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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

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The Summer Before College | Marcus Moreno x reader

summary: just because you got some good scholarships doesn't mean you couldn’t use some extra cash. luckily, babysitting for a family friend has been a steady side gig for you. rule number one of babysitting: don't let your wandering eye rest for too long on the hot single dad.

word count: 4.7k

warnings: smut (dub con elements? but she’s into it lol don’t worry), age gap (he’s 40-something, reader’s 18/19), loss of virginity, pussy spanking (like, once), lots of petnames and ‘good girl’s, not a dark fic but kinda pushing it, not explicitly dad's best friend trope but it has that energy and I've decided that he is in fact friends with the reader's dad

a/n: this has basically nothing to do with the movie. he’s just a hot dad. don’t overthink it.

You knew the walk to the Moreno's by now: down two blocks from your house, take a right at San Vicente, a left on Birch, a few houses down and you're there. With your full backpack weighing on your shoulders it felt longer than usual, but you made it anyways and knocked on the front door.

"It's open!" a voice called from inside, and you turned the knob and swung the door open.

You almost regretted wearing your tiniest jean shorts, from the way Mr. Moreno did a double take when you walked in. But hey, it was the middle of summer and he would never look at you like that— you were just his daughter's babysitter, ever since you were sixteen; he was probably just surprised to see that you were wearing something other than your school uniform. Maybe some part of you wished he would look at you like that…

Missy called your name, tearing you from your thoughts, jumping up when she saw you and beaming as she rushed to give you a hug. "Hey!" you greeted in return.

“Thanks again for doing this,” Mr. Moreno nodded in your general direction, apparently already dressed for whatever it was he had to do, slipping on his jacket from where it hung on a hook by the door. "She's already had dinner, so just homework and bedtime," he explained to you as you nodded dutifully.

"Bedtime? Dad, I'm not a little kid anymore," Missy rolled her eyes.

"Okay, you're a big kid and you need to be asleep by 10. It's a school night."

She huffed but didn't protest, and you joined her on the couch because she wanted to show you some drawings she’d done earlier that day. "Bye, Dad!" Missy waved when he left, and he turned back quickly to blow a kiss in her direction.

Once you helped her finish her homework (frankly, you didn't have to do that much— she's a smart kid), the two of you enjoyed some video games before you finally got her to start getting ready for bed.

It was cute how confident Missy was that she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep, only for her to be snoring within five minutes of her head hitting the pillow. You were envious of how easily she could sleep; you could kill an hour just tossing and turning and readjusting your blanket. But that wasn’t going to be your problem tonight: you weren’t going to sleep yet, until the man of the house returned, meaning all you had to do was wait.

Even in summer, having already graduated, you had plenty of work to do while you waited for Mr. Moreno. Knowing what classes you had in the fall, you bought your textbooks a bit early and planned on reading them all before the semester began. You’d already gotten through Philosophy Through the Ages and now you continued from where you left off in the middle of Introductory Physics.

What surprised you was that you had time to finish that one, too. You had anticipated that Mr. Moreno would be back before you made it to the module on fluid dynamics, but you reached the index at a quarter past midnight and he was still gone. You shrugged and picked up the next one— A Book of Luminous Things: An International Anthology of Poetry— hoping he was alright and that he’d be back soon.

You had to make yourself some coffee when 1 a.m. rolled around; tired, anxious, and distracted, you realized this was probably not the best state to be attempting to study in, but you didn’t feel like you had a choice. You didn’t want to fall asleep here, you’d promised to watch Missy and you couldn’t exactly do that while asleep… plus, he would probably be back any minute now. Sure, you’d been saying that to yourself for nearly an hour and a half now, but it was more true than ever.

It was another hour and a half, though, until his car pulled into the driveway and he pushed through the front door, prompting you to set aside your textbook.

“Good evening,” you greeted, standing up. He looked a little disheveled— but it worked for him, with that curly hair all messed up in just the right way. Maybe it was just that it was late or that it was the rare time you saw him without Missy around, but there was a darkness about him now, not sinister so much as just purely intimidating. It was like you hadn’t really taken him seriously before, and now you were appreciating that you should have.

“She’s asleep?” he assumed, glancing over to the hallway which his daughter’s bedroom was positioned at the end of before slipping his jacket off and hanging it by the door.

“It’s half past two, so… I really hope so,” you chuckled.

“Shit, is it that late already?” he groaned, glancing at his watch.

“Did you not notice?”

“I.. got carried away.”

You didn’t want to know what he’d been out so late for. It was none of your business, and you figured you were better off without any secrets to keep— you’d never been so good at keeping secrets, even your own.

“Been studying this whole time?” he noticed as he glanced at the textbooks on the couch, grinning a little. It sort of felt like he was mocking you, and it made your cheeks warm as you nodded. “What a good girl.”

That made a cold tingle crawl up your spine. Sure, other students had called you that before, and plenty of your teachers, but when he said it, like that… it felt entirely new. “I try,” you managed to respond eventually.

“You’ll do well in college, I bet.”

“You think so?” you beamed.

“Yeah,” he nodded confidently. There was something comforting about the way he smiled at you; yet, there was something predatory about the way his eyes glanced down your body and back up slowly.

As you turned and bent over to pick up your textbooks off the couch, you could tell that he had stepped closer; you could just barely hear the soft noise of his footsteps on his carpet, just barely feel the warmth of him behind you, just barely pick up on the slow, thoughtful breath he took in and out through his nose.

Standing back up slowly, you felt him do it again, right against your neck.

“M-Mr. Moreno,” you stammered, shivering when his hands gripped you on either arm. Not a tight grip, per se, but one that made his strength obvious.

“You don’t have to call me that,” he breathed. “Not when we’re alone.”

Not that you really had any plan on how to respond to that, but if you had, it would've been forgotten as his lips brushed over your neck, leaving teasing kisses in a trail over your pulse.

"Wait—" you blurted out instinctively when his hands moved to your waist, cut off by your own shaky sigh and suppressed moan. “What if she wakes up?” you questioned anxiously, glancing down the hallway and hoping you wouldn’t find Missy there, watching her dad feeling you up— and you letting him, not just that but enjoying it. Of course, the hallway was deserted, but you couldn’t feel certain it would stay that way.

“She won’t,” he assured. “Not if you can be a good girl and stay quiet.”

You made a little whimpering noise as you wondered if you could. You didn’t know how, really; you were good at being quiet when you were alone, but being alone had never felt like this. Forbidden, sexy, terrifyingly wonderful… nothing had ever felt like this.

“Do you want me to stop?” he purred, sounding like he already knew the answer.

“No,” you answered a little too quickly, “please… please don’t stop.”

“Yeah, I thought so,” he grinned. “Tell me what you do want.”

“I want…” you sighed and started over again, willing yourself to speak your thoughts aloud even though they made a pit of guilt sink in your stomach. "I want you to make me feel good."

You knew it was a sort of childish way of putting it, even before he laughed at your statement, but you weren't sure what else to say. "Yeah? I can do that," he decided. "But I can make you feel good in so many ways…" he trailed off as his right hand slipped lower and lower, finally landing between your legs as you gasped. Two fingers slid over the crotch of your shorts, and somehow he managed to bump against something that made electricity shoot up your spine and your hips buck into his touch of their own accord. You felt his smile widen as his teeth grazed against the sensitive skin of your neck. "You'll have to be more specific," he finally finished. "How do you want me to make you feel good?"

"Inside me," you whined, "I want you inside me."

There was a sudden shift as it seemed like the control he had over you suddenly did not extend to himself; he growled a bit and pulled you into him, and you could feel the hard shape of his cock, through his trousers and your shorts. You could feel it pressed just above your ass and it made you squirm against his embrace. "Feel what you do to me?" he grunted, and you nodded quickly. "Good."

He spun you around quickly, pulling you close to him and burning right through you with those brown eyes darker than ever, but just as you thought he might kiss you, he spoke instead.

“My bedroom’s upstairs,” he informed you quietly.

You just nodded, following him as he pulled you along through the house, up the stairs and past the door to the master bedroom of the house.

Now that you hadn’t seen it coming, of course, was when he chose to grab you and kiss you suddenly. It was rough and passionate and nothing like you could've imagined; you were certain you'd never been kissed like this, like he needed to kiss you more than he needed anything.

Your arms slipped around his neck as he pushed you back against the wall, lifting your legs to wrap around his waist as he kicked the door shut behind the two of you. Little moans were muffled by the kiss— and it took you a minute to realize they were yours. You didn’t even sound like yourself; probably because you’d never felt like this before, and therefore had never had any reason to sound like this.

You could feel his cock between your legs, though unfortunately not in the way you wanted. Still, it drove you wild to have him so close like this, to try to imagine how the thick shape you were feeling would ever fit inside you.

His hands were so strong and thick that you worried they’d stretch out your tank top just by reaching under it— well, that is you would have worried about that if you could think about anything else but his hands reaching under your tank top. He didn’t even waste his time touching you over your bra, instead making quick work of the clasps with one hand before coming back to grope one breast in his palm, then the other. Just that was enough to make you run your fingers into his hair, but a little pinch to your raised nipple made your fists tighten and pull— you didn’t mean to, and you were just about to feel bad about it until he growled a little. It seemed like a growl of approval, considering he pinched your nipples harder to make you do it again.

“Feels good?” he asked with annoying (yet arousing) confidence.

“S-so good,” you slurred, stumbling over your words as you tried to think as clearly as possible through the thick haze of pleasure clouding your mind.

As he guided you to set your legs down and unhook your arms from around his neck, you felt a bit like a doll being posed; when he pulled your top over your head and your bra from your arms, you felt like a doll being undressed. You sort of didn’t mind it; you were happy to let him take the lead, confident he knew at least 100% more about this than you did.

He knelt down before you as he roughly pulled at your tight jean shorts, his knuckles nearly bruising your hips as he stripped you. Your underwear were not the pair you would’ve worn if you had known somebody was going to see them, just a plain dark blue color that made you feel so drab as he came face-to-face with them. He didn’t seem to mind much, grinning up at you as he slipped his fingers under them and pulled them down, too. Your face was so hot and yet your legs were breaking out into goosebumps simultaneously, and a shiver rolled up your body when he growled at the sight of your body laid bare for him. Before you could even process it, he stood up and grabbed you, tossing you back onto the bed and spreading your legs.

“Fuck, what a pretty little pussy,” he praised with a smile that made you feel a little light-headed, swirling a few fingers over your swollen button until pulling them back to spank you there— it wasn’t even that hard, but you yelped and jolted and he laughed darkly. “So sensitive,” he purred, his words walking a fine line between a compliment and a taunt, “so wet.”

Another finger slipping down to your entrance proved him right, your arousal plentiful as his touch glided through your folds.

Suddenly overcome with a moment of bravery, you sat up and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, making him smile down at you. “Let me help you,” he offered as he worked the buttons instead, freeing you to try to open his belt. “Look at you, acting so desperate…”

At this point, you weren’t even offended by that; you wanted him so bad that you didn’t have the energy to be embarrassed by it anymore.

He slipped the shirt off of his shoulders just as you finished opening the belt. He pushed your hands away, and now you could see the muscles in his arms flexing as he held you down by your wrists. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, señorita,” he purred.

Why did feeling powerless to him turn you on so much? There was no real fear to it— you knew and trusted him, you would never have developed your misguided crush on him if you didn’t— and yet there was a strong edge of uncertainty as he kissed your neck and moved down your chest, between your breasts before he stopped to kiss those, too.

“Oh god,” you breathed, and he smiled against your skin before sitting up and staring down at you. It wasn’t apparent if it was distant streetlights or the moonlight shining in through the window, but either way it cast a cold blue light into the room that reflected as a glimmer in his eyes.

“Not gonna make you wait any longer,” he promised in a low voice, reaching down to push his unbuttoned belt and trousers to his thighs— those thick, muscular thighs that made your lip catch between your teeth.

Your breath caught, too, but in your lungs this time as his cock was exposed: thick, swollen, veiny… it looked picturesque, if thoroughly intimidating. You couldn’t figure out if you wanted to move towards it or sheepishly crawl away.

"Why do you look scared?" he asked, his voice so much deeper than you remembered it from before, even if there was genuine concern somewhere in his tone.

"Is it gonna hurt?" you asked instead of answering.

"Baby…" he sighed huskily, "are you a virgin?"

You bit your lip and looked away, irritated that you hadn't managed to hide your fear enough to keep your secret.

He sighed, your silence apparently answer enough.

"Do you not want to, anymore?" you asked anxiously, afraid you had completely killed the mood. Part of the reason it'd taken you this long to lose it was specifically because people seemed intimidated by the idea of being your first.

"No, no, I— no," he asserted sternly. "I just need to… change my approach, slightly.”

He leaned down a bit, hovering over you as he trailed his hand up your leg, rubbing the inside of your thigh before finally drawing circles over your aching clit with his thumb, causing you to shiver and moan quietly.

“And, to answer your question, it won’t hurt. Not if I get you good and ready for me,” he explained, pushing just one finger into you— and even that small of a stimulation made your eyes flutter shut, with his fingers being so much thicker and stronger than yours.

The second made your fists clench around the satin-y sheets beneath you. You didn’t dare open your eyes, knowing you’d find him staring down at you and you weren’t ready for that, weren’t ready to see his reaction to your body in such a vulnerable state. You could hear his reaction, though, with the rough groans and satisfied sighs he let out as he pumped his fingers into you.

When three fingers filled you, your eyes shot open. “Fuck!” you yelped.

He smiled but slowed down, apparently taking some pity on you— but not enough to stop him from pressing down harder on your clit.

Just when you figured he’d warmed you up enough and he’d fuck you like he promised, he slid lower and the bed and bent down, adding his tongue into the mix with his fingers. It was… overwhelming, and hot, not just psychologically but literally: it was physically hot, as in temperature. How was his mouth so warm against you, and his fingers so warm inside you?

When he latched his lips around your clit and sucked on it, you saw stars. Energy gathered in your gut and burned so bright that you thought you might explode. Really, it was more like an implosion as the coil inside you snapped and your thighs accidentally clamped down on his hand. It didn’t faze him though, it didn’t even slow him down as he moaned a little against you and curled his fingers even harder. You didn’t remember reaching down to grab his head, you just felt his hair between your fingers as you pulled it roughly, gasping his name.

When he did stop, sitting up and wiping his face with the back of his hand, you just looked back up at him as you caught your breath. He laughed, and you realized you were gawking unintentionally.

“I’m guessing you’ve never come like that before?” he ventured. You didn’t know if ‘like that’ meant from oral or just so suddenly and intensely, but it was true either way so you nodded.

When he reached down to grip his cock with the same hand still wet with your slick, you held your breath without realizing it. “Please put it in me,” you whimpered.

“I will,” he assured as he guided the head of it through your slick folds, stopping to tease your clit as you jolted from the contact on the sensitive nerves. Something surreal and indescribable tingled under your skin— you could hardly believe that this was happening, let alone with him, with Mr. Moreno. Or, Marcus. You were on a first-name basis by now, surely.

He pushed forward in one smooth, slow stroke until he was all the way inside you, his body filling yours to the brim as you quivered from the sensation of being stretched so wide.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked roughly.

“...almost,” you answered hesitantly, unsure how to describe the sensations you were feeling; not exactly pain, but not not pain. The favorite pain you’d ever felt in your life, easily.

He chuckled as he gripped your hips a little tighter. "I'm gonna move now," he announced. You nodded your approval, sighing shakily as he pulled his hips back and you felt the intoxicating friction of his cock against your walls.

"Ffffuck," you whimpered, gasping when he slammed his hips forward again. Your eyes rolled back in your head when he pushed as deep into you as he could with each thrust, still measured but not exactly gentle as he set a pace faster than you’d prepared for. But it was good, god it was so fucking good you weren’t sure what to do with yourself. "Marcus," you sighed, barely recognizing your own voice when it was heavy with need and arousal like this.

He grinned when he heard his name cross your lips, grinding his hips against yours for emphasis until you were forced to arch your back. "You like it rough, don't ya, honey?"

You nodded, confident that you liked it however he was doing it.

"Fuck, I knew it. Knew as soon as I saw you."

Before you could wonder what he meant by that, he was already moving fast enough to make your head spin. You had never had anything so deep inside you before, and when he pushed your legs up and back against your chest, you had no choice but to scream with pleasure.

Just before you reached the peak of it though, his hand clamped down over your mouth to muffle the sound. "Gotta be quiet," he reminded you through his teeth before relaxing his hand a bit so you could still be heard somewhat

"I can't," you whined, "Marcus, please, I can't stay quiet—"

"You have to."

"Feels too good," you whimpered your excuse. "F-fuck, slow down, I won't be able to stop it—"

He cut you off with a kiss, slow yet dominating, and your moans were muffled by his lips. You still sounded so loud in your own head, but at least your cries weren't echoing against the walls of his room anymore.

What was echoing were the sounds of skin slapping on skin as he pounded into you, roughly finding every delicate spot within you and making the backs of your thighs sore as his hips slammed into them. It forced your hands to grip at his muscular shoulders and your nails to dig into the skin there. You hoped there would be little half-moon shaped marks there tomorrow, maybe one would even scar so he'd have your mark on his body forever; after all, he'd carved a permanent space in your body by taking your virginity. Even if you couldn't dream of being as special to him as he was to you, you liked the idea of giving him something that he couldn't give back.

That energy was building again, different from before but no less powerful and persistent. "I'm gonna— fuck, I'm gonna come, I'm so close," you whispered.

“Yeah? Go ahead," he encouraged. "I wanna see you fall apart just for me, wanna feel you come around my cock."

You hadn't realized he'd be able to feel it, and the idea of that was so filthily beautiful that it pushed you over the edge, your whole body tensing up in sudden waves of pleasure so intense that it made your eyes water.

Through the static filling your ears, you heard his low, husky voice encouraging you: "Good girl, just like that, don't fucking stop."

You'd always been powerless to his voice, but this was another level. It was as if your body understood and met his demands, continuing to ride the peak of your sensation so long as he growled in your ear just right.

It was much too tender, the way he brushed the stray hair away from your face, the way he kissed your slack mouth again, the way he held you tighter and mumbled more praises to you. It was more romantic than it had any right to be, and you had to bite back the words of affection threatening to spill out of your mouth.

I love you, you wanted to tell him, I've loved you for years, but it was beyond inappropriate. You didn't want to play the role of the innocent virgin who thinks sex means being in love and lets herself catch feelings for the older man who is just taking what he wants and, at best, doing her a favor so she doesn't have to go off to college and get her cherry popped there. Maybe that was accurate, but that wasn't who you wanted to be.

You wanted to be sexy, and mature, and in control. You wanted to play a new rule, one that still felt foreign and yet closer than ever. So you wrapped your legs around his hips and held him deeper in you, smiling with a little growl of your own.

"I want you to come inside me," you informed him with a purr, loving the little moment of shock that passed over his face before he groaned, fucking you a little faster and more erratically.

"Fuck, really?" he rasped.

You bit your lip as you looked up at him through half-lidded eyes and nodded.

"You're on the pill?"

Another nod, this one finished off with a shiver as you wondered how much more of this your body could take.

He grinned and picked up the pace again, his moans getting a little louder with each movement. "Fuck, I'm gonna come— gonna fill up your tight little pussy, is that what you want?"

You nodded feverishly, already close to the edge again as you imagined what it would be like to have his come in you for the rest of the night. Was he going to make you walk home with it leaking out from between your legs? Why did that idea make your inner muscles involuntarily tighten around him?

With a string of curses and a grip on your thigh tight enough to bruise, he reached his own peak and you felt his cock flex and pulse inside you, a new warmth filling your gut from the inside out.

It's hard to say how long the two of you stayed like that, since you were busy basking in the afterglow (and, less enjoyably, worrying about the consequences that tomorrow morning would bring).

When he pulled out and collapsed beside you, you wondered if you should get up and get dressed.

"Stay here tonight," he instructed you, as if somehow a response to your internal thought. "Your folks won't freak out if you're out all night, right?"

"I'll just tell them I slept over at your place," you shrugged. With a confused look from him, you clarified: "on the couch."

"Right," he nodded as he wrapped you in his arms and pulled you closer, letting you rest your head in the crook of his neck. In this way and in so many others, it was how you expected (and hoped) losing your virginity would go: someone you trust and who cares about you, with enough attention on you that you didn't feel much pain, plus cuddling afterwards. But, in even more ways, it was unlike what you'd ever thought possible: it felt incredible and you came so hard that your ears were still kind of ringing, you didn't use a condom or even think to mention it, and finally— and most absurdly— it was with Marcus fucking Moreno.

Frankly, considering his performance earlier, "fucking" very well could be his middle name.

"You should sit for me again next week," he suggested quietly.

"Do you have somewhere to go?"

"No," he grinned, "but I'll be sure to come back real late, after she's gone to bed, so I can show you all the other ways I can make you feel good."

"H-how many ways are there?!"

He just laughed, pulling you closer and placing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Oh, sweetheart… so smart, but so innocent. We can fix that.”

You weren’t sure entirely which of those two things he intended on fixing.

#marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno smut #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno x y/n #pedro pascal x reader

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jdeck306 · 2 years

Note

you have found the secret bananpie tunnel under the amusement park

After finding the trap door, Healthy Light quickly looked around, making sure they were not being observed. Using their magic they opened the door, and looking down into the cellar, they saw very little. There were no lights, save for the slowly setting sun behind them.

After entering the cellar, they carefully looked down at the stairs, for while they appeared as solid rock, they were old and weary, and appeared as though they could crumble to dust in only moments.

Creating a small torch using their magic, Light quietly stepped down the stairs towards the floor. Looking back over their shoulder every few steps, they saw the trap door, and the sun's faint light, now shrinking in size the further down they went.

Reaching the floor, Light looked around. The cellar looked like it had been abandoned for what must have been years. Cobwebs lined the walls and ceiling as small pebbles of broken rock were scattered about, having fallen down with age.

Their magic torch illuminating the ground in front of them, Light moved towards the dark corridors from whence they had heard the faint sounds coming. Fearing they might be lost in the shadowed catacombs underneath the park, they marked the wall with some magic, small beacons, every turn they took.

After what felt like eons in the dark, many turns and corridors leading to nowhere, they finally reached a hallway leading to a single door. Upon the door was written 'Surveillance, NO TRESPASSING'.

Surveillance, down here, in the dark? What could this mean…? For whom was this built, who surveilled and who was surveilled? Filled with equal parts curiosity and hesitance, Light moved slowly towards the door, the handle of which had the faintest hue of yellow pigment left on it.

Light opened the door, which creaked in its hinges and echoed throughout the tunnels. Startled at the loud sounds, Light looked back into the darkness, fearing someone might have heard the sounds. If they could hear fainter sounds all the way back through the tunnels, above ground, how clearly must the door have been heard?

Putting aside their fear, they opened the door further, revealing a darkened room with bright screens in front of a small desk. As Light walked towards the desk, keeping one ear focused on the tunnels, they noticed a small picture frame on the desk.

Illuminating the frame, it showed the image of a young mare, no older than twenty. Emerald green eyes and charcoal black hair, with a ribbon loosely fastened around their neck. The text below the image, while mostly faded, read

'Banana Mousse Last seen: January 15th, 2022. If y.. hav. any ki.d of i.fo.ma.ion, plea.., con..ct thi. nu..er 557-……..' The rest of the text was no longer readable…

Banana Mousse? Was she not related to Banana Pie, the stallion who had contacted them about visiting the park? What could have happened?

Looking at the screens surrounding the desk, Light saw many figures walking around. But the view of these ponies and other creatures on the screens was… Odd. It appeared as though the cameras which were focused on them were not applied to a wall or anything of the sort. Most were at eye level, following around in fluid, natural motions, rarely, if ever, used by surveillance cameras.

On first glance, Light recognised none of the creatures on the screens. However, upon closer inspection, they noticed a pony with a red horn and bow tie, whom they had seen before. As they were entering the park, this pony, this Doctor, followed closely behind, wondering if they could offer any help, but Light had not seen them since.

Where had they gone to?

Hearing the door creak behind them, Light turned and came face to face with Banana Pie. Fearing the worst, Light shone their torch, illuminating the darkened room until the darkness had been driven out.

In the warmer light, they could see the cheerful pony they met before, but not the same. Pie had his cheerful demeanor replaced by a broken, defeated gaze towards the Kirin. It wasn't anger or frustration, but… Sadness. Exhausted, worried, heartbroken and depressed. As if they had been drained of all energy and happiness in an instant, bereft of life and rest.

Gazing back at the screens, Light was confused. What was the meaning of all this? Did Pie build all of this? And for what purpose?

Remembering the framed image of Mousse, Pie's daughter, thoughts began to fall into place. All of these ponies and fantastical creatures must have been in contact with Pie, as Mousse had been. Pie had been keeping an eye on them. Surveillance, guarding, protection of friends and family through camera feeds, all leading to this room underneath the park.

Light's mind was flooded with puzzling thoughts and many questions. Not wanting to ponder too long over which question to ask first, they asked a question that would bring many answers:

"Are you alright? Would you like to get something off your chest?"

Looking at the Kirin, Pie tried to put on a facade, bring back a laugh, a smile, so much as a grin, but to no avail. Tears welled in his eyes as he gently wrapped his arms around Light, sinking through his knees to the floor as he did so. Light managed to catch him, and used their magic to gently lay him across their back.

The Unicorn was spent, he had been strong for too long.

Following the beacons through the tunnels, Light led Pie back to the surface, to find that night had fallen and the park had been left empty. Pie laid on their back, tears staining his face but sleeping peacefully.

As they stepped out of the alleyway, the first thought that entered Light's mind was:

"What should I do now?"

(Be sure to click the images for higher quality! Might do this combo more often, drawing/writing to advance the story. Was really fun writing! Also, hope it's okay to add an @ mention!)

Featuring: Banana Pie from @askbananapie Banana Mousse from @ask-bananamousse Doctor Hooves from @askthequietdoctorwhooves

#healthy light jdeck306 #jdeck306 #my little pony #mlp #mlp friendship is magic #own art #drawing #writing #oc #banana pie #story related #healthy light #banana mousse #quiet doctor whooves

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sporadiclilbook · 3 years

Text

Songbird

Yan!Childe x Singer/Dancer!Khaenri'ahn! reader

Proof-read by: @choquackette

a/n: in a way, does this count as a songfic :D? Also I'm gonna use Lost in Thoughts All Alone for this. And to be fair you're pretty much like Shigure/Azura from fates in this

TW: Kidnapping

You are the ocean's gray waves

Destined to seek life beyond the shore

Just out reach

Your voice rang out through the crowd who was listening. Your Hydro Vision glowed as you made particles of water float around you. It created an illusion that made them looked like it was sparkling. It was mesmerising. To Childe, it amazed him how you used it so beautifully for a show. Unlike his more....bloodthirsty uses of his. To think a Vision can do something so graceful and morbid at the same time.

Of course he had his Electro Delusion but this is the Vision we're talking about. He uses it as a weapon while you used it for entertainment. To be honest, he never thought he'd see something like this. It was all thanks to a mission he has to do. Tailing a guy who was in debt to the Fatui and all. Childe think he was a fool. Instead of trying to make his business better, he wastes it on shows like these. But now that he sees you, he understand why. Your exotic appearance was a sight to behold. The only known person to have the same eyes as you was that Favonius Cavalry Captain and he only showed one eye. One already can make one look intriguing but having both made you look ethereal.

Yet the water ever change

Flowing like time

The path is yours to climb

Your dance was graceful, fluid movements that did flow like water. Childe think you could've been a good sword fighter if you were able to incorporate these movements into sword fighting. But for now he'll enjoy your voice and dancing. There's just something about it he loved so much. Sure fighting is always the one he loves but there's just something about you that he's attracted to. Was it your appearance? Vocals? Movements? Or those pupils of yours? He thinks it's quite silly, he doesn't even know who you are and yet......

A burdened heart

Sinks into the ground

Here he is, eager to look for you after this whole mission thing. If there's one thing he knows, is to not judge someone's prowess by appearance. Take the traveler for example. They have a petite form and yet they were able to defeat his Foul Legacy form! Who knows what you might have in store for him? Just the thought of you actually being able to fight makes him feel giddy.

Alas, all he can do for now is listen to your song. With that said, he didn't forget his mission. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw his target. The man was also in awe of looking at you. Too in awe of noticing his presence that is. He'll get right back to him when your show's over.

A veil falls away without a sound

Not day nor night

Wrong nor right

For truth and peace, you'll fight

He wondered if his siblings would love your singing. Sleeping to a lullaby sounded like a nice idea to him. Why he even thought of that was a mystery to him. Is this what they called love at first sight? He just can't help but wished to woken up by your voice that will roll out his name softly in the morning.

Sing with me a song

Of silence and blood

The rain falls, but can't wash away the mud

Within my ancient heart dwells

Madness and pride

Can't no one hear my cry?

The song ended and the crowd threw a round applause. You bowed and left the stage immediately. Childe, who hasn't forgot his mission, quickly trailed the guy he was after outsidd. "Ah! Hello there Mr. Wei Xing! I reckon you know who I am yes?" And so from there, he scared the poor man to the death with threats and grim reminder of the debt he owed. But Childe was feeling a bit merciful today "Tell you what I'll give you some more time on one condition." Wei Xing, his target, was confused. The Fatui giving a bit of leverage? Still, he would be an idiot to refuse "And that condition is....?"

Childe chuckled at his quick response. It's natural after all. All of his intimidation must have triggered his survival instincts. "Just answer me this. Who was that singer with a Hydro Vision?" Wei Xing was baffled. That's all he wanted? "A-as far as I know, t-their name is (Y/N). They're a performer that was passing by Liyue to gain more popularity across Teyvat." Childe hummed as he hears it. 'A travelling performer huh? Looks like I'll have to act quick if I want to meet them' There was moment of silence before he asked another question "When are they leaving?" "I-in a few days"

Childe let him go and as promised gave him more time for him to pay his debt. Should he fails again to do so.....he'll be history. He only had a few days to meet and talk to you so he has to be quick. Thankfully being a Fatui Harbinger does have it perks. One of those perks being having informants that can collect informations for you. And since this is no top secret info, it was quite easy to find out where you were staying and exactly how many days before you were gone.

As he wait for you at the road that led guests from Wangshu Inn to Liyue, he thought of what you might say. Maybe you'll recognise him right away? Or perhaps you were too innocent to notice the horrors of the Fatui. As he notices your figure walking on the horizon, he prepared to greet you casually. But then he was perplexed by your outfit. It seemed less travelling performer and more of a......fighter? Interesting. He drops the idea of greeting you and opted to follow your path instead.

He followed you until you reached a domain that was near one of the ruins. You stood in front of the entrance as he awaits your next move, intentionally letting his presence seep out. "You're not doing that much of a great job to hide yourself, Fatui. Or is it intentional?" Childe walks out from the spot he was hiding in and approached you slowly while saying "Well, isn't this a surprise? I just happened to be passing b-" His actions stopped midway as your pointed a spear at him. "Not a step closer, what do you want?"

Your starred pupils were sharped and narrowed. It held an intense emotion in it. Childe held up his hands in some sort of mock surrender and laughed a bit "Hey now! There's no need to get aggressive, is there? I was just curious why someone like you is doing here. Not exactly a good place to perform isn't it?"

"That's none of your business."

"Are you gonna go inside this domain?"

"...."

"If so, can I follow?"

"No."

"Please?"

"I said no."

"I'm very good at fighting you know. It'll be a shame if someone like you gets inju--"

Your spear was closer to him now. Threatening to slice him open any minute you wanted to. It didn't faze him at all. In fact it made him thrilled. He knew there was something about you that was enchanting and perhaps this was it. An unrelenting fighting spirit. In a blink of an eye, he immediately summoned his hydro javelin and parried your spear. You backed away in surprise but kept your guard up.

"Listen I have no time for you Fatui. Leave me be. I have more important matters to attend to." Childe just gave a fox-like grin at your attempt to intimidate him. "Is that so? Like what exactly?" You rolled your eyes at him. He was getting annoying for sure. "Like I said, none of your business." It looks like you might have to halt your plans for tonight. The Abyss Order can wait. "So, what are you gonna do little star?" Without warning you immediately engulfed yourself in a torrent of water and disappears. Childe was shocked when he sees it but still grinned. If you wanted to be a challenge then so be it. If he can't bother you during your 'missions' then he'll bother you during the day.

And that is exactly what he did.

For two days straight he kept trying to talk with you whenever you were out visiting the Liyue Harbour. At first you tolerated him but now he was insufferable. You were glad you were leaving as soon as possible next day but Childe was not having any of that. In just the span of two days his little curiosity had turned into a tsunami of obsession. Your expressions and reactions not to mention the little heart warming moments he saw you cheering up some of the kids in Liyue. He wants to know even more of you.

And precisely why he is fighting you right now.

As he has deducted, your move was as graceful as your dance. Your fighting style was as unique as your eyes. Something he has never seen before. You dodged his flurry of arrows, panting while doing so. How long has he fought you? It felt like an eternity. You tried to dash to him and deliver a swift strike but him and his stupid shield won't let you. You jumped back just in time before he strike his hydro swords at you. You can't even get an elemental advantage here, you had to mostly rely on your weapon.

"Well (Y/N), it's been a fun fight really. But why don't you surrender now? You're tired aren't you? I promise things will go smoothly if you just give up."

You didn't want to. There's no way you'll give up. What does he wants with you anyway? You only stared down at him in silence, refusing to answer. "Ah, stubborn now aren't we? I guess I'll have to use a little force...." He activated his Delusion and immediately dashed towards you, giving you no time to react. The electricity made you groan in pain. You use your spear as a stabiliser from falling to the ground but you were running out of energy at this point.

Before you could fall, Childe took a hold of your body. "See? It's not that hard to give up." You wanted to mutter a remark but darkness shrouded your vision before you fainted. You woke up in an unfamiliar room. Certainly not Liyue's architecture nor your homeland's. Your first thought was to look for an escape.

The door was locked.

Windows were barred.

The wardrobe had the clothes you brought with you across Teyvat along with some new ones.

There was a chain at your leg that's long enough to get you to the bathroom.

Your Vision and weapon was missing.

You waited in silence, pondering what to do. You certainly can't escape like this. But then you heard the door open. And as expected it was him. "Did you had a good sleep? You were knocked out for a while there." You scowled at him "Drop the act, where am I?" Childe hummed before answering "You're in Snezhnaya of course! Where else would I bring you? I'm quite lucky to be able to bring you here and visit my siblings! Say would you like to visi--" "Why would I do that?"

His grin dropped and his eyes stared at you. His eyes was....hollow...empty...devoid of any humanity in them. He walked towards you and you instinctively stepped back. He had you trapped against a wall. He lifted up your chin and let out a small but terrifying smile "Well, because your fate is in my hands. There's nothing you can do now, is there? But I'll forgive your behaviour for now.....if you sing that is."

You hated it. You hated the fact he was right. So you had no choice but to stay obedient and be his 'little songbird' until you found a window of opportunity. He lets go of your chin and sat down on a chair. With a heavy heart, you opened your mouth to sing.

You are the ocean's gray waves

Destined to seek life beyond the shore

Just out of reach

Childe smiled as you sing. He's sure you'll come around and fall in love with him soon enough.

Yet the water ever change

Flowing like time

The path is yours to climb

Shame that you can't meet his family yet. They would've love you. He can't wait for that day to arrive though. He can't help but feel joy. His little songbird, all his and no one else.

You are the ocean's gray waves.

#sporadicpage #yandere genshin impact #yandere childe #yandere tartaglia #yandere x reader #tw: kidnapping

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tom-riddle-haunts-me · 3 years

Text

Not a new chapter but a mini fic I felt like writing. I'm a little stuck with the "main story", so I hope you'll enjoy this little drabble. I'm warning you, this shit gets sad and ugly.

Abigail 🐍✨

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Tw: angst, gore, blood

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Reader

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It Hurts

"Who are you?"

"What do you mean, Y/n? It's me, I'm... I'm Tom"

"I... I don't know you"

Tom stepped back. Locking eyes with you had never felt so terrifyingly unreal to him.

"Y/n..."

Why you? Anyone. Fate could've taken anyone away from him, but you?

"Oh, Mr Riddle!"

Dumbledore. He would've helped him.

"Professor! Y/n is actin-"

"-our biggest disappointment."

Another step back.

"Who is this, Professor?"

Your voice echoed heavily in his ears, crawling up to his brain and piercing through it like a long blade. A thin, cold metal string slowly lacerating his cerebral matter, a wicked torture that left behind nothing but an even colder nothingness and blood, too much blood. Tom could feel the thick crimson fluid run down his neck, anxiety taking hold of the sticky substance and guiding its goopy drips around his own throat, suffocating the tired wizard.

"Y/n, it's me, IT'S ME."

"Who are you?"

The sound that somehow managed to reach Tom was muffled and eerily calm, almost lifeless. It wasn't your voice. The figure standing in front of him, that was you, he knew it, but he was hearing something else rather than your voice. It was painful listening to such an abomination.

Grotesque. Putrid. Writhing. Cruel words pooling around him.

Far, far away.

"Who are you? Are you okay? You look pale"

As your hand reached his face, Tom couldn't bring himself to melt into your touch as he habitually would. Couldn't you see the blood?

"He's about to die, Y/n."

"Oh... Alone? Like this? I'm sorry"

"Y/n I'm... I'm not dying"

As the teacher withdrew your hand from his face, panic tightened the pressure around his neck. Oxygen was struggling to flow through his lungs, his organs protesting as they were starting to feel the lack of air.

It hurt.

"Can we save him?"

"Yes, but we won't"

"Okay"

Words were failing the usually composed wizard, hopelessly stuck in his guts. His eyes were fixated on his dearest friend, the only person in the entire world who could make him feel something else rather than just anger and bitterness. His loneliness felt a little warmer with her, his thirst for power a little less cruel, his fears a little more bearable. Sitting under their dead tree by the Black Lake was something that brought comfort to him in times of distress, still, it was hard to believe the ones staring at him were those same eyes, the e/c gems that he got used to see smile every time they were to meet with his. In the mean time, your hugs were crumbling into mere memories in the back of his mind and Tom felt powerless for the first time since forever. Now the orphanage would be cold and desolate again, silence would come back to fill his empty room and days.

He needed to stop. Stop thinking, feeling. He hated that. He hated you. He was embarrassed with himself for he shouldn't have perceived such stupid things.

His pale hand traveled to his petrified face.

Tears.

Rotten fury exploded in his stomach like an erupting volcano, resulting in an aberrant sickness disturbing his already devastated self. Now nothing had to matter, not anymore. Not your giggles, not you nervously playing with your hair. What would happen to your smile, the one you had promised was only his, had to be none of his business. Letting it go should've been easy, he knew far too well how to block out anything useless to his goal. His exhausted mind slipped to your now blank eyes, your toneless voice.

You body, barely covered by the white dress you were wearing, looked consumed by a melancholy he couldn't define, deep buried in your eyes, flat and washed-up as much as the pale fabric flowing around you.

His chest stung.

"Tom"

Dumbledore's skinny hand found its way to your shoulder, like a caring parent, yet it had an ugly something in it.

Tom thought about your tone, your real one. He thought about the times it had reassured him, soothed his nerves down. That one time it had slightly raised with boldness to defend him from Dumbledore himself. Your promises. They flowed back like a swollen river. The darkness in your eyes when you declared that you were to come for whoever ever dared to wrong him, now gone. How, how he would've liked to tell you about your beauty. Harmless to sight, dangerous to the reckless. Just like a rose.

His rose.

Twisted sparkles in your eyes, shadows that still felt warm and pure. Innocence.

Horror.

Terror drowned his heart, need overwhelming his confused mind.

Where were you?

Uncertainty danced under his skin.

Not enough. Was he? Evil could never bloom into a rose. Its fruits would rot and fall into darkness, dragging down every little drop of light they'd ever reach.

The hand that was touching you, he hated that. And now, now it was rotting, the meat melting right onto your oblivious self.

Bones.

"Yes, Y/n?"

His tears kept on running dow his face, the skin under the salty guilty stinging while stretching into the smallest, surrendered smile.

You had no idea who he was, didn't you?

Time slowed down in the most excruciating way right before Dumbledore's skin began to shed off of him like a used robe. Dirty, now useless, distressed.

Large wings spread through the thick air of the Dark Forest, Lady Death herself raising up behind Y/n, her delicate face was now painted with a content smile and peaceful tears, mimicking his own.

"It hurts"

Before Tom's mind could gave birth to any sort of though, the Hooded Dame slid back, his beloved rose obnoxiously secured to Her chest in a possessive way. And at the same time they backed away, the ground faded unhurried into nothingness. An abyss was now opening its jaws under Y/n's beaten body, and it started to swallow her whole in slow-motion.

Tom stood frozen, the cruelty of his condition giving him all the time in the universe to process Y/n's flesh breaking into bloody, gruesome chunks, her organs easily finding their way out of her abdomen, down, into the merciless void with a dreadful, wet moan.

Tom threw himself in the emptiness of your end, reaching for the parts of what his delirious mind hoped could be sewed up together again. Was is it losing you that drove him crazy?

Or did the seed of madness just finally bloom in his now blood covered hands?

When did they got stained with crimson?

"Why didn't you save me, Tom?"

"Tom?"

"Tom"

"Tom!"

<TOM!>

The Slytherin's dark eyes shot open only to find e/c ones stare right back at them, red and swollen by tears still freshly oozing down s/c skin.

You felt so broken to his ears. So stressed to his eyes. As your finally sweet tone caressed his hearing again, Tom still found it difficult to move. Reality was just starting to settle in, his brain still processing the gruesome images that'll be now forever carved in his mind. You were screaming at him, but he couldn't hear you.

He looked to the left.

His diary.

Tom was in his dorm room, again, his soulmate straddling him in the most innocent way.

Crying, shaking.

Were you angry at him?

Tom did not have sufficient energies to keep his cold act up. Time was not wasted, and his arms laced around you as fast as possible, bringing you as close to his chest as they could. He'd probably crush your bones at a certain point, still he knew none of you cared, not when you were squeezing him the same way.

<Don't you dare do it again, Riddle. You scared the life out of me.>

He was not aware of his muscles being that tense until that very moment. The second your skin collapsed into his, everything was swept away, like smoke in thin air. The room was empty, the clock on its wall claiming the dead of the night to be the time your scene was playing.

You didn't really need to say more. Your body just slipped on the mattress, right beside Tom, letting enough space for his worn out frame to curl up to it. Your fingers began to play with his locks, actually unusually sweaty and almost dry, nothing like his usually silky ones. You'd swear you could feel his shattered mind under your fingertips, if only it was possible you'd seek for its scars and heal them one by one.

If only it was possible.

<Y/n?>

Tom's breath slowed down gradually, just like his heart rate, lulled by the quiet tone you were humming.

<Yes, Tom?>

The clock was almost too loud, you were afraid its ticketing would disturb him. Was keep staring at it enough to silence the noise?

Drowsy murmurs left the young wizard's lips, falling in your lap like dead petals but failing to reach up to your ears.

You bent over, just a little, at least enough to trace out his confused mutters. It reminded you of your days at the orphanage, when you both were too young and scared. It brought your mind back when Tom used to tell you his secrets, when you were his one and only. When he was still just Tom.

<What... What does it feel to jump into the void?>

H/c hair gently fell over your shoulders as your head found rest on the wall.

Air was cold against your now wet cheeks.

"Can we save him?"

"Yes, but we won't"

The steady rhythm of Tom's chest raising up and down told you he was finally long gone into a gentle slumber, safe from himself.

#harry potter #hogwarts #hogwarts x reader #tom riddle #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #voldemort #fanfic #reader insert #harry potter angst #hogwarts imagine #harry potter imagine

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elmidol · 3 years

Text

Error: Program Not Found - Nineteen (NSFW)

Summary: You are in charge of programming the droids that work most closely with both General Hux and Kylo Ren. Unbeknownst to you, each of these two men have it in their heads that your relationship extends beyond the workplace. This causes things to escalate quickly when your two apparently secret boyfriends compare notes on their respective partner who is far too similar for their liking.

Read on AO3

Chapter Warnings: sex in all three routes

Side Notes: Contains all three routes, divided by breaks

Error: Program Not Found

“Lust is a lovely word and makes love so much more interesting.” - Michael Faudet

Nineteen: Desire

[Kylo Route]

You twirled the stylus between two fingers while checking over Eddard's shoulder at the adjustments he was making to the design. It was a new file, copy and pasted from a blueprint, and one he would need to send to your datapad once the pair of you finished making changes. Less issues arose regarding the droids' programming than their physical composition. A recent discussion had lended insight to needs that might arise, such as the potential possibility that the droid would be required to physically lift a patient. You did not want the droid to be overly bulky either, however, as that could slow it down unnecessarily as well as increase the cost of materials; for the latter, you imagined certain First Order officers would utilize that as a means of forcing the project to be discontinued.

You reached past Eddard to mark an area on a portion that he was not using. The pair of you worked flawlessly, easily falling into a rhythm that other members of your team had taken note of. They felt at ease discussing matters with Eddard, aware that he would relay the information to you. This was precisely what you had hoped for, namely for when then assassination droid project entered its later stages.

Eddard glanced at the adjustment that you had made and began to integrate that into his own version of the droid’s body. Satisfied, you moved away from him in favor of sitting in front of a console where you worked on the coding unique to the physical therapy droids. You had made notes of steps you hoped to take over the coming week, and falling behind in any area was not an option. Aelin had volunteered to fashion a temporary droid to test behavior in the assassination droids; that had given you a small window to devote yourself to this project. Otherwise the board would have demanded that you shelve this for the end of the week.

The majority of them, you thought with a forming scowl, did not understand how programming and droid design worked, not really. All they were familiar with were the results, the product. They were also the first ones to complain if something went wrong; something that would be caught given proper time and testing. Their unrealistic expectations had dissuaded previous programming specialists from renewing their contracts. You could not say that you were not grateful for this; you would not have a job here if the others had failed to leave. That did not mean you were not set on demanding, albeit silently, that those officers learn a thing or two.

After finishing the line of code that you had been working with, you were struck by the memory of another note you had made. You promptly pulled up a folder that listed where you would locate the programs you planned to delete entirely. The physical therapy droids would not be administering medications of any sort; this was something that had been agreed upon, and such programs could later be worked into the droids for future models.

“Do you think there should be more flexibility in the droid’s thumb?” Eddard asked whilst tapping the end of his stylus against his lips. You turned around in your seat, furrowing your brow and working to remember the exact specifications that had previously been agreed upon. Once more in sync with you, Eddard held up the display and pointed with the stylus. “There are some stretches where the patient might require a better grip. Improved dexterity would be easy to add and upgrade the amount of those exercises the droids can perform.” You stared at the joint in question for another second then bobbed your head in three quick nods. Eddard returned the datapad to the table. His stylus worked across its surface, and you twisted around to focus on your own task.

The additional dexterity would lift some of the restrictions you previously believed would hinder the programs you had in mind. Why you had not considered the rather simple solution of modifying the joint, you were not certain. It was an oversight that did not embarrass you; this was the entire purpose of having a team. A competent team at that. You looked over at two of the junior programmers seated to your left with a smile. One had been tasked with reading through the coding you wrote for errors, and the other tested known viruses against various portions that were meant to be already protected. Warfare came in many forms. You would not risk an already injured individual being subjected to harm from tampering committed by rivals or enemies.

I do not want to be complacent and believe they would not attack me in a similar manner. You wrinkled your nose in disgust over hypothetical threats to your safety that could arise with working on droids. There were countless, though some would be beyond what the common officer would think up. I am working to design a droid that will do that, though. It will conceal itself and then kill another. Not only manually. The best way would be to have the droid perform other acts that endanger the target, no different than if a human was assigned to the kill. Poison. Sabotage.

Your stomach churned, and you shook your head to think instead of the programs that you were working with in the present.

By the end of your shift, you were grateful for the knowledge that your quarters would be empty of human companions aside from a single guest. As for the droids, TeeArr was assisting Aelin, and the MSE droid remained shut down until you could spare some time to work on its programming without interruption. The guest who would be visiting was none other than Kylo Ren. You suppressed a shudder at the thought of him while you walked past First Order personnel. You ducked into the mess hall long enough to grab a nutrition bar and a drink. Replenishing your energy reserves would only be wise, after all.

You entered your quarters to find that your guest had already arrived. Quirking a brow, you studied his frame as Kylo continued to crouch before the MSE droid with his head tilted to the side. He ran a gloved hand along the remnants of the dent his foot had created. This was one of those moments where you could not read him so easily, could only guess as to where his mind wandered.

You set the ration bar and drink down on a bolted table so that you could get to them later when you found the need. For a moment you considered whether or not you should have grabbed something for Kylo as well. Yet you did not think he would be remaining in your quarters after the two of you were finished.

“Are you going to stay masked while we…?” you trailed off, noting that your tone had gone from lighthearted to strained. Kylo rose to his full height while twisting around in a fluid motion. Facing you, he reached up with both of his hands and undid the latches on his helmet. “I understand needing to keep barriers.” You gestured with your hand at the walls of the room, pointing out the fact that the two of you were in your quarters rather than his. An agreement, one that you had initiated.

"The Supreme Leader views many things as sentimental weaknesses." That unspoken I would have wanted you to remain with me overnight offered a glimpse of the prison in which Snoke kept Kylo confined.

You swallowed thickly, curling your fingers towards your palms. Kylo took a step in your direction. You mirrored his action, meeting him halfway so that the pair of you were standing quite literally toe-to-toe in the center of your quarters. As he had walked, Kylo had removed his helmet and carried it along. You placed your hands on its surface, noting each and every groove, every dent that it contained from battles and training exercises. Some were difficult to catch with the eye; the texture elicited a soft sigh from you.

“I appreciate that this is not one of those things.” You glanced up, peeking through your eyelashes at him then lowering your gaze back to the helmet. His lips had parted, and those brown eyes had darkened. Showing his face in this intimate setting—now you could not help but wonder how Snoke would have treated Kylo; did he abuse him verbally and physically? You were aware of the Supreme Leader’s power only by hearsay. You had, on the other hand, witnessed what Kylo could do, at least in part. For him to be wary of Snoke, you would willingly admit to the fear that arose.

To change the subject and draw your thoughts and his away from Snoke, you shifted your hands downwards on the helmet until your limbs eclipsed his. The textured leather gloves stuck to your skin, creating friction that had not been present on the mask. You smiled, tilted back your head, and released a heavy breath.

“I do not want to wait any longer.” His eyes widened a fraction at your words then narrowed as his mouth twisted upwards into a predatory grin. You shuddered in response, your toes curling and a smile forming on your face in return. Removing your hands from his, you toyed with the hem of your shirt. Kylo’s gaze followed your movements, tracking everything you did with a growing hunger. “You should put down your helmet.”

The teasing earned you a grunt. Kylo licked his lips yet obliged. He moved to the side long enough to place his helmet on another raised surface in the room, which meant that neither of you would be tripping over it any time soon. That was just as well; you wanted to be reckless while you could. You began to work your clothes off of your body, and you noticed with glee that Kylo experienced identical feelings.

He stepped forward after removing his cowl and belt. Kylo shrugged off his outer robes with an ease you had not expected. Perhaps you should have, you mused, since he wore them often. Your thoughts were quickly cut off as Kylo cupped your breasts as he surged forward to claim your mouth. You whimpered into the kiss, your body burning with pleasure as he began to knead your breasts. You placed your hands on him in return, feeling his muscles through the shirt that he wore. You had seen him shirtless before, had felt him, however it was different this time. Knowing that he would be inside of you, every touch was intensified.

You flattened your palms on his abdomen and slipped them downwards, moving them in reverse as soon as felt the edge of the material against the tips of your fingers. His flesh underneath was warm, the muscles taut. You clenched around nothing, again imagining him moving inside of you, aware of how these muscles would shift. Kylo released a moan into the kiss, a hungry sound that preceded your name. Your knees weakened at the unexpectedness, yet you did not fall. An invisible Force kept you in place, and you were grateful for it.

“I want to feel you.” The whine that escaped you did not embarrass you. You nodded your agreement as he kissed your lips again then your chin then neck. You tilted your head to allow him better access to your throat, which he nipped. His teeth grazed your skin until he found a spot he liked near your collarbone, a spot that your uniform would conceal.

“Mm...you can leave a hickey a little higher. I am not ashamed.” The noise that left him caused your cheeks to heat up. Somehow, you had managed to catch him off guard. His mouth hovered just over your skin, his tongue flicked out for but a moment as he licked his lips. “Too sentimental?”

“No.” Almost breathless, except that you could feel that warm air run along your wet skin. “You’re sentimental with droids and their purposes.” His words were not meant as an insult; he was merely stating facts, and you could hear a note of curiosity in them. He worked to understand you in the same way that you tried to understand him. The freedom that you had to show emotions, did he envy you that? If he did, he did not hate you for it. Such jealousy did not cause him to harbor any ill will. Instead, if it did exist, it encouraged him to shift upwards and begin to nibble your throat higher, just as you had all but asked him to.

Closing your eyes so that you could relish in the feel of that skilled mouth, you trailed your hands from his abdomen to the hem of his pants. You toyed with the elastic, letting it snap into place after hooking one finger into it. Kylo released a puff of air that you could have sworn was a chuckle.

Kylo groped you through your bra again then slipped his hands past that barrier, cupping you and swiping his thumbs along your nipples just as he bit down on your neck. You clenched again, another whimper leaving you followed by a swear. His tongue flicked back and forth in time with his thumbs, and he caught your hardened nipples with the seams of his gloves. Your sensitive flesh burned for him more simultaneous to growing too sensitive. You squirmed, starting to lean away only to undulate your body nearer.

You lifted one hand and placed it on the back of Kylo’s head, running your fingers through his hair. He had started to walk backwards, bringing you along with him towards the bed. Kylo sat down on its edge, and you straddled his leg, grinding against his thigh. He unclasped your bra then worked it down your arms. Pulling away long enough to get rid of the cloth, Kylo claimed your mouth with a hunger you matched.

Your tongue caressed his before he once more kissed a trail downwards, this time making it to your breast. Kylo nipped at the right one, pinching the nipple of the left. You rolled your hips, riding his thigh while working open his pants. The pair of you pushed away from one another. Your hands flew along the final layers of your clothing, your eyes glued to his body as Kylo did the same for himself.

Fully naked, Kylo pushed you onto the bed and climbed on top of you. His pelvis crashed into yours, and he wasted no time rocking against you. His cock slipped between your folds, eliciting a moan from your mouth as well as a groan from his. He repeated the action, this time adding more force. You swore, bucking up your hips to meet his thrusts. Leaning up, you captured his bottom lip with your teeth then let it pop back into place. Kylo caressed your cheek with his mouth, which ghosted its way up to your ear.

“You’re so wet for me.” His voice was husky, deep. Kylo placed his hands on your hips as you ground against his cock. You spread your legs wider, the two of you working together so that the next thrust lined him up with you, allowed him to move into you. The head of his thick cock spread you open, filling you completely. You trembled at his size, at how he felt within you. You whispered out a swear, your eyelids fluttering as he sank in inch by inch.

Kylo wasted no time fucking you, pumping into you. You set your hands on his chest, slipped them up to his shoulders. You wanted to feel every inch of him. Kylo placed one hand on the bed by your head, propping himself up so that you could look down the length of your bodies to watch. You did just that, biting down on your bottom lip and furrowing your brow as another moan spilled from you. You toyed with your clit, and Kylo adjusted how he fucked you, moving more slowly, dragging out your pleasure.

He used his other hand to play with your breasts again. Kylo rolled a hardened nipple under the pad of his finger. You marveled over how different it felt compared to when he had been wearing gloves. Your inner walls clenched around him, the wetness from your body coating his cock and creating crude sounds with each and every thrust. Kylo pinched your nipple and tugged until you moaned loudly, your cunt tightening around him.

He dropped his hand down lower, pushing at your limb so that he could hook his thumb against your clit instead. He rocked it back and forth, coated his thumb in your slick, and then teased you at a different angle, his movements fast. You grabbed at the blankets underneath you, your scream of pleasure swallowed by his mouth, muffled by his tongue as you came. Kylo did not stop moving, his hips pounding into you even as you clenched around him over and over, your vaginal walls pulsing as he fucked you through your orgasm.

Kylo pulled almost completely out then snapped his hips, reentering you and moving until he was fully sheathed. You threw back your head while meeting his thrusts, aware that he was close. You could feel him, could hear him. His growl. You saw the way he bared his teeth, relished in the way his entire body trembled as he came, filling you with his hot cum. He continued to thrust into you, his hips gradually stilling, until he had fully softened. Only then did he pull out and roll onto his back, lying beside you.

You held your breath for a moment. Would have done so for longer except that you were a panting mess, and your body would not allow you to. “Stay for a little while?”

“Of course.” You could hear the smirk. “We’re not done here yet.” It made your heart flutter; you could read between the lines. This was about sex, but also about spending more time with you under the pretense of sex. You could rest for a while, could close your eyes, and he would be able to watch you without the threat of sentiment being used against him by the Supreme Leader. He could argue sex. Could argue desire.

You extended your hand and set it atop his chest. “Not by a longshot.”

---------

[Hux Route]

Your stomach churned, and you shook your head to think instead of the programs that you were working with in the present.

By the end of your shift, you were grateful that TeeArr was assisting Aelin and the MSE droid was safe, shut down until you could spare some time to work on its programming without interruption. You would not be spending the night in your quarters. Instead, you headed for General Hux’s private quarters. It took effort to keep the smile off your face. Not that anyone observant would be oblivious to your destination. Still, keeping your composure would ward away some of the awkward and potentially inappropriate teasing you would otherwise incur. There would be plenty of that the next day once the stormtrooper guards gossiped that you did not leave.

Armitage’s quarters were set at a comfortable temperature, a few degrees above the majority of the ship to ensure Millicent’s health remained the best it could be. She crouched near the TIE cat bed, her tail swishing back and forth. She shimmied then crouched back lower. You grinned as you observed her, your head tilted a little so that you could listen for sounds that would reveal Armitage’s location. You remained unsure if he had returned from the bridge just yet; you could be waiting a little while, which you did not mind.

You placed the datapad you had brought with you onto the armrest of the blue couch. Stretching your arms above your head, you interlaced your fingers and arched your back, alleviating some of the tension that had built after spending hours at a console.

Millicent leapt up to her full height and pranced over to you. She did not meow or release any other noise. Instead she sat a finger’s length out of reach and stared up at you with unblinking eyes. You blinked, though. Then furrowed your brow and engaged in the staring contest that she had started. She rolled over onto her back after a handful of seconds elapsed. Millicent reached a paw out towards you while meowing plaintively. You obliged, taking a step forward and crouching long enough to stroke the top of her head and scratched her chest. She purred with contentment, her eyelids slipping closed even as you rose back to your full height.

You curled up on the couch for a small catnap while you waited for Armitage. Millicent leapt up with you, the small feline curling against your stomach and purring. As you closed your eyes, you pet the top of her head. You drifted off within minutes.

A hand being placed on your shoulder roused you from that sleep. You shifted your hands around Millicent, tugging her gently so that you did not squish her, and rolled onto your other side. Armitage had already shed his greatcloak along with his outer shirt and belt. Your eyes wandered along his undershirt and pants. Peeking over the edge of the couch, you noted with pleasure that he had taken off his boots as well. He was just as eager as you were.

“I hope you are well rested,” he said teasingly, his voice deep. You flicked your tongue along your lips, sitting up and relinquishing your hold on Millicent. The cat leapt off the couch, rubbed against Armitage, and then padded over to her cat bed, curling up inside.

You tracked her movements while you replied to him. “I certainly am. Are you?” A low chuckle reverberated from him. You spread your legs a little, and Armitage rose, slotting himself between them. His mouth hungrily claimed yours, his hands beginning to roam your body the same as yours were doing to his. “Are you going to be ruthless in bed?” you asked teasingly against his mouth. He groaned in response, his hands slipping up under your shirt and groping your breasts through your bra. He pinched your nipples, tugging at them, making you clench and whimper with need.

“Not this time.” You hummed out your approval at the acknowledgment that there would be future engagements such as this as well. “Mm...your things are by the bed.” You kissed him, smiling against his lips at how orderly he could be. It was nice to know where your overnight bag had been placed, sure; but that was not your focus. Right then, you wanted clothing to be removed.

You broke away from the kiss to take off your shirt then tugged at his undershirt so that it untucked from his pants. “You are still overdressed.” His eyes glinted with hunger at your words. Armitage grasped your thighs and parted your legs further, rolling his hips so that you could feel how hard he was. You ground against him in return, growing more wet as the friction increased. Armitage kissed the corner of your mouth before tackling your neck with tongue and teeth. He nibbled downwards until he reached your collarbone. “Oh!” You moaned then swore before cupping the back of his head and tilting your head to give him better access to your neck. “Do not worry about leaving marks.” You were not ashamed to be in a relationship with him.

His nose skimmed your flesh, his hot breath hitting the area he had just bitten. You closed your eyes to melt into the sensations of his touch. Meanwhile, you busied your hands with opening the front of his pants as well as your own. Armitage was skilled, that tongue undulating salaciously. He groped you through your bra again, shifting his hands around your back to undo its clasp. He cupped your breasts in either of his hands, kneading them and toying with your hardening nipples in alteration. His mouth moved with yours, your tongues dancing together in time with each roll of his wrist, with every thrust the two of you made against one another. His hard cock pushed against you through the confines of your clothing.

“Do you,” he began, briefly cutting himself off with another kiss, “want to go to the bed?”

“No,” you moaned, arching your back as he pinched your nipples again, tugging at them then swiping his thumbs back and forth against the sensitive buds. “Right here.” You would have said right now as well, however you knew that it was unnecessary. As orderly as the man could be, you could feel his need, knew he was not going to make you wait much longer before he was inside of you.

You raked your hands up through Armitage’s hair, disheveling it, marveling how soft it felt. He shuddered under your ministrations. Armitage pushed you onto your back and climbed atop you. His hands were busy, in constant motion as he stripped you down to your socks, which you worked off and kicked away. He once more kissed a trail downwards, though this time he went further, taking a bared breast into his mouth. He cupped its twin, kneading and sucking at you. Your toes curled, and you rolled your hips, arching up off the couch so that you could reangle yourself, so that you could feel him against you. Armitage shifted a thigh against you instead, and you ground down. He pushed at your hips, and you whimpered, baring your teeth though you obeyed the silent command.

It was worth it; he shoved down his pants, finished stripping, and you felt his naked thigh against your cunt in little time at all. You rocked back and forth, toying with his hair again and biting your bottom lip to stifle a groan of pleasure with how he teased you. He moved his other thigh between your legs, spreading you open and again crashing his pelvis into yours, rocking against you. His movements and yours brought his cock between your folders. You groaned at the feel of him, at how the head of his erection brushed your clit with each thrust. Armitage moaned, too. He rolled his hips again, more desperately, more hungrily. You swore, bucking up to meet his thrusts and entangling a hand in his hair to bring him down for another kiss.

You trailed your fingers down his chest and over his abdomen, feeling the muscles twitch in response. Armitage lined himself up with you, rolling his hips more slowly so that you could feel the head of his cock begin to spread you open. He sank into you inch by inch. You curled your toes at the feel of him, your eyelids fluttering as you moaned and trembled. His first thrusts were shallow, allowing you to adjust to the size of him. He was thick, stretching you wide.

Armitage reached behind you with one hand to grip the armrest of the couch. He cupped your chin with the other, tilting your head back and peering directly into your eyes. “You’re so wet,” he all but purred. You moaned in reply, whispering his name. He kissed you, his desire spiking, his hips moving quicker. You reangled yourself so that he brushed against your clit with his thrusts, reaching down and toying with yourself as well.

He knew where to pet at you, what parts of your skin to touch so that electrifying pleasure traveled throughout your body. You clenched around him, growing more wet and closer to orgasm. To prolong your pleasure, you moved your hand away from yourself to instead ghost your fingertips up his abdomen to his chest. You circled a nipple, and he mirrored your actions. You swore again, shuddering as the dam built and built until you were pushed over the edge.

Armitage continued to move within you, fucking you through your orgasm, teasing your sensitive flesh and turning you into an incoherent mess. You sighed into his mouth as he kissed you, pounding his hips faster as he chased his own release. You wrapped your arms around him, felt his chest against yours. Your walls clenched and unclenched around him, your vaginal walls pulsing as he continued to move. His thrusts became more shallow. His tongue mirroring those movements.

He broke the kiss as he came, his cum filling you with each subsequent thrust. Armitage whispered what sounded like your name and you stroked your hands through his hair, felt those soft tufts while staring into his eyes. He did not stop moving until the both of you finished, his hips coming to a gradual halt. He pulled out of you, backing away to give you room to rise, though you nestled against him on the couch almost immediately.

“I just want to stay here for a while.” He hummed his agreement, though he reached for his pants and worked them up over his hips. He grabbed his black shirt and passed it to you, which caused you to break out in a grin. Rather than wear it, you used it as a lap blanket. This earned you a chuckle. He might have said something, however Millicent trotted over to the pair of you. She hopped onto Armitage’s lap, laying down with her front paws on your legs, kneading the material of the shirt. “I am still unsure how I feel about working on assassination droids.”

“They will be good for the First Order.” A grunt from you. Noncommittal. “They will cause death, certainly, however it is worth considering that for each droid that succeeds, that is a flesh and blood person who did not have to be in such a position.”

A person who did not have to kill, you thought, groaning and setting the heels of your hands on your eyes. “Honestly I think part of the issue is that I am exhausted.”

“I will make us tea, then we can relax together, hmm?” It sounded heavenly. Armitage shifted Millicent into your lap, and she laid back down without making a single noise of protest. You watched Armitage walk around, noted the way his body moved. He was less rigid here, a fact that was more apparent with his shirt off. “Do you have a preferred blend?” You shook your head, stating that anything that would help you rest and ward away a headache would be best. “I have just the one for us.”

“Oh? Stressful day?” You had not asked him about it sooner in part because you felt that it was a silly question; he had many projects to overlook and countless officers along with stormtroopers. It was dizzying to consider.

Armitage brought two cups over along with the blend and a kettle. He walked away once more, long enough to grab the portable heating device. “Not terribly. I was distracted a bit, thinking of this.” His eyes lifted from the kettle to land on your face. You smiled at him. “I look forward to sharing the bed with you.”

--------

[Poly Route]

Your stomach churned, and you shook your head to think instead of the programs that you were working with in the present.

Hours later, two pairs of footsteps echoed in the hall and filtered into the room. You would not have taken notice of them had they belonged to stormtroopers or officers that you had no intention of meeting with that cycle. These footfalls were familiar to you. Their presence prompted you to glance at the chrono. You could log out of the system in less than four minutes’s time. That Kylo Ren was drawing nearer was a mild surprise; the two of you had already agreed to spend extra time together in your quarters. Armitage entering the room beside Kylo, though, was what caught you off guard. You would be spending the night cycle with him, and he knew that you had plans with Kylo.

There was no air of antagonism rolling off either of them that you could feel. You finished deleting another unnecessary program then began to close out of the applications and wrap up your supplies. TeeArr was working alongside Aelin, so he was not present to comment on the pair. Armitage reached you before Kylo did, although this was in part due to Kylo slowing his pace for Armitage to do so. You blinked in surprise.

“I am going to be a little later,” Armitage said, his voice low though not quite a whisper. If anyone here was going to eavesdrop, it did not matter how quietly he spoke. He was simply being discreet so that those still involved in their work would not be interrupted. “I wanted to give you the option to reschedule if you wished.”

“If it is only a little later, I would like to keep the plans as they are.”

“Very good.” He cleared his throat. “Other projects that we will be involved with have elements I must personally oversee.” Ah, the assassination droid. You hummed in acknowledgment of his words, and gave a nod in return when he inclined his head as a means of dismissing himself. His eyes had swept across your mouth, a fact that you had not missed. He would have kissed you had there not been witnesses. You watched him walk away.

Kylo, in the meantime, stepped closer. He cocked his head to the side. “Perhaps you should lead the way.” Another thing that you appreciated about both of them; they gave you plenty of opportunities to make decisions and also to change your mind. You could go to your quarters or to his. No matter what things would be a bit scandalous. You would either go to Kylo’s quarters or yours with him then go to Armitage’s. People were going to talk. More than they already were, that is. You snorted and began walking. Kylo trailed along after you through the door. It was sweet of him, you thought, to come pick you up as he had.

You rolled your shoulders as you walked, debating for a moment which place you wanted to go. You would not be interrupted in your quarters since you had been able to make the proper arrangements. On the other hand, spending time in his quarters felt intimate on a different level. Did Snoke monitor him there? You felt gross thinking about that. Shuddered and decided that you would stick with your quarters, at least for this time.

The two of you entered your quarters, you first and then him. As the door closed behind him and you turned around, Kylo removed his helmet and set it off to the side. Both of you knew what was going to happen here. It was what you had thought about; or, one of the things. You would focus on Armitage later though. Right now you just wanted to be with Kylo, to touch him. This physical closeness was something that you had started to crave more and more frequently. While you were not limited on time, you knew that Kylo was.

You toyed with the hem of your shirt, watching him watch you. Seeing the hunger in his eyes, you began to work your clothes off of your body. Kylo stepped forward after removing his cowl and belt. He shrugged off his outer robes then reached for you, cupping your breasts as he surged forward to claim your mouth. You whimpered into the kiss, your body burning with pleasure as he began to knead your breasts. You placed your hands on him in return, feeling his muscles through the shirt that he wore. You had seen him shirtless before, had felt him, however it was different this time. Knowing that he would be inside of you, every touch was intensified.

Kylo placed his hands on your hips as you ground against his cock. You spread your legs wider, the two of you working together so that the next thrust lined him up with you, allowed him to move into you. Kylo wasted no time fucking into you. You set your hands on his chest, slipped them up to his shoulders. Kylo placed one hand on the bed by your head, propping himself up so that you could look down the length of your bodies to watch. You did just that, biting down on your bottom lip and furrowing your brow as another moan spilled from you. You toyed with your clit, and Kylo adjusted how he fucked you, moving more slowly, dragging out your pleasure.

He used his other hand to play with your breasts again. Kylo rolled a hardened nipple under the pad of his finger. Your inner walls clenched around him, the wetness from your body coating his cock and creating crude sounds with each and every thrust. Kylo pinched your nipple and tugged until you moaned loudly, your cunt tightening around him.

The two of you laid there together for a time, enjoying simply being in one another’s presence while you caught your breath. Kylo would not leave until he had to. In the meanwhile, you slowly redressed after regaining your breath. He did as well, though he did not pull on his helmet or cowl immediately.

When it was time for him to leave, you walked out of your quarters with him, an overnight bag in your hand. It was a relief for you that he acted normally. Kylo had watched you pack, had not given you a single strange look. He was genuinely comfortable with this arrangement. It alleviated some of the fears that you had harbored. You had kissed him one final time before he had put on his helmet, aware that you would not be able to after you had left.

[Armitage’s Quarters]

Millicent pranced over to you and reached a paw out while meowing plaintively. You obliged, taking a step forward and crouching long enough to stroke the top of her head and scratched her chest. She purred with contentment, her eyelids slipping closed even as you rose back to your full height.

“Not this time.” You kissed him then broke away from the kiss to take off your shirt before tugging at his undershirt so that it untucked from his pants. “You are still overdressed.” His eyes glinted with hunger at your words.

Armitage grasped your thighs and parted your legs further, rolling his hips so that you could feel how hard he was. You ground against him in return, growing more wet as the friction increased. Armitage kissed the corner of your mouth before tackling your neck with tongue and teeth. He nibbled downwards until he reached your collarbone, the opposite side from what Kylo had previously touched. He did not react to any marks that had been left. That served to arouse you further, to increase the level of comfort you had with him.

You raked your hands up through Armitage’s hair, disheveling it, marveling how soft it felt. He shuddered under your ministrations. Armitage pushed you onto your back and climbed atop you. His hands were busy, in constant motion as he stripped you down to your socks, which you worked off and kicked away. He once more kissed a trail downwards, though this time he went further, taking a bared breast into his mouth. He cupped its twin, kneading and sucking at you. Your toes curled, and you rolled your hips, arching up off the couch so that you could reangle yourself to feel him against you. Armitage shifted a thigh against you instead, and you ground down. He pushed at your hips, and you whimpered, baring your teeth though you obeyed the silent command.

It was worth it; he shoved down his pants, finished stripping, and you felt his naked thigh against your cunt. You rocked back and forth, toying with his hair again and biting your bottom lip to stifle a groan of pleasure with how he teased you. He moved his other thigh between your legs, spreading you open and again crashing his pelvis into yours, rocking against you. His movements and yours brought his cock between your folders. You groaned at the feel of him, at how the head of his erection brushed your clit with each thrust. Armitage rolled his hips again, more desperately, more hungrily. You swore, bucking up to meet his thrusts and entangling a hand in his hair to bring him down for another kiss.

You trailed your fingers down his chest and over his abdomen, feeling the muscles twitch in response. Armitage lined himself up with you, rolling his hips more slowly so that you could feel him sink into you inch by inch. You curled your toes, your eyelids fluttering as you moaned and trembled. His first thrusts were shallow, allowing you to adjust to the size of him. He was thick, stretching you wide.

Armitage reached behind you with one hand to grip the armrest of the couch. He cupped your chin with the other, tilting your head back and peering directly into your eyes. He kissed you, his desire spiking, his hips moving quicker. You reangled yourself so that he brushed against your clit with his thrusts, reaching down and toying with yourself as well.

“How are you liking the arrangement? I hope it hasn’t added any stress.”

You appreciated his concern. “I did worry for a little while. I think that we are finding a nice groove, and neither of you are making this awkward. I feel wanted, respected.” It was the latter that filled you with so much warmth. You cuddled even closer to him. “I am looking forward to sleeping together in your bed.” You looked to Millicent, who began to pad over to the two of you. “All three of us, of course.”

“Of course,” he said with a chuckle as Millicent hopped onto his lap and stretched out.

#errorpnf #kylo ren x reader #general hux x reader #kylo x reader #hux x reader #kylo ren imagine #general hux imagine

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leviathanswingman · 3 years

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love is a losing game, chapter 9: drop the guillotine

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7 , Chapter 8, Chapter 10

Lucifer felt a strange kind of peace he'd never felt before. Although perhaps, the words at peace weren't inherently correct to describe the sensation flooding his senses as he lay floating in the middle of a vantablack lake, surrounded by dark woods and even darker shadows.

He spread his fingers and let the murky water run through the gaps, relishing in the almost comforting feeling of forgiving liquid caressing his fingertips. Lucifer closed his eyes, but before he could even take his first deep breath, his body was already sinking to the ground and his lungs were slowly filling with gooey, bitter fluid. He tried to fight his way back to the surface, but his body was dragged to the ground by something bigger than life, a pillar of everything that could've been tied around his middle like a dead-weight.

Bubbles were escaping from his parted lips as he tried to take his last breath. Just as his body reached the murky ground, Lucifer noticed a light shining through the surface.

A hand, bright and colourful in this inky lake of nothingness, was reaching out to him and for some reason, Lucifer felt safe at once. Without any hesitation, he grabbed the hand tightly and felt himself being pulled up again.

With a startle, Lucifer awoke. Strands of hair were falling into his face as his body shot forwards and a drip of sweat ran down his temple. His breath came out in shallow gasps as one hand shot up towards his throat and the other gripped onto whatever was closest to him at the moment.

The room was spinning. His eyes darted back and forth as he took in the sight of his surroundings which were slowly coming to a halt, his heart beating ever so erratically. It took a few moments for his eyesight to clear up and become less disoriented again, but once it did, Lucifer felt the urgent need to curse.

He seemed to be sitting on some sort of examination table in what appeared to be a home praxis.

Sitting in front of him were two demons, one to his left, seemingly calm and composed, and the other to his right, looking dishevelled and upset. Doctor Naamah and Lord Diavolo.

Only now Lucifer realized that in his post wake up panic, he had grabbed onto Diavolo's forearm and to this moment hadn't let go of it. There were two possibilities as to what had happened: either his body had automatically sought out the most familiar thing in the room or that cursed bonding mark had detected the presence of its origin and grabbed onto it the second Lucifer's self control had slipped.

At once, Lucifer opened his hand and released his grip. For the shortest of moments, Diavolo and his eyes met. There was a certain question in those golden eyes, wet and slick, undeniably obvious and on full display. It was in this exact moment that Lucifer realized that his cover had officially and irrevocably been blown.

But instead of worrying about the chaos that would inevitably follow that realization, Lucifer decided to worry about his current situation first. When he tried to focus, he could still remember the strange aftertaste of an unfortunate dream, but not what had brought him to this place. His memory felt uncomfortably woozy and blotchy.

„Lucifer!“ Diavolo leant forward zealously, desperate and relieved at the same time. Without any hesitation, he grabbed Lucifer by the shoulders and pulled him towards his body, hugging him tightly, his eyebrows furrowed and eyes screwed close.

Despite everything, Lucifer could not help himself. After all -he realized disgruntledly- he was still bonded with Diavolo. Although he tried to deny his advances and refused to melt into the demon's touch, Lucifer felt comforted by the sudden and unexpected physical contact. Yet still, no matter how much his body wanted this, he couldn't allow this to happen, no matter what.

“You can let go now,” he brought out and to his luck, Diavolo obeyed.

Lucifer's breath came out heavy and shallow as he tried to collect himself. His mind and body were at war, entangled in a ferocious battle with no victor in sight. No matter how much he desired to be with Diavolo, realistically he knew that he couldn't afford a luxury this expensive.

With every breath he took, Lucifer's chest rose and sank in an irregular rhythm. It took him another moment to take in his surroundings and relax considerably.

The first thing he had to do was figure out what exactly had happened after he had passed out and hit the ground.

Following, and more importantly, he would have to figure out what exactly Diavolo now knew. After all, Lucifer knew the future demon king well, sometimes perhaps even a bit too well. There was no way he had ended up bringing Lucifer to the doctor himself without there having been a damn good reason for it. Otherwise, he would've just sent Barbatos.

„Diavolo, what in the name of-“ he started and tried to push himself up, only to immediately be pushed back onto the examination table by Diavolo.

„Rest,“ Doctor Naamah's voice came sounding from Lucifer's left.

„That really isn't necessary,“ Lucifer countered in the blink of an eye, having already made up his mind about leaving as quickly as possible. What he needed was space, since generally speaking, space gave him enough time to come up with new plans and even newer excuses. And new excuses, he desperately needed if he wanted to keep his little problem a secret.

Worried, Diavolo tightened his grip on Lucifer's shoulders. „Lucifer, don't be ridiculous. We need to-“

„Oh no, my lord. Let him do as he pleases, it's fine,“ Doctor Naamah countered without moving from her spot at Lucifer's side. „You'll see.“

Although Lucifer still felt dizzy and drowsy, he swung his legs over the edge of the examination table, placed them on the ground and pointedly ignored the way his head started to spin as he lifted his body from the mattress. „There is no need to worry, I can handle myself.“

Diavolo, apparently unsure of what to do with his hands, simply watched him with that strange expression on his face. „You are pushing yourself, aren't you? Come, sit back down again, please,“ he threw in. No matter how hard he tried to forget it, whenever he looked at Lucifer and remembered the sight of that tainted sigil, he felt shivers run down his spine. Why had he been so hell-bent on hiding it? Wasn't Diavolo one of his most trusted companions?

„Although I appreciate your concern, I can assure you I am more than alright,“ Lucifer said stoically.

„More than alright? Lucifer, correct me if I'm wrong here, but being unconscious doesn't really classify as being even remotely alright in my book!“ Diavolo replied, frustrated. All he wanted was for Lucifer to get some rest so he could heal and finally be back in his life again. Perhaps this was a selfish thought, but Diavolo didn't feel all too guilty about having had it. He was long past the point of denying that he wanted to keep Lucifer all to himself.

Lucifer threw him a quick glance, opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again, apparently having changed his mind. He crossed his arms, stood up quickly and before he could even take as much as a step, he started to sway and almost took another swan dive if it hadn't been for Diavolo's quick reflexes.

Diavolo had leapt up from his chair and pulled Lucifer close to his chest, his own arms crossed safely over Lucifer's shoulders as they both took a tumble to the ground.

„See? I knew he wouldn't listen no matter what. Some people need to learn the hard way,“ Doctor Naamah said as she pushed her bangs aside, pinched the bridge of her nose and watched Diavolo pull Lucifer up with him again. „He's got a concussion, but he'll be alright as long as he gets enough rest and doesn't overexert himself.“

„A concussion?! There must be something you can do about that, right?! As long as it makes him all good again! “

„There is no need to coddle me like-“

Diavolo pushed his hair back with shaking fingers. „You looked like you were bleeding out,“ he forced out between clenched teeth. “I thought you were dying. Will you hold me at fault for worrying about you?”

As they kept on bickering, Lucifer ever so kept together despite his head injury and compromised appearance, Diavolo riled up yet still composed, Doctor Naamah watched them.

She threw another glance at Lucifer, who was clearly struggling to keep his balance, looking bothered by his body's lack of cooperation. His right hand travelled up around his neck until it stood at halt at the back of it, right where his tainted sigil was situated. He could most definitely feel that something was amiss.

Naamah watched her patient as he threw a glance at the demon prince and right in that moment, Naamah knew for a fact that she had been absolutely right in the assumption that Lucifer had bonded with none other than Lord Diavolo himself. She could see it in the way they looked at each other when they thought the other one wasn't paying attention. There was pure devotion in their eyes, the sort of foolish dedication one could only observe within fated lovers. However, Diavolo and Lucifer, no matter how powerful and smart they were, seemed to be utter fools when it was about love.

The doctor sighed. „Lord Diavolo, would you mind leaving us alone for a moment? There is something I need to discuss with Lucifer regarding his sigil.“

At the mention of the bonding mark Lucifer's shoulders tensed up and he pressed his lips together into a tight line. He threw Doctor Naamah a questioning look. „What happened to doctor patient confidentiality?“ he asked, breathing out sharply and rubbing his eyes in an exhausted, almost defeated manner.

Then, Diavolo suddenly chimed in. „She didn't break any laws, Lucifer. I saw your neck when she asked me to help her roll you over. There's no need to hide it anymore, I already know. I saw the sigil. I know this must be an awkward position for you to be in right now,“ he threw in, his voice quiet and soft, not upset anymore. However, there was a certain undertone to his voice that betrayed a sense of hurt, out of sight yet clearly not perfectly stashed away just yet. Although he tried very hard to be supportive and good, Diavolo felt crushed despite his good intentions. No matter how hard he tried to ignore his own feelings, the fact that he had always found Lucifer far too perfect and irresistible tainted his judgement like black ink on a clean sheet of paper.

An unreadable expression ran across Lucifer's face as his eyebrows furrowed and he averted his gaze. Diavolo could hear the way his heart-rate elevated in a matter of seconds. Was it something he said?

„Of course you do, Diavolo.“ Lucifer stated after a short moment of silence. „If you'll excuse us?“

With a short nod Diavolo exited the room, but his thoughts never left Lucifer's side. Something definitely felt off and he needed to find out what exactly that little something was.

As soon as the door fell closed, Lucifer exhaled deeply, his shoulders slumped and he almost immediately dropped his head into his opened palms. „Tell me what happened while I was unconscious. Fill me in, doctor,“ he mumbled as he dragged the palm of his hands down his face just to drop them into his lap. „Tell me what the fuck happened. How come Diavolo knows about my affliction? I thought I was more than clear about the secrecy of the matter.“

The doctor watched him with a careful eye. „And I thought I'd been more than clear about the importance of telling your partner about the bond, but it seems like you disregarded my advice anyway. This is no laughing matter, Lucifer. You know that.“

Naamah walked over to Lucifer and lifted her hand. Before she could so much as touch him, Lucifer gripped her wrist tightly. „What do you think you're doing?“ he brought out and the doctor simply sighed.

„I am going to check on your head wound again, okay? Which, by the way, is also the reason why you're here in the first place. Lord Diavolo carried you here, looking like a fresh corpse. You should thank him, you know that, right? Actually,“ she then added, „I think you owe him a bit more than just an apology. An explanation would be a good start.“

Quickly, Lucifer let go of Naamah's wrist and let her examine the wound on his forehead. For a moment, they both kept quiet as she did her work quickly and efficiently.

Eventually, Lucifer visibly deflated. Although he knew showing any sign of weakness was against his own moral compass, in this moment he knew he could allow himself a tiny moment of existential dread. After he felt a bit more calm again, Lucifer asked about the one thing that kept on haunting his mind. „Did you tell him?“

Naamah rummaged through a drawer before shutting it closed again. „I didn't have to. He saw your pact mark.“

Lucifer froze in place.

He had tried so hard to remain his composure, had removed himself from Diavolo whenever it was needed and had burned even the smallest inadequate thought about his superior down to a burnt crisp, yet in the end, none of his efforts had born any fruits.

In spite of all his efforts, Lucifer had failed ever so miserably. Although it was no laughing matter, he suddenly felt the inexplicable urge to break out in laughter. The strangest of sensations ran through his body, and before he knew what was going on, he felt the sigil burning hot against his flesh. Lucifer hissed and ran his cold fingers over the back of his neck. It was a wrong, feverish heat and all at once, he was nauseous to the core.

The doctor stopped in her tracks and watched Lucifer with a professional eye. „I wish I could be of more help, but there's only so much I can do. You probably know this already, but at this point your head wound is the most insignificant of your problems. You have a concussion, but except for that, you're doing alright. The real issue is your sigil. It's tainted.“

„Tainted? What is that supposed to mean?“

The paper on the examination table rustled eerily in the otherwise silent room as Lucifer adjusted his position.

„It means that you have to make a choice. Actually, it's a choice that's long overdue. If you don't act quickly your life will be in danger. Unclaimed bonding marks are no joke. Not even your body will be able to withstand this game of cat and mouse that you've been playing,“ Naamah said loud enough for only Lucifer to hear, but too quiet for it to echo through the room.

Although the door was closed the walls were still terribly thin, and knowing her wife, there was always the slightest chance that someone was secretly eavesdropping at the door.

„I am no fan of blaming my patients whatsoever, but if you had listened to me from the beginning, you wouldn't be in this mess right now. This is why communication is key. Switching between seeing your partner and avoiding him is literally the worst thing you could do in this situation, and I'm convinced this is exactly what happened here with you. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong though.“

„You-“ Lucifer started, but stopped himself before he could act irrationally, his hand clenched to a tight fist. Getting angry wouldn't solve anything. No matter how offended Lucifer felt by the way this daring doctor was talking to him, he had to admit that her honesty was refreshing. After all, no lies had been told until now.

Instead of choosing to stray as far away from Diavolo as possible, Lucifer had remained by his side -although reluctantly- and had toyed with the magimeds which were supposed to make his life easier and the symptoms better. He had never been one to dismiss the possibility of consequences to his actions, so this revelation nearly didn't shock him. Perhaps, he had seen it coming all along. Had he not been prepared to go down for Diavolo right from the beginning?

In the end, Lucifer was no ordinary demon. What killed others made him only more vicious. Like an abandoned mutt, he refused to go down purely out of spite.

Lucifer's eyes, lit up with a new, absurd sort of dedication, met with Naamah's. „There is nothing for me to correct there, doctor. You are right in your assumptions. There are certainly consequences for my mistakes, so tell me, how much time do you reckon I have left?“

The ticking of a clock echoed through the half-empty room. Lucifer carefully touched his forehead, right where the doctor had placed a band-aid on the already healing head wound.

Naamah simply stared at him incredulously for a few more moments. In the end, she resigned herself to a singular defeated sigh. She was more than used to headstrong demons. However, no demon could rival Lucifer when it was about being stubborn and proud. From the look on his face down to his posture, one thing was clear: there was no way in hell Lucifer would change his mind. By now, it was set.

„Depends on how careful you are. Rule of thumb is the more time you spend with your bond partner without having fulfilled the bond, the quicker the rot starts taking over your body. It's like a parasitic infection.“

Lucifer stroked his chin with his thumb and pointer. „Hm. Alright,“ he mumbled, clearly already lost in his own plans. „Alright.“ This could still go his way. This simply had to go his own way. After all, he was one to command and demand. He wouldn't just buckle under the pressure of fate. Whether it was life or death, whatever was to come would have to take him kicking and growling. Lucifer had never been one to capitulate nicely.

Upon seeing Lucifer's calculated reaction, Naamah knew at once that no matter what, he would neither listen to her nor change his plans.

„As your doctor, I can only advise against what you're about to do.“

Lucifer raised his eyebrows questioningly. „What exactly would that be now?“

She sighed. „I don't know any details, but it's practically written on your face that you've reached a decision. Be smart, Lucifer. Please.“

She received no answer. She had expected as much, but still felt her eye twitch in annoyance faced with this demon's stubbornness. With an exhausted sigh Naamah wiped her brow before walking over to the door, opening it and calling out. „You can come back in, Lord Diavolo! Oh, and could you bring my wife with you?“

As Diavolo walked in, closely followed by Preta, the doctor seemed to relax considerably. „Sweetheart, did you school Lord Diavolo thoroughly?“

Preta's curls bounced as she nodded her head. „Yep! Told him everything he needs to know 'bout caring for concussed patients!“

A tiny smile spread on the doctor's lips as she watched her ever so lively wife. „Thanks, dear.“ She focused back on Lucifer and Diavolo.

„You two should be ready to go. There is nothing left for me to do here, so all I can do is prescribe you a lot of rest and most of all, a break from work until I can fully clear you, you hear me?“

Lucifer crossed one leg over the other, the perfect image of power and strength if it weren't for his body's current weakness. „That certainly isn't necessary, doctor. I heal rather quickly. In the blink of an eye, this will have passed,“ he announced.

„Normally, yes. You, however, are a special case. Your body is preoccupied, so your healing rate is at an abnormally low level.“ She waved her hand towards Diavolo. „Which is why I asked my wife to give Lord Diavolo a quick rundown on what to look out for. Someone needs to keep an eye on you, and he seems more than capable.“

Lucifer stopped dead in his tracks.

Life was a circus and he was the underpaid ringmaster.

The sound of Diavolo's huge, leathery wings flapping in the night was closely followed by the sharp clacking of heels hitting solid ground.

„Diavolo?“

„Yeah?“

Lucifer cleared his throat abashedly. „You can let go of me. Have we not arrived?“

Diavolo's hands were still wound tightly around Lucifer's torso, holding him so close he could almost feel his heartbeat. How dearly he wished to be allowed to hold on forever.

„If you can stand I will let go of you,“ Diavolo said as he grabbed Lucifer's face with one hand and mustered it as if it were an open book.

After a short moment he slowly released Lucifer, who crossed his arms, turned his head away from Diavolo and huffed out a puff of air before he let his hand roam over the back of his neck. „Of course I can stand.“

„You have a concussion.“

„I merely slipped.“

Diavolo took in a deep breath, frustrated, and crossed his arms as well, accidentally mimicking Lucifer's pose. „Lucifer you almost bled out!“ he forced out and his voice came out louder and more upset than anticipated. He cleared his throat, took a miniscule break and stared at his right-hand man with glowing eyes. „You need to take better care of your health. If you won't I might find myself forced to do it for you.“ He paused, took a step forward and pushed Lucifer softly against the brick wall of the house of lamentation, one hand on Lucifer's shoulder, the other straight against the brick wall.

Lucifer didn't waver. He didn't break eye contact with Diavolo, both of them stubborn and headstrong. For a moment, all he could hear was his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. The sigil on the back of his neck felt like it was trying to burn through his bones, down into the very core of his being. Perhaps, it had already managed to do exactly that.

Lucifer grabbed Diavolo by the wrist, still not breaking eye contact. „I don't need pity. If this is why you're acting so strangely, don't. I can manage on my own. This whole situation is entirely my fault. You can drop your misplaced sense of duty, I don't need it,“ he brought out with an eerily calm composure. „I don't need anyone,“ he added, so quiet it was barely audible.

His body was warm under Diavolo's fingers and rigid against the wall. Perhaps, Lucifer allowed himself the smallest of moments to think how it could be if things were different. He trampled those thoughts as quickly as they'd sprouted from his mind. Was he this weak already, weak enough to foolishly fall back into delusional daydreams? Things would never be different, not for him, never. Happiness had never been his to claim. The last of his childish hopes and dreams had went up in flames the moment his little sister went out like the purest of flames.

Not that he needed happiness. All he needed was himself. There was no one else he should have to rely on, he was plenty powerful already.

Suddenly, Lucifer felt himself brought back to reality as Diavolo straightened his back and took a step back. The air filled with the familiar scent of smoke as he changed out of his demon form and his majestic wings disappeared again. „Let's go inside.“

Lucifer kept quiet for another second, mentally reminding himself of all of the reasons why he shouldn't let Diavolo inside. Not after what had happened last time.

A tiny laugh escaped Lucifer's lips. „Just like that night, huh,“ he said quietly, his eyes travelling up to the starry sky. He felt the immature need to let out a good, strong curse word.

„Like what night?“

Instead of an answer, Lucifer let out a growl. His sigil was burning up and his head felt as if he'd had an unfortunate meeting with smooth alabaster tiles. Oh wait.

His eyebrows pulled together and his hand shot up to the back of his neck.

Of course, Diavolo noticed the change in Lucifer's behaviour. Hell, he'd watched him like a hawk ever since they had left the doctor's house. To be precise, Diavolo had watched Lucifer with that one particular look in his eyes ever since he'd woken up. It was a strange look to describe, after all, Diavolo was quite good at hiding his honest thoughts.

„Lucifer, are you alright?“ Diavolo asked, suddenly far too close again. He gripped Lucifer's shoulders, almost as if he was afraid he'd faint. Lucifer could feel his eye twitch with an onset of annoyance.

„You don't need to worry about me. I'm neither weak nor frail, Diavolo. I'm not going to shatter into pieces the moment you take your eyes off me.“

„That would be quite the foolish thing to think, wouldn't it? However-“

Diavolo put the palm of his hand onto Lucifer's forehead and held it there for a moment. It felt like hot coal against his cold skin. „You have a concussion and we've been out in the cold for far too long already. Let's get you inside.“

Irked by the sudden change of subject, Lucifer furrowed his eyebrows and looked at the demon prince, who still hadn't removed his hand. He stared at him for a moment or two, once again uncertain as to what exactly Diavolo's intentions were. Why would he still feel so comfortable around Lucifer, after everything that'd happened? And even more importantly, why didn't he feel the need to comment on the most pressing issue at hand: the fact that Lucifer had formed a bond with him by accident. After all, it wasn't like Lucifer had caught just a simple cold, no, he had done something unspeakable and highly inappropriate. Although unplanned, it was still completely and undeniably his fault.

Before Lucifer's traitorous mouth could slip and ask Diavolo right then and there about it, he caught himself. There was no need for it, after all. Diavolo didn't owe him any explanations after all. Pushing the prince's hand aside, he nodded his head. “As you wish,” he replied rather coldly and his fingers twitched restlessly.

The house of lamentation seemed to be as lively as usual. Even from the outside, you could tell that most of the brothers were still up and going. For that exact reason, per Lucifer's request, Diavolo and Lucifer were entering through the back door.

After all, they looked quite a mess and it wasn't an everyday occurrence for Lucifer to arrive, covered in dried blood, his forehead plastered with a stark white band-aid, followed by none other than Lord Diavolo himself, who refused to leave him alone.

So they had found themselves having to revert back to sneaking around like teenagers up way past their bedtime.

They turned corner after corner with Lucifer leading the way and luckily for them, they didn't cross ways with any of Lucifer's brothers until they had already arrived in front of Lucifer's room. Mammon just rounded the corner when Lucifer grabbed Diavolo by his tie and pulled him into the room. The door fell shut behind them with Lucifer still holding tightly onto his superior. As he realized the situation he'd put the both of them into, he quickly let go again.

“I apologize. I really don't want to risk any on my brothers seeing me like this right now.” With one hand, Lucifer pushed his hair back, and his fingers caught onto several strands of hair, glued together with dried blood. At once, he felt disgusting and dirty and unkempt. This was anything but seemly. However, nothing about his current situation was even remotely seemly whatsoever.

Diavolo, leaning against the door, watched Lucifer closely and noted the way Lucifer once again seemed to shiver in his thin turtleneck. Without any hesitation, Diavolo lit the fireplace with a snap of his fingers. Caught off guard, Lucifer looked up.

“You didn't have to do that,” he said.

“I know,” Diavolo answered with a small smile on his lips when in all honesty, he'd have preferred to embrace Lucifer until every single cell of his being was filled with Diavolo's fiery heat. But he couldn't allow himself to think in such ways.

“You also don't need to stay here. I am absolutely fine. You can leave, Diavolo. I don't need your help.”

“This, I don't agree with. Have you already forgotten what the good doctor told you?” A cheeky grin spread across Diavolo's face. “You can't get rid of me that easily, Lucifer. You're stuck with me until you're all better.”

Lucifer shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. All he wanted was to be left alone right now. It had been quite the adventurous evening and in addition to his pounding head and tingling sigil, his body felt tired and lethargic. He crossed the room, went over to his closet and pulled a few items out of one his neatly organized drawers, his back turned to Diavolo.

“I suppose there is no convincing you otherwise?”

Diavolo walked over to Lucifer, reached out to touch the side of Lucifer's face, but retracted his hand before it could make contact. Instead, he slapped his hand onto Lucifer's shoulder. “You know me too well, dear friend. Now let's get you lying down. Doctor's orders.”

A disgusted look rushed over Lucifer's face. “Diavolo...I hope you don't really expect me to lie down in my own dirt? I am practically bathed in blood. I am taking a shower.”

Lucifer turned to his bathroom, hand already on the doorknob. He stopped in his tracks as he sensed Diavolo following him. Of course. He took a deep breath and raised an eyebrow.

“Really?”

“What if you collapse while you're in there? We can't have that now, can we? I'm coming with you.”

Today had already been embarrassing enough. What was a little more?

Lucifer allowed himself a minute more in the shower than he usually would. Today, he had definitely earned this little luxury. Steam was rising around him as for the first time that day, he was able to allow himself to relax a bit. Streams of water, almost too hot in temperature, were falling onto him in thick droplets, cleansing him from head to toe. Lost in thought, Lucifer ran his fingers through his hair, back around to his neck, along the sharp edges of his shoulders.

Then, he heard the slightest movement from behind the shower curtain. “Lucifer?” Diavolo asked, loud and clear.

Lucifer held back the need to slam his head against the shower tiles. He couldn't risk a second concussion. “Surprisingly, I have not slipped and died, Diavolo,” he brought out instead as he turned off the water and opened the shower curtain. He wasn't worried about Diavolo seeing him naked whatsoever. After all, there wasn't anything he hadn't already seen before.

Diavolo was sitting cross-legged against the bathroom door, his eyes covered with both of his hands. The sight almost made Lucifer chuckle. Almost.

After Lucifer had dried off and changed into a silken bathrobe, he took some time to watch the demon prince for the smallest of moments, observed him as he sat against the door with his eyes shielded, ever so hell-bent on allowing Lucifer privacy while simultaneously pushing his boundaries in a way no one else would ever dare to.

The bonding mark twitched dangerously as he couldn't help but find Diavolo endearing. Suddenly, shadowy worms started crawling through Lucifer's skin, wriggling back and forth.

With quick strides, Lucifer walked over to the mirror hanging over the sink, turned around and dropped the bathrobe off his shoulders so that his neck was exposed. As his eyes fell upon the sigil, dark red and intimidating in appearance, encased with ink black roots and blotches, Lucifer couldn't help but let out a flurry of colourful curses, which alerted Diavolo immediately.

He jumped up as soon as he heard the sound leave Lucifer's lips, but stalled in his tracks as he saw Lucifer standing in front of the mirror, bathrobe slid off his shoulders, with his neck craned as he traced his fingers across the sigil Diavolo had only seen once before. The look on his face was unreadable, but certainly strange.

“Lucifer,” Diavolo finally started. He stepped closer to Lucifer, who quickly pulled up his bathrobe and retied it to look at least somewhat less dishevelled.

With shaking hands, he smoothed over the fabric of the bathrobe. “What is it?” he asked, his voice icier than usual. It was easy to see that this was a conversation he was not looking forward to have.

For a moment, Diavolo didn't know how to bring up that one specific topic. Although they were close friends, there had always been a certain boundary between the both of them. Now, he feared, if he continued this conversation, that boundary would inevitably crumble to the ground. Still, Diavolo couldn't forget the sight of Lucifer, limp on the ground, followed in quick succession by the close-up of a strangely familiar sigil, tainted black, on the nape of Lucifer's elegant neck.

And all of a sudden, just like that, the words that had been begging to be released left Diavolo's lips without much hesitation.

“Why didn't you say anything?”

Lucifer froze in his steps. Slowly, he turned around to Diavolo. What was he supposed to say? Suddenly, the damp air felt suffocating instead of comforting. The room was silent except for the dripping of water off the shower head. Although he was nothing near a coward, Lucifer would pay much money to be anywhere but here right now. He had known that sooner or later, he would have to explain himself. Still, that didn't make things easier.

Lucifer pushed wet strands of hair out of his face and forced himself to relax his shoulders. “Let's not do this here,” he said as he opened the door and looked back at Diavolo. He nodded his head towards the door and lead the way, arms crossed and mind far away, back to his room.

Lucifer and Diavolo were sitting on pure white armchairs near the fireplace, face to face. Lucifer was leaning back, one leg crossed over the other, but the unnatural rigidity of his body betrayed his otherwise calm demeanour. Diavolo, on the other hand was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his sole focus the demon in front of him.

Lucifer took in a deep breath. “You were confused as to why I didn't say anything,” he started and let his hand travel upwards to touch the back of his neck again.

He hated that he had to do this. He hated that the right words failed to come out and seemed to be stuck in his throat. “After I found out about it, I decided to solve this problem by myself. I didn't want to burden you. After all, this is my problem. I didn't see why I should make it yours as well.”

Diavolo didn't move. The expression on his face was serious, mixed in with something else. “Lucifer,” he eventually said quietly. He stood up and crossed the small distance between the chairs. Without hesitation, he caught Lucifer's hands between his own and dropped down next to him. His eyes were big and pleading, shiny like ancient coins, as he looked up at his right-hand man. “What did I do?”

Confused, Lucifer stared down at Diavolo, his cheeks undeniably dusted with a red tint as he took in the sight of his superior on his knees before him. “What did you do?”

“I must've done something to make you distrust me. Otherwise, you would've come to me. How often do I have to tell you that you can rely on me as well?” As Diavolo held onto Lucifer's hands, he let his fingers glide along cold skin, drawing small patterns with his fingertips.

Lucifer's sigil sent a powerful shiver down his spine, almost painful in its intensity. “Diavolo, this is not your fault. I am to blame here. I am the one who overstepped, therefore I shall bear the fruits of my own weakness,” he mumbled, admittedly distracted by the way Diavolo's big hands felt on his own. This had to stop. “I am dealing with this.”

All of a sudden, Diavolo looked up. “But are you really? Shouldn't you be getting better by now?”

For a moment, Lucifer's eyes travelled across Diavolo's face, searching. Something felt off. Was Diavolo teasing him? Or was he perhaps mocking him?

The sigil sent painful shock waves through Lucifer's body and before he could stop himself, he flinched noticeably.

Concerned, Diavolo let go of his hands and raised his hand to Lucifer's neck, but before he could reach it, he was interrupted.

Lucifer had grabbed Diavolo's wrist and was now staring at him with an expression very close to shock. “Don't,” he stated plainly. He could feel inky black roots grow taller, could feel them crawl under his skin along his neck, down to his shoulders. His skin felt like it had been injected with poison.

“Please, just let me help you Lucifer. You don't have to do this all by yourself.”

And there it was again. Whenever he thought he had found a way out, Diavolo managed to pull him back down even further.

Before he could stop it, a sarcastic laugh escaped Lucifer's lips. “That is the entire point. I have to do this by myself, you should know that better than anyone else.”

“Lucifer, why should I-”

“But as usual, you have to stir up trouble and make this difficult for me.” Lucifer let go of Diavolo's hand and quickly stood up. He turned Diavolo his back. “Pray tell, how will you help me with my unclaimed bond?” There, he finally said it. The word felt raw and exposed in the air. “I can't even seem to keep my distance from you,” he forced out and rubbed the sigil. “And do you know what's even more preposterous? If I did, this problem could be solved quite easily!” Lucifer started pacing the room. “I have become such a fool,” he muttered.

Diavolo crossed the room in quick strides, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and worry. He grabbed Lucifer by the wrist and pulled him back around. “Lucifer, what are you talking about? What do I have to do with-”

Lucifer tried to pull his wrist free, but found himself unable to. His head was heavy and his body felt aflame. Then there was a certain emotion filling his heart that he hadn't felt in a long time.

Shame. He felt ashamed. If only he had managed to keep his emotions locked away in that little pandora's box in the back of his mind back then. But he just had to be selfish.

He looked up and his eyes, burning with humiliation, met with Diavolo's.

“Lucifer-”

“Don't feign ignorance,” he growled. “I know that doctor told you all about our bond.”

Diavolo stopped dead in his tracks and his grip around Lucifer's wrist loosened considerably. Did he just hear correctly?

“Our bond?” he asked quietly.

Lucifer used one arm to prop himself up against the wall as the pain in his neck suddenly doubled in intensity and his legs threatened to buckle. His breath came out ragged and heavy. “Whose else?”

Diavolo finally awoke from his momentary shock and looked back at Lucifer. His heart was beating wildly and his hands had started shaking again, but he ignored both in favour of rushing to Lucifer's side.

“I don't need your-”

“What are you talking about?!”

Lucifer's head shot up and his eyes locked with Diavolo's, his own confusion perfectly mirrored in Diavolo's facial expression. He remained silent.

After a few moments, Diavolo straightened his back and raised his head. His eyes were shining like liquid amber in the light of the fireplace as he pressed Lucifer against the wall. He helped him stand up, one arm supporting his waist while his other hand had gripped Lucifer's face.

Diavolo, with a beating heart and a mind upset at what had just been implied, finally asked the one question he had felt too reluctant to ask before, afraid to receive an answer he couldn't bear to hear.

“Lucifer. Who did you bond with?”

The ticking of an ancient clock filled the room as Lucifer stared at Diavolo's fiery expression, for the first time unable to deny what was fact.

“You.”

55 notes · View notes

duhragonball · 3 years

Text

Battle Tendency Liveblog JJBA Ch.48-52

This is the “Joseph vs. Straizo” arc, so I’ll just lead off with one of my favorite moments from the entire JoJo franchise, when Joseph furiously declares war on Straizo with tears in his eyes. In the anime, voice actor Tomokazu Sugita delivered this with such intensity that it actually overshadowed the machine gun.

None of the dubs or translations can do it justice, including this panel from the JoJo’s Colored Adventure scanlation project. This is a faithful translation of Joseph’s line, as far as I can tell, except they always leave off the last part: “宣戦布告だぜ!!” In romanji, that’s: “Sensen fukokuda ze!!” And it means “This is war!!”

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Last time, we saw the Joestars treating their new friend Smokey Brown, to dinner at a fancy Italian restaurant. Some mafia jerk caused trouble, Joseph whooped his ass, and then a second mafia guy apologized and shared a rumor he recently heard: Robert Speedwagon was found dead in a Mexican riverbed, apparently killed by a Tibetan monk.

From there, we see that Joseph immediately realizes that this must have been Straizo, and Erina suspects that it must have something to do with the Stone Masks and the battle with Dio fifty years ago. Smokey warns Joseph to consider the source, but Joseph is pretty sure it’s credible information, since mafia guys are all about money. I’m not sure what that has to do with whether he’s telling the truth, though. Either way, Joseph slugs the guy for just blurting out such terrible news in front of Granny Erina.

Now, at this point, Joseph and Erina are making all these Phantom Blood references, and Smokey has no idea what they’re talking about. And I think seeing this panel helped me understand Smokey’s role as a viewpoint character. When the Part began, it seemed like Smokey was sort of the narrator for the thing, which works because he’s a good viewpoint character, and he seemed to be settling in as a sidekick like Speedwagon and Poco in Part 1. But shortly after this he just vanishes from Battle Tendency altogether, and then he shows up at the end like it’s no big deal. I never quite understood that, and I think this is the sort of thing that fuels the “Araki forgot” memes, but it actually makes a lot of sense.

See, Smokey’s primary function is to be the viewpoint character, specifically for the readers who missed out on Phantom Blood. BT is a direct continuation of the previous part, in a way that none of the other JoJo parts are. Most of the main BT cast was deeply affected by what happened in Part 1. A few of them lived through it, and the ones that didn’t have personal connections to it. So they constantly talk about Stone Masks and Dio without really stopping to explain any of it. Well, if you don’t know what they’re talking about, you can take heart in the fact that Smokey doesn’t know either. So as long as he can keep up with the story, so can the uninitiated readers. For now, all that matters is that he’s impressed by the Joestars’ great kindness, and he’s intrigued and disturbed by these hints of a tragic past in their family.

And eventually, Smokey learns just what happened to the Joestar Family, or at least everything that the reader needs to know to follow Part 2. But that doesn’t happen until near the end, which is why he shows up to hear the secrets revealed. But for most of the story, he steps aside, because that’s mostly about Joseph dealing with events in the here and now, so Joseph can act as his own viewpoint character.

But is Speedwagon truly dead? The story flashes back to the previous night, after Straizo killed his own disciples and clobbered Speedwagon. They’re in this temple where Speedwagon discovered more Stone Masks, like the one Dio used, but Speedwagon also discovered an immortal man petrified in a stone column. Straizo was enlisted to destroy this “Pillar Man” with his Hamon power, but instead he wants to use one of the Stone Masks to turn himself into a vampire.

Before he does this, he reads Speedy’s translations of the writing on the walls of the temple. The ancient Aztec cultists who built it said that the Pillar Man was immortal and had many powers, but he was vulnerable to the sun, just like the vampires from Part 1. But the writings warn that the Pillar Man created the Stone Masks because of this weakness, and one day, “when he befriends the sun, the world will be his.” That doesn’t seem to follow, since the only thing the Stone Masks seem to be able to do is make new vampires, who are just as vulnerable to sunlight as the Pillar Man.

Anyway, Straizo doesn’t seem to care. He just doesn’t want to die of old age, and he’s become disillusioned with the Hamon power he has, so he’s turning heel and going full goth on us. To avoid Dio’s mistakes, he plans to eliminate any witnesses, including Joseph and Erina. Then he’ll go into hiding and figure out a long term plan, with the rest of the world unaware of his existence.

You know, now that I write that out, I’m amazed by how similar that plan is to what Dio ends up doing in Part 3. In Part 1, he set about turning a whole town into zombies, and planning to unleash them on the world without any real agenda. But in Part 3 he eventually holed up in a swank mansion in Cairo and took great pains to stay hidden while he acquired more power. Parts 5 and 8 carry that same idea even further, with villains who go to great lengths to cover up their very existence.

At any rate, we only see Speedwagon pass out in this scene, so it’s unclear whether he actually dies or not. Really, using Speedwagon in this way is a pretty smart play. He’s an old man, and he was never going to survive another 50-year time-skip into the next part, so it’s safe to assume that Part 2 is his swan song. But how will he die, and when? It could be at the very start, or maybe somewhere in the middle.

Anyway, Straizo just walks up to a cafe in New York to confront Joseph, and Joseph whips out a machine gun and shoots his ass. This whole time, Straizo had assumed that the untrained grandson of Jonathan Joestar would be easy pickings, but Joseph’s a lot more skilled with Hamon than he expected, and he’s tricky too.

As Joseph fires on Straizo, he recalls how worried Erina was about all this. The story kind of glosses over it, but Joseph seems to have worked out Straizo’s entire plan. I guess that’s not much of a stretch. He and Speedwagon were together with a temple full of Stone Masks, and then Straizo turned on Speedwagon. Why else would he do that, unless he used the Stone Mask to turn into a vampire like Dio did? And once you arrive at that conclusion, it isn’t hard to figure out what Straizo’s next move would be. And that’s how Joseph was so prepared for this. After the shooting stops, Smokey freaks out about Joseph murdering a dude, but Joseph was expecting a vampire the whole time.

I also like Joseph’s line in the flashback. Erina isn’t worried for herself, but for Joseph, because it looks like he’s being pulled into this same tragic fate as the rest of the family. But Joseph resolves to face this head on. “If this is my fate, then I accept it.” Pretty sure Will Zeppeli said the same thing when he discovered that he would die saving Jonathan.

There’s similar “call-to-adventure” moments in the other parts. Jonathan has his when he accepts Zeppeli’s offer to train him to battle Dio again. Jotaro has his when he defeats and saves Kakyoin, then learns what’ll happen to his mother if he doesn’t go. Josuke has his when Angelo shows up and he has to avenge his grandfather. Giorno kind of always had a hankering to take on Passione, but I think things got serious once he had a choice between killing or sparing Bruno. There could be no turning back from that point. For Jolyne, it was the moment she had a clear path to escape the prison but decided to go back in because that was where her enemy was. For Johnny, it was that one battle where he chose to crawl towards the danger to save Gyro instead of withdrawing to safety. For Gappy... I’d have to study that a bit.

But for Joseph Joestar, it’s this moment. Erina never sent Joseph to learn the Ripple from the Hamon monastary, and she seems to have taken great pains to keep him out of trouble, but now trouble has come to them, and Joseph isn’t about to back down.

So yeah, bullets don’t actually kill vampires, but Joseph was hoping to destroy his head with some of those shots, or at least slow Straizo down long enough to finish him off. Instead Straizo reveals that he has the power to shoot high pressure fluid from his eyes, the same move Dio used to kill Jonathan at the end of Part 1. He calls this “Space Ripper Stingy Eyes” which is either stupid or brilliant depending on your mood, I guess. He used it to protect his head from the machine gun fire, and then he uses it again to shoot Joseph... except he hits Joseph’s reflection in a nearby mirror, and I guess he didn’t notice the real thing standing behind him.

What makes this fight so awesome is that these two are determined to kill each other, and they each have extremely simple moves to defeat one another, but they have all these tricks and schemes to protect themselves. Joseph manages to hit Straizo with Hamon, but it does nothing... because Straizo was a Hamon master before turning into a vampire. He can’t use the Ripple without destroying himself now, but he still knows how to defend against it. For instance, he’s got this scarf woven from dead bugs, because it conducts Hamon energy far more effectively than his own body. So it just absorbs Joseph’s attacks and disperses the energy harmlessly away.

Does it really have to be made of dead bugs? I feel like Tonpetti just told him that as a prank. “No, really (snort!) the only thing that works is dead bugs. (tee-hee!) It smells awful but you have to wear it (ha!).”

But Joseph has his own tricks, like... putting a dozen grenades on his opponent’s back when he isn’t looking! Seriously, there was zero opportunity for him to do this. One moment he steps over Straizo’s body to see if he’s still alive, and the next moment he supposedly planted all these things on his scarf. I get that he could pull a string connected to the pin without being noticed, but that’s the only part that makes sense about this. It’s still awesome, though. If Jonathan had access to explosives, Part 1 would have been a lot shorter.

I really think this was the battle that set the tone for Stand Battles in later Parts. Araki loves these off-panel tricks in combat, and they’re a lot easier to explain when all of your characters have magic super powers. If Joseph had Hermit Purple in this fight, there’d be no problem at all. He could just use Hermit Purple to snake through the ventilation shafts and hook up all the grenades. In fact, it’s tempting to suggest that Joseph was unconsciously using Hermit Purple throughout Part 2, but I don’t want to get into that right now.

Anyway, explosions don’t stop vampires any more than machine gun fire. Straizo’s body is in pieces, but the pieces just slither back together and regenerate. Wait, wouldn’t his head have been vaporized in that blast? Also, Straizo spends the rest of this battle in the nude, so we know that stupid scarf is out of the equation. Why didn’t Joseph just go back in the cafe and finish Straizo off while he was still in pieces?

Again, it’s easy to say “lol Araki forgot”, but I think it’s a lot more sensible to suggest that Joseph forgot. As clever as he is, he went in with the Ripple, a machine gun, and a dozen grenades, and Straizo had an answer to all three. He doesn’t want to press the attack because he’s out of tricks. All he’s got left is another Hamon attack, which means Straizo will see it coming. Or he’s still worried about the scarf, and hasn’t realized that it’s gone now. In any event, he’s running away, creating some distance before Straizo can make his next move.

Also, there’s a lot of bystanders gathering around, so it makes sense to take the fight elsewhere. Some guy named “Bruty” tries to stop Joseph to impress his girlfriend, but that backfires spectacularly. Was Bruty in the anime? I feel like he wasn’t, but I don’t want to check.

The one I do remember is this girl photographer. Spider-Man hadn’t been invented yet, so in those days photographers just sort of wandered around with their camera, waiting for Spidey to debut. This exploding vampire diner is the best she could do in 1938.

I just really like this lady. There’s a spark in her eye and I just assumed she would end up being Joseph’s love interest by the end of the story. Well, we’ll get to that.

Instead, she’s a hostage. Joseph and Smokey run to the Brooklyn Bridge? I guess? It’s a bridge, I’m sure of that much. Anyway, Straizo catches this lady and takes her with him to intercept them. He threatens to kill her unless Joseph faces him again. But Straizo offers to spare Joseph and never trouble him again if Joseph runs away. This is because Straizo figures that if Joseph chickens out now, then he’ll never be a threat to Straizo in the future, no matter how powerful his Hamon abilities become.

Joseph tries to call his bluff, but then Straizo rips out one of the girl’s teeth to prove he means business, and Joseph gets furious all over again. I don’t think he was ever planning to abandon this fight, but he was probably hoping to get Straizo to give up his hostage at least. Now he’s just pissed, and Straizo is impressed. Joseph tries to act cool, but he just can’t hide his passionate feelings. This is in stark contrast to Jotaro, who wagered his own soul in a poker game and bluffed his way to victory.

So Straizo tries again with the Space Ripper Stingy Eyes, but this time Joseph blocks it with two shot glasses charged with Hamon power, and then he lands the decisive blow. But before Straizo dies, Joseph demands to know why Straizo dumped Speedwagon and the others in the river. Not only does Joseph want to give him a proper burial, but he doesn’t understand why Straizo would have dumped them in the river, since that was how Joseph knew to expect him.

Wait, I thought Straizo wanted Joseph to know he was coming. Oh well.

Anyway, Straizo explains that he had to do it, because the Pillar Man was absorbing the blood from his victims. Straizo was worried that the Pillar Man might awaken, so he put them in the river instead to be safe. Nevertheless, he suspects that the Pillar Man will reawaken eventually anyway, and Straizo now realizes that it will be Joseph’s destiny to face him some day. Then Straizo just uses the Ripple one last time, and self-destructs.

It always seemed strange to me that Straizo saw the danger of the Pillar Man and just left things the way they were. Maybe he planned to deal with him later, or maybe he just didn’t know or care about it until Joseph defeated him, and he felt a moral obligation to warn someone.

I guess he could have destroyed the Pillar Man like Speedwagon wanted him to do in the first place, but it seems like Straizo didn’t realize that blood would wake him up until after he was already a vampire, and unable to use the Ripple. For that matter, it remains to be seen if Hamon will work on Pillar Men.

Anyway, what else is going on? Oh, yeah, Europe is getting closer and closer to World War II. The official start of the war is usually considered to be September 1, 1939, but Italy invaded Ethiopia in 1935, and Japan invaded China in 1937, and Germany annexed Austria and conquered Czechoslovakia in 1938, the year Battle Tendency is set. So we’re in this weird time period where there’s Nazis in the story, and the British-American protagonist doesn’t care for them, but isn’t trying to kill them on sight. I’ll be coming back to this topic later on.

I think the main reason for including Nazi Germany in this story was to draw parallels between their goals and those of the fictional villains. The Nazis believed themselves to be the “Master Race”, the most “evolved” people, and this made them worthy to rule the world. Araki notes that they turned to all sorts of sci-fi/occult/fantasy stuff in their war. Similarly, you have villains like Dio and Straizo turning to mysterious Stone Masks for spooky powers, and then you have the Pillar Man himself, who apparently sought the means to “befriend the sun” and rule over the world. So the Nazis fit into this theme of trying to claim some sort of supremacy over other beings.

But what’s their role in this story? Well, the Germans have an “information base” in Mexico, run by a guy named Stroheim. He makes pretty ladies shave him with a straight razor, and if he gets a nick he makes them lick the blood off, and then he threatens to cut off their tongues. Also, he trained his dog to not eat treats until given permission. He’s a sick fuck, is my point.

Wait, no, my point was that his staff discovered the bodies that Straizo dumped in the river, including Speedwagon, who’s still alive, somehow. I guess Straizo was going to finish him off but he got in a hurry when he saw the Pillar Man absorbing the blood from the others. Not sure how Speedwagon survived that ordeal, but Stroheim’s men have been taking care of him this whole time, and he was unconscious until recently, so it might have been touch-and-go for a while.

Back in New York, Joseph doesn’t know what this is all about, but he decides to go to Mexico himself to get to the bottom of it...

#jojo's bizarre adventure #battle tendency #joseph joestar #erina joestar #smokey brown #bruty #straizo #rudol von stroheim #santana #robert e o speedwagon

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daimonhalos · 3 years

Text

And though it was real, it doesn't feel like it could be

Read on Ao3!

Part of Skephalo week! → Day 2 – Family (and diamonds too in a way)

Word Count: 2.421

Characters: Badboyhalo, Skeppy, (kid!)Sapnap

Pairing(s): Skephalo (up to interpretation owo)

Warning(s): Fire (tell me if I missed any)

Summary: Sapnap gets help from both their dads setting up the perfect father's day gift for each of them, while still keeping it a secret from both.

A/N: Me? Writing fluff? Mark the day on the calendar. Okay guys, gals and cooler pals, there's some sweetness ahead so be aware of that. Also, I got a little philosophical towards the end, pardon me, happens often, I hope I made any sense. Hope you enjoy!

✾

❝ It won't be long 'til you are grown

- I love you so

- I love you, too

So I'll stay right here with you. ❞

Sapnap had tugged at Skeppy's hoodie for the fourth time in a row.

« Okay, okay, you little pest. » the latter picked up his son in his arms, adjusting him before he continued to walk along a familiar path.

« Can I carry your pick? » the hope in the young boy's voice caused a smile to creep on his face as he stopped to ponder one second: all things considered, they were just going for a little stroll around – at least that was what they had told Bad – so there was no harm in allowing him that until he had to start mining himself.

It didn't take long to find a cave entrance, standing out thanks to the looming darkness that crept up the cobblestone and deepened the more you stared at it. Skeppy let Sapnap down, branding his sword and pickaxe for good measure.

« Now, first I'm going to clear out the entrance from possible mobs, then we can proceed with our torches. » he sat down a crafting table, leaving his son to his favourite part of the job: lighting sticks up.

A little more than a year or so earlier, Sapnap had begun showing the first signs of fire magic, surely not to their surprise; that had granted them a trip to the nether, which allowed the kid to come to terms with the flames easier than how he had been stumbling his way through sparkles in the overworld.

Skeppy had shot a shocked look at Bad when he oh so nonchalantly let Sapnap fall into lava, all wide eyes and panic rising to his chest. His heart had certainly stopped for several seconds, but his companion only stared at the fluid substance as though he were expecting something, a grin stapled on his face.

And then Sapnap had risen above the surface, body completely unaltered, giggling and making his way across the reddish-yellow sea.

He was sure it had taken multiple minutes, a couple of which were simply him yelling at Bad for the lack of warnings, and various check-ups on the child before he could have been entirely convinced he had just witnessed all of that.

There Sapnap was now, confidently working with fire in the overworld, currently on his quest to get his other dad the prettiest gift he could muster with Skeppy's help.

The latter had gone a couple of steps into the cave, making a path for them to follow where mobs couldn't have reached before returning to his son, grabbing a handful of the torches he prepared.

« Let's light up our path, so we don't get lost, okay? »

« Mhm! »

Really, it was far too adorable: Skeppy's torches were followed by a trail of other ones placed at a far shorter height. The kid's free hand had been lit up the entire time too, a sort of signal to notice when they were running out of light source.

« Dad, look! » Sapnap pointed towards the ground, shimmering diamonds wedged in the stone right below their eyes.

« This early? That's a first. » a smile crept on the boy's face as Skeppy ruffled his hair. « I should bring you here more often if you get this lucky. »

The kid's eyes shone brighter than the gems around them. « Will you? »

The man seemed to consider for a dramatically long moment. « Nah. »

« Oh, come on! »

« I know you want to, Napi, but I can literally hear Bad yelling at me from the future. »

Sapnap grumbled something under his breath about “never letting him have fun” and “just wanting to help”, which caused an amused look on his dad's part.

After collecting the last remaining diamonds and some redstone because “that's one of dad's favourite colours”, they made their way back home, definitely not stopping in the middle of the forest because oh my gosh is that a nether portal?

« Don't even think about it. »

« But dad, we need something more! »

« I don't think netherrack works for a bracelet, Napi. »

« No, no, no. » Sapnap stopped in his tracks, pulling the hand he had been holding towards him. « We need netherite! »

That made Skeppy do a double-take, before turning around and kneeling down to meet his son's eyes. « Sapnap, I am not going to risk our lives for- »

« Are you scared? »

That damned smirk.

« Wow. » Skeppy sat back up. « You know the piglins don't like me, it's a sensitive topic. » he pretended to be offended, but felt the umpteenth tug on his arm.

« Pretty please? » now. Now a specific thing about raising a kid with someone, is that they're eventually going to pick up someone's antics. And, really, none had asked the little kid to pick up Bad's puppy eyes so well, but there he was, making Skeppy doomed to agree with him.

He checked on his pickaxe's status. « We go in, we take some quartz and then we leave, okay? »

Sapnap nodded heavily, expression determined, before sprinting to the portal.

Skeppy didn't have the time to reach him to get to the other side together, that he stopped for a moment, as the kid slowly disappeared before him.

« Love you, dad! »

His heart melted, just like the first time he heard that, or the second, like the time he comforted him after getting hurt, or sleep-drunk after a nightmare. It always softened him.

Skeppy followed after him and decided that, maybe, a trip to hell may have been a little worth it.

By the time they reached home, the sky had begun to darken and the figure of a concerned demon hurried over the entrance of their abode, decreasing his height to meet his family properly.

« What took you so long? » with an arm already secured around Sapnap as he lifted him up, Bad took some of Skeppy's tools to free him of the weight.

« It's a secret! » the kid revealed, shaking a leather sachet in one of his hands mischievously.

The demon's face fell. « Did you guys go mining? » it was kind of funny how his voice could become so high-pitched with disbelief despite his, at first glance, terrifying looks.

Skeppy shrugged as Sapnap freed himself from the half-hug of his dad, snagging the tools out of his hand to place them down in a chest and run to the kitchen afterwards. « Like he said, it's a secret. »

Bad walked towards him, giving him a once-over while grimacing. « You don't look too good, either. » he pressed his lips on the other's temple to check for any temperature rise, leaving a quick kiss afterwards. « Did you stay too long under the sun? »

« I'm just fatigued, no worries. » he gifted him a smile not to concern him further. « I'm going to nap for a while to fix that. »

The moment Bad stepped in the kitchen, he found a very pensive Sapnap staring up at the ingredients placed messily on the cupboards.

« Well, hello, chef Pandas. » he knew how much his son loved it when he messed around with the little voices he could make. « What are you going to delight us with today? »

« I want to make a beach picnic for dad! »

His eyes lit up. « That does sound very nice, may I assist? »

« Yeah! I can cook food up! »

« Sure Pandas, maybe when you learn not to get hurt first. »

It was an eventful evening of packing up different delicacies for that day's dinner, along with everything needed to set it down and protect it from undesired sand.

The surprise trip hadn't been that much of a surprise for Skeppy, as he knew exactly the direction towards which they were heading, having learnt it by heart thanks to the numerous amount of times they spent at the beach, even before they had let Sapnap in their family.

It had all fallen into a quiet tranquillity, after they mob-proofed the area and were done eating, telling each other sea-related stories.

« Like that one time your dad tried to stand still on a boat and ended up falling in the water two seconds after. » Bad snickered as Skeppy shot him a look.

« Actually, if I remember correctly, you were the one to miserably fall and turn your boat upside down. »

The kid could already picture the mini fight about to come, so he sat himself back comfortably.

« No, no, no. You were all like “Oh Bad, why don't we”- »

« This is ridiculous. »

« “-why don't we race towards that sand while standing!”»

« I did not say that- »

« Yes you did! »

« Wow, the lies. »

He broke the situation up with his sudden epiphany. « Gifts! » Sapnap yelled, having his parents turn to him immediately, as he fumbled for the leather sachet from earlier that day and handed it to Bad.

The latter blinked a few times and accepted the item in his hands, carefully undoing the tied up string around it: out of it fell a bracelet of black leather with three gems sitting together in the middle: redstone, quartz and diamond.

« Oh my gosh … »

« Happy Father's Day! » the kid sat up and leapt into Bad's arms to be pulled in a tight hug.

« You didn't have to do this, is that why you went out today? » he exchanged a quick glance with Skeppy who was simply admiring the soft scene. « Thank you so much, both of you, this is so sweet, I adore it. » he kept complimenting, as Sapnap released him to put the bracelet on Bad's arm himself.

He then turned towards the other, a grin creeping up on his face. « As for your gift … »

« Oh no, » Skeppy put his hands up defensively, before giggling. « Please, spare me. »

His son exchanged a look with Bad, both standing up to place a sort of vertical wooden pane on the side of the fire, and positioning themselves so the shadows of their hands could appear on the wood.

« Welcome to the ultimate shadow play! » the kid opened his arms theatrically. « Tonight, we will be telling the story of the Bravest Hero of the Nether! » Bad accompanied the explanation with various mouth sound effects.

Skeppy could hold it together, surely he didn't have his head in his hands already because of how adorable it all already looked.

The story had been a dramatic retelling of all the time they had spent in the nether on different occasions, with a specific focus on Skeppy, completely told out of Bad's shadow figures on wood, the occasional sound effects and Sapnap's incredible storytelling along with some firey visual effects here and there.

« And that is how, ultimately, he crossed paths with the Nether again, to collect quartz alongside his trusted warrior Sapnap. »

Bad dropped his arms. « You went to the nether without me?»

Okay, he had a point.

It was a little unnerving how the netherfolk didn't seem to like Skeppy that much, they would tolerate Sapnap despite his humanoid features, but rest assured with Bad around, they were always respected.

Which was a synonym of never attacked on sight.

Sapnap beat Skeppy in an apology. « I'm sorry, I ran towards the portal cause I really wanted to get the quartz myself, so dad went with me. We will tell you next time. »

The demon only sighed at the puppy eyes his son made at him. « Alright, I will accept that, but know that that expression doesn't work with me. » he then ruffled his hair, as the kid winked at his other dad, who mouthed him a grateful “thank you”.

Needless to say, the show was over and it didn't take long before Sapnap was sound asleep between his dads.

Switching from looking at the sea to the night sky, Skeppy let out a small breath. « Do you believe in fate, Bad? »

« Mh? Why the question? » he loved his soft spoken voice.

Careful not to wake his son up, he stroked Sapnap's hair.

« When we found him. The night before the sky was so clear you could see the planets. The fireplace had been flickering brighter than before the entire night and the day after you somehow knew you had to go to the nether. »

Bad seemed to consider, humming low. « Well, you see. The thing about coincidences is that humans set an objective number onto them, ignoring the fact that events are always subjective to the people that they happen to. One could see a myriad of facts linked together that actually have nothing to do with each other. »

« Or, have just a couple that do? »

He nodded. « You're following me. But where I want to go is: there's few beings, humans comprehended, that have the gift of speaking and a very specific type of intelligence that can bring us to question complicated things, such as your sense of self. So it is only logical to think that we're the ones to create these connections and notice them if we think too hard about them. »

« Isn't noticing connections the point? »

« Not if we are the ones to make them. We link events up ourselves. Thus, in a sense, I kind of believe fate to be artificial. »

Skeppy shrugged. « I mean, we did come up with the word … »

That pulled a chuckled out of Bad. « You're a muffinhead. But yea, I'm not saying believing in fate is dumb and you shouldn't do it. Wouldn't you believe in something you made for yourself, if it's good for you? So if you want to think Sapnap was destined to find his way to us in any circumstance, that's really nice. I like the thought. »

They both looked down at the kid, silence only broken by Skeppy's small snort when Sapnap snuggled closer, muttering an “I love you” in amidst his dreams.

« It is really nice. »

#skephaloweek2021 #skephalo #badboyhalo #skeppy #sapnap #fanfic #purp's writings #long post #im a little late today yeet

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cloveroctobers · 3 years

Text

• ROHAN WASTI•

IG info/bio: @/niceguyroasti | 175k followers | Just here for a bit of fun 🤹🏽‍♂️! They don’t call me the brown handstand king for nuthin, mate 🎪🤸🏽‍♂️

(23) 25 (26) years old

From Wolverhampton, England

Before you ask...no he’s never met Liam Payne but Rohan’s sure he’s a great lad. (He was asked this question in one of his lives, he secretly thinks it was talia from one of her secret burner stan accounts lol) He’s got a nice tune with a boogie w da hoodie that he likes??

Anyways...he’s of Pakistani heritage

His mother used to work for a printing press company until she along with 15 other employees were laid off back in Sargodha

She was out of work for months becoming a stay at home mom (which his father initially wanted)

While his father continued in ironwork

They uprooted their family to the uk two years later after Rohan’s father also got laid off

Rohan was about 7 years old when they moved to Wolverhampton

he picked up on the English language faster than his parents

Always a quick learner

He has two younger brothers

Who are really his cousins/friends of the family that his parents brought home from Pakistan after their parents passed in a tragic accident

he was eleven years old when he met them at the airport and was super excited to have sibs! & even encouraged his mom to let him buy them something they would like sort of like a ice breaker which they seemed to appreciate 😭

His parents wanted him to major in software engineering or any form of engineering really but that quickly became a “hell no” vs “hell yeah” after those courses started to rot his brain?

So what does he do? He decides he’s gonna major in psychology instead!

That seems more of his speed? Kinda? As long as he’s not dealing with that hardware shit then that’s cool with him tbh

Psych held more of his interest since he doesn’t have a issue with the whole science aspect tied into it but it’s deff lengthy and can be draining sometimes too

He doesn’t psychoanalyze everything like our girl marisol does

marisol will be like “hmm...you’re distributing narcissistic behavior based on your superego more than your ego ya know?”

but Rohan will either think it or think nothing of it and just continue to go with the flow lol. He’s that kinda guy

Why was he majoring in this in the first place? Just to say he had the degree in something maybe?

He’s 50/50 thinking he’ll just get the degree he’s halfway there but he really wants to be part of the circus

And now has circus themed tatts that he’s proud of thank u

Always had the obsession with all that comes with the circus, he had his paternal grandfather to thank for that

His grandfather used to juggle along with other forms of entertainment but mostly juggling on the street back in Pakistan to earn $ since there were a lack of jobs

The atmosphere there also was what got him into doing handstands cause why tf not

You can absolutely guess that the acrobats, trapeze acts, and tightrope entertainers are his favorites to watch

His parents just assumed it was a hobby of his and never took him serious even tho he openly said growing up that’s something he would like to do in life

He now understands the purpose of “freak shows” even tho he can honestly say those parts of the circus used to terrify him until he learned that not everyone is the same and there should be no shame in that

He will train on the side until he finishes his degree to make his parents happy but he knows he truly belongs in the circus and that’s where he will be someday whether his parents approve or not— after all this is his life

Lives on campus and is currently looking for a flat off campus to share with a roommate or two (he thought about asking jake & Tim but decided against it FOR NOW)

Mostly had temporary and odd jobs to get by each semester, has not had a steady job due to fully being a full-time student

He’s tried to be a full time student and full time employee (working as a package delivery man) just to burn himself out and never attempted to be a part time employee. It was not something he could handle sorry

His mother spoils him...he’s a bit of a mama’s boy

When it comes to relationships, it never seems to be what he thinks it is? One moment things are going great then the next he’s in the friend zone so he’s never quite sure where he stands with his significant others?

Which is why he thinks it’s safe to always start off in the friend zone or unintentionally puts those who have interest in him in the friend zone because that’s what’s comfortable to him

however if he’s really into you & you’re showing that you’re into him but it’s causal dating or whatever u want to call it? & you up and decide to pick the other over him catching him off guard he’s gonna be in his feelings about it 100% ex.) how he picked erikah over mc the 2nd time around and felt some type of way when erikah hopped on reeses dck

he wants communication even if it’s hard

and he wants someone to love unconditionally and for them to love him back

Definitely likes to sweep his loves off their feet

Especially when he’s kissing! The whole dipping you while you kiss, hand on the small of your back, or hands gripping your waist while he’s pressed up against you. Probably likes to bend you over things or have you pressed up against objects as well—Sign me tf up

I feel like he’s always warm and his hands are surprisingly soft with how many handstands he does in a damn day

He purchases hand moisturizing gloves

can always hold his own weight

enjoys core exercises

Will carry you on his back or his shoulders if you need to see better at festivals/concerts

He’s sexually fluid

It’s canon/hinted that something went on between him & jake when mc walked in that we missed by a few seconds or even a minute but I do think he’s attracted/was to jake and it’s canon that jake is bi bby

Plus he got excited when mc suggested that he’d date jake if jake doesn’t find someone in the villa so BOOM 🤗

Always active as a kid trying to do flips and shit likes he’s doing parkour much like Bobby ending up with bruises, scrapes, and surprisingly no broken bones? Well maybe scratch that last bit out...He did crack his head open a little bit once giving his mother a heart attack but his mother doesn’t dare speak of it — haram!

Loves his sleeveless shirts and silver thick chains

Keeps a five o’clock shadow + might grow a little stubble here and there, feels like it’s part of his signature look

Won’t grow a full beard due to the racism/prejudice he witnessed his father, grandfather, uncles, and cousins go thru!

Will spend coin on some aftershave, none of that cheap shit when it comes to that! Sorry he takes pride in his facial area

probably went thru a mild case of cystic acne when puberty hit & had some insecure moments when it comes to his appearance & still has moments where it’ll hit even tho he beat it thanks to some remedies but tries his best not to let it get to him

He knows how to manage his $ but can splurge every now and then but will never showcase what he has — that’s v corny to him to be overly flashy. He’s looking at y’all @/leggy @/jasper/@/miles

Doesn’t take high quality photos of himself, it’s always zoomed in or extra zoomed in photos—yup he’s got that type of feed

Regrets putting mc in the friend zone & wishes he put more effort in making things work with erikah

But slowly learned to be happy that she’s with Reese even if he wasn’t at first. He really thought there could have been something for him & erikah

he secretly thinks their “relationship” is superficial & based off of shallowness and lust. What else do they have? Nothing that he could have given her but what’s the point in being bitter over this?

Reese is a shit stirrer that thinks he can get anything he wants because of the way he looks & if he knows outside info that he can use again you, he WILL

& erikah? He doesn’t know where her head is at majority of the time. She likes to throw rocks then acts like she didn’t mean to do it but why do it in the first place if you didn’t mean to? + she seems to lose interest fast if they don’t fit her standards besides their physical appearance...yeah Rohan caught all of that

So did she even genuinely like him or want to besides what he brought to the table physically? Who knows

He just thinks people deserve their chance at happiness and he possibly could have had it if he wasn’t standing in his own way...and he absolutely won’t stand in anyone else’s way if they don’t see potential happiness with him

He’s cool with cherry but deep down he knew there wouldn’t be anything long term between him & her after some time. She’s a beautiful/hot girl but she wasn’t his type + he didn’t like how she portrayed herself in the villa even tho she claims there was more than what meets the eye when it comes to her

she proved that to him which she didn’t HAVE to!!! outside of the house and they actually remained friends unlike the now growing distance he has with erikah

I cannoned that him and Hannah give it a go. I think they’d be cute together? She told him from the moment they met at a festival that they were now dating after they ended up holding hands but he didn’t take her seriously since she was a little drunk?

She messaged him two days later asking him when they were going on their date and that was enough for him to give it a go

They only lasted for a couple of months since they outgrew each other slowly but surely. ‘Not all things are temporary,’ he had to remind himself

It was no bad blood thankfully and they continued to be friends with him wishing her well on her new relationship with Carl. He was genuinely happy for her as he always was for his friends

Cannot cook for shit but makes the best coffee with cinnamon & cardamom

once tried to make Aloo Chaat but with a twist! With the use of Potato Skins instead! for a family dinner party and his mum almost sent him home due to the insults his father spewed at rohan trying to fool them all that it was his wife who prepared such a thing

It is evident that his father only enjoys his wife’s cooking

he still makes it for himself when he’s starving despite what his father thinks

Is fluent in Urdu, English came second

Never ashamed of his culture although his father thinks he is...

His fav shows are misfits + the IT crowd and he is currently watching & enjoying truth seekers + mr. selfridge since Tim recommended it to him ofc

his fav American show is the challenge

when asked what his fav American movie is, he got dragged since ppl assumed it would be the greatest showman but he can’t take all the singing...musicals aren’t his thing sorry

But he’ll bust out a rap only if Tim & jake are around, he rarely does it alone

Even looked into producing music for fun but never took THAT seriously

closest with jake & Tim, doesn’t have much of a relationship with the other lads 🤷🏽‍♀️ but there’s no real beef with anyone he knows how to let shit go

But you’ll never catch him having a chat with Reese or following him back on ig. What they had to say to each other was already said and done so?

If erikah agrees to get engaged to Reese, he’s happy for her but cordial to him

if she doesn’t end up with Reese, he’ll be her shoulder to lean on if she needs it

his love language is physical touch with a splash of acts of service

Commonly sleeps curled up, his mum says he was like that in the womb as well—(same dude)

He’s probably a good 5’9 - 5’7 on bad days

Is he a Pisces? Idk

His signature cologne is probably Antaeus by Chanel which is described to have notes of: lemon, lime, coriander and sage w. A blend of thyme, basil and rose

Loves black pepper, specifically garlic, onion, black pepper, and sea salt all mixed together

has a vitiligo spot on the right side of his lower spine that is commonly covered with the waistband of whatever bottoms he has on

has a pogo stick

Wants to go skydiving next, has gone bungee jumping—which was such a adrenaline rush!!!

probably knows a few tips on how to survive in the wild or if the apocalypse hits...you can never be too sure

If he ever gets a pet he might get something like: Satanic Leaf tailed Gecko, Kinkajou, or a Pac-Man frog. He likes being different okay

he actually enjoyed season 3 despite the negative remarks made about it. It was “different” basically drama free which was a shocker knowing how production likes to take things take a shot every time ro explains his decisions/opinions as such lol

BUT he won’t go as far to say he liked it better than his season yet he did enjoy keeping up with it. He def has a crush on iona, aj, vieve, Camilo & tai

Yasmin actually joined one of his lives, which he doesn’t do too often but he couldn’t sleep one night and thought he’d give it a go. She’s quite nice & quiet but he ultimately felt calm around her + they bonded over bohemian lifestyle & his love for the circus + a little about their cultures

Long term goals? He doesn’t have a set timeline of when he wants everything to happen because pressure is not fun

but he wants to be in love and loved back, wants to be married, wants to have kids, wants to try out the circus for awhile and if that doesn’t work out he can always fall back on his psych degree—he just wants to be happy and share that with someone, that’s one of the biggest adventures he can possibly have

His anthem = Blxst, “No Love Lost”

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valdiis · 3 years

Text

(An RP excerpt with @pocketfox)

It wasn't that Matthias minded the fact that it was a strip club. It wasn't that he minded it was for gay men. It wasn't even that he minded he was paying for his own damn drinks because Ricky's best man was a cheapskate. What drove Mat up the damned wall about the whole thing was that every damn man in their little bachelor party group had someone to go home to that night. Mat was the only one who'd have a terminal case of blue-balls after it was all over. Resigning himself to another date with Missus Palmer, Mat slouched in his chair and tried not to stare too long at the lush bubble butts and rippling abs.

At first glance, one might not peg Mat for ex-military. His wavy auburn hair would probably have brushed his shoulders if he let it out of its ponytail and the three-day-old beard on his face made him look more rugged than scruffy. His snug jeans were dark-washed to hide any potential grease stains and his heavy boots said 'work' more than 'march.' But the way his biceps strained the sleeves of his black t-shirt and his shoulders filled out the rest might've lent one cause to think he was at least a fighter of some kind. In short, Matthias Silverton was built like a brick shithouse and looked like a common laborer.

"Heeey," shouted Henry - Ricky's best man - over the din of the music. "Figured we'd celebrate up right, yeah?" He produced a box of cigars with a flourish and passed them around. Mat grimaced - Cheap-ass drugstore shit. - but took one anyway. Everyone knew he liked them, but few understood that he liked good ones.

"It's a party and you're making them smoke that junk?" an impish voice piped up.

Next to the table, appearing as if by magic, stood a young man who looked like he had been shaped by some divine Creator for just this kind of place. He couldn't have been more than five and a half feet, dressed in acid wash jeans and a black v-neck fishnet t-shirt that both look like they'd been lovingly painted on his lean, athletic frame. He stood with one hand braced on a curvy, cocked hip and the other balancing a tray loaded with drinks of varying kinds, his head tilted and a coy smile on his plush lips.

Setting the tray down near at hand, the boy began passing out each man's chosen libations, and oh yes, you know he leaned over the table far more than necessary, his pert backside popped up to show off the sexy curves he could make from shoulders to ass. With a wink towards Matthias, he straightened up again, tucking back a loose strand of impossibly red hair that had escaped from his messy ponytail. "If you're not careful, I'll tell my boss somebody's trying to have a good time with cheap cigars in his club," he teased.

Christ... Mat was an atheist, but some days even the godless need some way to swear. He swallowed compulsively as his gaze swept over the young man exactly as that pose demanded it do. Even reminding himself that these guys trained for that special look didn't keep the jolt of lust from waking his dick. And here he'd told himself he could manage not to look much...

He took his mimosa with a grateful nod. Nobody gave a big man like him shit for his drink choices; one clenched fist put stop to that. "Tell him," Mat spoke up, his voice a smooth, easy baritone with a hint of Georgia in it. "Maybe he'll feel challenged and send out somethin' better." The other men at the table snorted and waved Mat off to a chorus of 'whatever, man' and 'snob.'

Straightening up, Fisher gave the big man a thoughtful look, one tinged with impish amusement that lit up his eyes. In the muted light of the club, they were a deep forest green, but one had to imagine they glowed like new leaves in decent lighting. Then he laughed and tossed his ponytail back over his shoulder. "Or maybe he'll come out looking for the guy who besmirched his honor," he chuckled. "And believe me, you don't want Lucian Redding thinking you besmirched what little honor he's got left; he's even bigger than you, sweet thing." His gaze raked over Mat, and yes, he was absolutely undressing the man with his eyes and making no secret of it.

Then, abruptly, the boy spun in one fluid movement and sauntered away with just the right amount of sway in his hips to give a man ideas. He made his way back to the bar, expertly dodging tables and grabby patrons both, to share a few words with the scruffy-haired young man currently behind it. Both of them glanced towards the party, and then Fisher was gone, probably through some staff only door.

Thankfully when he reappeared a few minutes later, it wasn't with his reportedly gigantic boss in tow. No, it was with a wooden box, one he presented with a flourish to the table. "Lucian was appalled," he explained, "and he demanded I rectify the situation right this instant. His words, so enjoy, boys."

For a single irrational moment, Mat wanted to know what those gorgeous green eyes looked like in the throes of passion. It was absolutely imperative to his brain for a good few seconds before he got finally ahold of himself somewhere in the middle of the word 'besmirched.' A faint blush touched Mat's cheeks at having it pointed out that he was the biggest of the men at the table; it was something he tried not to make a fuss over, but he lifted motorcycles while most of his buddies did lighter work or surfed desks. Not that he was all that close to any one of these men. He'd served with Ricky, which meant he got invited to things like weddings, but he wasn't exactly a drinking buddy with any of them.

These thoughts kept him distracted enough to not notice how the young man undressed him so blatantly, but not so distracted he couldn't watch those hips on the way out. "Damn," he muttered. So did two other people at the table (including Ricky, whose soon-to-be-husband Chase would have been very jealous to see that dazed look on Ricky's face). Mat's palms itched to hold those hips and he goddamn knew better than to daydream.

He was in the midst of stuffing all that attraction back into the mental trash bin when Fisher returned with some much better cigars in a proper wooden box. "If I didn't know Henry's already set us up on separate tabs, I'd hope you put this on his. How much?" he asked, fingers hovering already. It was an expense he could probably swing tonight. Just the once.

"This one's on the house, honey. Our treat." Fisher gave this 'Henry' guy such a look. It was the sort of look that made a guy feel like he'd just kicked a puppy and tripped Mother Theresa, because separate tabs at a guy's bachelor party? Really? C'mon, Hank.

Sliding up onto the edge of the table, Fisher took a seat like he belonged there, his long legs crossed at the knee. He knew just how to pose himself to give just about every guy at the table a delicious view, but one brawny, Georgia-flavored man in particular was getting the real feast: smooth lines, warm eyes, soft lips, and a teasing slice of tight, flat belly when Fisher's shirt rode up just so. "So who's the special guy tonight?" he cooed. "Wait, no, let me guess... You. Right?" He winked at Ricky. "I know that look... You keep telling yourself you're a bad, bad man for eating the eye candy."

Slyly Fisher cast a glance at Mat. But not you, right? that look said. You want to eat me up until there's nothing left...

Before he could spend any time questioning it, Mat leapt on the good fortune of not smoking dollar cigars and plucked up one of the Good Shit (tm) instead. He had his cigar clipper in his chest pocket, but instead he pulled out a very sharp pocket knife to clip the end. Last thing he needed was some asshole not returning it; easier to lend a pocket knife 'round the table instead. He almost laughed aloud at the look Fisher shot the best man. Somehow, he instead kept his mirth to chewing the inside corners of his lips.

While Fisher talked up Ricky, Matthias kept telling himself to stop looking - and kept failing his own orders spectacularly. The boy was an absolutely delicious creation and God help him, did he ever want a taste. His steely grey eyes never once stopped roaming those smooth lines - but for the one moment when he locked gazes with Fisher and his perusal froze. There was that impulse to see passion in his face again, not just to fuck the boy but to see real ecstasy on his elfin features. Ricky blathered something about getting married in three days but Mat heard none of it.

Flirting with the customers was part of the job, and Fisher had it down to a science. He could even rightfully be accused of mentally checking out during some of the longer nights, particularly when he had to deal with parties just like... no, not like this one. Because now he couldn't tear his eyes away from the quiet, almost grim man next to him. The man -- Fisher thought he'd heard him called Mat -- had barely spoken to him, and yet something about him had sunk its claws into the boy and refused to let go.

Fisher swallowed thickly and realized Ricky was still talking to him. He laughed and wagged a finger at the groom-to-be. "Naughty, naughty. But what happens in these walls stays here, right? Don't worry, we won't tell." He then pressed that finger to his own lips in a shushing gesture. And yet even as he flirted, his attention kept slipping back to Matthias, and suddenly he was aware of... Christ Almighty, was he hard? At work? Just from a customer staring at him? It would have been enough to make Fisher blush if he hadn't had that particular reflex numbed out of him years ago.

"So hey," he said suddenly, "I'm not scheduled on stage tonight, so how about I take care of you boys instead? Make sure you have a good time before reality tries to remind us it exists?"

A pang of disappointment hit him like a knife to the chest, inexplicably strong dismay at the thought that this beautiful boy a.) was a dancer, holy fuck, and b.) wasn't going to be dancing, goddammit. Rather than give his emotions any sway (and really, when did he ever?), Mat picked up his mimosa and took a sip. "Cigars and the hottest little thing in the club? And here I was all fixin' to be pissed off tonight," he drawled softly. When his gaze met Fisher's again, the hint of mirth was there warming the steel of his eyes long before it came anywhere near his lips.

A second later, the emotion was gone as he turned back to the party of six men. "Hell yeah," one answered. "Gonna get our Ricky-boy a lap dance?" asked another. Mat's growl cut in, "He said he'd take care of us, not that he's gonna perform. Pay a dancer for your lap dances." Why did the thought of this delicate young man dancing on the lap of someone like Ricky make him want to murder his friend with his bare hands? Homicide was not a good look on him, so he picked up his drink again and downed a good portion of it.

Fisher only barely stopped himself from blinking at Mat in open shock. With any other customer, his first instinct would have been to assume the guy wasn't into the idea of strip clubs and lap dancers, but he'd seen the way this one looked at him... Something fluttered in Fisher's belly when he realized Mat had sounded almost... possessive. Normally the little redhead detested that sort of behavior so why...

Giving his head a shake to clear it, and disguising it as a gesture of regret, Fisher flashed Ricky and his companions an apologetic smile. "Afraid your grumpy friend here has it right, boys. I'd hate to take money out of another boy's g-string... but how about I make it up to you?" Without waiting for an answer, he hopped off the table and headed off in search of both a drink and something to appease the party, because even if all he wanted right now was to snug himself up into Mat's lap and offer him his own private dance, he still had to consider just how much a half dozen drunk, horny partiers were going to bring in if they were finessed just right.

When Fisher returned, it was with a bright orange drink in his hand and a gorgeous young Asian man, built much like himself, in tow. "Boys," Fisher said, "meet Minh. I'd warn you to play nice, because his bite is much worse than his bark... but I get the feeling you'd like that, right?" Minh winked at the table and rolled his body from shoulders to hips. And while his fellow dancer worked on distracting the rest of Mat's friends, Fisher took it upon himself to slide in next to the man. "Hey, handsome. Hope your night's lookin' up."

#writing #Matthias is mine #modern AU

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brooklynislandgirl · 3 years

Note

How would your muse react to being handed a baby? {Keni}

Soft, Silent, Sweet || Accepting

"Wait. W-w-what....what are you doing?"

The young Jedi stands surrounded by a group of village women. All of them seem to be petting and pawing at her. In the fading dusk the blood and filth of battle drying on her face looks like a primitive mask even as cooling breezes begin to tease her hair into ribbons the hue of dark wood flowing down her back after escaping their confining ties. For now her sabre is sheathed though for just a split second it looked like it was going to see further use with the way her fingers flex near its hilt on her belt. One of the bolder women offers her a gap-toothed smile, and murmurs in the local tongue, too softly to be heard. She takes hold of Melakeni's arms and pulls them away from her body. Into them is deposited an infant. It squirms and squawks. Gurgles spit bubbles on its lips. Keni’s stomach, no bigger than her fist, lurches at the sight. Tries to shrink into itself as much as the rest of her wants the very same. The Force becomes immediately awash with a deeply abiding sense of disgust, a shudder that could potentially if not so thoroughly repressed shake the ground and make the collection of huts around them collapse. This is one of those mammalian things that Keni has never quite gotten her head around. Certainly she has treated younglings by the score in the Temple, every kind of imaginable illness from the contagious poxes to scrapes and bruises and wobbly tummies. Almost to the last they have wanted for a small word of kindness, a kiss on the head. A promise that she can make them well again, but the younglings she treats are capable of speech, of independent thought. She has nothing to do with the creches where those too young to be sorted into clan are kept, tended like plants. Except most plants do not drool and do not defecate in their own clothes. They neither screech nor wail ~at least as far as most sentients are concerned~ with their little faces scrunched up and turning hues. They do not have that indescribable smell like old milk and crusty skin that particularly female humans seem so entranced with. She has often in the past teased Anakin that Zelosian nurseries are full of large jars full of nutrient rich soil and its own little watering apparatus, and sometimes, especially rare children of her species require an aquatic environment. None of that is true. As far as she knows, she doesn't remember that far back, after all, her people are born and raised in the same way. She just has no experience to mark the occasion and she is absolutely certain she'd never made a mess of herself or smelled like that. What's more is she doesn't understand the biological imperative of breeding. Her eyes turn toward Anakin. A human. And he is the depth and breadth of her soul. She has absolutely no doubt that the Force had made them for one another. And Melakeni has dreams. Some of them do involve him and the requisite acts that would be required to produce tiny offspring. All beautiful lines and commingled breath. The feel of his skin burning against her own. Tender kisses and every pleasure that is forbidden to them. Unbidden, others come along with those fever-dreams. She has at least once imagined what one would look like with his hair and long limbs, her eyes and teeth. But that was only once. The reality of it is, even if they were to ever desire such a thing, it would be impossible. They are genetically incompatible, mammalian and viridiphyta respectively. She could never imagine wanting a child of her own, she doesn’t even really want a padawan. And of those children she doesn’t fantasise about, the only possible source for one would be from Anakin. For all that some people might think otherwise, and to no shame, Anakin is not the kind of man who would make for a good father. He would want to be, he would love any child to the very depth of his soul, but therein lies madness. Anyone who has seen him with his droids and his Clones could predict a future where only tragedy could unfold. He would be unable to separate himself from his fears. They would become mania. She has seen what happens when Anakin loves too much. And she knows, much to her own regret, that sometimes, love is not enough. It would kill him as surely as poison. Children are not their future. They will both be content with that. The infant latches onto her hair and gives it a yank, a hideous little sound coming out of it that she soon enough realises is a laugh. Melakeni flashes Anakin a look that can be felt like direct shot from one of the blaster rifles carried by a nearby handful of Clones who immediately proceed to look away although one looks like he’s overcome with a fit of amusement that his brothers are now trying to save him from. As politely as possible Keni pries the little thing’s fingers apart and rescues herself from the situation. She turns to the translator who accompanied the women and murmurs platitudes. Yes, yes. Adorable child. Many blessings on the family, thank you. Excuse me please. She means none of these things but if she has one ability to surpass all others it is emotional mimicry. She hands the creature back to its parent. Hands come up in a peaceful gesture which she half nods-half bows over. Begins to extricate herself from the group. The translator asks if they need anything. Keni asks for a tub and as much hot water as the village can muster. They have already been offered food, and a few dozen spare huts at the far edges of the camp. It is all they have to give for their salvation. She tells them that everything is fine, and that they ~Anakin, herself, and their Troops~ will make as little trouble as possible. When they are finally alone, she allows herself to shudder all of her natural revulsion. “The Living Force spare me, it was so gross.” Her face screws up tightly, which pulls the corners of her mouth down, as if she’s having trouble trying not to retch on the spot. “And so...grabby. And squishy. Honestly, Anakin. I’d much prefer dealing with slugs.” There’s meaning in that declaration the likes of which only he can understand. After all, he’s been the one to rescue her from them for years now. She flings her tunic at him, and lets the rest of her uniform flutter and fall to the ground. She slips over the edge of the wooden tub and sinks into the water, disappearing beneath the surface for a few seconds before rising back up. She can still feel all the infant’s various fluids on her skin. “Next time, you hold the babies and get fondled by the civilians and I’ll stay with the boys.” Anakin laughs and agrees with her before he climbs into the bath opposite of her and she can almost hear his bones shriek in gratitude.

~*~

The twin suns of this dying world bake the sand beneath her boots. There is little shade to be found anywhere and the air feels as if it is scorching her lungs from the inside out. She could never have imagined a time in all of her life where she misses the cold dark of space, nor that she would be counting the seconds before she could return to her ship and erase the memory of sunlight on her skin. She’s done her best to blend in with the locals. To survey her target at every opportunity while remaining out of sight. Until now.

She beckons the boy with a delicate, airy hand. Curiosity draws him near, of course it does. And something she does not possess cracks in her chest leaving a space awash with grief and love and a thousand different yearnings still. Though he’s approaching his tenth Empire Day, he is small for his age. Wind-whipped, carved out by the vast nothingness of his little kingdom. The same suns that sear down have bleached his hair pale gold and in places there are certain cowlicks that will never be tamed, no matter how gentle but unforgiving the hand is that attempts it. His eyes are painfully blue. More so than the sky above them, more than shimmer of sea that does not exist here. The shy grin he offers her harks back to another era that seems like lifetimes ago. If she ever had a doubt, it evaporates here and now. And this is how perhaps the most feared and loved woman in the galaxy comes to kneel before a child. Fixes the boy with a softly-shaped smile, one that hides the fine points of her teeth but that gives warmth to emerald eyes. From some secret pocket, perhaps from the force itself, a gloved hand produces not one but two crystallised honey-sticks, tinted by berries and juices into a chaos of colour. He is cautious. Does not immediately reach for them as one might expect. This pleases her immensely, he has inherited his father’s great wisdom. She continues to hold them out, and inclines her head. Nods a little. He takes them. But then his aunt calls for him, and he looks back toward her over one scrawny shoulder before returning his gaze to his mysterious benefactor. She lifts a finger to her lips. A secret it is to be. She is gone before Beru comes looking for him.

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fortheloveoffanfic · 4 years

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The Arrangement

John Wick x Reader (A/n- AU where John isn’t an assassin. Did i mention that there’s Angst in dom!John? I didn’t? Well, there is.)

Warning- SMUT/NSFW, Angst, dom/sub, oral sex, bondage, bodily fluids.

She didn’t know when it happened, or how, but at some point, he had become everything to her; the forefront of her thoughts, some sort of pseudo-king in her mind and the man that literally dominated her body. He was everything, Y/n didn’t think she’d ever feel that way about another, even if she knew it was wrong. John wasn’t interested in anything other than what they had, he had made it clear than his interests laid far from romantic affections.

Sex, that was what he wanted.

And Y/n? She was just a vessel.

They’d met just under a year ago, when John had represented her boss after he was put on trial for his ex-wife’s murder. To that day, Y/n still worked for that C.F.O at a bank in New York, and she didn’t have a clue on whether or not he actually killed his ex or not, but John, John was an excellent attorney and could probably make a serial killer look like an angel. Their exchange had started over the phone in the beginning; after being greeted by Y/n at the bank. After about a month, he’d started letting his assistant put her calls through when information needed to be relayed. Things only escalated from there on, and when the case was won, upon John’s last visit to the bank, he’d asked, or rather informed Y/n, that he’d be taking her to dinner. And in a private lounge at a hotel, he’d made his offer. She’d pondered on it, but after a few days of mulling over everything, Y/n’s attraction to him had surpassed reason and she’d called him, his cell that time, with the answer he’d been waiting for.

That evening, Y/n’s mouth was circled around the generous girth of John’s cock; plump lips staining his shaft red with the lipstick she’d applied just before her arrival. Kneeling between his spread legs, Y/n’s head bobbed eagerly, while one delicate hand worked what she couldn’t take in her mouth. “That’s it baby,” he managed through gritted teeth. Slouching further into the armchair, John’s hold on a fistful of her loose tresses tightening so much that it might have hurt in any other situation. Her other hand massaged his balls, just the way she knew he liked it; frequently switching between rolling her flattened palm and kneading gently, while her tongue occasionally swirled around his shaft. Y/n moaned quietly at the feeling of his bulging veins against her lips and arousal throbbed in her lace panties. Each time she came down, his swollen tip hit the back of her throat, threatening to go further on the occasion where John would eagerly buck his hips. The first time she’d taken John in her mouth, his length had made her gag before she could even take him fully and though months later, Y/n still hadn’t managed take him fully, she now reveled in the feeling, always eager to train herself for more.

“You’re so fucking sexy when you take my cock in that pretty little mouth,” he praised harshly, guiding her pace, his free hand roaming the back of her neck, brushing the collar that he’d put there upon her arrival. It’s purpose aside from the aesthetic was a simple one, so she’d remember her place, and who she belonged to.

When John drew closer to his high, Y/n could feel it and just then, John yanked her head back harshly. On instinct, she sat back on her calves, the tips of her black stilettos barely scratching her back, “Not tonight,” John breathed, a few dark strands escaped from his usual neatness, falling over his face, his pupils still blown with lust, “Tonight, I want to cum right here,” John brushed a few messy locks away from Y/n’s features, his rough touch subsequently falling to her bare breasts. “Stand up,” he urged, following that up with instructions for her to go lay on the bed, face up. John then pushed out of the armchair where he formerly sat, providing Y/n with a tantalizing view of his nude glory; his was a body that she adored, loved, dare she say.

She didn’t

He was a little over twenty years her senior, but John was in peak shape, his firm biceps and barely defined torso was hardly a testament to how deep his endurance ran. It had surprised her at first, but now, it thrilled her beyond compare. Y/n watched as he went over to one of the drawers in his dark oak dresser, his broad tattooed back on display, the bold ink work standing out against his skin. She’d always wanted to ask what they meant, but Y/n didn’t think that John was the type that wanted to spend an hour explaining why he’d gotten them. Her eyes stayed on him, mesmerized as John shifted some things around in the drawer, eventually producing a familiar set of restraints along with a ball gag. “Sit up,” his instructions were usually like that, brief and gruff, John wasn’t a man of many words and praises like the one she had received earlier were most times infrequent. But still he meant them, he always did. Besides, Y/n didn’t need words to know that John appreciated her, it was in the respect he had for boundaries and how well he cared for her after their sessions were over, it was enough.

At least, it used to be.

Lately, Y/n had started to wish there could be more. She wanted to be more. More than a woman that was bound to him by a contract, more than his dirty little secret and his designated play thing. But she wouldn’t say it, being with him like that was better than losing him entirely.

When Y/n sat up, John positioned himself behind her, gently pulling her wrists together- he was never rough unless it was during the act itself, restraining them behind her back with a pair of leather cuffs. Next, he fastened the strap of the gag to her face, and just before he moved the hard-plastic ball to her mouth, he asked, “Is this still okay?”

“Yes sir,” she nodded diligently.

“You won’t be able to use your safe word,” he explained firmly, “But you’ll have this instead,” from his nightstand, John got out a little blue ball. It was the kind people bought for small children or dogs, that made a squeaking noise when squeezed tight enough. Y/n was familiar with the contraption, they’d used it whenever John wanted her mouth…..otherwise occupied. “Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” Y/n nodded again.

“Good,” he fit the little ball in one of her palms, “Try it out; squeeze it twice, that’s the signal I want you to use if you need me to stop,” much to John’s satisfaction, Y/n gave the ball a couple squeezes and it made it’s little childish noise. “Good girl,” he praised and Y/n thought it was a little out of turn when he kissed the crown of her head before fitting the gag between her lips and urging her to lay back. Without a moment to waste, he was re-positioned between her spread legs, peeling off her delicate, lace panties just before leaning over on either edge to secure them to hidden handles with another set of cuffs, those with longer chains.

When Y/n was sprawled out before him, gagged with lust blown eyes, completely wanton and ready for his taking, John barely took a minute to admire his handy work before his hands were on her. His calloused fingers started at her restrained ankles, skimming up her legs. His fingers sent shocks of her spine when they brushed her inner thigh, not staying too long there as he splayed one large palm on her stomach while the other traveled further upwards to cup her left breast. Harshly, John groped and squeezed, smiling slyly when Y/n arched her back as he twirled her hardened nipple between his stocky fingers.

Y/n’s sounds were muffled, but John enjoyed them nonetheless. He took her right breast in his other hand, playing with them as he shifted his gaze to between her thighs. Easily, he could see the sheen of slick arousal, her legs spread wide enough so he could have a salacious view of her clit too.

Despite his longing for release, John wanted to savor the moment and test Y/n’s limits. Leaning forward on his knees, he gently blew on her drenched cunt. One hand still toyed with her breast while he momentarily gripped her thigh, opening her up even further, with the other. His lips descended on her cilt and he sucked on the bundle of nerves while moving slip two digits inside her folds.

Y/n bucked her hips a bit and suddenly annoyed by her enthusiasm, John’s hand left her breast, pressing her down at the stomach, “None of that little one,” he warned, crawling up her body, until he was a hot breath away from her ear, John remained, “You’re my slut and you take what I give you, understand?” Y/n just whined for the loss of contact and John growled, “Do you understand?”

Meeting his dark gaze, Y/n didn’t let him ask a third time, nodded astutely, her ‘yes’ garbled by the ball gag. Wordlessly, John returned to his former task, that time running his flattened tongue running the length of her pussy lapping up her juices. His tongue invaded her core and it had Y/n aching for more, longing to grind on his face but knowing that some consequences weren’t worth it. Despite her gag, she tried to moan his name, desperate and already growing frustrated.

John’s lips found her bud again, alternating between sucking and flicking his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves as he re-introduced his fingers. Slowly, he pumped, slightly curling his digits in an expert, successful attempt to hit her G-spot. Y/n moaned around the plastic ball hampering her speech, saliva leaking out the side of her lips. She was so close, and they both knew it, Y/n could tell that the boil in her stomach was near the point of bubbling over and John could feel her walls starting to tighten around his fingers, but he wasn’t done with her yet.

Again, much to Y/n’s dismay, John stopped his ministrations and when she whined, he chuckled, “You don’t get to cum that easily,” his voice was gravely and his beard was coated with the glisten of her silky, moist arousal. His feather light kisses started at Y/n’s public bone, trailing upwards and temporarily lingering on her stomach before he finally took one of her breasts in her mouth, teasing her sensitive nipple with his teeth. With one elbow sunken into the memory foam, supporting his weight, John palmed her pussy with his other hand, feeling Y/n’s wetness on his palm, occasionally rubbing her mound with his thumb. Y/n’s moans became more frequent and that time, when she arched her back, tossing her head to the side and shutting her eyes, John didn’t reprimand her.

The edging continued for longer than Y/n had registered, though, by the time John kissed his way up the valley of her breasts, only stopping to lick her neck erotically, Y/n was a frustrated mess, unchecked tears escaping her shut lids. She longed to say his name, but her last sensible cell told her it wasn’t welcome there, Y/n knew her place.

“Open your eyes,” John urged, lining himself up with her longing entrance, “You know I like to see you,” his low, gravelly voice had Y/n’s eyes snapping opening, widening noticeably when John pushed into her, his cock stretching her familiarly. Drinking in the sight below, John let his hardness remain unmoving, nestled in Y/n’s wet haven for a minute.

Rapt with desire, his gaze locked with hers as he conjured up a rough, almost selfish pace. One calloused grip held her steady at the hip, the other held up his weight, holding him high enough so he could enjoy the way her boobs bounced with each violent movement. She attempted to crook her legs at the knees, but her ankle cuffs vastly limited their movement. Y/n’s heels were buried in the sheets, but John couldn’t have cared less, his housekeeper could deal with that, hell, he could buy new ones.

The sound of skin slapping skin; his balls assaulting her core joined the filthy symphony that was his throaty grunts intertwined with Y/n’s stifled yelps. John’s jaw was clenched and beads of exertion had started to build up on their skin despite the air conditioning.

It hurt, but in the best ways possible. His member stretched Y/n wider than anyone else’s ever had and it was difficult for her to keep up with the aggressive rolling of his hips. Time spent with John was usually like that, it was how he got off; the control, his ability to bring pain and pleasure at once, and of course, being able to use her to his liking.

As he drew closer to his climax, John growled, sliding his hand from Y/n’s side to firmly palm a swollen breast, his mouth descending on her neck, biting and sucking on her pulse point, reveling in her scent. “Cum for me,” he eventually ordered, “I want to feel your cunt squeeze my cock baby.”

Y/n’s head pressed into the black sea of silk, her hair fanned out around her as her eyes rolled back. Her toes curled as her body trembled in ecstasy, her walls clenching around John, stiffening his pace and she came around him, her warmth spilling out; coating her thighs and dripping onto his sheets. John rode out Y/n’s orgasm, half smiling triumphantly as her smaller body quaked; pleasure that he’d brought coursing through her veins, “That’s it,” he praised through gritted teeth.

Before her body could settle, John pulled out, aiming his cock to the valley of her breasts as Y/n tried to prop herself on her joined elbows. He pumped his length vigorously to keep up momentum, using her juices as lubrication. Within seconds, he was coating her chest with generous spurts of hot, creamy cum. Y/n watched intently, enjoying the moment just as much as he was, loving the feeling of his product dribbling down from her nipples onto her stomach, trying to smile when stray drips caught her neck and face.

When they were finished, John undid the cuffs and gag, pulling on a pair of lounge pants before scooping Y/n’s tired body up his strong arms, holding her against his bare chest as he took her to his large, adjoining bathroom. He drew her a bath, helping Y/n wash herself with a gentle rubs from a loofah and the lather of a fragrant body wash, all from outside the of tub- he rarely got in with her, unless of course, he was in the mood. The after care process was a lengthy one, though John was a patient man, and Y/n liked being taken care of. After her bath, he helped her dry her hair and get dressed in an outfit he’d bought her a while back; a grey-blue, soft, cotton button up dress with capped sleeves and a ‘v’ shaped neckline. Her shoes and coat came next and it was late when John was finally walking Y/n down the stairs, to the front door of his Upper East Side townhouse, his hand stationed low on her back. He went through the motions of unlocking the wrought iron and glass double doors, “I’ll be meeting with a client for dinner on Friday night, you need to make yourself available.”

“Yes John,” outside of scenes, rules were slightly laxed; Y/n was still expected to respect and obey, but there was still room for her to look at him directly and use his first name, “When would you like me to be ready for?”

“Seven thirty,” John’s hand closed around the barn handle, “I want you to buy a new dress,” he explained sternly, signaling that it wasn’t up for debate, though, his orders typically weren’t, “Get something in mauve, I like how that looks on you. Just above your knees. Go to that place on Madison Avenue, the one I usually take you to.”

“Okay,” she nodded quaintly, waiting until he bid her goodnight before walking to her car, parked on the curb. Without as much as a smile, John watched as she got into her cool grey, hatchback Lexus Hybrid, the one he’d bought her, making sure she closed the door and got the engine started before shutting the front door.

When John was out of sight, Y/n, threw her head back on the leather rest, tossed her bag to the passenger seat and gripped the wheel tightly, with all intentions of pulling off. Though, after a minute of just letting herself sink into her thoughts, her breath caught and Y/n began sobbing quietly. Lately, leaving was a part of their arrangement that she had started to hate; leaving meant that they weren’t really a couple, and though it was a fact she always knew, it had recently started to hurt.

When did it happen?

How did it happen?

Y/n didn’t have an answer, but she did know that somewhere along the line, John had stopped being just her ‘dom’, even if he didn't know it, and she had fallen in love with him. And the worst part was, he would never love her back.

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Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana

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songfell-ut · 4 years

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Rrrrrrgh Chapter 18 rrrrgh

I had to re-insert EVERY GODDAMN LINE BREAK ARGH it also took out all the italics. I’ll get those in a minute ;_;

(Watch out for arachnophobia, angst, aaaaand smut~~)

For the eighth or ninth time, Frisk wished she had just said no. But she hadn’t, and she couldn’t back out now, so she kept walking, arms stiff at her sides.

At least she was almost there: she could hear rustling in the dark up ahead, and faintly musical sounds, like someone twanging a piano wire. Suddenly, her heel stuck on something, her shoe nearly coming off; the next moment, something else tickled her cheek. When she tried to brush it away, it wouldn’t come off her fingers. In the dim light, it looked like…a spiderweb?

There was a high-pitched giggle overhead, and more webbing dropped onto her shoulders. The child was yanked off her feet, pulled straight up until she slammed to a teeth-rattling stop in midair. Heart pounding, head spinning, Frisk tried to tug herself loose, but it was no use: she was caught in the bouncy, gluey strands of…

…a really, really big spiderweb. And where there was a really big spiderweb—

“Ahuhuhu~”

Frisk turned her head as far as she could, and uttered a raspy sound as her gaze met five huge, mirror-shiny black eyes. It was a spider monster in frilly bloomers, ribbons, and pigtails—surprisingly cute, except for its fangs. “My! Whatever do we have here?” The giant spider leaned in closer, and Frisk watched in fascination as her reflection flickered in time with the monster’s blinks. “What brings a bite-sized human like you to my parlor?”

The child couldn’t tear her eyes away from the spider monster’s eerie, fluid movements. It was balancing on the web, brushing crumbs off its sleeve, and dipping a pastry into a cup of tea it’d just poured for itself, all at once! “A-Are you Muffet?” she squeaked.

The spider smirked, nibbling daintily on her pastry. “That’s me, dearie. Did someone send you to find me?” Her face creased into a scowl. “If that skeleton told you it would be funny to disturb us, I swear I’ll—”

Something chittered, and Frisk couldn’t help squirming. Muffet gasped as a tiny shape emerged from the child’s collar. “Alphonse? Oh my goodness me! How did you get here?!”

Frisk shut her eyes tight as the little spider crawled the rest of the way out of her shirt, followed by another, and a few more, and then what seemed like a thousand others. She could feel a tickly procession streaming up her neck and along her arms onto the web, where they swarmed around Muffet, making rapid clicking sounds.

“They gave me a piece of paper asking for help,” the human explained, though the spiders were probably saying the same thing. “They were tired of the Ruins, but Snowdin is too cold, and it’s too expensive to get a heated carriage, so I gave some of them a ride to Hotland.”

All five of Muffet’s eyes sparkled, and she clasped two legs in pure joy. “Oh, what a sweet little morsel you are! You’ve saved us thousands of g, just like that!” Frisk heard more chittering, and found herself being eased free of the webbing and lowered gently until she was back on the sticky floor. “I’m so sorry if I frightened you, dearie—most humans have a nasty habit of squishing spiders, but I didn’t know how very kind you were toward us!”

“You’re welcome,” Frisk said, trying to pick the webbing out of her hair. The grownups had chopped almost all of it off before they left the castle; she’d hate for them to cut the webs out and make it look even worse. “My name is Kris. It’s nice to meet you.”

The spider-lady was ignoring her, listening to what sounded like dozens of little voices at once. She didn’t have eyebrows, but her upper three eyes wiggled in almost the same way. “Really, now?” She regarded Frisk with new interest. “You wouldn’t happen to be ten years old, would you, dearie?”

Where had that come from? None of the other monsters had asked her age. “Um…yes? I don’t know my real birthday, just the year.”

The spiders must have understood her, because the noise increased, and Muffet tittered louder than ever. “How interesting~”

“Why?” the child couldn’t help asking.

“Ohhh, nothing, just a bit of gossip.” Muffet hopped onto a higher strand of webbing, crossing a pair of legs and pouring herself more tea. “Would you like something to eat?” She indicated a table with a pile of iced cakes and a sign reading 9,999 G. “No charge, just for you.”

Was that a spider leg sticking out of the frosting? “I’m full, thank you,” Frisk lied.

“Suit yourself, dearie.” For someone without any lips, the monster could slurp her tea quite loudly. “The spider clans don’t communicate with each other nearly as often as we should, but when someone manages to get here from the Ruins, they tell the most fascinating stories. Like the humans’ last visit here, eleven years ago—did you know that your King came with them? Supposedly, it was a group of minor nobles discussing repairs to the border fence, but no one notices spiders – except you, of course – and they hear all sorts of things behind closed doors~”

The child frowned. “The King was here?” She didn’t think he’d ever been to the Underground; she’d just been glad he hadn’t come on this trip, though she was sorry the Queen was sick. It would’ve been so nerve-wracking to have to behave around him!

“He certainly was.” Muffet licked a drop of tea from the fine hairs on her forelimb. “Yes, the King paid us a secret visit, and poor Chara was never the same afterwards. There was quite a commotion, you know, after he’d been gone a little while. They had to take her all the way to the Ruins so no one would hear her s—”

There was a familiar chuckle behind Frisk. “ahh, muffet. putting the spy in ‘spider,’ huh?” Sans held out his hand, and Frisk gladly took it. “yeah, i dunno what she’s talking about, either. c’mon, kiddo, you shouldn’t be here. time to have a ferry good ride back.”

“On the contrary,” Muffet said haughtily, “this wonderful child is welcome in my parlor any time. I would love to have her over for lunch!” Two sets of arms clapped their hands. “Go on home, dearie. Come and see me again sometime soon.”

“man. you got a knack for making friends, ya know that?” Sans remarked as they stepped around the webs lining the floor. “i didn’t think she liked anyone who wasn’t rich, or fattening.”

Frisk didn’t answer. The corridor had just enough bare, echoing surfaces for her to hear the last of Muffet’s conversation. “Not a word to anyone,” the spider was telling her family, or minions, or whatever they were. “I—what? …Why, yes, he would pay for that information. What a splendid idea! We could even give him a discount! Those glasses are so cute~”

Frisk and Sans looked at each other, shrugged, and moved along to thinking up spider puns to unleash on Pap. It didn’t occur to Frisk until much later that Muffet had said “her”—the smaller ones hadn’t gotten that far under her clothes, had they?

Ah, well. She figured spiders must not know much about human pronouns, and they probably said strange, random things to everyone. It was nothing to worry about.

Many years later, Frisk would remember that and wish she could smack her younger self upside the head. Not only was it racist, it was very incorrect, not to mention ungrateful. Spiders knew damn well what pronouns were, and nothing Muffet had said to her was random. She hadn’t even charged her for it…

The hotel attached to Mettaton’s resort was unbelievably crowded that evening, the air warm and full of amazing smells. Sans had materialized by the fountain in the lobby, figuring it was long enough after dinnertime that there wouldn’t be too many people around. This turned out to be hilariously wrong: the line was still two or three deep at the food counter, the queue winding up and down the room and ending nearly out the doors. There wasn’t enough space for one boss monster to just appear out of nowhere, much less two, but here they were.

“My. Do you think they’ve gotten a room?” Toriel asked dubiously, releasing his arm and nodding to the monsters scrambling out of their way. “Should we check with the front desk?”

Sans glanced around, then relaxed and let his SOUL point him in a direction, like giving a hunting dog a scent to follow. Sure enough, his feet started toward the restaurant on the left side of the resort. “This way,” he grunted.

Luckily, at their size, they didn’t have much trouble getting through the crowd. Nor did they have to say anything to the restaurant’s maître d’: he took one look, bowed so deeply that he almost fell over, and walked ahead of them to harass the seated monsters out of their way.

They soon reached the far end of the room, where Frisk was holding court at a small table with Alphys, Undyne, Mettaton, and a few others. To Sans’ delight, she had perched on the back of a heavy chair, confidently projecting her voice over the other diners. “So I finished the introduction, she came out onstage, and what did she do? She froze right there in front of everyone,” the human said, gesturing with her champagne glass.

This got quite a reaction. “Oh, please,” Mettaton said with a groan.

“Ha!” Undyne thumped the table. “Served her right! What’d you do?”

“I peeked out from behind the curtain, and I looked at her, and I went—” Frisk closed one eye and opened the other as wide as possible, flashing a demented smile, and the monsters cracked up. “She almost started laughing, and it was perfect, because that was where the Queen was bragging about how much everyone loved her!”

“Good evening, everyone,” said Toriel, walking ahead of Sans to join the others. “Forgive me, but, what was this?”

Cries of welcome rang out. “Good evening, Lady Toriel! I was telling them about my friend Mathilda,” explained Frisk.

Standing on the periphery, Sans drank in the sight of his human seated among the monsters, looking adorably tiny by comparison, but completely at home. She was more animated than he’d ever seen her at the castle, her eyes bright and hands in constant motion as she talked. It was everything they’d both hoped for when they came here.

And speaking of drinks, he also had to note all the open bottles of wine and other adult beverages around the table. He remembered ordering several crates of them, but he’d assumed they would be consumed at a slower rate than this; monsters couldn’t handle alcohol as well as most humans. Come to think of it, neither could Frisk.

Mettaton had gotten up to greet Toriel, and was bowing her into his seat; Sans was impressed with his manners until the automaton turned and shooed Alphys out of her chair so he could take it.

Justice came swiftly: Undyne waited for Mettaton to get comfortable, then kicked him under the table hard enough to make a metallic clang. “Never mind him. Here,” she said to Alphys, holding her arm out and patting her lap.

Toriel cleared her throat, and the scientist turned about five shades of reddish-orange. Practical as ever, Undyne got up to grab a chair from another table instead, ignoring its irate former occupant and cramming it between her seat and Frisk’s. “Ta-da!”

When Alphys was happily settled, Toriel gave the automaton and the Royal Guard Captain reproachful glances. “Your friend Mathilda?” she prompted.

Frisk smiled. “Yes, from St. Brigid’s. She wanted me to narrate the part of the spring pageant where she was playing the Queen—have you heard of The Sun Cycle?”

Toriel accepted a glass of red wine from the waiter. “The allegory about the two sisters? Of course. Did Mathilda have a case of stage fright?”

“Right after she spent ten minutes straight telling me not to be shy.” Frisk made another face. “I teased her about that for years.”

Toriel chuckled. “And rightfully so.”

Sans was busy staring at Frisk when she suddenly looked straight at him. “Sans?” He jumped, then scowled self-consciously as she shifted her weight. “I hate to make you stand there—is there anywhere he can sit?” she asked the group.

There was a general murmur and scooting-out to make room, but Sans waved his hand. “Nah, don’t worry about it. ‘s what I get fer bein’ late to the party,” he muttered.

The priestess frowned a little. “Well, if you’re sure…” She indicated a green jug on the table. “You wanted to try some hard cider, didn’t you? Now’s your chance.”

“’m fine,” he said gruffly, and she gave him a short nod before Mettaton reclaimed her attention with a question about human seating etiquette.

Sans wanted to smack himself on the cranium. Typical Frisk: she was mad at him, but still didn’t want him be to left out. Well, neither did he! It physically hurt to keep himself from going over and petting her hair, tucking that one bit behind her ear, asking how she was feeling…

Yeah, this whole staying-apart thing wasn’t fucking working. If he couldn’t have some time alone with her soon, he was going to throw her over his shoulder and teleport them both far, far away, which would probably look a little suspicious. What would it take to—

Alphys coughed. “S-So did the rest of the pageant go all right?”

Frisk sipped her champagne. “Oh, yes. I’ve always loved that story, and I didn’t have to be onstage, so I—” She paused and held the empty glass out, and another waiter swooped in to refill it. “Thank you.” Sip. “It was wonderful. We had a five-piece orchestra playing along, and the Queen’s song, ‘Daylight’s Lament,’ actually brought people to tears.”

Sans wasn’t thinking very straight, or else he would known better than to say, “Is that the mopey thing you’re always singin’?”

Everyone turned toward him, and he shrank back at the priestess’ expression. “Are you a musician, Frisk?” Toriel asked around her refilled wineglass.

“Yes, I was in the choir at school,” the human said, giving Sans a significant look. “The Sun Cycle had just been adapted into a musical, and we all nagged our teachers until they let us perform it.” She grinned ruefully. “It was the best political training I’ve ever had. If you want to delve into the darkest side of human nature, just tell a group of teenage girls that only one of them gets to play the Queen.”

They all laughed, though no one disagreed. “And Mathilda got it?” Sans asked, just to contribute.

“Yes, she did,” Frisk replied. Her feet swung back and forth a few times, drawing his attention again. “She tends to get what she wants.”

Trying to distract himself, Sans remembered something and asked, “Isn’t she the one who’s gonna replace you?” They looked at him in surprise, and he added, “Y’know, if you ever decide ta quit?”

That earned him another glare. “Yes, if I ever do. The only reason I became High Priestess and not her was that my magic was stronger. Otherwise, she’d have been perfect.”

“Now, now. I would think—no, I know that you’re doing an excellent job,” Toriel said warmly, and the priestess ducked her head.

“Wait a sec.” Undyne banged her mug on the table, startling Alphys. “Didn’t you say somebody tried to kill you ‘cause you’re the High Priestess? Aren’t you worried someone’ll come after her, too?”

“Well…not really.” Frisk made a complicated gesture. “It may sound cold, but you’ve never met Mathilda. She doesn’t have time to be assassinated. If the Church didn’t pay for a half-dozen guards everywhere she went, she’d just hire them herself and go about her day.”

“Nice,” said Undyne, but despite Frisk’s light tone, Sans wasn’t so sure about the way she was frowning into her champagne glass. Did she feel guilty for being so cavalier about her friend’s safety?

…No, that wasn’t it. He had a sudden attack of insight: Frisk wasn’t only in danger because she was the High Priestess; she was also in the way of people who profited off monsters. Did Mathilda have different views on the subject – maybe more safe or conventional ones – that would keep her from being targeted?

What about the person who had paid to keep Frisk safe? He still had to tell her about that, too, assuming he ever got the fucking chance!

That was enough of that topic. What else could they talk about? “How’d it go in the lab today, Al?” he asked.

This time, they all looked at him as though he’d thrown dog turds onto the table, and a couple of the other monsters actually got up and left. His stupid, tired, frustrated mind took a second to catch up: everyone knew that Alphys had been testing Frisk’s magic, and as much as they liked and hopefully trusted the human by now, they didn’t want to hear about her barriers.

“Um…” Alphys fidgeted with her mug of spiced cider. “You were r-right. I couldn’t even quantify how much f-force she could potentially withstand. It’s honestly still hard to believe.”

“Yeah, it turns out she’s even better than we thought,” Undyne said defiantly, and raised her mug. “Toast: to Frisk being on our side!”

Frisk raised her glass in reply, downing the rest of the champagne in one gulp, and everyone with a drink quickly followed suit. As the waiter came back for more refills, Sans nodded his thanks to Undyne; she stared at him, then drew her thumb across her throat to indicate that he was dead. He shrugged, agreeing that that was fair.

Alphys fidgeted again. “Actually, Sans, I’d like to t-talk to you about that sometime soon. Alone, m-maybe?”

The skeleton blinked. “Uh…okay.” Now that a few chairs were empty across from Frisk, he walked over to shove them aside and sit down on the floor, putting his eye level only a foot or two below the others. Why would Alphys need to talk to him alone? If she wanted more data, why not include Frisk? He’d have to find out later.

Undyne scowled, half-turning to drape her arm over Alphys’ shoulders; the lizard monster turned a few more colors, then leaned into her. Good for them, thought Sans, with only a twinge of jealousy. “I remember when I was a kid and I used to snoop around in my parents’ room,” Undyne continued. “My mom got fed up and told me there was a human hiding in her closet. Not only did I stop sneaking in there, I’d run past their door to get to my room!”

Sans forced himself to join in the laughter. “Poor Pap,” he remarked. “When he was a kid, I got him that pirate bed, and he wouldn’t stop jumpin’ on it in the middle of the night. I didn’t wanna take it away, so I said there was a human under it ‘n Pap was gonna wake him up.”

“Sans,” Frisk scolded him, but she was smiling now.

“It’s true,” he said gleefully. “The next night, I found him makin’ a decoy to throw into bed so he could go hide in the closet.”

Undyne guffawed, and Toriel shook her head, though she was also smiling. “That poor child! Tell me he isn’t still sleeping in the closet, Sans!”

“He’s not. I made a big deal about talkin’ with the librarian and finding out humans are scared of books about Fluffy Bunny. We read one every night from then on, and whaddya know? The human never got ‘im,” the skeleton said proudly.

They laughed again, and the last of the tension dissipated. “Speakin’ of Papyrus, where is he?” Sans asked, feeling guilty for not noticing sooner. “Hope I didn’t miss ‘im on his way home.”

Mettaton couldn’t drink, so he had spent most of the conversation checking his face paint; he sighed theatrically, putting the mirror away in his chest compartment. “He got drunk already, the poor dear. I sent him upstairs to sleep it off.”

Sans didn’t have to fake a grin. “Makes sense. It only takes half a mudslide to get him started tellin’ everyone how bad my jokes are, and tellin’ the jokes ta prove it, and then gettin’ mad that he knows all my jokes by heart.”

“A ‘mudslide’?” Frisk repeated.

“Yep. ’s one of Grillby’s finest cocktails: magic ‘n mud.”

The human looked puzzled. “By ‘mud,’ you mean…?”

“Wet dirt,” Sans clarified.

“…You…drink…?” Frisk couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. “What does that even taste like?”

Pause. “Mud.”

More laughter. Frisk’s nose was wrinkled, but she was still smiling; that was enough for Sans.

He didn’t want to ruin the mood by saying something else stupid, so he nodded to her and turned to survey the now-half-empty room. It must have been pretty late, because the maître d’ wasn’t letting anyone else in. The nearest table had just one person, and—

It was sitting there, out of nowhere, legs dangling over the side of the table. The demon-child locked eyes with Sans, hands resting on the knife in its lap, and it grinned.

Sans stared back at it, paralyzed. Through the fog of shock and terror, there arose a single thought: Are you fucking serious?! I don’t need this right now!

The thing shook its head. It looked meaningfully at their table – at Frisk – and back at him. It raised the kitchen knife, pointing at the side of its own head, and made a circling motion.

Sans managed to twitch with sheer rage as he recognized that childish gesture. The little bastard had come all the way here to tell him Frisk was crazy?

Its grin faded into a faint, superior smile. It lowered the knife and tapped on its sternum three times. Then it shifted around to face the human; to Sans’ bewilderment, it sat cross-legged and leaned forward on its elbows, ruby eyes glued to Frisk, as if waiting for a play to begin.

What was it doing? …Why was it doing? He had the feeling that it genuinely wasn’t interested in him for the moment. What did it think Frisk was going to—

“Sans?” Her voice snapped him out of it; the skeleton found he could move again. “What’s the matter?”

“Uh…” He looked at her, then back at the demon. It was gone now, of course. “Nothin’.” He glanced back and forth a couple of times just to be sure. What the hell was that about? The thing wanted to tell him that Frisk was nuts and Sans should check her SOUL? But…

Sans shook himself, turning to size up the room. Everyone was slightly to moderately tipsy, but relaxed, probably ready to call it a night soon. There was absolutely no sign of danger anywhere; even if there was, Sans couldn’t imagine a threat too big for him, Toriel, Undyne, and Frisk.

To hell with that thing. He wasn’t going to ogle her SOUL for no reason in front of everyone; somebody would notice and give him crap for it, she’d get embarrassed, and he’d have yet another thing to make up to her.

Toriel took a bottle of wine directly from a passing waiter and poured herself another glass. “Where are you staying tonight, my child?”

The human brushed her hair behind her ear. Sans glanced at her, and his spine stiffened: she was looking right at him, her finger tracing the edge of her choker. “My things are still at Sans and Papyrus’ house, so I was planning to stay in Snowdin tonight at the inn.”

The skeleton tried to hide his sudden jubilation. She was telling him she’d have her own room, which meant some damn privacy at last! He’d have a chance to tell her things and apologize for being stupid about the chessboard, and then…choker, and—

“Whaaat? You have an entire new wardrobe upstairs, and you want to go all the way back to that smelly wasteland?” Mettaton complained. Sans gritted his teeth as the automaton reached over to play with Frisk’s hair, sweeping it up with one gloved hand. “You know, darling, if you’d let me put this up for you, it wouldn’t keep getting in your way. Why don’t you stay here another night so we can figure it out?”

“I’ll be fine, thank you,” Frisk said tartly, pushing his arm away.

Mettaton pouted. “But what about—”

“She said no, dipshit,” Sans snarled. “Not everyone has time to play dress-up.”

“Oh?” drawled the automaton. He sized up the giant skeleton and flashed a literally pearly-white smile. “I see. Well, if she absolutely must stop in at your hovel, be sure she has everything she needs. You know, her clothes, a few midnight snacks…plenty of socks?”

Undyne and Alphys nearly spat their drinks across the table. Sans twitched as though he’d been poked in the SOUL—which, in a way, he had. “Ya wanna die, ya friggin’ piece of—”

“Be nice, children,” Toriel mumbled. She covered her mouth for a massive yawn, nearly dropping her wineglass. “Speaking of wardrobes, Frisk, I had enough time after my nap this afternoon to go through Chara’s old clothes. I found several things that should fit you. Why don’t you stay over another night so we can try them on?”

The human’s face was still red. “No, thank you, Lady Toriel,” Frisk said over the faintest murmur of “Socks” and barely-suppressed snickering.

The former Queen sighed, too far gone in memory – and alcohol – to notice. “It would be so cute to see you in those dresses,” she murmured. “We can hem them up if we need to. You’re about the same size she was at…goodness, fourteen or fifteen!”

“Yes, childhood malnutrition will do that.” Frisk accepted yet another refill from yet another waiter. “My mother took no care of me.”

“You poor thing.” Toriel shook her head. “How I wish you could have stayed and grown up here! We would never have neglected you like that.”

Undyne sighed, propping her head on one fist. “Yeah, that would’ve been amazing.”

Mettaton also sighed, lacing his fingers together and resting his head on them. “For once, darling, we agree. She should know at least five times as many dances as I’ve taught her.”

Toriel hiccuped. Sans had always heard that drunk people did that, but never seen it for himself. “And she could’ve sang for us, too. My poor little angel—such a wonderful child!”

Frisk smiled, until Toriel went on, “Yes, I’ll always miss Chara. Did you ever get to meet her, Frisk?”

No answer. Sans’ backbone prickled; he checked the other table, but the demon wasn’t there. He glanced at Frisk, and to his alarm, she was almost literally vibrating with tension.

Alphys was also squinting at the human, as if checking her. Whatever she saw made her eyes go wide, and she signaled frantically at Sans. “So, Frisk,” he said, too loud.

She looked up, startled. “Uh,” he said. Crap. Now he had everyone’s attention, and he had to say more words. This time, though, he made himself think first, settling on a topic so safe and dull that nothing bad could possibly come of it. “I just remembered—when I was passin’ stuff out with the Royal Guard earlier, we found a couple small discrepancies in the list,” he said casually. “I made some notes about it. Can you and Tori take a look real quick?”

“Of course. I’m sure it’s fine, though,” Frisk said, giving him another smile. Then, as he started to reach into his coat for the invoices…

It was the tiniest movement, and he just barely caught it. She took too large a drink and slopped champagne onto the corner of her mouth, which she chose to lick off slowly, eyes on his.

Sans would think of that moment and berate himself for years afterward. For one thing, he didn’t know or care how openly he was staring at her, or who was watching; more importantly, his hand kept moving while the rest of his mind did a belly-flop into a mire of absolute lust, all his resources suddenly diverted to socks and lace chokers and that cute little mouth…desperation to run his hands all over her again and find out if she still had that weird blood thing going, what her exact criteria were for it being the right time to—

Left to manage on its own, his hand knew only that it was supposed to get something for her out of his pocket. It encountered the papery thing he needed, and then another thing it knew was for her, and dutifully pulled both things out. He didn’t have enough concentration to use magic and send the invoices directly to her, so he tossed them onto the table with a solid thmp. “Pass that t’ Frisk, wouldja?” his mouth said.

A couple shreds of conscious thought worked themselves free, wondering why the papers had gone thmp. Paper wasn’t supposed to go thmp. What had he…

Oh. It was the heavy golden envelope, the one with the King’s letter for her.

On the table.

…With her full name on the front.

Right by Undyne, who was reaching to pick it up, just like he’d asked.

Time slowed to a crawl. Icy dread swept over him, and he raised his hand, knowing it was too late—Undyne had handed over the invoices and was already saying, “Heyyy, what’s this, boss?” Before he could stand up or regroup his magic, the Royal Guard Captain flipped the envelope around to read the calligraphy. “Fancy! Is it a love letter for—”

She stopped. Sans’ SOUL shrank to nothing as the fish monster’s brows drew together. “Hey. Your Majesty?” she asked, raising her voice.

Toriel finished her drink, trying to set her glass down and missing the table entirely. “Yes, Captain?”

Undyne gave a puzzled half-smile. “Did you adopt Frisk or something?”

Frisk looked up from the invoices. The goat monster glanced at her, then chuckled. “Why, no, not that I’m aware of.” Toriel was smiling, too, clearly waiting for a punchline.

Sans snatched at the envelope with a burst of red magic and shoved it into his pocket. “Hey, Frisk! Guess what? Time ta go!”

Frisk started, and had to catch herself before she fell off the chair. “What? Why do—”

“Then how come she has your last name?” asked Undyne.

Silence. Toriel and Undyne were awkwardly smiling, each waiting for the other to speak and growing more confused as the seconds ticked by.

Alphys frowned, then peered at Frisk, who was staring at the panicky skeleton. “Sans,” the human said softly. “What is she talking about?”

Sans was still sitting on the floor, and couldn’t get up; he felt sick as Frisk stepped down from her perch and came over to him. “What do you have there?” she asked, even softer.

His hand moved on its own again to pull out the envelope. “’s a letter,” he mumbled. “I was gonna give this to ya later, when we talked about—”

Frisk snatched the envelope and turned it over. He forced his sockets to stay open as her face went pale, then stark white. Slowly, her head lifted until their eyes met. “I didn’t mean ta get it out yet,” he said helplessly. “It was an accident. I’m—”

“Where did you get this?” she asked carefully. “When did you get this?”

“Yesterday. From…from Dr. Serif. He met me in the village to help get all the stuff ready, and the King gave it to ‘im ‘cause he thought you’d be—”

“This is from my father?” Frisk stared at the dark-gold calligraphy, then at him. Sans just stared back, letting his silence speak for itself.

Alphys squinted one more time at Frisk’s chest. Then she bolted from her seat, skittered around the table to Mettaton, and latched onto his arm. “You need to get everyone out of here! Right now!” she hissed.

The automaton quirked a lacquered eyebrow at her. “Are you joking? This is the most—”

“I said now!”

Toriel and Undyne watched Mettaton scramble out of his chair, leap straight into the middle of the room, and strike a pose. “Hello, beauties!” he called to the remaining twenty or so diners, giving Alphys a nervous glance. “This is your lucky night! We’re going to have a scavenger hunt, and the prize is me—one candlelit dinner with yours truly! Follow me to Paradise!”

Alphys breathed a sigh of relief as the monsters trooped out, dragging the waiters and the protesting maître d’ with them, and the doors slammed shut. The royal scientist gestured to Toriel, then Undyne, who had come around to their side of the table. “We should leave, too,” Alphys said urgently.

“What?” The goat monster frowned at her, and at Frisk, whose shoulders had hunched. “Are you all right, my chi—”

“Yes!” They jumped as Frisk whipped around, clutching the envelope to her breast, giving them a dreadful smile. “Yes. Yes, I…I’m fine. I just need to—” She gulped. “Never mind. I have to talk to Sans.” She held her hand out. “Let’s go.” He didn’t move, and she said desperately, “Now? Please?”

A tiny quiver of fear ran through him, and not just because he, personally, was in an absolute world of shit. He could feel the air around Frisk grow heavier, and for the first time in a long time, his instincts were urging him to back away. Her magic was building rapidly, as if she was getting a barrier ready, but she wasn’t doing it on purpose. What did she—

Oh, crap. Not only were they Underground, where magic was naturally stronger than above, she was already at least a little drunk, and tired, and…well, “upset” would not begin to cover the fallout of his slip-up. Was Alphys worried something would happen? But…

Just to be sure, Sans took a long look at Frisk’s SOUL. For a second, he thought something was wrong with his vision, or he was just out of practice; then he realized that, for once, he was not the problem.

Her SOUL was a goddamn mess. It shone as bright and beautifully red as when he’d first seen it, but where it had been rock-solid with determination, it now looked more like a snowglobe that kept getting shaken up before the glitter had a chance to settle. Magic was seeping through her skin and beginning to tint the air around her, and if she was aware of it, she wasn’t even trying to control it.

Fuck. Alphys had been smart enough to keep an eye on Frisk’s SOUL when she started getting agitated about Chara—had the scientist noticed some instability when she was testing the human’s magic? Either way, she’d been scared enough to have Mettaton clear the room.

But it wasn’t as if the monsters should be scared of Frisk, was it? Sure, she seemed pretty volatile right now, but she was still Frisk! She would never hurt anyone! At least, not on purpose…

Sans couldn’t help glancing at the other table. Sure enough, the demon-child was back, grinning and clapping its hands in sheer delight. “Told you so,” it said gaily.

Undyne coughed. “Uh…Frisk? Why’d your dad call you that?”

Frisk gestured one more time, and Sans made himself look at her hand with a grim, apologetic shake of his head. His SOUL wanted to tear loose and go hide at the way her face contorted. “You’ve gotta calm down, kid,” he said quietly. He didn’t know how to explain in front of everyone that her magic was too thick for him to teleport her anywhere without touching her, and doing so right now would singe him down to the bone—probably straight through it. “Please,” he added.

The priestess let her hand drop. She closed her eyes in resignation, pinching the bridge of her nose. “He called me that because I’m illegitimate, and I have to use my mother’s name.”

Pause. Sans shuffled back a little as Frisk’s eyes opened again, taking in the monsters’ blank faces. “Oh, for God’s sake! Do I need to spell it out for you?” She brandished the envelope at them: FRISK DREEMURR. “That was Chara’s last name, and she was my mother!”

The world stopped for a moment. Sans watched Toriel, breathless, painfully aware that her reaction was the one that really mattered. If she took Frisk seriously, then the priestess could probably recover her equilibrium and work through some of her feelings. If she didn’t—

Toriel was frowning in bewilderment. Then…she started to smile, and Sans’ SOUL shrieked in panic: Nonono, don’t do it, don’t—

The former Queen gave a polite little laugh. “I’m…sorry, my child, but…there must be some mistake.”

The air crackled, not loud enough yet for the others to hear. Frisk gripped the letter harder, still holding it at arm’s length. “Why do you say that?” she asked, too calm.

“Well…” Oh, crap. Now Undyne was smiling, too, only stopping when Alphys yanked on her sleeve. “Sorry,” the Captain said, “but c’mon. Chara never even had any kids!”

“Yeah, she did,” said Sans, and the women looked at him in astonishment. Frisk’s arm fell to her side as he continued, “The humans who visited ‘bout twenty-four years ago had their King with ‘em, and he knocked her up. She hid it till the last second, ‘n then she gave birth in the Ruins so no one would see anything.” He glanced at Toriel. “Right?”

It was hard to say who was the most shocked. “I thought Chara had me after she left the Underground! You mean I was born here?” demanded Frisk.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” barked Undyne. She looked at Toriel, whose eyes were huge, hands pressed to her mouth. “I-I mean—” The fish monster turned to Alphys. “Don’t humans get really big and weird when they’re pregnant? Wouldn’t we have noticed something?”

“Not n-necessarily,” Alphys said, fiddling with her claws faster than ever. “It depends on the individual, and how the baby d-develops. Besides, it’s not as if we had other humans to compare her with. She could’ve just w-worn thick clothes and stayed out of sight.”

“Huh.” Undyne stared at the floor. “Now that you mention it, she did spend a few months cooped up in the house before she left. But—”

“Where did you hear this, Sans?” None of them had ever heard Toriel sound like that, her gentle voice lowered to an almost bestial snarl. “Who told you?”

Sans grimaced. “You guys cleared everyone out of the Ruins, but you didn’t get all the spiders. They saw what happened, an’ they heard her tell you who the dad was.”

Toriel’s mouth fell open. “Spiders?”

“Yep. Some of ‘em made it over to Hotland while Kris was here, and they told Muffet, an’ she wound up sellin’ the story to Grillby. I don’t think he ever told anyone else. He just likes knowin’ stuff.” The skeleton scratched the back of his skull. “When I asked him ‘bout Chara the other day, he told me everything. I just never got a friggin’ chance to talk to Frisk about it.”

Another long pause. Was it his imagination, or was the air getting hotter? The priestess was only a few feet away, and though he didn’t have the courage to look at her again, that side of his body was tingling very unpleasantly.

Toriel’s face had hardened, her arms folded at the waist. “Be that as it may, it proves absolutely no connection between her and Chara.”

God damn it. “No, they didn’t know for a fact that Frisk was her kid. But her age matched up, and a bunch of the spiders who rode with her were right next to her SOUL for a few hours. They said she had a buttload of magic, and it smelled like the Underground—way more than any human’s should.”

“It would explain how she’s so powerful,” mused Alphys. “With the capability to use magic from her f-father’s side, and being c-conceived and gestated here, she probably started accruing it before she was even born. She’s already proven that she can convert a monster’s power for herself, so…”

“Holy shit,” whispered Undyne. “So Chara really did have a kid?”

“Yes, she did,” the former Queen said tightly. “We just thought she was ill and shutting herself away for a while. She didn’t tell us how Stephin had betrayed our hospitality until she was nearly in labor, and she begged us not to tell any of the other monsters.” Toriel was gripping her own sleeves hard enough to puncture the fabric. “We gave her two months to recover, and then Asgore sent them both to Stephin. The baby wasn’t very strong, but Asgore was afraid that if we kept her here, Stephin would think we were holding his child hostage.”

No one answered, and Toriel swallowed hard. “A few weeks later, Chara returned to us in agony. Stephin had just become engaged to another woman, and he refused to break it off. The baby had become sick after leaving the Underground, and when Chara started preparing for the journey back here, she…the child didn’t make it home.” The former Queen wiped her eyes with the side of her hand. “I am sorry, Frisk, but there is no way you could be—”

“Yes, there is,” Frisk said, sounding oddly detached. “Chara lied to you. I didn’t die—she left me with a wet nurse and paid her to be my foster mother.”

Sans wanted to dive out of the way as Toriel took a step toward the human, Undyne and Alphys also shrinking back. “You mean to tell me,” the goat monster said, deathly quiet, “that my daughter knowingly abandoned her child and deceived her family?”

“Yes. She did.” Frisk was standing firm, but the monsters could see the haze coming off her like a golden mist; Sans traded looks with Undyne, who pulled Alphys closer. “If you really think it’s impossible for me to be Chara’s daughter, why did you ask my exact age?” the human demanded. “Why did you want to know how old I was when I first visited, and why did Asgore ask Sans the very same thing? You knew Chara had had a baby girl ten years before the delegation arrived, and then you found out Kris was a girl. Were you wondering if I was actually—”

“No!” They flinched at Toriel’s sheer vehemence. She gritted her teeth, trying to control her temper. “It was all Asgore’s fault. When Chara returned to us, he had the temerity to accuse her of lying about her child’s death. He told her she was not welcome unless she brought the baby back with her! Of course we didn’t see her again for ten years!” Smoke drifted from between her fingers as she wiped her eyes again. “I still don’t know how he could have done something so cruel, or how he told you about it, but my only regret is that I ever considered the possibility for a single second! I know you are both wrong!”

Frisk’s eyes narrowed, and Sans jumped as a golden spark flew in his direction. He quashed the reflex to teleport to safety and stood up, only for Frisk to look around him, as though he wasn’t there. “I haven’t spoken to Asgore since I was a child. He has nothing to do with this conversation,” she snapped. “Do you know who first told me Chara was my mother?”

Toriel tried to give her a tolerant smile. “No, child. Who first told you?”

“Asriel.” Before the goat monster could react, Frisk pressed on, “He put the pieces together after he saw me make a barrier by accident. He knew that that ability ran in the royal family, and the King had fathered Chara’s child, so he asked her if it could be me. Chara got him to bring me to her, and he told me who I really was.” The envelope trembled in her hands. “He told me I’d come home.”

Toriel’s eyes widened again. She started to speak, but Frisk raised her voice: “Chara said my nurse had told her I’d died, and she apologized to me for how she acted whenever she visited the orphanage or the castle kitchens.” The human’s face had the hard, bitter expression Sans recognized from the time she’d caught him trying to escape. “She was so sweet to all the other children, and then she looked at me like I was some kind of diseased rat! She said it was because I reminded her of her little girl and it made her sad, and she didn’t know it was actually me!”

“There!” Toriel exclaimed. “You see? The nurse wanted to hide the King’s child for her own gain, and—”

“Chara knew who I was all along!” bellowed Frisk, and it was the goat monster’s turn to step back. “She knew damn well that I was alive! Why else would she pay my foster mother a hundred dinar every month for ten years? How did she know to check in on me every so often to see if I still existed? Why’d she leave me to be beaten and starved half to death while she kept the thousands my father gave her to support us both and did whatever she liked?!”

“How dare you say that? My child would never have—”

“She would, and she did! I’m sorry, Toriel, but she lied to everyone, especially you! Chara abandoned me until I was useful for something besides money, and she tore your family apart to punish Asgore for being right about her!”

“ENOUGH!” roared Toriel. She made a violent gesture, flame sizzling through the air. “I will not hear any more of this! Do you understand, High Priestess?! Whatever you may think happened, I know my daughter, and I know what she was and was not capable of! If you’re going to insist on slandering her any further, perhaps it would be better for you to l—”

The echoes died. The fury in Toriel’s gaze was gone, a hand coming back to her mouth.

“Better for me to what, Lady Toriel?” Frisk asked, so gently that Sans cringed. “Should—” Her throat worked. “Should I leave the Underground? Are you going to send me away again?”

Toriel didn’t have the chance to reply. A barrier screamed to life overhead, and constricted until it formed a dome around them only about twenty feet across and fifteen feet high. “All right. I understand,” said Frisk.

Undyne reacted first, pushing Alphys to the floor and stuffing her under the table. “Frisk!” snapped the fish monster. “Calm down, okay? She didn’t mean it!”

“She didn’t mean to say I was lying?” Frisk inquired, her voice suddenly rising to a shriek: “She didn’t mean to tell me to get out?”

“Frisk!” Sans tried to grab her shoulder, only for a flare of gold to warn him away. “C’mon, sweetheart! Ya gotta stop it! We can talk about this!”

“We just did, Sans!” He had seen her in pain before, but it was nothing compared to the wild-eyed stare she turned on him now. “We talked about it because you couldn’t wait to show everyone who I was! Thank you so much for helping me have this difficult conversation! We’ve finally answered the question of whether someone else I love is going to call me a liar!”

Sans’ SOUL already hurt so much that it took a moment to remember what she—oh, God. She meant when she’d told him she was Kris, and he’d scoffed at her until she stripped down to prove it. Now she’d been forced to reveal her identity to Toriel in the least natural way possible, and she didn’t believe her, either. “Frisk—”

She was smiling, but in a very unhinged way. “No, I should really be thanking you. Life is so much simpler now! I don’t have to waste any more time and energy wondering if I should feel worthless, because the closest person to a real mother I’ve ever had just told me so!”

Sans couldn’t answer: he had to fling himself backward before a cascade of sparks hit him in the face. Frisk drifted away a few steps and sank to her knees, hands still clenched on the envelope in her lap. “It’s fine,” she mumbled at the floor. “Food, presents, bubbles—I already gave you everything I have. If you don’t want me anymore, then…”

Toriel was rooted to the spot, chest heaving. The barrier sank lower, nearly grazing her horns, and Undyne rushed to sling her under the table as more sparks flew. “Sans!” the Captain shouted over the crackle and hiss of human magic.

The skeleton glared down at Toriel, and shook his head as she tried to speak. Frisk was too far gone—anything else the goat monster said would just aggravate her further, assuming she could even hear it.

Meanwhile, the dome was slowly closing in on them, and they couldn’t do a damn thing about it. If he tried to touch Frisk now, she’d just shove more magic at him; not only would that hurt like hell, it’d trap them all between two layers of barrier. He yelled her name again, but she didn’t move.

Shit! Why hadn’t Alphys warned him sooner? Why hadn’t Undyne kept her goddamn mouth shut about the letter? And if Toriel couldn’t accept right away that everything she knew was wrong and Chara was even worse than Sans had imagined, couldn’t she have found a way to deny it without completely destroying Frisk?!

Why hadn’t he—

No, all that mattered right now was getting through to her. The light surrounded them in blinding golden pulses, the barrier crackling like…

Humming. The barrier was making a hell of a lot of noise, and it…didn’t sound like her humming at all. Why was he thinking of that now?

…Because the last time his magic had been out of control, in his prison cell, she’d calmed him down by humming. But he hadn’t even heard her at first; he’d only snapped out of it when she touched his blaster – the physical embodiment of his magic – with her bare hand. He never did explain to her what a no-no that was…

Sans looked at his hand. He looked at his priestess, curled in on herself, lost in misery. The golden dome was so close to the crown of his skull that he could feel his whole body screaming at him to run.

The giant skeleton looked Toriel in the eye. Then he squeezed his sockets shut, lifted his arm, and placed his hand flat on the barrier.

Something…happened.

One second, the pressure in Frisk’s head was intolerable, grief and despair rising to a fever pitch, spurred by the determination to keep the monsters here until they changed their minds, till they were sorry. Then—

The sensation could only be likened to someone running their finger down the inside of her chest, the most strange and intimate thing she’d ever felt. It should have been horrible, or at least uncomfortable, but…

But it didn’t feel invasive. It felt like someone giving her heart a gentle nudge, saying in a familiar, gravelly baritone, “’s all right, Frisk. It’s gonna be okay. I promise. But you gotta stop now, ‘kay?”

The feeling slipped away. She stirred, trying to get it back; Frisk opened her eyes and—

Sans. Her chest gave a happy little shiver as she saw him looking down at her. He was standing nearby, giving her a strained smile and…and touching—the barrier—

Fear jolted her fully awake. Frisk whistled as hard as she could, and the searing golden light vanished. Her whole body ached, but it was nothing compared with what she glimpsed as Sans lowered his arm. “Oh, God! Sans—”

“Hey, kitten,” mumbled the boss monster. He had to stifle a grunt, shuffling hastily to turn his back to her. “Tori, could I…get a hand with this? Heh…ow…”

Frisk tried to get up from where she was kneeling, or at least stop shaking. Green light shone around Sans’ huge form, but she barely noticed; all she could see in her mind’s eye were his blackened metacarpals, the smaller bones not just burned, but partially melted by her magic.

Her legs refused to work. Frisk dropped the envelope and shuffled herself around in a half circle to see if anyone else was hurt, and whether they had seen her nearly kill her poor skeleton. No one was here…

“Aww, darn. You were so close.”

…except for a voice that felt like spiders crawling into her brain. The demon-child sat on the edge of a nearby table, shaking its head at her and sighing. Then it gave her an encouraging grin. “Oh, well. That was still fun—just like old times. Don’t worry, you’ll get ‘em someday!”

Someone moved behind her. Frisk blinked hard, then shuddered, and pushed herself up onto her feet, standing with her back to the demon.

Undyne was climbing out from under their table and offering a webbed hand to Alphys. “Undyne?” The human moved gingerly toward them. “Are you two all right?”

The Captain’s eye widened, and her arm shot out, protecting Alphys from…from what? Frisk glanced around them, looking for—

Her. Undyne was protecting Alphys from her.

And why not? Hadn’t she done exactly what the monsters feared most—trapped them with a barrier, maimed someone, and nearly killed them? Even Undyne was afraid of her now!

Frisk shouldn’t have gotten up: she felt her body go heavy, legs giving way. She was only vaguely aware that she was going to fall, and that Undyne was hesitating, moving too late to catch her.

A soft, tingling sensation stopped her just short of the marble floor, lifting her higher into the air. To her dismay, she was enveloped in red magic, and Sans was reaching for her; Frisk tried to say, “No, don’t—”

His arms closed around her, strong and safe, his injured hand settling her against his shoulder. The other drew his coat over her legs; a shaky phalange ran through her hair, and a shakier voice rumbled, “Y’okay, sweetheart?”

Frisk wound her arms around his neck as tight as they’d go, not caring how his vertebrae dug into her flesh. She was too numb to cry, and she didn’t have the strength to ask what he was doing, or why he was anywhere near her. All she could do was hang on.

Undyne cleared her throat. “She…is she okay now?”

“She’ll be fine,” snapped the giant skeleton, and immediately stroked Frisk’s hair again as she trembled. “Shh, s’alright,” he murmured.

“Sans,” Toriel said brokenly. “I—”

The world tipped and swerved as Sans shifted his weight, turning them away. “C’mon, kitten. Let’s go home.”

“To your house?” Undyne was still shaken, but Frisk heard a warning note in her voice. “Look, I know you’re really emotional right now, but she’s not in any condition to—”

“To sleep!” he snarled. “I’m takin’ ‘er home, and we’re gonna sleep! Good fuckin’ night!”

A tiny part of Frisk wanted to tell him to be nice, but she couldn’t even stay conscious. The last thing she heard was Toriel’s cry of “Sans, wait!” before his magic rushed them through space. Then—

On her third day at the convent, they finally made her leave her room.

Frisk kept her eyes on the ground, letting the matron steer her down a hall and out into a courtyard full of chattering girls. The noise dropped a little as they saw her, but when Frisk stayed by the wall, there was a collective shrug, and the chatter resumed.

The wind was howling. Frisk wiped her nose on the sleeve of her new uniform, wondering dully if it was going to snow out here. The drifts in front of Sans and Papyrus’ house never seemed to go down, no matter how often they tossed her into them.

Did they miss her yet? Did they even know she was gone? Or had the accident—

“Excuse me?”

Frisk looked up. Through her tears, she saw a group of older girls standing in front of her, with a grownup right behind—the Sister must have ordered them to come be nice to the new girl. Sure enough, the speaker was holding out a handkerchief, looking kind and concerned. “Thank you,” Frisk whispered, taking it and wiping her eyes.

“It’s all right. I know I was very sad when I first got here,” the girl said, a little too loud. She smiled, and Frisk tried not to shudder—she’d gotten so used to monsters that the girl’s pretty blue eyes, golden hair, and rosy skin looked fake, like a doll.

The grownup nodded approval and moved away to yell at another group for telling dirty jokes. Immediately, the blonde girl’s smile sharpened, and she wrinkled her nose. “Keep it,” she said curtly.

That was bad, but at least Frisk had expected it. What really hurt was when the group moved off and the girl said to her friends, “Oh my God, her hair! And did you see her eyes? She looks like a rabbit!”

The snickering felt like a scab being ripped off Frisk’s heart. “Geez, Mathilda,” another girl said quietly.

“Well, it’s true! They’re not supposed to be red! Is she cursed or something?” Laughter. “I’m serious! We all need to say extra prayers tonight!”

…

Would it have changed anything if Frisk had remembered that conversation? Soon after, the King visited and told her everything – how he had thought Chara was at least providing her with basic necessities, and he would be sure she never lacked for anything again – and when she worsened, they decided to remove her memories; the Mother Superior had repeated the most relevant facts about her father and her future education, and Frisk had accepted her new life.

As far as Frisk knew, the first time she met her best friend was soon afterward, when Mathilda switched places with someone to sit next to her at lunch. “Hello. You must be Frisk,” she said, smiling. “Do you, um…”

Frisk watched her in puzzlement. Why was Mathilda Owen bothering to speak to her?

Mathilda fidgeted. “Never mind. I just wanted to say hello.” Why did she look so guilty? Her friends were watching, whispering anxiously to each other, as though something important was at stake. “Would you like to come and sit with us? I hate to see you all by yourself.”

As soon as she figured out that it wasn’t a cruel prank, and she really was making friends with the most beautiful and kind-hearted girl in the entire school, Frisk was too happy to question things further. It took her a long time to realize that everyone knew why the King had been here, and that everyone wanted his daughter to like them, especially Mathilda.

Even then, Frisk had decided not to care. As long as she could earn their friendship by being kind and helpful, did it really matter how it’d started? It wasn’t as if she was only worth something because of her father.

…It wasn’t.

…Finally.

She shook the ruby droplets from the kitchen knife, wondering idly why he was the only monster who ever bled, then kicked the dust aside. It was time to move on.

Frisk awoke in a rush of adrenaline and half-remembered nightmares. It was dark; she thought for a moment that she’d been buried alive, then realized that something huge and leathery was draped over her entire body. No golden twilight through the windows, no blood, no dust…

Ugh. Her mouth tasted like a warm sock, and her head throbbed the way it always did when she’d used too much magic. With great care, the human slithered out of her warm prison for a look around.

She was in Sans’ room, lying on his outgrown mattress, his overcoat loosely wrapped around her. The lamp was on, but he’d draped an old shirt over it to diffuse the light into a soft glow, giving the cold, messy space a warmer aspect; in fact, the golden haze reminded her of—

A barrier.

Chills swept through her, clearing her head of other thoughts like a blast of frigid air. It wasn’t just a nightmare: she had used a barrier against monsters inside the Underground. There was no coming back from that, no excusing or explaining it away.

Even if Toriel hadn’t really meant it at the time, her order to leave would probably become reality. Her friends might not entirely blame her for lashing out, but there was still no way they could trust her anymore—after she had hurt Sans like that, she’d be angry if he did trust her!

Frisk slowly eased herself back down inside the coat, as if she could hide from what she’d done. In her bitter, selfish regret, she didn’t even think of what this meant for her peace efforts; all she knew was that the Underground was the only place she’d ever really belonged – her birthplace – and she had lost any right to be here. Back to the humans, then, and her suffocating routine of work, exhaustion, and loneliness, secretly hoping that maybe, if she could be useful enough, someone would love her for more than her money or her pedigree and stay. If she could just be good enough—

Well, obviously, she couldn’t.

Frisk wasn’t going to cry again. She was tired of crying about things in general, and in this case, there was no possible way to make herself feel better. Why bother making her headache worse and her sleeves all soggy again? She just burrowed deeper into the huge leather coat, willing her mind to subside into comfortable nothingness; at least she was good at that.

It usually helped to have something small to focus on, so Frisk unhooked her itchy black choker and scratched her neck, flushing at the memory of flirting with Sans in front of everyone. Then came her boots, her stockings, and her earrings…

…which weren’t there. The priestess frowned, fingering her earlobes. She didn’t remember taking them out. Had they come off while she was asleep?

Wait a moment. Sans had put her here, hadn’t he? Her satchel was close by; Frisk stuck her arm out until she could pull it over and peek inside. Sure enough, not only had the boss monster removed her earrings for her, he’d left them atop her folded clothes, where they were both safe and easily found.

For some reason, that one little thing, that bit of care and attention, was the last straw. She took a deep breath, only for it to catch as a huge sob tore loose, partly muffled by his coat. Then another, and—

Sans was suddenly standing by the mattress. “Frisk!” He sat down hard. “Frisk, it’s okay, don’t—”

The human forgot that he was supposed to be scared of her. Moving on pure instinct, she flung the coat aside and launched herself up at him, letting his shirt absorb the first wave of tears. “Aww,” he murmured, folding his arms over her back and cradling her head in one massive palm. “C’mon, sweetheart, ya don’t hafta cry. Everythin’s fine now.”

Frisk pressed her face into his clavicle, furiously shaking her head. It was important to explain to him that nothing was fine and it was absolutely correct for her to be crying, but she was crying too hard to get the words out.

Sans gave a large, soft sigh, carrying her outward and back in. “It’s okay,” he repeated, his voice rumbling throughout her body. She shook her head again, and he ran the side of his finger down her back. “Yuh-huh, it is. Calm down.”

She didn’t want to calm down, but as he kept petting her, Frisk’s sobs slowed down a little. The boss monster made a sound deep in his chest, and she answered him with one that made him squeeze her tighter.

There was that magnetic feeling again, as though she was completely stuck to him. This time, though, she wasn’t frightened. And this time, she felt something else: another sensation was stealing over her, so slowly that she thought it might just be her imagination. It was similar to when he’d accidentally given her his magic, but this didn’t seem accidental, and it wasn’t exactly magic…

She’d felt it when he touched the barrier, and here it was again, washing over her in gentle waves: guilt and anger at himself for kicking off the whole incident, anxiety for her, and…well. He didn’t think she was worthless, or dangerous, or that she needed to do a single thing to deserve forgiveness. His hand didn’t even hurt anymore. …Much.

Even if it did, he still loved her.

Frisk shook her head again, but her sobs grew slower and weaker, gradually coming to a stop. The human leaned away long enough to sniff back a giant wad of snot, then sought a dry patch of his shirt to wipe her eyes. She wasn’t sure how he was doing this, but she wasn’t going to question it right now. “Hand?” she croaked.

Sans was quiet. He grunted, then held his palm up. “It ain’t that bad. Looks kinda like a frowny face. See?”

The priestess gulped, raising her own fingers to trace the pattern of deep swirls and grooves her magic had left in the living bones. “Can…” Frisk had to swallow a few more times before she could whisper, “Can you still move them?”

He paused. She felt a closing-off sort of twinge in her chest, as though he’d decided to stop sharing his feelings so he could fib: “Yeah, pretty much.” His metacarpals waggled back and forth, the smallest of them longer than her entire hand. She poked the base of his thumb and forefinger, where a good two or three inches of bone were fused together. “That doesn’t count,” he said stubbornly.

Frisk shuddered, turning to rest her cheek near the top of his sternum. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Do ya wanna talk about it?”

“I don’t know,” she said, and winced as her head throbbed. “What time is it?”

“Last I checked, it was about seven o’clock,” he replied, petting her hair again. “I got up maybe half an hour ago an’ healed you, just in case.” Tap, tap. “How’s yer hangover?”

“…Not that bad, actually.” Frisk yawned. She’d missed being with him so much that it felt like a waste to just sleep, but it was hard to argue with the results. After all she’d had to drink last night, and then…the incident, she was amazed that she only had a headache and an icky mouth. “Thank you for that. It feels like I got much more than five or six hours.”

Sans chuckled, tapping her head again. “That’s ‘cause it’s seven in the evening, kitten. I think we slept about eighteen hours.”

Frisk’s eyes shot open. “Are you serious?” She leaned back enough to look him in the face. “Is that even possible? I—”

The words faded as their eyes met. Frisk figured she must look pretty awful, but he wasn’t much better. “Did I miss a spot?” he asked gruffly.

The human nodded, reaching up to brush at the dried red on the corners of his sockets. Sans leaned into her touch as she rubbed his cheekbone. “You’re supposed to be a big boy now,” she scolded the giant skeleton. “Do I need to—”

Memory hit her again like a fist. Sans jumped as Frisk suddenly yanked her hand away, trying to push herself off him. “Hey!” he protested. “What’re you—wouldja hold on a damn minute?!” More by reflex than design, his hand tightened around her back, keeping her in place. “It was an accident, goddammit! You’re not gonna do it again!”

“No, it wasn’t!” Frisk thumped his shoulder with her tiny fist. “You don’t understand!” Thump. “It wasn’t an accident! I was so angry, I wanted to keep everyone there, and I didn’t want to control it! I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t stopped me!”

Sans started. “That little fucker,” the skeleton whispered, as if he’d realized something very profound. “I know what it was, Frisk. That goddamn thing was right there! I saw it a minute before the whole name thing started! I dunno if it made me drop the letter so you’d freak out, or if it was plannin’ something else, but it wanted you to go nuts! That’s why—”

“No! It wasn’t!” Thump. Thump. “Are you even listening?! It was me! I did it on purpose!” Thump. “I was already…” Frisk shuddered, shaking her head again as more emotions boiled to the surface. “Do you know how scared I’ve been? We’re halfway through our visit, and I haven’t even talked to anyone about ending slavery! I’ve just been thinking of how to tell Asgore and Toriel about Chara, whether they’d believe me and if I’ve been selfish to keep back something that could help make peace—I had no idea their estrangement was because Asgore knew Chara was lying about me! And I missed you so much—” His arms tightened, and Frisk caught herself on another sob. “I don’t want to go, Sans!”

“No one’s makin’ you go anywhere!” He gave her a very light shake. “We all know you, Frisk! Ya think anyone’s sittin’ there thinkin’, ‘Welp, that was inevitable, let’s go ahead ‘n toss ‘er out now’? Or d’ya think we feel like shit ‘cause we kept pokin’ you till you couldn’t take it anymore?”

“How can you say that?” she demanded. “It doesn’t matter how badly I was provoked! I wouldn’t let you get away with attacking me just because you were angry!”

“Y’already did. Remember?” He stroked her back with one knuckle. “You coulda done anythin’ you wanted once I quit tryin’ ta murder you, and ya put me to bed ‘n fed me.”

…Damn it. “That’s not the same thing! I—”

“Frisk.” His phalange brushed her cheek. “Yer the one who’s not listenin’. No one is makin’ you leave. We’re gonna talk about it with everybody, there’s gonna be a big damn fight over who’s the most sorry, an’ we’re gonna figure out how to get you in to see Asgore. You’re gonna say whatever you need to about Chara and lay out yer big plan to make everything all better. If he doesn’t wanna do it, we’ll figure somethin’ else out before we leave.” His hand rested on her back like a shield. “And I’m gonna quit actin’ like all I hafta do is stay outta yer way an’ let you do everything. From now on, I want you ta tell me if somethin’s botherin’ you before ya go crazy.” Squeeze. “Any questions?”

Frisk thought about it as she sniffled. “Yes. Why couldn’t you have been this sweet when I gave you the stupid chessboard?”

He snorted. “Yer startin’ ta sound like me!” Pause. Shrug. “Short answer? It was pretty much the best thing I ever got, and I didn’t know what to say.”

“Whatever happened to ‘Thank you,’ Sans?” Thump. “I was really looking forward to you opening your gift, and you couldn’t wait to get away from it!”

“I know, I know!” His shoulders hunched again. “’m sorry! I…wanted ta jump you, but that wasn’t exactly an option. I didn’t know what else ta do!”

How could he make her want to hug and slap him so badly? “Well, putting that aside, do you plan to spend the rest of your life running off when you get embarrassed?”

“I wasn’t—” He caught himself and scowled. “I dunno. Just…sorry I was shitty about the chess stuff. It was amazing, and thank you a lot for it. Okay?”

He was so exasperatingly cute that Frisk had to bite her lip. “All right, then. You’re welcome. I…”

Rrrrgggrgrgl.

They both froze as her stomach rumbled. Frisk made a sheepish sound, and Sans chuckled. “Right. I was in the middle of makin’ a couple sandwiches when I came up.”

Frisk nodded. “Where’s Papyrus?” She wiped her eyes again. “Please don’t say he’s planning to make dinner.”

“Nope! I left a note on the door tellin’ him and Undyne ta stay at the inn tonight. I said we’d meet ‘em at the Ruins tomorrow morning.”

They were going to be alone tonight? The priestess felt light-headed, her cheeks burning. Sans must have been thinking the same thing, because she could’ve sworn his bones were getting warmer. “Time ta eat,” he mumbled, and a blink later, they were in the living room.

Still in his arms, Frisk turned her head to survey the kitchen table. He’d set out a loaf of bread, some cheese, tomatoes, and a few other things, obviously dropped when he’d heard her crying. Frisk thought about it, then snuggled back into Sans. There was food, and she was starving, but he was right here, too; she didn’t know which she wanted more at the moment.

Another rumble from her stomach settled the question. “Off ya go,” he said reluctantly, and Frisk sighed, moving her hand down to push free of their stuck-togetherness.

Sans suddenly made a strangled sound. Frisk didn’t understand it, or why his hand had flexed to avoid squashing her, until she looked down: she’d accidentally reached in between his ribs, pushing his shirt through and wrapping her fingers most of the way around his middle rib.

She’d never put her hands inside his ribcage, assuming it was basically a private part, and it seemed she was right. Just like that, his breathing had grown ragged, his bones trembling as her hand tightened. There was no misinterpreting his physical reaction; she could imagine how his instincts to comfort and protect her were deepening into much more raw emotion…

…because it was completely mutual. The young woman tugged lightly on his rib, and felt him shudder again. “Frisk,” he muttered. “Knock it off.”

Frisk moved just enough to brush her cheek against his jawbone. “What?” One finger slid along the bone toward his sternum. “This?”

Sans’ entire frame jerked. “Yes, that!” He caught her wrist in the curl of his index finger. “If I was a human, it’d be like stickin’ yer hand down my pants!”

“You don’t want me to?” she asked, very matter-of-fact.

Sans’ arm across her back was almost hurting her. Not tight enough, then. “Frisk,” he said warningly.

“I’m serious.” She licked her lips, feeling heat spread through her, chasing away the sorrow and anger. “My period’s over, the house is empty, and your magic doesn’t have any negativity at all right now.” Her free hand drifted toward his sternum. “We both need this, Sans. Don’t tell me you’re not interested.”

“I’m not sayin’ that!” To her bewilderment, he seized her with his magic and set her on the couch with a butt-tingling thump. “Just… I want you so bad, I’m about to lose my damn mind!” His entire skull was bright red. “But you’re still messed up from somethin’ that only happened ‘cause I was bein’ a dumbass, an’ I’m not gonna do it when you’re not thinkin’ straight! That would be fuckin’ wrong! Got it?” Despite himself, he stepped closer to touch her cheek. “’Sides, there’s somethin’ we’ve really gotta talk about first. The letter from yer dad is…”

He trailed off as her face twitched. “What?” he asked suspiciously.

“So, you…” Frisk knew this was not the time, but she couldn’t keep the words from bubbling up: “You’d be…fucking wrong?” Her body was trembling again, this time with the urge to giggle. “You already went the extra mile and figured out how to be my size. I’m pretty sure that means you can do it correctly now!”

“Frisk,” he said, scandalized, and covered his face as she snrrrked. “God damn it, woman, I’m tryin’ ta be serious here!”

She didn’t answer, at least not out loud. Sans took one look at her face and gave his scariest growl. “No.”

“But—”

“Frisk.”

“But are you—”

“Friiiiisk—”

A long pause. Frisk sighed in resignation, shrugging one shoulder.

Sans nodded. “Okay. Now, for real, Frisk, I’m—”

“—fucking serious?”

The dam broke: one moment, they were staring each other down, and then they burst into hysterical, snorting laughter. Frisk was sobbing again, but for the right reason, dammit; Sans let his forehead thunk on the floor, trying desperately to stop long enough to say something, only to end up laughing harder.

Eventually, out of sheer weakness, they had to slow down, and reached a point where they could almost breathe normally. “Shit,” rasped Sans, and wiped his eyes on his sleeves. “Oh my God, I love you.”

Frisk’s breath caught, her heart coming to a standstill. She sat up, watching the skeleton realize what he’d said. His sockets widened, but he looked straight at her, almost defiantly. “What?” There went the red again. He looked away…and back. “’s true,” he said, very quietly.

There was no telling what she might have done if Sans hadn’t pushed to his feet and waved his hand at the table. The bread knife started sawing away, cutting the loaf into sandwich slices and assembling the ingredients. “We need ta eat somethin’, an’ then I should go track yer letter down,” he mumbled, trying to rub the color off his skull. “I dunno if someone picked it up, or if it got left up there, or what. You can get some time to yerself—take a bath or somethin’.”

A bath sounded good, decided the one functional corner of her mind. She accepted the glass of water and mostly-tomato sandwich he wafted over to her a moment later, ignoring his muttered apologies for its crappiness. Nor did she pay much heed when he said something else, tapped a knuckle on her shoulder, and winked out of sight.

Alone for the first time in several days, Frisk finished her sandwich. She put the dishes in the sink, went upstairs, and ran a very hot bath, staring at the steam rising from the water. Then she went to Sans’ room, removed all her clothes, and lay down to wrap herself in his overcoat again. She hadn’t touched herself since before they left the castle, and she was even more worked up now than she’d been the night she made herself clear to Sans; being in his room, with the feeling of his bones and everything he’d said to her fresh in her mind, anticipating time to themselves at last—that was more than her body could handle. So…

It took so little time that the water was still hot when Frisk stumbled back into the bathroom. She left the door open a crack before she got in the tub, because…the steam…had to escape. Yes. The door needed to be open. For the steam.

Frisk knew exactly when Sans returned; to her disappointment, she heard an embarrassed mutter in the hall, and the door clicked shut. Just because she could, Frisk splashed louder, whistling his favorite song and letting the notes linger than she probably had to. She let the water out, also loudly, and kept humming as she dried herself and got dressed.

Sans was obviously on his guard when she came downstairs, which was wise: she was wearing his old clothes again, hands in the pockets of his zipped-up blue jacket, though she hadn’t had the nerve to put on any socks. He gave her one glance, reddened again, and turned his head, shoving the golden envelope at her. “Here.”

Frisk swallowed. “Thank you.” She studied the envelope for a moment, then tossed it on the couch and advanced on him. “I’m feeling much better now, so—”

“Nope!” Sans skipped away fast enough to make her yelp a little. He held up his good hand, as if to ward her off. “Dammit, Frisk, I mean it when I say I’m not gonna fuck you yet! Sit down and listen!”

Startled, the human sank onto the couch. Sans scratched the back of his head, collecting his thoughts. “Okay. So. Gaster gave me that thing, an’ he told me what’s in it.” He shut his eyes. “First thing: your King’s been talkin’ about you all over the place. Everyone—all the humans know Chara was yer mom.”

Frisk’s stomach lurched. “I see,” she murmured. Sans watched anxiously as she blew out a long breath. “Well, at least if I start throwing barriers at humans, it won’t frighten them.”

Sans chuckled. “Nope. They’d think it was neat,” he agreed.

The priestess thought it over, and decided that this particular problem could go back on the shelf for now. “Did someone see the letter and start spreading the word?”

“Yep. Gaster says yer dad’s pissed off, and that’s his way of bein’ passive-aggressive.” He indicated the envelope. “He fixed up a bunch of legal stuff with your name all over it.”

“‘Legal stuff’?” Frisk scowled. “Am I being arrested for theft?” She almost hoped so; that was a fight she’d enjoy winning. “If I am, I swear I will burn down the entire—”

“Nope. Just the opposite.” The skeleton took a deep, deep breath. “He…”

Watching his face, it suddenly clicked. “He wants to adopt me?” she asked crisply.

Blink. “…Uh.” Blink. “…yes?” Emphatic blink. “How the hell did you know?”

Her teeth clenched, all her muscles knotting at once, and then she let it go with a sigh. “He hinted at it a few times back when I was teaching Gaius magic. It’s been so long, I forgot all about it.” Mostly. “The poor boy isn’t going to live long enough to have his own heirs, and my older siblings are almost all gone, so… I was hoping His Majesty would name one of his more distant relatives, or pick another of his children.”

“Well, you’re the best he’s got.” Frisk flushed as Sans sat down against the opposite wall. “Is that a normal thing fer humans? You’re gettin’ old and yer official kid is kinda puny, so you grab a backup?”

Frisk crossed her legs, absently enjoying his reaction. “It’s uncommon, but it’s happened before in order to keep a particular bloodline going.” She picked up the envelope and broke the wax seal. “I’ll bet you a million dinar my father says he’s invited Luke and Mathilda back to the castle with their family. He went to school with Luke’s father, so he probably wants to get reacquainted before they announce our engagement.”

The boss monster watched in silence as she pulled out a sheaf of expensive papers, setting aside the copies of her ducal investiture and adoption decree. Frisk unfolded the handwritten letter, read it over carefully, and nodded. “You owe me a million dinar.”

He didn’t laugh. “See? If you end up havin’ my kid, it’s probably not gonna improve yer chances of bein’ Queen someday and gettin’ to set everything right for everyone.” Sans shrugged, eyes on the floor. “Not the kinda thing I can ask you to give up just so I can get laid.”

Warmth bloomed in her chest and rekindled in her middle, where she was still sensitive from her personal time upstairs. “I’m not giving anything up. I don’t want to be Queen,” she said calmly. “I want to become the humans’ ambassador to the monster race and set up an embassy somewhere close by—maybe at the farm on the river.” She set the papers aside and got to her feet, her entire body humming. “And if I do have a child, I’m going to love it and raise it, no matter how hard things get…even if it’s only half human.”

Sans’ eyes went blank. “…Frisk?”

The High Priestess’ heart was pounding so hard that she wondered if he could hear it as she crossed the room. She stopped in front of him, and held her hand out. “Will you stay with me, Sans?”

His hand came up to engulf hers and tug her against him, even as he shook his head. “Ya can’t decide somethin’ like that so quick,” Sans protested. Frisk leaned in just hard enough for him to feel her breasts through the thick blue jacket, and he shuddered. “I-I mean, believe me, I understand bein’ horny, but—”

Frisk reached up to rap on his cheekbone with her knuckles. “Excuse me, sir, but my mind has been made up since I opened the box.” She turned to press her lips to his phalanges. “Take me to your room, please.”

The light in his sockets dilated nearly all the way. Massive hands closed around her, and the world suddenly rushed by, depositing them by the door in his room. His magic pulled the mattress out to the center of the floor, straightening his overcoat in lieu of sheets or a blanket; the skeleton released her and glanced around for a moment, visibly regretting that they weren’t in a more romantic or at least clean environment. “Close yer eyes,” he mumbled.

Frisk complied, feeling and hearing him compress his huge frame down to human size. She opened her eyes just in time for Sans to pull her down to the mattress, setting her in his lap with her calves draped over his femurs. As before, he didn’t seem to care how his clothes hung off him; he simply yanked his sleeves back, then slipped his arm around her waist, the other running through her hair as he mouthed her neck.

That was a good start; the priestess wound her arms around him as Sans pulled her even closer. She made a delicate little sound as he slid his tongue into her mouth, his movements slow and gentle until she deliberately nipped him.

He nearly snarled at her, one hand gripping the small of her back and the other tangling in her hair. Frisk almost purred at the twinges in her scalp, letting him hold her in place as the kiss grew rougher and his fangs grazed her lip. She couldn’t believe how easily this was coming to her, how gratifying it was—all it took was a few little sighs, soft touches, and complete sexual abandon. Who knew?

It was more than a physical urge, though. She couldn’t even guess which of them needed this more, to be held and explored, valued, accepted—

The hand on her back had crept under her jacket, finding the hem of her shirt and then encountering bare skin. Frisk shivered pleasurably at the feel of bones gliding up her side, and at the disbelieving sound he made. “Holy shit,” breathed Sans. “You’re so soft.” His nasal ridge dropped back to the crook of her neck; he inhaled so deeply that she felt a rush of cold on her damp skin. “You smell amazing—” His tongue ran across her throat, his teeth sinking just hard enough to make her whimper and reach up to caress his skull. “I don’t…are ya really sure about this?”

Sighing inwardly, the priestess nuzzled the side of his vertebrae; he sucked in his breath as her tongue ran over the dry bone. Her legs shifted toward him, hips scooting closer as she guided his hands to her waist. Sans accepted the invitation, hitching up his baggy trousers and carefully grinding his pelvis into her so that she could feel his magic more directly.

It was one thing to have undergone a comprehensive scientific education and read dozens upon dozens of romance novels, and quite another to actually feel male parts…or magical facsimiles. The eternal, universal question sprang to mind: how was anything that size supposed to fit in her? That couldn’t be right. If she didn’t know better, she’d dismiss the whole idea as an elaborate prank, and childbirth as some kind of optical illusion. But…

Frisk ducked her head into his shoulder, face burning as his fingers combed through her hair. Luckily, Sans was oblivious. “’s not fair,” he murmured above her. “Everythin’ about you feels nice, ‘n I’m just a buncha gross bones.”

Frisk gave a disapproving snort—this, she could handle. “Here, give me your hand.” Ignoring her hot cheeks, she took his wrist and slid his hand up under her jacket, unable to suppress a tremor as his phalanges traced the underside of her breast. “If I thought you were ‘gross,’ would I be letting you do this?”

There was no telling what Sans thought: his powers of speech had degenerated into a series of incoherent sounds. To her irritation, he withdrew his hand and grabbed at the bottom of her jacket, desperate to pull it over her head…only to blink in confusion as Frisk snrked at him, leaning back and helpfully tapping the zipper.

As it turned out, the joke was on her. In another split-second, Sans had the jacket unzipped and the sleeves pulled straight down her arms, the whole thing tossed aside; before she knew what had happened, he was crushing her against him, his hands back under her white shirt, palms sweeping along her sides and up across her back—

In the heat of the moment, both of them had forgotten about her scars. Frisk tensed as his hands passed over the rough skin, and he stopped dead. “This okay?” he inquired after a moment, giving her a few experimental pets. “Doesn’t feel too weird, does it?”

The young woman shook her head, resting it on his shoulder and reminding herself that he’d already seen them. There was nothing to worry about or feel ashamed of. “You can touch it if you want. It doesn’t feel like much of anything anymore—the nerve endings are gone.”

Sans ground his teeth. “Are ya sure I can’t go kill that bitch?”

Purely on instinct, Frisk placed her slender fingers between his upper ribs, near his sternum; his eyes widened further as she pulled herself the rest of the way onto his bony, baggy-trousered lap. “Please don’t,” she said against his jaw. “I think we have better things to d—”

In one motion, Sans pulled her shirt up to her collarbone and hitched her forward to lay them both down on the mattress. With her face aflame and her heart galloping harder than ever, Frisk stayed still as he rose on one elbow to look her over, jaws parting to breathe more heavily; but to her surprise, when he reached down, all he did was rest his right palm on her sternum, where they could both feel her heartbeat reverberating through the disfigured bones.

Frisk gradually forget to be embarrassed, or cold, letting him see that she trusted him enough to stay exposed. Sans moved his thumb a little, and without thinking, she rested her hand on his, playing with the gaps between his joints. They were both content to stay that way for a few quiet moments, studying the contrast between her skin and his bones.

Soon, though, he had to lean down again to kiss her, and his hand turned to stroke her breast with the backs of his fingers. Frisk made a soft sound and tried to sit up to demand more; to her surprise, he shook his head and slung his femur across her waist, pinning her to the mattress. “Slow down, kitten,” he muttered. “I don’t wanna go nuts an’ hurt you by accident.”

That was cheating. She was already aroused enough; when she reached down to grab his hand, only to have her wrists corraled and pinned over her head with a trace of red magic, she couldn’t help moaning out loud.

Sans’ orange eyes were fully dilated now. He had sat up and partly turned aside, but couldn’t look away from her writhing and urgent noises. “What’d I just say?!” he snapped.

“I can’t help it!” Frisk squirmed again. “Let me go, and I’ll stop! Please!”

With unnatural speed, Sans released her and kicked off his trousers. His full weight flattened her to the mattress, and something pressed very distinctively into her stomach; Frisk tried to look down between their bodies, but his baggy shirt was blocking her view. Was it red like the rest of his magic, or—

His fingers caught her chin, making her look up at him. “Okay, kitten. You ready?” He let go long enough to hook his phalanges in the waistband of her black-and-white-striped pants, and rested his forehead on hers. “I…” He exhaled, his entire body trembling. “I’m just guessin’ on size. Went with somethin’ like this.” His tongue stuck out for a moment. “If it doesn’t work, then—”

“It’s all right, Sans.” Frisk leaned up to kiss his jaw, wiggling her hips to help him remove her last piece of clothing. “Go ahead.”

Sans nodded, taking in the view with his jaws still parted and his eyes burning, but he clearly couldn’t wait any longer. She let him arrange her arms around him, then run his hand over her waist and hips, rubbing her thighs for an appreciative moment before he nudged her legs open.

Either Sans had read up on this process, or the instincts Undyne had mentioned could adapt to human anatomy, because he didn’t even hesitate. He plucked the folds of his shirt out of the way and reached down, and Frisk jumped as something prodded her entrance. She’d gotten a couple of her fingers in there before, but as Sans moved forward into her, she couldn’t help wincing. The pressure quickly grew into discomfort as her body started giving way; she buried her face in Sans’ shirt, and he paused for a second, then leaned in—

Romance novels had absolutely lied to her. The pressure built into sharp, burning pain as he pushed further into her, and Frisk couldn’t hold back a little sob as he moved out, and back in. He shook his head; she tried to tell him it was all right, only to cry out as he sank the rest of the way inside. “God—‘m sorry, Frisk, just—” His hips moved back again, and he started to sit up.

Frisk latched onto his ribs again, legs squeezing his pelvis in the strangest, strongest determination she’d ever felt. She didn’t care if it hurt: he needed her, she needed him, and she’d be damned if she’d let it end yet! “Don’t stop,” she whispered, keenly aware of the effect her voice had on him. Just to be certain, she ran her finger over the back of his skull. “Please?”

There were no more words after that. The boss monster slammed into her again, drawing another near-sob from her. He snarled deep in his throat, hands trembling as they grasped the overcoat behind her head; with a huge effort, he drew out and pushed in more slowly, then stayed still for a moment. Frisk made the mistake of wriggling her hips to try to adjust to the feeling of fullness – of intrusion, really – and he swiftly jerked out and slammed in again.

That was enough for Frisk. She pulled clumsily at him with her legs, and he either took the hint or couldn’t hold back anymore: he snarled in his throat, movements faster and more erratic the closer he came. Frisk held on, ignoring the pain and focusing on the fierce exultation of watching him lose himself in her; when he started to slow down a little, she growled and bit his clavicle as hard as she could, determined to see him finish.

Sure enough, Sans groaned deep in his throat, ending on a snarl; his hips went once—twice—three times more, and his arms locked around her, his entire body shoving her into the mattress as hard as she’d wanted. Frisk let him ride it out for as long as he wanted, waiting till the tension in his limbs finally relaxed and he slumped into her.

Neither one spoke for several minutes. There was no need for him to pull out: she felt his magic vanish, and tried not to breathe too big a sigh of relief. Well, she couldn’t be disappointed in the lack of multiple orgasms or even much pleasure yet—how could she when Sans was lying in her arms, rubbing his face slowly into her neck as his breathing began to slow?

Frisk stroked his skull and shifted her weight where his leg was digging into her, and immediately regretted it as her entire lower half protested. She was going to have many bruises in the morning. They would just have to work on their technique, she thought, resting her cheek on his cranium.

Sans showed no signs of life besides his breathing for several minutes. She was starting to worry a little when he moved his head enough to say, “M’rm.”

The young woman blinked. “Beg pardon?”

He was silent for a long time. “Never mind. I’ll ask ya later.” Sans rose up on his elbow and shakily leaned in to lick her neck again. “Thank you,” he murmured.

There was so much behind it that Frisk didn’t know what to say. Instead, she reached up and pulled his head back down to her breasts, resting his cheekbone over her heart. It made her remember how he’d shared his feelings directly with her before, and what’d happen if he tried that in the middle of sex…

Frisk sighed, closing her eyes. That was another thing to put away for later, to worry about and/or look forward to when she got to it. For now, she closed her eyes, and waited for Sans to say something; then she peeked at him, and saw that she was wasting her time. He was already fast asleep.

#songfell

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