yeah." She smiled. "This is surreal."

I shook my head. "Nah, I knew it would happen."

"Yeah, but so soon?" she queried, looking bewildered. "I'm going to Vancouver in less than a month, Y/N!"

"That's so soon," I realised, before frowning. "How am I gonna last three months without you?" I gasped. "Is it too late to decline the role?"

She chuckled, knowing I was kidding. I was, but the implication was still true.

"We can spend the month together," she promised with an amused smile. "I'll slowly wean you off me so that when I leave, you won't even notice."

"Pfft," I pulled a face, "I'm gonna spend every second of this month with you."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Really?" I nodded with confirmation. "What about university?"

"I'll work from home," I quipped.

Her expression didn't change. "And work?"

I looked around, thinking, before deciding, "I'll take you with me. I'm sure the diner won't mind an extra waitress."

Alycia giggled and played along. "Okay, what about when you need to use the bathroom, hm?"

I shrugged. "Easy. I'll hold your hand through the door."

She burst into laughter at this point, having to set her plate on the coffee table before she dropped it. I couldn't keep the smile off my face as I watched her laugh at me like I was crazy. Maybe I was. About her, but she didn't need to know that.

"Seriously, Y/N?"

I sighed and set my plate down, too, before moving to sit closer to her so I could hug her arm. "How do you expect me to survive when you're gone?"

She opened her mouth to speak, probably something feigning reassurance, but she eventually smirked and shrugged. "You're right, I do do a lot around here."

"Hey!"

She laughed and I sat up again, facing her.

"You'll be fine," she promised, her voice softer. "And you can ring me whenever you want. Everyday at least."

I smiled. "I like these conditions."

She rolled her eyes again, before shooting me a carefree smile. "Thank you."

"For what?" I asked, noticing she was no longer teasing anymore.

She gave me a knowing look as if I should understand. "For supporting me."

"You don't need to thank me for that, Aly," I told her. "But you're welcome anyway. It's the least I can do for having you as a friend."

A grin fell upon her lips and she met my eyes, the happiness sparkling in her own green-golden ones. God, she was so beautiful.

[whatdoyoumeanitsnotawesome]

Ship meme: Wayne and Katy 5, 9, 10

ship headcanon meme from THIS POST (check it out if you haven’t already)

5. Who says ‘I love you’ first?

That depends on how you’re counting. Katy says the words, easy as breathing, has done since she could talk, no problem. It’s never a formality or a reflex, it’s 100% genuine every time she says it. Wayne only says it a handful of times, but he shows it every day, cooking and doing dishes together, planting her favourite flowers in the vegetable patch, carrying the basket of wet laundry for her so she can peg it out, bringing her coffee in bed for their traditional Sunday morning lie-in.

Once Katy told him she was thinking about keeping bees, to save them some money instead of hiring them every Spring for pollination. So he looks up plans and builds her some boxes the very next day. He calls around town to find a hive that someone wants shot of, and buys a secondhand but still-in-good-nick spinner and a beesuit and veil. It’s worth it, the splinters and stings and running around, all of it, when she pops the first bite of honeycomb into his mouth and smiles at him.

9. What is the most embarrassing thing they have done in front of each other?

This one’s tough, because they’re never really uncomfortable enough with each other that they get embarrassed.

The first time they get drunk, like, properly drunk, they’re in their study room, chilling on the secondhand loveseat they got from Uncle Eddie and Aunt Marian. They’re sixteen tomorrow, and consider themselves very grown up, capable of handling pretty much anything, including liquor. Their parents are the lax sort, so they’ve had a wee dram here and there, usually in tea, or warm milk with honey if they’re ill.

Tonight though, it’s the day before their birthday, they’re supervision-free, it’s the height of summer, and their parents are away on a date, so the twins decide to start their revels early. They nick the whiskey from the kitchen and make sure to load up on snacks to bring upstairs with them so they don’t have to chance sneaking back down to the kitchen after their parents get home. Very responsible, very forward-thinking; they’re totally nailing adulting. They’re not even going anywhere, so they can’t possibly get into too much trouble, right?

Wrong.

They’re getting quietly tanked, chirping an old episode of MST3K, and booze is as booze does, so Katy has to wee. She stands up to go, or rather, she tries to stand up. All the alcohol goes to her head all at once, and she immediately over-balances. The only thing that saves her from taking a header into the coffee table is Wayne throwing his arms around her and pulling her back into his lap. Concussion successfully avoided, yay, but the pressure around her middle only exacerbates her original problem.

‘Wayne, you gotta let me up, I gotta go.’ She pats his arm, tapping out.

‘You gonna be alright?’ Wayne seems sceptical, but releases her nonetheless. It’s not fair he sounds so much more sober than she feels.

‘I’ll be fine, I just wasn’t expecting it.’ To be honest, Katy’d expected being drunk to feel kinda similar to smoking pot, which she’s pretty used to by now. She stands up much more slowly this time, moving very deliberately, and makes her way to the washroom between the study and their bedroom. Her fingers refuse to cooperate with the pocket door and the button of her shorts, but she does eventually get things sorted before she gets too desperate.

While she’s sitting there, she decides to make things easier on her future self and change into pyjama shorts. She’s a genius, she’s handling this so well. The pocket door to the bedroom gives her just as much trouble as the one leading to the study. Rather than tempting Fate by attempting to stand on one leg, Katy sits on the bed to get changed. She’s just pulling her shorts up when Wayne chooses that moment to bang on the door.

‘Are you okay in there?’ he calls through the door.

‘I’m just putting on some pyjamas.’

Wayne sounds disgruntled. ‘It’s been twenty minutes. I thought maybe you’d fallen again.’

Awwwwwww. He was always looking out for her. Katy slides the door open and leans against the frame, smiling. ‘Were you worried about me?’

Wayne’s habitual squint is a bit uneven, so maybe he’s not as unaffected as she thought. Good to know. ‘I don’t wanna hafta explain to our parents that I’m suddenly an only child, no.’

Witty as ever. ‘C’mon, let’s go back to the sofa.’ Katy slides an arm around Wayne and they lean against each other as they walk a little unsteadily back to the loveseat. Once they’re settled back down, they keep absently nibbling their snacks and passing the whiskey back and forth. It gets late enough that they hear the truck coming up the laneway, and they share a moment of visceral, heart-stopping paranoia, like somehow their parents are gonna just know, via telepathy or some other Spooky Parent Power.

Normality reasserts itself when after a couple of minutes, there’s a complete lack of doors opening and shutting. Wayne barely leans out the window before he registers the slight sway of the truck, and for the sake of his sanity he launches himself backwards before he can see anything unfortunate, but he hadn’t counted on Katy being right behind him and he bowls them both over in his haste.

‘Oof,’ is all she says, staring up at the ceiling. A moment of silence passes between them before Wayne speaks.

“They’re gonna be in the truck a while.’

Another moment of silence while this works its way through Katy’s brain. ‘Oh my God,’ she moans, voice full of despair, ‘we have to ride in that truck!’ She rolls over next to him and buries her face in his shoulder. ‘I really, really wish you hadn’t’a said that.’

Wayne sighs, puts his arm around her shoulders, and pats her sympathetically. ‘Sorry, kiddo, but if I have to suffer, so do you.’

‘That is not covered under for better or for worse,’ she says, muffled.

‘Twins for life, honey. No getting divorced.’

Katy raises her head to look at him and digs her pointy little chin into his ribs extra hard, just ‘cos she can. ‘You’re a terrible person. I’m gonna trade you in.’

Wayne adopts the snootiest Customer Service voice he can muster. ‘I’m afraid the sixty-day return policy has lapsed.’ He grins. ‘You’re stuck with me.’

She hums, ‘Well, if that’s the case. I suppose you do have your uses.’ Katy snuggles closer and lays her head back down. ‘You’re pretty comfy, for a start.’

‘Oh, well. As long as I’m useful.’

‘Like a good piece of furniture. Decorative and sturdy.’

They giggle quietly until they hear the back door open and shut. There’s the sound of feet on the stairs, and then a quick tapping at the study door as their parents wish them goodnight in passing, and they warmly return the sentiment from their spot on the floor.

When they hear their parents’ door close, Katy whispers, ‘There’s one way to try and erase that image.’

Wayne nods. ‘That’s a Texas-sized 10-4.’

They relocate back to the sofa again, piling pillows on one end and stretching out across it as they resume passing the bottle back and forth. Eventually, the television switches over to a new programme, and by that time, their parents’ snores are echoing through the house. They’re both so relaxed it almost feels like a Sin, breaking the peace, but Katy’s had the most excellent idea and it would be rude and selfish if she didn’t share it.  

‘Hey, Wayne,’ she queries.

His hand pauses petting her hair. ‘Katy Kat?’

‘Wanna go have a smoke on the roof?’

Oh, that’s class. ‘I’d have a dart.’

The biggest benefit to their room being on the complete opposite side of the house from their parents’ is that it’s practically soundproof. They don’t hear any night noises they don’t wanna hear, and they get easy access to the roof via the porch gable and the big window in the study. Wayne gets the gear from the sock drawer and they climb out on top of the porch, only a little wobbly. From there, Wayne hoists himself up onto the roof proper, then pulls Katy up after, and they settle in for a dart and a joint respectively. They’re flushed and warm from the drink, and the smokes go straight to their heads, leaving them dizzy and giggly; but the night air is bracing and helps cool them off.

They lay back together and point out all the constellations they can remember, then start making up new ones and giving them the most ridiculous backstories they can come up with. After about half an hour, the whiskey jacket wears off and Katy gets cold enough she wants to go inside. Getting down is a lot more of a challenge than getting up had been. Any other time they’d just jump for it, or else they’re sneaking out and shinning it down the tree, but those are both too noisy to be real options. They eventually work out that they have to sit down and then lower themselves in a weird sort of reverse pull-up type manoeuver. Or, well, Wayne has to lower himself and then lift Katy down. There’s a close call as she shifts her weight forward when he’s not expecting it, but they recover and no one falls or breaks anything, so they carefully climb back in the window.

Safely ensconced back on the couch, they’re in that space between drunk and sober where judgement has left the building, but you’re absolutely certain you’re making an unbiased, totally objective decision to have another drink. Killing the last third of the bottle seems like a brilliant idea. Things take a sharp nose-dive from that point. Where before they’d been slowly sipping at the whiskey, now they take gulps; after all, they’d handled it so far, right? The television plays softly in the background, but they’ve long since lost the plot. Whatever’s going on, it involves a robot, a Cat-man, an idiot, and some prick with an H on his forehead. Drunchies are no joke, and before they know it all the snacks have mysteriously disappeared and they’ve no memory of finishing them.

That was the tipping point, it seems, because the nausea comes on, creeping up like a thief in an alley, the heartburn and the churning bile and the spins, and oh fuck, the spins. Katy’s head feels tight like a migraine, but also weirdly floaty, like she’s too high. Wayne’s not doing much better himself, breathing slow and heavy and focussed on one spot on the ceiling to try and quell the urge to spit. If they’re very, very still, they might be able to power through this.

Luck is not on their side. Katy needs the bin, now. She turns to ask Wayne to grab it and-

A strangled ‘Wayne,’ is all the warning he gets before Katy hurls right in his lap. For a moment, he’s too stunned to do anything, but then she retches and does it again, and that’s what triggers his gag reflex, the sound and the smell and the warm liquid splash, and Wayne tosses his cookies even as he’s reaching for the rubbish bin. That sets Katy off again, and they’re caught in a vicious cycle of calling Huey until there’s nothing left in either of them to bring up.

They have to use every towel in the bathroom to clean up the mess, dry heaving the whole time, until it’s as good as they’re going to get it in the middle of the night. They rinse their mouths out and brush their teeth very gingerly, trying not to set off another round of gastrointestinal rebellion. Katy still feels hot and woozy and not a little gross, and she refuses to get in bed like this and mess up the nice, clean sheets. Wayne doesn’t exactly smell like a bed of roses either, so they sluice off and get into fresh, non-puky pyjamas. Katy’s head is clear enough by then that she has the foresight to make them both drink some goddamn water and take some aspirin before they get in bed.

The next morning is a special level of Hell, ‘cos it turns out their parents are totally on to them. Busted. As if being wretchedly hungover weren’t punishment enough, their parents make sure to be extra loud and unsympathetic to their misery. Birthday pancakes bring no joy, the smell of frying bacon is revolting, and the very idea of anything as acidic as orange juice has them both on the razor’s edge of being ill again.

Wayne and Katy Suffer through breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen after, until some buckets, brushes, and heavy-duty surface cleaner are shoved into their hands. They trudge upstairs and start scrubbing the puke out of the floorboards. Every part of the sofa needs to be cleaned as well; the cushions, the upholstery, the cover. Even the remote for the television. All of this on top of their regular chores leaves them shaky and exhausted by lunchtime.

The bollocking they get is definitely well-deserved, but neither of the twins has the strength to tolerate it. Wayne just crawls under the table and lays face-down and still, waiting for death, and Katy pillows her abominably sore head on her arms and tunes out until it’s over. They’re grounded for the foreseeable future, and just to make sure they don’t have any time to get into any more mischief, they’ll be doing chores over at Uncle Eddie’s as well as at home. The only pity they’re shown is a sleeve of dry crackers and some ginger beer to settle their bellies. The rest of the day is spent hauling bales and mucking stalls.

After dinner they go straight to bed, no shuckin’ and jivin’. They pinkie swear that next time, they’re gonna take about fifty percent off the whiskey and double down on the water. They grow up to be champion lushes, the pair of ‘em.

10. What two songs, two books and two luxury items do they take to a desert island?

Katy:

Music: House of Tom Bombadil by Nickel Creek, ‘cos Katy’s secretly a huge Nerd, and A Thousand Years by Christina Perri even though it’s so Basic White Girl, because no matter how cheesy, she genuinely loves it.

Books: The Secret Garden by Francis Hodgson Burnett (her favourite since childhood,) and How to Invent Everything by Ryan North, a surprisingly useful survival guide.

Luxury Items: A tarpaulin, because Katy’s nothing if not Practical, and sunscreen for Wayne, ‘cos he’ll never think of it and he burns like paper.

Wayne:

Music: Wayne actually has the most rubbish taste in music. If he likes anything good, it’s purely by accident. He brings a cover of Can’t Hold Us by Macklemore as Gaeilge and Animals by Nickleback.

Books: Le Petit Prince by Antoine De Saint-Exupery. It’s his favourite, and it’s set in a desert, so. And since he knows every word off by heart in English and in French, to keep him engaged he’ll also bring Seven Pillars of Wisdom by T. E. Lawrence. Sure, it’s on-theme and all.

Luxury Items: A flint and a hammer hatchet. With these he can make simple tools, and with simple tools he can make complex tools, and with complex tools he can make anything.

(Edit: I only just now realised that perhaps this meant two total, as in one of each item for each of them, rather than they both bring two of each item. Oh, well. What’s done is done.)

[jasminem18]

And here 

DreamlifeTale Sans ref 

Sorry it took too much time cause 

well , I was working on two pics at the same time (that was a bad idea) so sorry for the wait

Name : Sans

Nickname : Suns (people who live in snowdin calls him that) Cosmo ( Au thing , Outertale sans calls him that) bag of Dust

Date of birthday :  

Age : 16 years old

Birth place : Hotland

Lives in : Snowdin

 Height/Weight: Taller than orignal sans and smaller than Gaster!sans , Slim ... reeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaally slim !!

Occupation : sell Stuffed breads

THE MOST IMPORTANT THINGS ABOUT DLT SANS :

Sans is sick , a Fatal sick , if he do too much effort or use too much magic he will die faster

Sans is insomnia . He is the only monster that lost the ability to sleep

Sans talks French-English , so sometimes he accidently say french words when talks

Sans is a kind , friendly and a really good listener but also he can be kinda violent and really scary [ when he is mad] .

Sans always have that sad smile in his face , he says that that's his normal smile . He don't hide his emotions but never shows his sadness but always fails to hide his tears . Sans can be sometimes 10% childish (love to play) [since he is not allowed to run , have fun ect.. when he was a little kid ... and still can't lol] and he never give full info . Sans hate to talk about his past and refuse to tell what is his sickness

Status : Att 100 , Def 150  [ This is what people in the Underground says] Lv : 1

Abilities : DLT! sans uses his fists and legs more than his magic but there are always too much bones everywhere in battles tho

Attacks

  " the Punsh / Slap cracker " Sans concentrate most of his power in his fist and use it as a punsh or a slap (can crack your skull very bad )

"Gaster Blasters" a Huge blasters that will laser you

Bones , well ... you know .. bones

Changing the gravity around the soul , like original sans

"DreamLife" , a powerful magic [ not spoiling aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

   ]

"Fake creatures" , Sans special DreamLife attack , also he is the only one who can use it : Create creatures that looks totally like the person he wants and use it

Also Sans block attacks more than dodge them

Dreamlife uses :

 To fight

 to try to guide people to the right path [ Sans likes to listen to others and understand them and try to convince them that maybe the path they took is wrong but always accepte what they decided in the end ]

To have quiet time alone

To talk to ☟✋💧 ☞✌❄☟☜☼ ☝✌💧❄☜☼

Weakness : His soul (If you wanna win the fight aim his heart/soul ) , Taking on too much responsibility , Vanilla drink/sauce , Frisk's eyes

Favorite food : stuffed bread

Favorite drink : Vanilla sauce and Vanilla juice  

Likes : His brother , Frisk , Vanilla drink/sauce , Helping peaple , discover new things , The stars (also books about stars and gallexys) , echo flowers , waterfall [Special reason]

Dislikes : Doing nothing , peaple asking about his age , peaple calling him hero (in snowdin)

HATE : His past

DLT!Sans famous Lines :

"I'm dying" [The most thing he says , always say it when he don't know what to say or don't wanna answer]

"I'm a Freaking skeleton ! I'm genderless " *then turn to Frisk (or who is with him) and whisper "actually no , I'm a boy "

"I'm just a bag of dust" [when he is really very sad]

Other things :

Sans always do the suprise glomp hug to papyrus

Sans is a Derp master

Sans always carry his bottle with him

Sans is not very good with puns cause of having headache  all the time BUT he really love puns and jokes

Sans got the "Glowing eye" power in his left eye when he saw his mom dies and the right one when his father fell in the void

Sans like to help people when the truth .... he is the one who need help

When Mad , 80% sans say french words [ mostly curses]

Sans Love to collect hats (chullo) and never use them

The only thing sans wishs is to see everyone (specially papy) go back to the surface

He already know that he is not gonna make it anyway

You really have a death wish if you try to cut Miss Echo Flower

AU things [ The not canon to the story part ]

OuterTale sans is his best friend

Sans love to go to space outertale

DLT!sans is an Afterdeath shipper

Everything depends on the story he is in