#i thought it was a Palm Pal for a sec

[stanchett]

Hi, don’t mind me, I’m just here, on my knees, quietly begging for chapter 3 of Nervous...

And here it is, just for you anon!! I hope you enjoy it :)

HUGE shoutout to my new pals @zephyr-is-tired and @pro-weems-places for editing this chapter as well as the last!! Thank you so so much <3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 AO3 link

Nervous, Chapter 3

2.2k+ words

Bolting from Larissa’s office, you power-walked until you reached the courtyard of the school, your only company a handful of students with a free period who were chatting away at the fountain. You lowered yourself from shaky legs onto a bench, dropping your head into your hands with a sigh. “This woman will be the death of me,” you whispered to yourself, cheeks heating beneath your palms. 

“Hey Ms. Y/L/N… Are you okay?” The gentle voice came from one of your students, the frightened young girl, Margo, you remembered, from yesterday. Your head popped up in surprise, a gentle smile easing over your features. She sat down across from you, placing her things on the table.

“Oh yes, I’m alright. Just a little stressed about the day is all. Nothing to worry yourself with,” you revealed simply, dismissing any concern with a wave of your hand. You were certainly stressed, but weren’t ready to share why with anyone, particularly not a student. 

“Alright, I just thought I’d ask. By the way, do you have a sec? I wanted to ask you something.” She looked down with a frown; it seemed she had a lot on her mind as well. “Do you think I could see you after class a little later? I had some trouble on our last exam and was wondering if we could go over it together. I know I mix up a lot of dates. They all sort of blend together for me.” She let out an anxious laugh at her own words, rubbing the back of her neck. You felt bad for her, but you were more eager to help. 

“Of course, you can always come to me with any questions you have. You’ll have to excuse me though, I’m a bit scatter-brained today. Let me find a spot to write it down-” You cut yourself off, realizing you almost mirrored the words Larissa had spoken earlier, and shuffled through your bag to find your day planner and take note of your upcoming meeting. 

When you failed to find it, you emptied the contents of your bag onto the table before you. Several books cascaded from the canvas tote, none of them the one you were in search of. “That’s weird, I must’ve left it at home…” You almost felt lost without the small book. You were so used to planning everything out on its pages. You settled for inputting a reminder on your phone, hoping that would do the trick.

“Alright Margo, I’ll see you after class!” You were thrilled to have your first opportunity to help one of your students, pride swelling in your chest. The young girl hopped up from her spot across from you, a look of relief painting her expression. 

“Thank you SO much Ms. Y/L/N, I really appreciate it!!” 

She jogged back over to rejoin her friends in conversation, leaving you alone with your thoughts once more. You checked your watch and groaned internally upon realizing you still had an hour and a half before your class began. Scooping your books and papers back into your bag, you got up to head to your classroom, grateful it would be empty this early. Your head felt much clearer now given the fresh air, and you walked leisurely down the halls of the prestigious school. 

—-------

Back in her office, Larissa typed away at her laptop, the seemingly endless stream of emails starting to grate on her last nerve. Deciding to take a break, she shut its screen, standing from her desk with a short stretch, raising her arms above her head. She strode to the window, placing her hands on her hips in thought whilst gazing out into the distance. She wondered how long it would take you to notice that something so vital to your day-to-day life was missing from your possession. Taking a step back toward her desk, she picked up the small book, running a hand over its smooth cover. She wasn’t normally the nosy type, but occasionally her curiosity got the better of her. Especially when it came to someone as intriguing as you. She found your nervousness in her presence adorable, and could only imagine the look on your face upon finding out she had read the contents of something so personal.

She opened the cover carefully, as though the book would fall apart in her fingers. Flipping through its filled pages, she admired your handwriting, surprisingly delicate for someone who was so clumsy. She came to a halt on the layout for the present week, reading all of your little notes before coming to rest on today’s date. Scrawled in perfect cursive was Larissa’s own name with a small heart in punctuation, ‘8am sharp’ in parentheses beside it. The principal smiled to herself, shutting the book and placing it in the top drawer of her desk, satisfied with what she had found inside. With that, Larissa sat at her desk once again, now excitedly typing out a short email to send your way.

—-------

You were just wrapping up your first class of the day when you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. After quickly noting the homework assignment on the whiteboard, you capped your marker and headed toward your desk, your students’ chattering rising in volume as the bell rang out. You pulled your phone from your pocket, rolling your eyes at the red “1” notification hanging above your email app. 

Cracking open your laptop, you opened a browser window to view its contents. Your heart skipped a beat, your eyes reading over the message’s sender a few times before being interrupted by someone clearing their throat at your desk. It was Margo. You had almost completely forgotten about meeting with her to discuss her exam results. 

“Ms. Y/L/N? If you’re busy I can come back later…” Your head snapped up at her words. You briefly shook it  in reply. 

“No that’s alright, let’s begin!” came your response, refusing to let her believe you were anything but eager to address her work. 

You leafed through the exams in a folder on your desk, a handful of them still ungraded to be returned at the start of the next class. Pulling hers from the stack, you shut the folder and placed it on top. A defeated sigh sounded next to you. 

“I got a C? But I studied the textbook for days beforehand…” Her sagging shoulders broke your heart. You wanted to do everything you could to help her. Just then, an idea struck you. You reached behind your desk and grabbed a plain sheet of printer paper and a pen sitting nearby. 

“I’ll show you what used to help me memorize all the names and dates. Think of this like a study guide.” You drew a horizontal line across the width of the paper, making small vertical marks evenly across it to form a timeline. Copying the dates from Margo’s test before you, you put them all down in numerical order. “Fill out the names, study it that way, and I’ll allow you to retake the exam in a few days. Sometimes the visualization helps in absorbing the information.” 

Margo smiled from ear to ear, “Really Ms. Y/L/N? You’ll let me give it another shot?” You nodded reassuringly in response. “Thank you so much! I know I’ll do better this time!” She snatched the sheet and practically skipped out of the room.

You brought your attention back to your computer screen. Holding your breath, you opened Larissa’s message and your eyes grew wide for a moment. You cursed under your breath as you read the message over a few times, hoping beyond hope that this was just another one of your dreams. 

Ms. Y/L/N,

It appears you left something in my office upon departing in such a hurry after our last meeting. If you have the time, please see me before the end of the day to pick it up. And do try to keep better track of your belongings, Darling. 

Regards,

Larissa Weems

You felt a sense of humiliation seep into your bones. You knew she thought you scatter-brained, but now you were sure it was glaringly obvious to her.

Wait a second... Your eyes caught on the last word of her message. 

“Darling.”

Your cheeks tinged pink at the pet name. If you didn’t know better, you would think she was toying with you. Had she caught on to your crush? Panic settled over you. Regardless, you couldn’t face her again today. You had only just processed your meeting that morning. Hands shaking, you typed out a reply against your better judgment. 

Principal Weems,

I’ll have to stop by your office in the morning as this afternoon won’t work for me. Thank you for hanging onto it for me. See you then. 

Sincerely,

Y/N 

You wondered what the item could be, shutting your laptop and sliding it into your bag with the rest of your things. Darling. The word echoed in your mind; you could practically hear it in her voice. You got up to leave for lunch, dreading the confrontation tomorrow morning would bring. 

—-------

You sat alone in the teacher’s lounge, grateful to finally have some relative peace and quiet, aside from the low hum of the refrigerator in the corner of the room or the occasional gurgling of coffee dripping through its percolator. 

Sandwich in hand, you turned to the bookmarked page of your current novel, shifting your thoughts away from Larissa and that damned email. She didn’t respond to your reply, so you hoped it was acceptable to her. 

Darling. 

The word was branded in your brain as if she pressed it in herself with a searing iron stamp. 

You were just delving back into the story when you heard voices outside the door. One of them was unmistakable. Larissa. There was a lull in the conversation for a moment, then both parties erupted in laughter. Even in your short time at the school, you had never heard the principal laugh. It was loud and boisterous; such a contrast from her elegant speaking voice and accompanying demeanor. It made you fall even further for her. Maybe, one day you could be the one to make her laugh. 

Just as the thought crossed your mind, a set of heels clicked against the wood of the floor, and you almost looked around for a place to hide before realizing what a ridiculous notion that was. The door swung open and in walked Larissa, ever the image of confidence and regality. 

You looked up from your book, and given her lack of a reaction to you, you guessed she didn’t notice you were already in the room. Perhaps you could pretend to be invisible and she wouldn’t notice you at all. You did, however, take the opportunity to ogle at her openly, your eyes roving over her body as she walked in the direction of the coffeemaker. 

You watched her long digits take a paper cup from the stack, holding it carefully while she poured the hot beverage into it. You sank your teeth into your bottom lip, eyes falling to her perfect behind and you thanked god for whoever it was that designed the dress she was wearing. 

“If I didn’t know better, I would think you were staring at me.” 

Her words shook you from your trance, thrusting you back into reality as your face turned beet-red. How did she know…?

Larissa stalked toward you, around the large, oval-shaped table, staring you down in return the whole way. Coming to a stop on your left, she noticed the book in your now faintly-trembling hand. 

“And what have we here?” She placed her cup on the table, flattening her palm against its smooth surface as she leaned down to be eye-level with you in your seated position. 

She looked past you though, feigning interest in your choice of reading material. Her face was inches from yours, but you dared not turn your head. You quickly found yourself overwhelmed at the scent of her perfume, its sweet notes invading your nose and making you dizzy. You couldn’t handle her closeness, and feared you might faint right where you sat. 

Taking in the title atop the page, she hummed to herself, a deep yet gentle rumbling in her throat beside your ear. You tried to swallow your nerves but everything she did made it more difficult to seem normal in her presence. 

“The Price of Salt… Quite an enjoyable read, if I do say so myself. Highsmith was certainly an interesting character, wasn’t she?” She turned her gaze to you after posing the question, her eyes holding an innocent expression. 

You chanced meeting them with your own, your gaze accidentally landing on her red lips on their journey upward. You desperately willed back a whimper, practically forcing your throat to close to avoid it. Your faces were only inches apart. 

Realizing it might be seen as rude to not answer her question, you nodded in reply, quickly adding, “Yes, she was. I-I really enjoy her writing,” before Larissa rose from her lowered position beside you. Your eyes followed her upward as she removed her cup from the table and took a step back, smirking in your direction before turning toward the door. 

“Enjoy your break Ms. Y/L/N, I’ll be seeing you!” she said upon leaving the lounge, tossing a short wave with a twirl of her fingers over her shoulder. 

Once the door shut behind her, the book fell from your grasp, and you dropped your head into your crossed arms in front of you with an exasperated sigh. 

What was this woman doing to you?

tags: @alder-saan @enchantressb @larissaoftarthweems @weemssapphic @brienneswife @readingtheentrails @sapphire-moment @idontlikepexple @alienstookourstars

#I hope y’all don’t mind me tagging you #I kinda just assumed since you reblogged/replied showing interest 🙈 #feel free to ignore if I’m wrong hdhdjssbsk #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems #gwendoline christie #requests #my fics

[actualbird]

Heeeeeey pal it's Ida!

So I was thinking about Darius and how he's the only one with facial hair... (its a crime we can't romance Detective Morgan) and I was wondering... if the boys grew facial hair, what styles would each of them choose?

Its hard to imagine them with facial hair but it makes me wonder, especially if you have any idea :)

HI IDAAA!!!! :DDD it took me a sec to realize ur the same ida from twitter and not another person coincidentally also named ida KJBKS

okay so ur ask is worded in a way that implies that i should be thinking along the lines that facial hair is something the nxx boys are all capable of achieving but kjbkJBJFG MY THOUGHTS R HINGED ON THE FACT THAT ONLY SOME OF EM CAN ACTUALLY LIKE, MAKE IT HAPPEN.

that being said, lemme dive right into this

can the nxx boys grow facial hair? if yes, what style?

wc: 1.2k

disclaimer: im not putting pics of the facial hair styles in this post bc i dont wanna deal with that kind of gender envy kjfbgf. the names of the styles are in 'apostrophes' in the subheaders for ur own googling

luke pearce: he cant. full stop. in terms of tactile feel, this is a very smooth man.

im being mean to luke here, im fully aware, but hes SO GOOD at SO MANY STUPID "MASCULINE" ACTIVITIES. he can shoot guns, he can do action movie driving, hes deffo the most physically ripped out of all the boys, AND MANY MORE OTHER THINGS THAT DRIVE ME NUTS (affectionately), like. this shouldnt be allowed. there should be a LIMIT to how many societally masculine things a person should be able to do and do well. so no facial hair for luke pearce. cry me a fucking river, luke, this is called FAIRNESS.

so yep, not a single facial hair. it's slightly excruciating for him because it does NOT help his "AWWW LOOK AT THIS BABY FACED BOY" vibe. mc is never gonna stop pinching his cheeks and he doesnt even have any protection against it...

(...still, he figures maybe this isnt too much of a problem. afterall, if he had facial hair, he wouldnt be able to feel gentle touches to his face directly. and luke pearce? this dude Has to nuzzle into somebodys palm for his continued wellbeing. maybe this is for the better)

marius von hagen: he can but he doesnt like it so he shaves religiously.

marius can grow facial hair no problem which is a surprise since his dad looks like how he looks like (austin von hagen has never had a single facial hair, thats an absolute dolphin of a man, so aerodynamic) but MARIUS DOESNT LIKE IT.

it's a personal preference but he doesnt like how it's rough and how it messes with his "i am sexy hot gorgeous fae-like creature of mischief and beauty" vibes. so when marius detects even the slightest of stubble, the beginnings of a whatever-o'clock shadow, hes shaving!! bye bye!!!!

he does appreciate that facial hair is nice on other people, just not on him. he's been to art school. im sure marius has not only seen stupidly hot facial hair-d individuals, he's made out with a solid chunk of them as well. marius has to admit, getting stubble burn is kinda great! still, it's not something he's gonna be the one to give

vyn richter: he can and once hes comfortable changing up his twink doctor aesthetic, he goes for the 'Anchor Beard'.

like marius, vyn can grow facial hair no problem and shaves regularly though it's not that he doesnt like it it's just that...hes Very Comfortable with his current look and it seems like such a risky chore to change that up? his current look is great and it fits him and other people like it and GASP the danger of changing his aesthetic into something people MIGHT NOT LIKE?? MIGHT NOT FIND COOL AND HANDSOME AND WONDERFUL???? vyn would rather dig his own fucking grave

he'd need some coaxing perhaps from a lover or lovers that "Vyn, It's Okay To Change Ur Look If You Want To, If You Look Like Crap, It's Fine, The World Isn't Going To End." once he gets that through his equal parts horrid and hilarious brain, he'll go through a bunch of styles before settling on the anchor beard and variations of it. it's fresh and modern which a nice contrast from his usual archaic aesthetic.

(when marius sees vyn tho hes like "HAHA YOU LOOK LIKE A FUCKING MAGICIAN" and then the only thing you'll be able to hear after that is the screams of marius von hagen being hunted for sport, the sound getting further and further away)

artem wing: he can but he never lets it grow out and maybe thats alright maybe thats better for us because one time he did let it grow and then the entirety of stellis is suddenly SO MUCH MORE (DECENTLY) WHORISH IN HIS GENERAL VICINITY because the style he goes for is the Farmer’s Market Hot™ 'Short Full Beard'.

before i explain the latter terminology above, lemme first explain the first bit. artem can grow facial hair no problem but hes SUCH a stickler for formality and being prim and proper so actually having facial hair is something he never lets happen. he shaves regularly and IMPORTANT NOTE, hes shaving with a fucking STRAIGHT RAZOR (pictured below)

rationalization: artem is old fashioned in very specific (and personally endearing) areas, like he prefers to handwrite with fountain pens in a largely paperless era. thats hot! yknow whats another old fashioned thing thats hot? STRAIGHT RAZORS!!!! hes whipping this out on the reg, pressing the exquisitely sharpened edge against the skin of his throat, dragging it with precise movements. if any poor soul watches artem shave, i wish that poor soul strength to not fuck him ON THE SPOT.

but yeah he doesnt let his facial hair grow but maybe one time he did (uhhh i cant think of a reason bc beards take 2-4 months to grow and lol, artem wing not at the office for 2-4 months? what happened, did themis law firm get sucked into a wormhole? just think of Some Kind Of Reason u like as to why he doesnt shave for a while) and. HM. WELL.

okay time define Farmer’s Market Hot™, a term i came across 6 years ago from this post by tofixtheshadows. the post reads:

"Farmer’s Market Hot is a wholesome kind of hot. Rugged but approachable. It’s not the kind of hot where you immediately go, “Oh my god they’re so perfect, I want to take them home and photograph them/tear their clothes off.” That’s for later. This is the kind of hot for people who would visit the farmer’s market to buy some organic cheeses on their way to pick up their kids from their Creativity Through Music class. It’s the look that says “I’m here to support our local beekeepers.” You see them and it makes you want to settle down. You want to do your taxes with them, raise dogs together."

when artem wing lets his facial hair grow, his beard is so hot, it makes him SO HOT which is unfair because HES ALREADY HOT but now hes walking around stellis in his soft fuckin sweater and going to the grocery very intently studying the fresh produce and his beard along with the rest of his vibes just makes everything about him scream "i will cook you breakfast in bed and it will taste exquisite and i care about the local ecosystem and gently put trespassing insects into a cup to release outside and i am SO GODDAMN MARRY-ABLE" and bros, if everybody wanted him before, they, impossibly, want him even more now

stellis would not be able to fucking cope. when artem shaves the beard off, a sigh of relief rumbles throughout the entire city.

all in all: artem wing won this post. it wasnt even a competition, but he won it.

#tears of themis #luke pearce #marius von hagen #vyn richter #artem wing

[yslkook]

#do you have the bandwidth (7)

#corporate masterlist summary: the closer it gets to the new year, the more memorable moments you have. word count: 6.1k warnings: cursing, alcohol, discussion of mental health a/n: ENJOYYYY and thank you to @taestybae​ <333

After you had texted Jungkook after the holiday party, it seemed like neither of you went longer than a few days without texting each other. Most of it was for work related reasons- but Jungkook was aching to talk to you about anything outside of work.

And at work, his head spins when you spend a few extra minutes at his cubicle as you’re passing by-

“Your boss would be ashamed at the state of your desk plant,”

“We don’t all have a green thumb, okay-”

“You don’t need a green thumb to take care of a succulent, Jungkook! Look at it! She just needs a friend.”

“You be her friend then.”

“We are friends,” You murmur with a blinding smile, “Aren’t we?”

“Y-yeah,” Jungkook swallows nervously.

And then you had asked him if he wanted to have lunch with you and Seokjin, a request that had made his head spin. Do you even know what you’re doing to him?

From the oblivious smile on your face, he thinks not.

But it’s so easy to insert himself into conversation with you. You always look to him, to make sure if he has something to say, that he says it. You do that with everyone, really. Whether it’s at work or not-

“Hey, I made a lot of samgyeopsal last night,” You say, opening your container once you’re seated at the table, “Figured you’d want some?”

Jungkook looks at you and then the container a few times. His stomach rumbles and his heart flips, a betrayal of his own body. 

You’re already placing some in his plate without asking, along with some rice. It’s all so very domestic, despite the fact that you’re both in the middle of the office cafeteria.

“Jin likes samgyeopsal, too,” You muse, “Especially the way Grandma makes it. Grandma cooks so much better than me. She says Appa used to cook better than me, too.”

You laugh and Jungkook is stunned. He doesn’t think you’ve ever opened up about home to him before. 

“What else do you like cooking?” 

Your eyes light up as you rattle off different things you’re trying. You tell him you want to become better at baking-

“I’m a ready and willing test subject, here at your service.”

“Oh, really?” You snort, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Jungkook eats his food in awe, his eyes wide and sparkling and lips tinted with sauce. It surprises you, how eager you are for his reaction. He moans in satisfaction, even closing his eyes as he chews.

Your face heats up. The noise that comes out of his mouth should most definitely be inappropriate for the general public of the office cafeteria.

“So much better than anything I could offer you,” Jungkook groans.

“I’m sure I’ll think of something, Jungkook.”

And while the end of the year means that things are starting to wind down with the holidays approaching- everyone is out of the office from Christmas Eve until the day after New Years- you still meet with your submissions team once before bowing out for the holiday.

It feels oddly nostalgic, as if you’re saying goodbye to friends rather than colleagues-

“Any plans, Sana?” Namjoon asks at the end of the meeting. All of your laptops are down, having finished your work about twenty minutes ago. 

This was the best part. Finishing the work early so that you could catch up with each other. Ever since Tokyo, you’ve felt the bonds between the four of you strengthen into something more than just workplace associates.

“Going to my grandparents’ with my dad,” Sana replies, leaning back in her chair, “You?”

“Visiting the family. I’ll be here for new years though,” Namjoon muses and turns to you.

“Oh, yeah. Me too,” You nod and Jungkook nods in agreement.

“Nobody’s traveling this year?” Namjoon asks, “We’re all wasting our youth. But our families are gettin’ older, huh?”

Namjoon is nothing if not tactful. 

“Maybe next year,” Jungkook jokes, eyes crinkling.

You groan and smack your palm to your forehead, “It’s too early for ‘next year’ jokes, Jungkook. Reign it in.”

“No such thing as too early,” Jungkook protests.

“You’re the type to come in the first day back and tell everyone that you haven’t seen them since last year,” You tease, and Jungkook lets out a surprised laugh.

“So what if I am? It’s a timeless joke!”

“Oh, is it?”

Namjoon rolls his eyes as you both playfully bicker. “Before we leave, since this is our last meeting for this project… Thank you for all of your hard work in the last few months. You’ve all really stepped up, and I’m proud to lead a team as strategic, smart, and flexible as this one.”

“Watch out, Namjoon, you’ll put a tear in my eye,” You interrupt with a grin. He shoots you an impressed glare and you shut your mouth.

“As you know, Tokyo will be here in February. And I expect nothing but the best from us. But until then… Enjoy the holiday, and be safe and well. And spend time with your loved ones.”

Jungkook catches the soft look in your eyes. You bite your bottom lip nervously, feeling like you have to say something. At least to Namjoon.

So you muster every ounce of bravery in you and open your mouth. “Thanks, Namjoon. For… everything.”

Well, nobody said you were a poet.

And sometimes you might text him after work, too. Sometimes you send pictures of your dinner and dessert to him. And he, without fail, compliments every single one of them with an array of emojis. 

Jungkook sometimes can’t believe it. He finds himself asking Taehyung if he’s dreaming- that you’re really texting him. Taehyung rolls his eyes and smacks the back of his head.

Sometimes when you try new wines with Grandma, you tell him about it. You send him snapchat videos once in a while, after a few glasses of wine detailing your assessment of the wine-

Hey. It’s me. Today, I tried this five year old pinot noir. Don’t even like pinot noir like that. Don’t you think all wines taste the same? Except pinot noir. Pinot noir tastes like the devil’s lettuce.

When you send him snapchat videos, his heart seizes in his chest at the flash of your name on his screen. The camera will be facing you, voice slurring and a little high pitched. In one of them, he thinks you’re in your bed, under the covers half asleep. 

And when he sends you little videos back, he stammers in nervousness. In fact, he drops his phone more than once while recording himself doing his skincare routine to send to you.

The fact that you willingly send him these silly snapchat videos of your sleepy voice, sends a flutter of butterflies through his belly.

Jungkook starts going to bed with a goodnight text from you more often than not.

You surprise him again, on a random Thursday night, asking him what he’s doing. It’s the Thursday before Christmas.

Normally, Seokjin is your go-to to text when you can’t sleep at night. But you find yourself curiously hovering over Jungkook’s text message thread more often than not these days.

Jungkook is playing video games and the moment he sees your name flash across his screen, he gets distracted. A chorus of protests echoes in his ears when he suddenly pauses to check his phone. It’s close to 1 AM, and he wonders what you’re doing awake.

you : hi you: what are you up to you: i cant sleep lol jungkook: is this a booty call? You: lmaoo shut up. if this was a booty call u would know jungkook: what’s a dude to think

Jungkook blames his next text on the fact that it’s after hours, also known as vulnerable hours.

jungkook: when a pretty girl texts u at 1 AM what am i meant to think you: idk, go ask whoever else is texting u at 1 AM 

Of course, you don’t take the bait. Who does he think he is?

you: i was just thinking about u

He pretends like his hands don’t shake as he types his response to you. It appears that he’s feeling brave tonight.

jungkook: want to facetime? 

His heart races in anticipation when he sees three dots on his screen. They go away in a flash and before disappointment settles in, you’re FaceTiming him.

Jungkook nearly fumbles his phone in his hand before he answers. 

“H-hi,” He mumbles in greeting, a tired smile gracing his features.

You cannot believe that you’re FaceTiming Jungkook. You don’t remember FaceTiming anyone who wasn’t Jin. You wonder if he can feel your nerves through the screen.

“Hi,” You say with a wave, “What are you wearing?” 

You wink at him, eyes dark, before bursting into laughter.

“I thought this wasn’t a booty call,” Jungkook deadpans. As if his cheeks aren’t pink from your words.

“‘S not,” You promise with a laugh,  “Were you sleeping?”

“Nah, I was playing video games with-”

“Oh! I’m sorry, I just barged in on your plans with your friends,” You say apologetically, chewing on your bottom lip, “I didn’t even ask if you were free-”

“Relax, I’m the one who asked if you wanted to FaceTime, remember?” Jungkook says soothingly, and you instantly feel your heart calming from the sincerity in his voice.

“Yeah. ‘Cause you thought this was a booty call,” You grin and Jungkook giggles.

What a sweet sound.

“I’m going to get into bed,” Jungkook murmurs, “Gimme a sec.”

He leaves his phone slanted on his chair, giving you a view of him walking away from you to refill his water bottle from the fridge. You can’t help but stare- even though his clothes are quite baggy, you can make out the outline of his ass through his sweatpants. 

He does have a nice peach. You’ve always thought so. You could probably bounce a quarter off of his ass. Not that you ever would.

“I feel like I’m in your pocket,” You say once Jungkook picks his phone up and heads to his bedroom. He makes sure the lights are off before heading in and closing the door and puts his headphones in his ears.

“You can be my pocket pal,” Jungkook says, getting comfortable in bed.

“How flattering.”

You’re cuddled under your covers on your side, the light from your nightstand illuminating your face. Jungkook sees dark circles lining your undereyes, and a tint of nervousness in your gaze.

You look cozy and cuddly, a little contemplative, and he wonders what’s on your mind. 

“Hey,” You say, voice turning a little serious, “Thank you. For… For answering my text. And for being my friend, in general.”

Your face is heating up, vulnerability pooling in your eyes. You want to look away- maintaining eye contact even through the camera feels like too much. But you’re working on it. You’re working on being more vulnerable to those around you. 

You want to let him in. It hurts how much you want to let him in.

“O-oh. You don’t… You don’t have to thank me for being your friend,” Jungkook stammers. How must you feel about yourself if you feel the need to thank him for just being a friend to you? “Are you...okay?”

Your eyes widen and you play with the hem of your shirt to distract yourself for a second. “Yeah-”

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” Jungkook says softly. 

You pause for a second, heart pounding in your ears. The only person you’ve ever talked to this about is Jin. But maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you spilled your thoughts to Jungkook.

You’ve never been the best with words. 

“Um,” You say in a tight voice, “I just… I had a really hard day today at therapy. So I can’t sleep.”

Jungkook catches the hesitation in your tone. He’s not the best at comforting people, he thinks. But he’ll try, for you. For you, he’ll try anything.

“Are some days easier than others?” Jungkook asks, trying to probe what you’re comfortable with sharing and what you’re not.

“Yeah. I’ve had worse days, but this has been a tougher day than usual…”

“What do you usually do? On tough days?”

“Mostly just sleep. And then wake up feeling worse,” You laugh dryly.

“Maybe journaling would help. It’s a good way to get rid of the buzzing in your head,” Jungkook suggests and your eyes light up.

“Really? I’ve been thinking about it but I never know where to start,” You reply, “Do you journal?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” Jungkook nods, “You just write...Whatever comes to mind. Get it off your chest. You can make your journals pretty too, if you want.”

“I’ll look into it,” You muse, “Thanks, JK.”

Jungkook’s eyes turn into crescents as he gives you a blinding smile. “Talking to friends helps, too. Even if you don’t want to share everything. Just talking helps.”

Your smile begins to fall and Jungkook quickly tries to backtrack but you beat him to it. “I don’t… have many friends, Jungkook,” You say softly, “As you may have gathered by now. I don’t think I have much to offer.”

Another dry laugh. It breaks his heart a little. What do you think of yourself? Do you recognize when the room lights up when you enter it, when people laugh at your jokes, when people praise you? 

“You have me,” Jungkook says instantly, “You have me, you have Jin. I’m always here if you want an ear.”

“Even at 1 AM, when you’re playing video games with your friends and I’m the dumb bitch who interrupts-”

“Stop that,” Jungkook says firmly, “Yes, even at 1 AM. Especially at 1 AM.”

He reminds you of Jin, when he tells you to stop with the immediate self-deprecation. It makes you smile fondly.

“JK,” You say slowly, “I’m… here for you, too. If you ever need an ear.”

He throws you another blinding smile. It’s no surprise that your dreams that night are filled with that soft bunny smile.

As Seokjin claims, the best way to get to know someone is over food. Not that he’s wrong- but it’s the first time you’re meeting Yuna and you’re incredibly nervous.

You feel like you’re going on a first date. This unfamiliar first date feeling keeps creeping back more and more lately. How bothersome.

Grandma even asks you why you’re so jumpy-

“You finally going on a date?”

“No! I’m meeting Jin’s new girlfriend. Her name is Yuna,” You roll your eyes.

She gasps, “It’s about time someone snatched that boy up, if you wouldn’t.”

You arrive about ten minutes early to brunch, tapping your foot against the floor restlessly as you scroll through your phone. You wait at the table for them to arrive-

Jin nearly screeches your name from across the restaurant. A pretty woman, Yuna you presume, only laughs at his antics. She loops an arm around his upper arm easily. Despite many of the restaurant patrons glaring at them for causing a scene, Jin pays it no mind.

“Hi,” You breathe and Jin pulls you to him for a tight hug. He holds you in his arms, peering at you as if you’re transparent. “You gonna let me say hi to Yuna, or are you gonna keep staring?” You ask dryly.

Jin gasps, clearly affronted, “I haven’t seen you in days! Excuse me, for missing my best friend.”

“You’re excused,” You grin, but squeeze his arm in appreciation.

Yuna waves at you from next to Jin, rolling her eyes at him. “If he ever lets go of you, maybe I can finally say hello…”

“I knew this was a bad idea. Bringing you both together,” Jin grumbles.

“Hey, you made your bed. Now lay in it,” Yuna says, rubbing his cheek fondly.

To your surprise, Yuna doesn’t pull you for a hug immediately. Instead, she shakes your hand. It might seem awkward to anyone else, but you appreciate it. You appreciate not being hugged by someone you had just met. Jin probably told her that you don’t like impromptu hugs.

You’ve been on edge all morning. But it starts to fade away, slowly. When you sit down next to Yuna and across from Jin. Jin doesn’t mind that you both are engrossed in conversation without him- in fact, he encourages it. He only watches with adoring eyes, drinking his coffee.

“How did you and Jin meet,” You ask curiously, “He gave me the big picture, but lemme hear the details!”

“Seokjin! You never told your best friend how we met?” Yuna gasps, hand against her chest dramatically, “I don’t know if I should be offended or not.”

“What! I did,” Jin pouts, glaring at her playfully.

“Oh, did you? Actually, I would be more offended if I was your best friend and didn’t know all of the details,” Yuna complains.

“Oh, I like her,” You grin, pointing to Yuna, “Bottom line, it’s Jin’s fault. So tell me then-”

“Well,” Yuna says, turning back to you, “As funny as it is, I met him at a coffee shop…”

And she tells you about how Jin started frequenting the same coffee shop for weeks in hopes that he’d catch a glimpse of her after the first time. Your heart aches only a little over the fact that you had no idea. It’s okay though- it’s not about you. She tells you that he had somehow figured out her coffee order and was waiting with her order when he asked for her number.

Yuna whispers that she was a sucker for him right off the bat, and you both share a laugh over that. Even though it’s only been a few weeks, a little over a month, you can see how much she likes him. And how much he likes her.

She also looks at you in the same way Jin does sometimes- like she can see right through you with knowing, curious eyes.

It doesn’t unnerve you as much as you thought it would.

You’re on a mission, with two bags of fried chicken in the passenger seat of your car. Today, you’re planning on paying a visit to Jimin and Hoseok in their dance studio. They’ve been here for years, and you haven’t seen them. Not even once.

First date jitters settle in your belly again. You’re only making good on your promise to them in Tokyo- that you wouldn’t be so much of a stranger again.

Fried chicken and bubble tea would be the way back into their hearts. Hopefully.

With a deep breath, you park your car into the lot, away from the rest of the cars. And you take your time pulling the food and trays of bubble tea out of your passenger seat before arriving at the front door of the studio. One of the students who is about to leave sees you struggling at the door, and lets you in without a second thought. 

“Thank you,” You murmur and he nods at you before exiting the building.

You spot Jimin with his back turned away from you, talking to Hoseok. It must be something important, from how serious the expression on Hoseok’s face is. But Hoseok pulls away from Jimin when he sees you in the mirror that lines the wall.

He looks surprised, but gives you a bright smile. 

“Uh,” You say, with a weak smile, “Hi. I brought food.”

“Is that fried chicken?” Jimin says, peeking at the bags. You nod and Jimin smiles, taking the bags from you and setting them on the floor.

“And you got our favorite bubble tea flavors,” Hoseok says in approval. You help him set the food and teas in front of you and stretch your legs.

“You should’ve texted! We could’ve gone to dinner or something,” Jimin says, plating the fried chicken for everyone.

“Ah, I wanted to…” You trail off, “Wanted to see the studio. And surprise you both. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“It has,” Hoseok murmurs, scratching his chin. His eyes are warm and sunny, just as you remembered all those years ago. It’s interesting, how it’s been so many years since you’ve held a conversation with either of them. And yet, it feels like no time has passed at all. 

You suppose that’s what adulthood is. And maybe you missed some of it while you were in your very own black hole.

“Tell me,” You demand softly, “Tell me everything. And where is Yoongi? Jin mentioned he has a recording studio?”

So they do- they tell you everything, from how they got the seed money for the school, how they train backup dancers and main dancers, and have just expanded their team so that they can train younger kids, too. 

“Took a while to get here,” Hoseok shrugs, “But we’re here.”

“Yeah. We are,” You say wistfully, “I’m happy for you guys. I remember...how this was your dream. In school. So… I’m happy to see it come true.”

“Ah, don’t go getting all sappy on us now,” Jimin teases and you roll your eyes.

“Hey, finish your bubble tea. Let’s dance it out,” Hoseok says. Your lips part in surprise, about to protest. But they’re both persuasive and you’re not immune to their charms.

So you dance with them, the music bouncing off of the walls, the mirrors and reverberating in your blood and making your heart pound. You dance with them, you laugh, and you even cry a little.

Nerves seize you as you walk towards the karaoke bar from your Uber with Jin and Yuna. You had driven to Jin’s apartment and left your car there, to Uber (and pregame) with them. He refused to let you take an Uber by yourself all the way from home into the city. It’s been years and you’ve given up fighting him on it.

Yuna has an arm slinked around your shoulders as she leads you inside, seemingly sensing your nerves.

So many people, mostly faces you don’t recognize are at the karaoke bar. Yuna pulls you away, to introduce you to her girlfriends.

Yuri, Sooyoung, Seohyun. They talk to you as if you’ve been a part of their circle since the beginning. It makes you yearn for it- for girl friendship.

Yuri suggests a round of drinks and shots for everyone, and you go with her to the bar to get the bartender’s attention.

You catch Jungkook’s eye and you tell Yuri you’ll meet her at the bar.

“Hi, Jungkook,” You breathe, a little nervously. You smile brightly at him, opening your arms for a hug without a second thought. He also looks delicious, a fact that you had been all too aware of. He’s wearing a baggy white shirt and a bomber jacket, paired with tight, black jeans and combat boots. Two silver hoops sit pretty in each ear, and a metallic feather dangles from his right ear. He has his hair pinned back, exposing part of his undercut to you on his left side. On his right side, his hair falls over his eyes in an effortless waterfall.

You want to push his hair back. You resist the urge and clasp your clutch tightly.

He smells spicy and warm. Like always. You could drown in his arms, you think. You don’t want to let go of him, you quite enjoy the feel of his strong arms easily wrapped around you.

But he lets you go and you let him go.

“Hi,” He says, his eyes crinkling, “How’s it goin’?”

“Good,” You murmur, “You sober?”

“Nah, had a few drinks with Tae at home,” Jungkook says, pointing to Taehyung. Who’s currently chatting Yuri up at the bar.

“He’s trouble,” You laugh lightly.

“You don’t have to tell me twice. I live with the guy.”

Jungkook had seen you walk in with Seokjin and Yuna earlier. You were deep in conversation with Yuna, throwing your head back in laughter. He’s glad- he’s glad that you’re finding friends outside of Jin. He knows it’s hard for you to open up. But he’s proud of you for trying.

He knows this because you’ve told him. Late at night, via text. During vulnerable hours, as he’s dubbed them. He’s flattered that you feel comfortable enough to share such things with him. He’s only known you again for a few months, but the way you had been in the beginning is a stark contrast from how you are now.

You’d been mean in the beginning, a little rough around the edges. But now, you’re a little softer. He likes you like this. Jungkook doesn’t like when you’re deliberately mean. 

Even if you haven’t truly apologized for how you’d treated him in the beginning, he thinks it's mostly forgivable.

You look so pretty- is the first thought that runs through his head. As it generally always is. You’re wearing a black velvet off the shoulder top that proudly shows your tattoos off on display and a thin gold necklace at the base of your throat. A watch sits pretty on your wrist, your pants are tight around your thighs...

He could stare at you for hours. Jungkook loves the way your face relaxes when you laugh, loudly and genuinely.

Jungkook’s throat goes dry, the same way it did at the holiday party. He can’t keep his eyes off of you- your bare shoulders, the dip of your chest, the swell of your ass… 

If he doesn’t watch himself, he might have to rub one out in one of the dirty bathroom stalls. And this time, he probably won’t be so lucky to be alone in the bathroom the way he was at the party.

He just can’t believe how pretty you are, and how he gets to see you like this as often as he does.

Taehyung snaps his fingers in front of Jungkook, waving his hand in front of his face. “Hellooooo,” Taehyung says, “Anyone home?”

“Shut up,” Jungkook grins, shoving his hand to the side.

“The hell are you staring at?” Taehyung mutters, following Jungkook’s line of sight and sees you, “Oh. No wonder. Your girl’s here.”

“She’s not my girl,” Jungkook protests.

“Yeah, don’t I know it,” Taehyung scoffs, “You gonna make a move? Or should I?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, shoving Taehyung’s shoulder. Seokjin approaches both of them, throwing an arm around them and Jungkook forces his eyes away from you. Jungkook smells alcohol on Jin’s breath- he’s screeching about how he wants them to meet Yuna-

“Jin, she’s right there,” Jungkook says with wide eyes, “You can just-”

Over the last few months, being under Namjoon and Seokjin’s tutelage feels like he’s gained two older brothers. While Jungkook was initially wary about developing such close relationships with colleagues, let alone superiors, the pull of friendship was too tight for him to really resist.

Jin smacks Jungkook’s shoulder roughly, “You think I don’t know that! That my girlfriend is right there! She’s with your girl-”

Jin’s smile twists into a smirk and Jungkook’s jaw drops. 

“Close your mouth, Kook. Lookin’ like a damn fish outta water,” Jin says smugly, “I know everything. Don’t you forget it, kid.”

Jungkook just pouts at him, “I’m not a kid.”

“You kissin’ anyone at midnight?” Taehyung asks smoothly, with his legs spread and his arm over the back of the seat to face you.

You scoff, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He’s easy and fun to talk to. You don’t notice Jungkook’s smile dissolving into a pout.

Taehyung looks at Jungkook knowingly, with a smirk and innocent, dark eyes. Dangerous. “Wanna be my midnight kiss?”

He’s bold. You don’t think you’ve ever met someone as bold as Taehyung. But you understand why him and Jungkook click.

“You fuckin’ wish, Taehyung,” You swat his shoulder playfully, taking a long sip of your drink.

Jungkook crosses his arms across his chest petulantly. Taehyung knows about his not so secret crush on you. He’s doing this to annoy him, but also to tell him to get a move on with you.

But he likes slow, and he wants slow with you. If you’d ever give it to him. 

“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” Taehyung says loudly, looking over your head to Jungkook subtly.

“Oh, I can definitely blame you for trying,” You roll your eyes, “C’mon. Let me get us some drinks-”

“I don’t-”

“I know you don’t like alcohol. I saw they have this fancy peach and mango drink, thought you’d like it,” You shrug and Taehyung’s face splits into a broad smile. 

“How thoughtful of you,” Taehyung beams, ruffling your hair fondly, “C’mon, Jungkook. Our girl is buying.”

You and Jungkook both roll your eyes this time, and you let your gaze land on him. “Your friend is a nuisance,” You mumble to Jungkook loudly, grinning when Taehyung pouts at you.

“Hey! I can hear you!”

“Good, that was the point.”

You were happy to be in settings like this without needing Seokjin to be a buffer for you. You think it’s progress- you can’t remember a single moment in the last five years that you didn’t need your best friend by your side to get you through events like this.

And now, you’re alone with Taehyung and Jungkook. All on your own. You think he might be proud of you. You think Appa might be proud of you, too.

“What can I get you, JK?” You ask, leaning close to him at the bar to hear what he says. 

“Soju,” He says instantly, his breath close to your ear. A shiver trails up your spine at his low voice.

“Me too,” You murmur, “We’re the only ones with any taste in this entire establishment.”

His eyes crinkle when he laughs. You love the sound. Neither of you realize that Taehyung has long disappeared. 

You lean against the bar, pushing most of your weight onto your elbows as you both wait for your drinks. Jungkook is so close to you that you can feel the warmth radiating through his white shirt and his leather jacket. You had already teased him for his white shirt before-

“You must have a lot of faith in yourself and in our friends if you think that white shirt will stay white all night.”

“I’ve got my good luck charm with me,” Jungkook winks at you.

Who does he think he is? You know he’s not talking about a physical charm, from the way he’s looking at you with stars in his eyes.

“Any resolutions this year, JK?” You prompt him, wringing your hands together.

“Nah, not really,” Jungkook shrugs, “Maybe just go see my parents and my brother more often. I wanna get back into photography, too.”

“Photography,” You hum, “That’s so very you.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah,” You nod with a small smile, “You seem like… You know how to capture a moment, even if it’s something mundane. You could make anything special, Jungkook.”

Jungkook’s cheeks flush at your soft praise. He wants to make you feel special. “T-Thanks,” He mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck shyly, “Do you have any resolutions for the new year?”

“I don’t know,” You shrug, “I think this year… I want to let myself be happier. Not much of a resolution but…” You trail off, suddenly alarmed.

“Sorry,” You mumble, “Didn’t mean to kill the mood.”

“What?” Jungkook says with wide eyes, “You didn’t. Trust me.

“And for what it’s worth… You deserve to be happy. H-happy looks good on you.”

A pet name almost slips out of his lips. Almost. The beaming, bashful smile you give him makes his heart race and his insides warm. 

“Is that the only thing that looks good on me?” You bat your lashes at him, lips formed into a pretty pout and Jungkook feels his knees weakening. He swallows nervously. Do you even know what you do to him?

Before he can muster a stuttering reply, the bartender appears with your bottles of soju. You turn a little too quickly on your heel, your heel slipping out from under you.

Of course you’re going to trip and bust your ass in front of everyone. And most importantly, in front of Jungkook. You squeeze your eyes for the inevitable thump of your ass hitting the wet floor, but it never comes.

Instead, you feel a warm, strong arm wrapped tightly around your waist. You feel your back against a solid chest. Your throat instantly goes dry and you force yourself to turn in his arms to look at him.

“You’re clumsy,” Jungkook says quietly, only for your ears. His eyes are teasing, his voice low from the rumble in his chest.

“N-no,” This time you’re the one who’s flustered, “Floor’s wet…”

Neither of you move away from each other. Your hand is still tight around his bicep, his hand firm against your waist. How is it that he always makes you feel like you’re the only girl in the world?

He could kiss you. You could kiss him. He could kiss you. You could kiss him. 

Instead, you stay in his arms for a little longer. Both of you sipping on your soju and sharing sweet smiles and starry eyes.

At least until Seokjin whisks you away, yelling at you for not even having one drink with him yet.

There are about thirty seconds left until the New Year. You can’t help it- you want to see Jungkook. He makes your heart flutter and pound at the same time- with his smile that you like to pretend burns a little brighter when it’s directed at you.

You find him, towards the back of the bar. He’s in conversation with Taehyung and Jimin but when Taehyung notices you noticing Jungkook, he grins to himself. And leaves the conversation, dragging Jimin with him.

You don’t notice that. You only see Jungkook.

The confusion in Jungkook’s doe eyes is cute, but it washes away when he sees you. His heart picks up again, throat going dry.

The countdown has begun already. Fifteen seconds left.

“Jungkook,” You say a little breathlessly. Jungkook can see the slick of tipsiness in your eyes when you flick your gaze from his lips to his eyes. You lean into him, chest to chest. Your voice catches in your throat when you realize your proximity.

You can see the mole beneath his pouty lower lip. Neither of you moves.

“Yeah?” He murmurs.

You could kiss him. He could kiss you. You could kiss him. He could kiss you. 

Five!

“I just-”

Four!

“I’m happy you’re in my life again-”

Three!

Jungkook says your name. “Me too. Really happy-”

Two!

His eyes are wide, unsure but sparkling. Adoring, even. And he’s looking at you like that.

One!

A chorus of cheers erupt behind you and you muster all of your courage. To press your lips against his cheek gently. Jungkook’s heart stutters, singing at the lingering touch of your lips against his skin. It’s not much, but it’s enough for his cheeks to turn pink and for yours to heat up.

It’s just you and him in this crowded, noisy bar. Everything else fades away when you stand with him.

A soft gasp leaves his lips, blowing on your face. He gives you a bashful smile, and you’re surprised at your own actions.

Your name sounds so good on his tongue. Like honey.

“Happy new year,” Jungkook says softly. He dares to press his forehead to yours and you exhale shakily at the action. You feel warm all over, as if bubbly champagne has been poured into your veins. You feel his hand at your waist.

“Happy new year, JK,” You say easily with a disarming grin. 

Jungkook wants to kiss you, kiss the gloss right off of your pretty lips. But not yet, not here. Not when he hasn’t taken you on a date, when he hasn’t even held your hand yet.

Not yet. Not here.

The way he looks at you, as if you’ve somehow captured stardust in your smile, it excites you and scares you at the same time. You don’t think anyone has ever looked at you this intensely, as if they can see right through you.

It sets your nerves on fire. You sway on the spot, leaning into the warmth of his forehead on yours.

“Happy new year,” Jungkook says again, dimples on display. He wonders if you can feel the tremble of his hand against your waist. Or if you can feel the way his heart is about to explode out of his chest.

You think you could spend hours glancing into his deep, sparkling eyes. A flash of his cold eyes from months ago intrudes your memories, but it’s gone as soon as it comes. 

His brown eyes are so warm and toasty- ringing in the new year with his soft gaze on you like this feels right.

tags: @koo-zy​

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff

[atmilliways]

16 Murderface & Pickles; 19 Nathan & Toki! 🖤

I’ll probably write the Nathan and Toki one too, eventually, but for now here is some Pickleface for the prompt “defending each other.” This is set during Goingdownklok and, uh, probably the porniest thing I have ever written. 

Trans Pickles, Murderface’s internalized body issues, first time blow job, Pina Colada flavored lube because Pickles was drunk when he ordered it and thought he was asking Alexa for more drinks. 

If anyone can think of other tags that should be on this, or if it should be marked Explicit rather than just Mature, please let me know. I’ll reblog with the Ao3 link in a sec. 

~

This Might Just Stick

It had been hours. Maybe everybody had forgotten by now. . . . No, no one was going to forget that he’d tried to tackle and hump Toki in front of everybody. 

But he was getting hungry. . . . But what if he ran into any of his bandmates?

Murderface lurked in his quarters until the necessity of avoiding starvation drove him out and skulking towards the mess hall. By the time he arrived and saw from the hatch that someone was already in there, the lure of dinner was stronger than his shame. Maybe Pickles wouldn’t notice him. 

“Hey,” Pickles mumbled in greeting almost immediately. The drummer was presiding over a large plate piled high with iced cinnamon buns, glumly holding a half eaten one in his hand. 

“Uh . . . hey,” Murderface replied. Maybe if he kept walking the conversation would end there.

“I got shot down by Abigail,” Pickles continued, sounding positively morose. 

Murderface slowed, curious in spite of himself. He glanced towards the counter where a hooded servant waited to take his order, but hesitated. This was his chance to let the whole embarrassing incident start getting glossed over until no one ever brought it up again or even remembered it had ever happened. “. . . Schoundsch rough, pal.”

“I mean, I got all dressed up an’ everything, and nothin’.” With a sigh, Pickles took a bite of his cinnamon bun. He continued while chewing, “I figured she must be at least as hard up as the rest of us, y’know? Nope! Turns out, she thought to bring a vibrator!”

A vibrator. Huh. Now there was a thought. Murderface automatically pictured a naked female form, legs spread wantonly, a buzzing wand sinking into—

Well, this had been a mistake. He should’ve just kept walking and taken his food back to his room. Instead, before the sudden tent in his shorts had a chance to become too obvious, Murderface drifted casually over to Pickles’ table. It was one of those picnic style set-ups, except the benches weren’t bolted down, so there was a screech as he pulled it out to sit across from him. 

“Schuper rough! Schorry to hear that, pal. Hey, uh, mind if I eat one of thesche cshinnamon rollsch?” He didn’t wait for a reply, grabbing one and shoving half of it in his mouth. Maybe sugar and something to chew on would provide enough distraction to will his libido back to manageable levels. 

“Go ahead.” Pickles gave a deep sigh. “I thought I’d feel better if I had some rock n’ roll cinnamon buns, but I guess I’m not drunk enough for that yet.”

“Schorry man,” Murderface said again. “I don’t know why Nathan wasch scho bitchy about you going for her, it’sch not like we all wouldn’t hit that if we could.” He gulped down the second half of his cinnamon bun and reached for another. 

“I know, right?!” Pickles said, nodding. “And hey, for what it’s worth, I get why you went after Toki, too. I mean, your approach did lack some zazz, but I’m pretty sure we were all thinkin’ the same thing.”

They’d all taken part in mocking him after the incident, Pickles included, but Murderface still appreciated the small token of solidarity. His fingers already had a coating of sticky white icing on them which he was trying not to notice; the sight sent reflexive twinges of pain running up from his jerking-off wrist. But the mechanical motion of chewing and the fact that he was a born stress-eater just like his grandma made the texture of the bun richer, the nuance of spices more compelling, the fresh-out-of-the-oven warmth more soothing . . . so there was that. And anyway, he’d come here in the first place because he was hungry. 

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of bringin’ something,” Pickles continued, drifting back to his original train of thought. “I mean, I have tons of shit at home! But did I bring any of it? No, ‘cause Charles didn’t tell us about the no ladies thing until we’d already got here. I kinda want to break into her room and just use it, who fuckin’ cares if she catches me. Maybe she’ll see something she likes!”

“You could do that,” Murderface managed to say with his mouth full. God, he was lucky that Pickles was dressed in his usual black shirt and loose jeans, nothing tight or revealing like Toki, because all this talk about vibrators was really getting him going. Just the idea of turning the toy on and moving it teasingly against a stiff dick (he didn’t know what Pickles’ looked like so naturally he pictured his own)—

He stifled a whimper with yet another cinnamon roll. The pile on the plate was shrinking at an alarming rate. 

“Hey.” Pickles looked at him with wide eyes, a strange glint in them. “You could come with me. Come on, dood, let’s do it. Let’s break into her room!”

“I. . . . I don’t know, Picklesch. . . .”

“No, in case she doesn’t catch me! We can both—there’s ways we can both use it at the same time, no waitin’!”

Heat rising to his face, Murderface shook his head and reached for the cup on the table to wash the latest mouthful of sticky, sugary bun down. He grabbed it and gulped from it—ah yes, straight vodka. The Pickles special. “I’m, uh, not going to do that with you, Picklesch.”

“Why naht?” Pickles all but whined. “Come on, we’re all in the same boat here. Literally. What’s Toki got that I ain’t got?”

Murderface’s first instinct, which he insta-repressed, was to say An ass. But on further reflection, that wasn’t exactly true, was it? While Toki’s toned rear end looked great in those shrunken pink shorts, Pickles had slightly more of a bubble butt, better for grabbing a handful and really, unf—

And now he was thinking about Pickles’ ass. Great. Super. That was totally helping with the boner that wouldn’t quit. Murderface wanted to bury his head in his hands, but they were too sticky for that so he crammed another half a cinnamon bun in his mouth instead. He was, distantly, starting to feel rather full. 

“Look, I’m juscht not doing it!” he burst out, bringing one fist down on the table so hard it rattled the now empty cup and nearly empty plate. “Chrischt, you guysch were ragging on me earlier for the whole Toki thing, and now you’re, what? Trying to jump on my dick?! Uh-uh, I don’t think scho!”

Pickles put both of his hands up. “Dood, calm down! Flag on the play, okie? I’m naht trying anything!” He paused, then grinned sheepishly. “Alright, I am. But look, I’m askin’ first, so . . . there’s that. And hey, no strings attached, I promise. It’s just, you got rejected, and, and I got rejected. . . . I jest think we can help each other out, y’know? It doesn’t have to be that big a deal.”

Murderface narrowed his eyes. “It’sch a very big deal, Picklesch.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Pickles replied, leaning forward conspiratorially and dropping into a throaty whisper. “Dood, we could do it right here, nobody’d know. We’ve got this place to ourselves, all we gotta do is have the Klokateers shut things down for a while so we don’t get interrupted. And I could get you off first—fuck, I’ve been thinkin’ about going down on somebody ever since Abigail told me how she keeps from going crazy down here! Please?” Under the table, a sneakered foot bumped and rubbed suggestively up Murderface’s shin, making him shiver. “I’ll treat ya real nice.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a chick,” Murderface grumbled. 

“‘Kay.” Pickles smirked. “I’ll suck you off and make you come so hard you’ll be cross-eyed into next week.”

Biting his lip to stifle a groan, Murderface considered. 

. . . He picked up the last cinnamon bun and crammed it into his mouth, still considering. 

There were two options here. Option one: he could say fuck you, yell at the hood at the counter to send food to his quarters, and storm out with an angry boner to go hump his bedframe or some pillows or something until his meal arrived. His stomach was pretty full (he shifted slightly on the bench and let out a soft, cinnamon-scented burp in between chewing) but he knew how his body reacted to stress and depression, and knew he could eat again in maybe an hour. He’d need at least the next pants size up by the time they got back to the surface. Story of his fucking life. 

Or, option two: take Pickles’ offer. It wasn’t like it was any less gay for Pickles to offer than it was for him to accept, so they were both implicated here. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and he’d already passed desperate a few stops back. 

“Scho, it’sch come to thisch.” Murderface swallowed the last of his mouthful and sighed. He looked at the empty plate instead of his bandmate, because the longer he entertained the idea of actually doing this the more confining his shorts felt. “If you make fun of me for thisch I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Right back at ya, dood. So . . . is theat a yes?” 

“. . . . Yesch,” he whispered, and—he couldn’t help it—palmed himself through his shorts despite his sticky hand and the twinge of pain from his still-tender wrist. 

As soon as he said the word, Pickles leapt up, knocking his bench over with a clatter, and spun to yell towards the mess kitchen: “Hey, guys! Take a break for like, an hour or something! Lock it up and get outta here!!”

“Yes sire,” someone called back, and the confirmation was quickly echoed by the clangs and bangs of cookware being put in order for the coming downtime. 

An hour, Murderface thought, twitching in stunned anticipation. He fingered the button on his shorts but didn’t unbutton it until the shutter over the counter window had been pulled down and one of the hoods ran to close the mess hall hatch for them from the outside—their servants were nothing if not efficient. 

He could’ve done without his full stomach forcing the zipper all the way down as soon as he unbuttoned, but hey, pobody’s nerfect. Now that he was committed to doing this he was practically vibrating to get started, spreading his legs as wide as he could. 

“Scho, uh. . . . How are we doing thisch? Should I turn around or schomething?”

“No, stay right there.” Pickles grabbed at a random dreadlock and used it to tie the rest back.Then he winked and ducked under the table. 

“Oh fuck,” Murderface whispered, and leaned back to get a partial view of Pickles kneeling in front of him. 

With a mischievous grin, the drummer slipped his fingers up the legs of Murderface’s shorts, teasing the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. “It’s sexier if you don’t look, dood.”

“Right, okay. Schure.” He sat forward again hastily and his lip as he felt Pickles’ hands move to his stomach, palms warm through his t-shirt and against the sliver of exposed skin peeking out at the bottom, and then—

“Ow,” Pickles muttered. 

Murderface looked down, hoping against hope that he hadn’t somehow fucked this up already. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s my wrists, dood. I can’t . . . ugh.”

“Can’t what?” Murderface pressed. He felt bitter disappointment already welling up like bile in the back of his throat, and honestly if Pickles ditched him at this point he probably would throw up out of pure disgust and disappointment with himself for fucking up such a wonderful opportunity by being so utterly repugnant. 

Pickles groaned. “Fuck. Look, there’s no good way to say this, but you gotta hold yer stomach up outta the way. My wrists won’t bend that way right now and it’s kinda . . . blockin’ stuff.”

Murderface felt his face heat up to approximately one hundred degrees, but when he didn’t immediately reply Pickles gripped at his thighs and whined impatiently. With that encouragement, he slid his hands under his belly and hefted it up. At another wordless whine, he stood slightly so Pickles could tug them down to his ankles and plopped his bare ass back down on the warm metal bench. 

“Thanks for freeballing, dood,” Pickles commented, and Murderface felt delicious chills from the drummer’s breath ghosting over his eager cock. “Saves valuable seconds in a sex emergency.”

He couldn’t see through the table, but Pickles sounded downright hungry for it. Just imagining the guy staring intently at him under there, maybe licking his lips, maybe already touching himself through his jeans in anticipation—

Then Pickles shocked him by enveloping him all at once, tongue sliding down the underside of his cock and lips closing possessively around the base as the head hit the back of Pickles’ throat and holy fucking shit. Murderface moaned so loud that he was worried the entire submarine could hear, but it wasn’t like his hands were free to stifle himself. He’d hold his fat belly out of the way for a million years without complaint if it meant being enveloped like this. Hands grabbed at his ass and tried to drag him forward greedily as Pickles began to bob expertly up and down his length with the perfect amount of suction, going from nose-buried-in-pubes to kissing-the-already-leaking-tip and back again, repeat and repeat and repeat, with an eagerness that Murderface had never once experienced before and zero hint of gag reflex. It was all Murderface could do to sit still and keep holding himself, biting his lip for dear life to keep his ragged breathing from turning into the breathy moans of the thoroughly fucked. 

Goddamn, this was going to ruin him for groupie blowjobs, wasn’t it? Fucking Pickles and his oral fixation, and his warm, wet, tight, talented mouth. 

It had been way, way too long, and Murderface was so hard up that he came embarrassingly quickly. He didn’t even have time to give a warning, but Pickles seemed to know. One hand stopped fondling his ass long enough to fondle his balls instead, massaging encouragingly as they tightened and tightened and—

Murderface couldn’t contain the wordless gush of sound that accompanied his orgasm, milked out of him without complaint as he bent over the table. 

His face was all but touching the empty, sticky plate before him when he finally managed to open his eyes again. “Fuck,” he breathed shakily. “Pickles. . . . That wasch. . . . Fuck, I don’t think I can schtand.”

“Push the bench back, then,” Pickles said urgently. Whatever he was doing down there, Murderface could hear shuffling and felt bare skin bumping against his hairy legs.”Cahm ahn, dood!”

It made him grin lazily to realize that Pickles’ accent must get stronger when he was horny, just like it did when he was super pissed or super wasted. He obliged, scooting the bench with a brief screech of metal scraping metal, and Pickles popped out from under the table like Jack out of his box. Murderface was half expecting him to sit on the table edge in front of him so he could return the favor, but instead the smaller man settled in his naked lap. 

Apparently Pickles had been shedding layers under the table, because he was equally naked from the waist down and grinding eagerly, wetly against the bassist’s middle, pushing his vest further open and his t-shirt further up. He grabbed Murderface by the hair and rammed their mouths together, eagerly licking his way in, the taste of spend on his tongue mingling quickly with the sweetness of cinnamon bun icing still on Murderface’s. 

There was something very unexpected about this that Murderface was too dazed and into it to quite pinpoint, but holy shit what Pickles was doing felt amazing. Like, fucking against his stomach? Which was kind of weird, but the force and desperation of it was blowing him away. 

Pickles whined in his mouth as though all this wasn’t enough, as though he wanted, needed more. His legs wrapped around Murderface and crossed at the ankles for leverage to grind even harder. Automatically, Murderface reached to support him—one hand splayed against the freckled back and another on his ass, where the muscles were already trembling with effort and eagerness for the building climax. 

And he was so wet. Had the guy come once already just from sucking him off? Murderface felt briefly lightheaded at the thought. Felt his spent cock twitch too, for all that he was still recovering from the number Pickles had done on him already.

Really . . . really wet. Not exactly leaking-dick wet. Not that Murderface had a lot of experience identifying that sort of thing rubbing on him, but still. 

. . . Huh. 

Pickles was still kissing and clutching at him, and Murderface was drowning in this unprecedented desire for this stupid body he’d always kind of hated. But Pickles didn’t seem to mind, did he? Really made it feel like he wouldn't have offered this to just anyone. 

A moment later Pickles shuddered, going rigid and squeezing him tight before relaxing completely, Murderface’s arms around him the only thing keeping him from falling back against the mess hall table. 

“Woo-oo,” Pickles mumbled, eyes unfocused and heavy-lidded. He patted the arm supporting his back. “That was fucking great, man. Ten outta ten, would ride again.” His tongue peeked out and wetted his kiss-redden lips. “Was it good for you?”

“Huh?” Murderface blinked, shook himself a little. He’d been staring intently at the tip of Pickles’ tongue. “Yeah! Yeah, that wasch. . . . I, we could do that again schometime. If you want.”

Pickles patted his arm again, eyes drifting shut. “Mmm, yeah, that album ain’t getting finished any time soon. . . .”

“Uh, Picklesch? Can I ashk you a perschional queschtion?”

“Heh, you just came down my throat, dood, Pretty sure personal questions are fair game.”

Murderface glanced uncertainly down between them, but with their lower halves still pressed together all he could really see was a bright red trail of hair leading downward and his own belly button. “Is there a. . . . Do you have. . . . Are you okay down there?”

Pickles laughed. “I’m more’n fine, dood, I’m great.” Then he cracked an eye open to study the other man’s face, one double-pierced eyebrow slowly rising. “What?” He followed where Murderface’s eyes were aimed. “. . . Don’t tell me ya never fucked a trans dood before.”

“I’ve never fucked any dudesch before,” Murderface retorted defensively. “And schince when are you transch?!”

“Dood, everybody knows. I thought you knew!” 

“Well I didn’t! No one tellsch me anything,” he whined, and in the strange clarity of his relaxed, post-orgasm state was entirely aware that the not being told part bothered him more than the trans part. Not that he knew much about what being trans meant, but . . . probably better to google it later than ask while they were still sitting junk to junk. He reached down to self-consciously tug his t-shirt down and felt wetness on his fingertips. After a moment’s hesitation, he brought his hand up to his nose and sniffed. “. . . Why doesch thisch schmell like pina colada?”

“It’s lube,” Pickles said with a chuckle. “I always keep it—” he absently patted at his own ass, then snorted “—in my pants, under the table. Back pocket. I don’t gaht a lahtta ‘natural lubrication’ so, y’know. Always be prepared or whatever. . . . I dunno, I was never a boy scout.” Stretching, he sat up and leaned in, resting his arms languidly over Murderface’s shoulders. Noses about an inch apart, he stared probingly into his eyes. “You weirded out?”

“Uh . . . no, I guescch not,” Murderface mumbled, going cross-eyed trying to return the stare. 

He felt . . . okay, actually. Wasn’t having sex with a bandmate supposed to feel like a mistake? Wasn’t he supposed to be having some sort of crisis right now? Because he’d definitely just had sex with a guy—he’d known Pickles for years, he was definitely a dude, trying think of him as anything else just didn’t compute. 

Pickles darted forward and gave him a wet snack on the nose, then pulled back with a pleased smirk. “Cool. ‘Cause we’ve got about, uh. . . .” He looked for a clock, finding one once he’d twisted almost all the way around—which just made Murderface think, Bendy, and then his brain fizzled a little at the possibilities. “About forty-five minutes left before anyone comes back. Whaddaya say we get some drinks and fuck some more? I’ve got a couple months of fantasies I still wanna try out.”

“Fa, fantasies?” Murderface stammered as the drummer slid off his lap (oh sweet friction) and bounded over to the counter to rustle up some bottles. His eyes were glued to that pale, freckled ass. “About me?”

“Yeah,” Pickles called. Regrettably, he and his ass had ducked out of sight for a moment. “I mean, fer pretty much everyone down here who has a face, to be honest.”

Oh, Murderface thought with a sigh.

“But hey!” Grinning, Pickles popped back into sight with a fifth of Irish whiskey held triumphantly in each upstretched hand. “Ta be honest, I’m glad this happened with you, dood. The ones with you in ‘em were my favorites.”

Murderface brightened immediately. “Really?” It almost didn’t even matter if that was true, he just appreciated Pickles going out of his way to say it. “Like  . . . like what?”

“Well, what we just did, fer one.” 

This had all happened because of curiosity (and a background level of horniness that defied physics and shit); Murderface saw now reason to change things up now. He asked, even as he drank in the sight of Pickles sauntering back towards him half naked, whatever secrets were hidden between his legs obscured by a thick forest of bright red pubes, “What elsche?” The words came out sounding breathless, and his cock was already stiffening again. 

After all, he’d come here in the first place because he was hungry. 

Smirking, Pickles came back around, moved the empty cinnamon bun plate down the table, and hopped up to take its place, legs spread. He handed Murderface one of the whiskey bottles, cracked open his own, and in between drinking and wantonly touching himself started listing every last, filthy little detail of things they could do to each other. 

It was going to be a very good rest of the hour. 

#metalocalypse #metalocalypse fanfic #trans pickles #pickleface #william murderface #pickles the drummer

[shiftytracts]

This was gonna be a scenario post, hence the A and B format, but got so long (2.4k) it almost counts as a story. I’m less sure it counts as emeto--it’s all nausea/general digestive upset, no actual vomit. Also mentions scat and weight gain, but those tags would definitely constitute false advertising; they’re more like incidental story elements than kink elements.

--

A’s on new meds, whose side effects include slight but near-constant nausea. They wander one morning through the dark, brown-carpeted house they share with B (their SO) and another housemate (C), coffee cup in hand, still slightly sweat-sticky from bed but without the time to shower. It’s a small, thin-walled house, and C’s not up yet, so A and B keep off their shoes for as long as they can, trying not to make too much noise. A muffles their burps into the crook of their elbow. B makes eggs and toast for both; A’s gotta wolf ‘em before their appointment, but wishes they hadn’t—or at least that they’d skipped the orange juice, and maybe saved brushing their teeth for after breakfast. They head to their appointment with their heart pounding in their gut, queasy and bloated and short of breath, bubbly stiff cramps forming in new places every time they bend a different way, belly rumbling so much they wonder if B can hear it, if they can see it shake, can see A’s navel through their t-shirt.

(“Be honest”—A implores, when they wander back from the can to the kitchen sink where B stands washing grease off the breakfast plates—“do I look like a total fatass?”

(“What? No.” B laughs, rhetorically, and adds, “Why?”

(“Well ‘cause I sorta feel like one is all,” A says, peremptorily stroking up and down past their navel, but regretting it when this uncalled-for jiggling further upsets their stomach.

(“Aw. No, you look fine,” B assures them. They look back to their dishes, then at A again with preemptive shrug: “I guess if they were really looking someone might figure you’d had a big breakfast, but.” A yanks at their shirt, hoping to obscure this; “Don’t do that, you’ll stretch it,” B reminds them.)

A tries to crap before they leave but no dice—not time yet. Nasty cramps and cold sweat all through their shrink appointment. Comes home, gives vent to the pyroclastic flow, then collapses supine on the bed and unbuttons their shorts. Takes a nap.

Despite their best efforts B’s doings in there an hour or so after that wake A up; they direct A to the water glass they set by the bed. “Oh. Thanks,” A yawns, and asks if B’ll hand them pajama pants. B smiles and complies.

“Not going out again then, huh? Not feeling well?”

A shrugs. “No, I’m okay now, just kinda.” They try to make a hand gesture for tired or loopy, but judging from B’s lack of answering nod they figure this doesn’t suffice as explanation. “Might later though, I don’t know.”

“Mm.”

“Should eat something, probably.”

“Ah, yeah—get back on the horse?”

“Haha yeah.” Meanwhile A rubs their belly up and down as though to sound its opinion on the level of drawstring tightness they’ve selected. B sits next to them for a sec, puts a hand on their back, pecks their jaw.

“I guess you are a bit chubbier now,” B admits, feeling guilty for how they dodged A’s question on that score this morning.

“Seems that way,” allows A. This, they’re pretty sure, is the previous med’s fault. They wouldn’t’ve switched were that its only sin, of course, but the thing had the gall to be useless aside from its side effects of weight gain and insomnia. “Is it gross? Should I.”

“What? No,” B says again, and laughs rhetorically as before. “‘Gross’? Of course not.” B bats A’s jaw, very gently, playfully. “No matter what happens, I’m just happy you’re getting help.”

A’s answering smile lasts maybe a quarter of a second. “Thanks.” All the same they stand and spread their arms out to either side, to give B a better look. “Sure you don’t mind?”

B smiles, shakes their head chidingly, incredulously. “Why would I mind? It’s kinda cute, if anything.” To prove they mean it they go around behind A, rest the side of their face on the back of A’s neck, snake their hands around to A’s front and slot each one atop their waistband so B’s palms fit in the hollow between pelvis and flab. Roots around til they find the end of A’s shirt, pushes it out of the way, un- and re-does the drawstring so their pajama pants sit at a more flattering height. “That too tight?”

“No, it’s kinda grounding actually,” A shrugs. “Thanks.”

“Mhm. Now go eat something.”

A eats some leftover rice with soy sauce—C ordered way too much rice with their takeout two nights ago, and left the extra up for grabs. Then A figures they can handle two Oreos. Can’t stop burping after that, but only feels a little queasy, little squirmy. Lies on the couch with their laptop, alternately studying and playing Tetris (they’re a week or two into the fall semester; today’s Friday, which they have off from both classes and work). Until C gets home, at which point Mariokart happens. This makes A feel sick, though, not sure whether in a too much food or not enough kinda way, so they take their computer and go back to the bedroom, telling C they just want to remove themselves from the social distraction. Maintains this ruse until about halfway down the hallway, then lets go the foodbaby they’ve been suckin’ in and moves their free hand up and down it as they round the corner into their bedroom doorway. B’s all dressed and ready for their friend’s party now; has to go soon. They’re crisscross-applesauced on the bed looking at their phone, but they look up when A comes in. “Hey.”

“Hi! Feeling better?” B asks, with a slight frown that suggests they know the answer.

A busies their hands with setting their laptop on the bed so they can say, “Nope—queasatronic,” without seeming too self-pitying.

B nose-laughs but says, “Aw. I’m sorry.”

A shrugs, sits. “Eh.”

“Want me to stay home?—I could—?”

But this time A says, “What? No. ‘Course not, you should go. I’m fine, I’m.” (Shrugs, realizing already that this’ll sound like a guilt trip and wondering whether they secretly mean one. But they’re too bushed to think of another ending to the sentence.) “I’m used to this; don’t need a babysitter. You should go.”

“Okay. Thank you. If you’re sure.”

“No, please. Seriously.”

“Alright. What time is it?” B chirps, then presses the top button on their phone and reports, “5:24—yeah okay, I should go. Take care, feel better. Need anything?—I could stop at CVS, or.”

“Uh…” A mimes thinking about it, then spaces out for real.

“Well, you can text me if so,” B laughs.

“Cool. Sure. Have fun.”

“Thaaanks,” B says, swinging themselves by the hand around the doorjamb as they slip out. A arranges themselves supine again, hands folded on their stomach. Lets out an unimpressed sigh as though in summation. Doesn’t really wanna take a nap, but they try playing Tetris again and feel too icky when they try to focus their eyes on the screen. Closes their laptop but does not remove its warm weight from their lap, even though in the 5pm heat its plastic sticks to their wrists. Burps, mouth open, not loudly exactly but sorta high-pitched—as though they were an adolescent boy with a soda can, they scoff. Then wonders if they have any more diet ginger ale. Wanders out to the kitchen, in the extra wall space between which and the dining room (B calls it a “breakfast nook,” but A just assumes that’s a joke they don’t get) they keep their soda cans stacked on the floor next to the milk-cratey recycle bins. There is indeed one left. They grab that and a cup (and two ice cubes outta the tray in the freezer), too lazy to fetch the one B put water in for them earlier, and remind themselves to text B that they’ve run out.

C’s still out there, and notices A’s choice of beverage. “You alright?”

“Yeah, just. Guts’re on the fritz again.”

“Hm. Sorry, pal.”

“It’s cool.”

“You gonna be able to find something you can eat?”

“What?”

“Tonight, I mean. Is there food you can eat?”

A shrugs. “Still some rice left I guess.”

“I ask ‘cause I’m going to the store in an hour, so. If you want some saltines or something.”

“Oh.” A laughs; adds, “thanks. Think we still have some from last time though.”

“Okay. Well, if you think of anything you want.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

“No problem; good luck.”

At this departure from Hope you feel better A laughs slightly. “Thanks.” Heads back to their room, drinks their soda and melty ice. This is the hottest-ass part of the day, so when it’s gone they balance the still-cool glass on their clavicle. They feel much better now, if sorta bloated and fizzy. Quease level comparatively minimal. Figures they should eat again while they’ve got the, uh, guts for it.

Once they start on their second round of rice A finds they’re pretty hungry. Adds soy sauce a lot more zealously, this time, and risks the last leftover spring roll as well but regrets the grease. Has to make up for it with the unsauced bits of rice clinging to the edge of the styrofoam box—you know, like, a palate cleanser or whatever. They hiccup a little, then belch when they bring their plate to the sink, from the contact between gut and the edge of the counter: hadn’t thought about the extra room they take up now. Rubs a peremptory circle into the left side above the navel but finds they feel alright, for now—then 20 minutes later heads into the can, expecting lava from how their stomach cramps and rolls, but gets out only some air and a few wispy pebbles. Notices with greater dismay, then, on the way back to their room, how their belly queasily sloshes around when they walk. Doesn’t seem to have shrunk much.

In B’s mirror, back in their room, A finds they look pretty gigantic, too; they changed into a looser shirt after the first one got too sweaty, and in this comparative tent all you can tell is that the gut’s the widest part of their profile. They set their hands down on it to bring it down to size, and are dismayed at how little difference this makes. Does feel nicer that way though; leaves ‘em there as they trudge slowly back to their side of the bed, and pushes slow circles into each side. Sits heavily on the edge of the bed, hunched over a little. Can feel the tightness in their stomach that means either it’s going to rumble in that long drawn-out violating way where you feel like it’s loosing all your secrets or that you’re going to belch so loud you’ll wonder if you have to puke. Waits, then gives up on waiting and slowly, laboriously lies down. Stretches a little, tempting fate, but it kinda hurts: ties a weird knot high up on the right when they loosen back up. They put three fingers on it gently, and try to iron it out back and forth. Ah!—there it goes. Stomach starts growling, seems to shake everything up, then once that uneasy shifting’s done with it still keeps up the sound what seems a ludicrous, embarrassing long time. When that’s done they sigh and then burp a little. Laughs at themselves for this display. Carefully carefully carefully turns onto their side, facing away from the door, and tries to sleep, a protective hand curled around their stomach.

When B gets home much later that night they wake up a little (“Oh. Hi. How was the thing.” “Hey! Sorry to wake you. It was fun; I think it went well.” “That’s good.” “Mhm.” “Anyway good night.” B laughs: “Haha okay. Go back to sleep A.” They mean to reply at your service but instead say, “Open sesame”; B laughs and pats their hair so it itches their nose. When A swipes at it snot comes loose. They decide not to open that pandoras wormtails); figures they’ll fall back to sleep quick until the consciousness of nausea slides back into place, at which point they try to roll onto their back and find themselves ludicrously heavy. It takes several tries, and all their breath. They groan with bored self-pity, forgetting they’re not alone in the room.

Meanwhile B struggles out of their clothes and into pajama pants and an inside-out (but not backwards) tank top in the dark. “You okay?”

“Blugh. Not great.”

“Aw, still?”

“Yeah… nah,” A says, blinking, confusedly forgetting which answer is appropriate. “I gotta pee,” A decides. This helps a little, since it wakes them up all the way and therefore allows them to disentangle the need to pee from their other woes. In the bathroom mirror they look mostly deflated up top but still extra puffy and round lower down; at least it doesn’t hurt their stomach to stand up anymore. Only hurts like a menstrual cramp does after you take ibuprofen, but the quease that in that case is only incipient is much worse here. At one point they cough, and dread this “pandoras wormtails” too when it alerts them to all the mushy brittle things in their throat and chest. This also makes them start burping again, so that that’s how they end up greeting B when they get back to the doorway of their room: fist over their mouth, wincing a little, leaning into the wall for balance. B’s a good sport though. They face each other in bed and B lays both their warm hands on A’s stomach, whimpers in pity at how blown up they can tell it is.

“I’m sorry you don’t feel well,” they say in that affectionate half-asleep tone that always comes out querulous.

“It’s cool,” A says back.

B sloppily nods so that their jaw thuds against their pillow, hair spilling into their eyes, and tells A, “Just try to go back to sleep; feel betterinthmorning probbleby,” trying to get all the words out before a yawn.

#emetophilia #emeto cw

[madpanda75]

“Taking Chances Part 5: Busted”

Find out what happens when Sonny walks in on the reader and Rafael mid-coitus...cause what could be more embarrassing 😳 Also you’ll get some of Sonny’s perspective in this chapter.

Thanks for all the amazing feedback! If anyone wants to be added to my tag list, let me know ❤️

Sonny whistled a tune as he walked down the hallway towards your apartment. The law book. The pancakes. It was all a ruse. You had been avoiding your big brother for weeks. Further confirmed by the fact that you didn’t respond to his text the night before. Something was off and Sonny wanted to find out what it was.

Did he feel guilty about checking up on you? Of course he did, but you were his baby sister. It was only natural for him to be worried and he actually did leave his immigration law book at your apartment. So technically, he did have a valid reason for stopping by. At least that was what he kept telling himself.

While walking Sonny bumped into your neighbors just as they were leaving their home. “Hey...uh…Sandra and Tom, right? It’s Sonny Carisi. I’m just stoppin’ by to check on Y/N.”

Sandra scoffed and shook her head. “Hope you brought your ear plugs.”

Sonny knitted his eyebrows in confusion. “Ear plugs?”

“Good luck, pal.” Tom patted Sonny on the shoulder and left to catch up with his wife.

Sonny glanced between your neighbors and the front door of your home. He could hear the faint sound of music playing inside. Taking out his spare key, he opened your door and stepped inside. “Hello?” He called out, but there was no answer. Sonny assumed you were painting. You always played music whenever you were working on a piece, completely lost in your own creative little universe.

As he headed down the foyer, a wave of relief washed over him. Everything was fine. You were probably busy with the gallery and your art. He was just overreacting. Working at SVU, it was hard not to assume the worst. Unfortunately, the detective was reminded of what happened to people who make assumptions when he turned the corner.

Sonny froze in his tracks, shocked at the scene he was witnessing. There you were laying on a table with your back arched, moaning loudly while a dark-haired man’s head was between your legs. His sweet precious baby sister who would beg him to play Pretty Pretty Princess over and over again; who used to sing in the youth choir at St. Thomas. The teeniest feather could’ve knocked him over in that moment.

“Y/N?!” He exclaimed.

Upon hearing your name, you turned your head. “Sonny!” You screamed and immediately tried to cover yourself.

Sonny was horrified. It was like witnessing a car crash. The most horrific carnage-filled car crash. He silently prayed to God for a sudden bout of hysterical blindness. Although even with his eyes shut, the images he had just seen would forever be seared into his brain. He was going to need trauma counseling and wondered if perhaps his boss’s therapist was available.

Just when Sonny thought it couldn’t get any worse, the head of a certain sharp-tongue, sassy, snarky ADA popped up like some sick version of Whack-A-Mole. The man in question looked almost as stunned as the blue-eyed detective. “Carisi,” Rafael softly said and wiped his chin and lips—which were coated in your arousal.

When Sonny saw Rafael, everything suddenly clicked into place—the recent tardiness, the perfume. It was you. You were the mysterious hook-up the squad had been teasing Rafael about. Sonny choked back the bile rising in his throat and then he saw red. Fury flashed before his eyes. His fists shook with rage. Never in his life had he wanted to hit someone so much as he did right then. “RAFAEL?!” He boomed and dropped his bag of groceries. “What the fuck is goin’ on here?!”

You hopped off the table, quickly picking Rafael’s sweater up off the floor and putting it on.“Sonny?! Get OUT!” You shouted in a shrill voice and stomped your foot like a petulant child.

“Seriously, Y/N?! On Nonna’s table!” Sonny ran a hand through his hair, his eyes were wild.

Rafael cautiously took a step closer, not wanting you to catch all the heat from your big brother. After all it took two to tango and to be fair, he could understand why Carisi was upset. This certainly was not what Rafael had in mind when he wanted to break the news that you and him were dating. “Carisi, I can explain,” he calmly said.

“Explain my ass.” Sonny marched up to Rafael and got right in his face, prodding the ADA in the chest. “That’s my baby sister you’re defiling on a family heirloom,” he growled.

You moved in between the two men, recognizing by the tone in his voice that Rafael was seconds away from getting punched in the face by your brother. “Sonny, calm down.”

“And you!” Sonny looked you up and down while shaking his head in disapproval. “Is this why you’ve been so busy? Cause you’re more interested in fucking some guy than spending time with your own family?”

You drew a sharp intake of breath at his harsh words. Your brother had never spoken to you like that before. You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed, wanting the floor to swallow you up whole.

Rafael saw the hurt in your eyes and something inside him snapped. Before his brain could even process what his body was doing, he pulled his fist back and punched Sonny square in the nose.

“Oh my God!” You stood there with your jaw dropped open, completely stunned—at Sonny, at Rafael, and at Rafael’s fist colliding with Sonny’s face.

Sonny doubled over and pinched the bridge of his nose, tears welling up in his eyes. “My nose!”

“Don’t you dare speak to her like that,” Rafael snarled and clutched his fist, trying to flex his fingers, his knuckles red and swollen. “Fuck, my hand!”

The two men groaned in excruciating pain. You glanced between them, not entirely sure who to go to first, your boyfriend or your brother. “Wow, Ma was right,” you mumbled to yourself. “Men really are just overgrown children.”

Sonny glared at Rafael, his nose bleeding profusely and began to lunge at him with his fist in the air ready to counter-attack. Thankfully, you were prepared this time and jumped in between them both with your arms outstretched, palms pressing against each of their chests as you pushed them off each other.

“STOP IT! BOTH OF YOU!” You turned and pointed to Rafael. “You sit DOWN and don’t move. I’ll be right back.” Rafael immediately followed your orders, kind of turned on by your dominant side shining through, but now was not the time to tell you that.

You then turned to your brother. “You. Bathroom. NOW!” Sonny wouldn’t budge, muttering to himself in Italian as he tried to wipe the blood off his nose. “NOW!” You smacked him upside the head.

“Ow! Ok, I’m goin’! I’m goin!’” He held his hands up in surrender and headed down the hallway.

“Put those long limbs of yours to good use and walk a little faster then!” You said, hot on his heels.

Rafael could hear you both bickering all the way to the bathroom, your normally non-existent Staten Island accent coming out in full force. It was strange. He had never really noticed a family resemblance between you and Sonny until now.

*****

Sonny sat on the edge of your tub, nursing his swollen, tender nose. To stop the bleeding, you split a tampon in half and shoved each part up his nostrils. It wasn’t broken, but bruising was already beginning to form. He was gonna have a great time trying to explain two black eyes and a bashed-in nose to the squad on Monday morning. Who knew Rafael had such a killer right hook?

You walked into the bathroom—now dressed in your own clothes—and silently handed him a bag of frozen corn. In order to keep the peace, you had to put Sonny and Rafael in timeout. If it worked for your nieces and nephews, it would certainly work for your brother and your boyfriend.

“Thanks,” he muttered and held the frozen vegetables up to his face, wincing in pain. “Where’s Barba?”

“Still sitting at the table with his hand under a bag of frozen peas. You both owe me for groceries by the way.” You stood there, studying the tiled floor in silence before clearing your throat. “I better go check on Rafael.”

Just as you were about to leave, Sonny took hold of your hand. “Y/N, wait a sec, will ya’?”

You pulled out of his grasp and turned to face him, crossing your arms. “What is it?”

Sonny sighed and looked up at you with black eyes and a bloody nose. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I shoulda’ never said that. It’s just when I saw you and Barba. I freaked out. Please forgive me.”

You mulled over his apology for a moment, worrying your bottom lip. “I forgive you,” you replied before punching him hard in the left shoulder. Rafael had nothing on you. Over the years, your brother had done a stellar job teaching you how to fight. You may have been the creative, sensitive artist, but you could also quit your day job and become an MMA cage fighter if you wanted to.

“Ow! Jeezus!” He hissed in pain. “What was that for? I said I was sorry!”

“Rafael got a hit in and now it’s my turn.” You clutched your brother by the collar. “Don’t ever speak to me like that again or I’ll do worse. I’m a grown-ass woman and this is my home. My boyfriend can eat me out cafeteria-style and make me cum until I scream if I want him to!”

“Oh God! I didn’t need to hear that! Please do me a favor. Take somethin’ sharp and pointy and gouge out my eyeballs and puncture my eardrums, will ya’? Haven’t I been punished enough?” He groaned.

“For barging into my home and embarrassing me in front of Rafael? No, you haven’t.” You let go of Sonny’s shirt and sat down next to him, taking the bag of frozen corn and bringing it back up to his face. Your expression softened a bit. You loved Sonny with all your heart. His recent outburst aside, he was the best big brother a girl could ask for. “I shoulda never given you a spare key.”

“How did you two even meet?” He asked.

You shrugged. “He stopped by the gallery one day and then I ran into him again that night you and I were supposed to get dinner. The rest is history.” You softly smiled, thinking back to that first embarrassing encounter with Rafael and everything that followed. That first drink. That first kiss. Reflecting back on this past month, you realized that slowly but surely Rafael had changed your life for the better. “Guess you kinda had a part to play in all this. If it wasn’t for you cancelling on me. We may have never gotten together.”

Sonny pushed your hand away from his face. “Don’t say that. I don’t want to be responsible for this.” He sadly shook his head and got up. “I better get goin’.”

“Sonny, wait!” You followed him out of the bathroom and down the hallway.

He ignored you, tossing the bag of frozen corn on the table where Rafael was still sitting, flipping through Sonny’s immigration law book.

“Here’s your book,” Rafael said, handing it over.

“Thanks,” he sneered and snatched the book out of Rafael’s hands before heading to the door.

“Carisi!” Rafael called out.

Sonny whipped around to find the ADA right behind him. “What?”

“You have a tampon up your nose,” Rafael coldly replied.

Sonny’s cheeks turned bright red. He pulled the tampon out of his nostrils and tossed it on the ground before leaving.

You flinched when you heard the door slam and crept up beside Rafael. Wrapping his arms around you, he kissed the top of your head and sighed. “I hate to say it, but I knew we should’ve told him earlier.”

@glimmerglittergirl​ @southern-magnolia​ @sweetcannolicarisi​ @delia26​ @obfuscateyummy​ @sass-and-suspenders​ @eclecticminded​ @thatesqcrush​ @katmstanton​ @amirightcounsellor​ @beltzboys2015-blog​ @letty-o​ @sonnysdoll​ @lyssa1385​ @sweetsummertime99​ @burningsorr0ws​ @gibbs274​ @izzythefanfreak​ @riodallas​ @babypink224221​ @livxrafa​ @esparza-army​ @obsessionprofessional​ @ottosuricato​ @melsquared79​ @dreila03​ @frenchiefoxy​ @tropes-and-tales​ @thecraziestcrayon​ @goodluckfindingone​ @scarlettsoldier​ @amirightcounselor​ @yeah-boiiiiiiiiiii​ @graniairish​ @ashley-chi​ @imjustreallynosy​ @lolacolaempath 

#rafael barba #rafael barba fanfic #rafael barba fic #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba imagine #barba #barba fanfic #barba fic #barba x reader #law and order svu imagine #barba imagine #rafael barba fan fiction #law and order svu fic #taking chances

[comfy-whumpee]

Prince 2

Prince 1 here. CN: broken bones, mention of drugging.

“Why did you pick me up?” he asks, when Prince brings him breakfast after the best night’s sleep he’s had in years.

Prince has his own plate of jam and toast in his hand, and after a moment, sits down in the armchair next to Ty’s bed. He rests one elbow on its arm, and sighs in a way that makes Ty’s toes curl with nostalgia. He has lighter eyes than Jim, and rounder glasses, and thinner dreads, and Ty thinks carefully about those details when his vision sways and he mixes up the man and the memory

“I see a lot of folks in that park,” he says thoughtfully. “A lot of hurt folks. Homeless, or wasted, or just miserable. I’m a big guy, no need to be scared of strangers, and I’ve got a spare room and a full fridge, so – why not pay it forward, you know?”

Ty smiles. “Yeah.”

He reaches for the toast on his lap, and Prince jolts, leaning forwards. Ty freezes, and Prince freezes too, and raises his hands slowly. “Sorry,” he says. “Sorry, I just – your hands.”

“Oh.” Ty looks down at his hands. Of course, the thumb and forefinger on each are still broken, swollen and twisted... One of the louder pains that wrap his body, that he had to tune out to survive with that mistress. Crawling on them, eating with them... It’s been so long since he thought about how much they hurt.

“Heck, let me take a look at those,” Prince interrupts his reverie, worry filling his voice. He sets the soup aside and goes into the cupboard on the wall, pulling out a first-aid kit that seems heavy duty. “I’m a nurse, by the way, alright? You’re in good care.” He gently relieves Ty of his plate. “Okay, let’s have a look.”

Ty holds himself very still, recognising the awful necessity of touch. Prince’s hands move in to cup one of his, applying pressure only in the unbroken sections to turn Ty’s hand back and forth and inspect the breaks. He is kneeling by the bedside, not looming, and his expression is all seriousness. “Okay, you’re dealing with some breaks, they look pretty clean.” His fingers gently, lightly, slowly test the fractures. Ty holds in his pain and his panic and the deep feeling of wrongness that comes from seeing his hands between soft brown-pink not-Jim palms. It hurts. It feels like a betrayal.

“I’m gonna splint these. You’ll probably have trouble using them until they heal, but this is definitely the best option if you want to be able to use them in future.” He takes splints and wrappings from the kit. “Just take deep breaths. I can get you some painkillers in a sec.”

Ty swallows at the promise. So far, he’s been relieved that painkillers aren’t on the table, but now – of course, with the breaks how they are – Prince is talking like he’ll take them. Of course he won’t want to be in burning agony. Of course he wants that to finally, finally end.

Sharp jolts of agony push against his thoughts as Prince works, and he tries not to look. The touch almost feels worse than the pain. It’s methodical, not lingering, not creeping over him like the mistress’s fingers, but it’s still so much. It’s skin, and pressure, and Prince is looking so closely at them, there must still be dirt buried under the nails and in the creases despite his shower.

“There we go,” Prince says. “You’re a tough cookie, pal. I’ll grab those painkillers for you, and then we can get some food in you, yeah?” He gets up. He’s not as tall as Jim, Ty thinks. More muscular, but smaller. Just...close enough to remind him of the grief.

He still doesn’t know if Jim is alive. The Trader made a shot before they left. Why do that, if not to shoot Jim? To deal with the home Ty had to run to?

To force him to go to Bibi’s, where he had sent the Butler?

That doesn’t make sense, he realises belatedly. The events are in the wrong order. He is still so tired.

He should have told Prince he didn’t want painkillers, he realises when Prince returns with the pack.

He looks down at them. They’re sealed, and airtight, and they clearly state what they are, but Ty isn’t sure he recognises the word, and he can’t. He can’t risk it. The first time they put him on the drugs, it lasted for so long that everything else disappeared. He came up after time had passed, and he was so thin, and his hair was gone, and he was so scared of letting things be dirty, and he couldn’t remember where he’d come from. He couldn’t remember what had been before the Teacher and the work.

It had come back, the before, since going home. Much of the time with the Teacher had returned too, while he was there. But if he lost it all again...

He lets his hands drop and shakes his head.

“No painkillers?”

He offers them back to Prince.

“You sure?”

He nods.

“Alright. Yeah, no worries.” To Ty’s immense relief, Prince just smiles and puts them aside. “I’ll leave ‘em there for if you change your mind”

Ty nods. He nods and shakes his head through the other questions, about pre-existing conditions, allergies, and regular medications.

“Alright. I’ll get you some ice, and then leave you to it, how does that sound? Anything else you need?”

Ty thinks about it. He should ask for Prince to contact Bibi, but...

Not yet. Not until he’s sure he can trust Prince. A guard, a plant, sent to pick him up after his near-death beating, for the purpose of gaining his trust, would be disastrous, and worse, sounds exactly like the kind of thing the Teacher would do.

He’s not so cynical that he believes Prince can’t be an altruistic stranger... But if there’s an ulterior motive, Ty has to know. He can’t risk his Bibi, and he can’t risk the Butler. He can figure this out.

“No, thank you,” he replies slowly. “I’m – feeling a lot better already.”

Prince gives him a big, genuine smile. “Glad to hear it. You gave me a lot of worry yesterday, showering so long. Thought you’d fallen asleep.”

“Mm,” Ty agrees absently. He really is relaxed, all the tension faded away overnight. He still feels exhausted physically, and his thoughts are a little out of it, sluggish...

“You falling asleep now?”

A smile lifts the corner of his lip. “Mm, yeah.”

“No problem. I’ll check on you later, kid.”

Ty tries to move his eyes to find Prince, but by the time he can get his gaze to focus, the door is closed again, and he’s left in peace.

#my fic #comfort #aftermath #broken bones #ty #prince #drugs mention #past trauma #trust

[quant-um-fizzx]

Swept Away

Synopsis: Bucky feels strangely drawn to a woman at a Halloween party thrown at the Avengers compound. 

Bucky Barnes x Reader. Except - not? There’s really no way to explain this upfront without giving the whole thing away. It is a nameless female character but it’s also not “fictional you” as a reader because I could not get that to work within this mystery concept. 

Warnings:  Smut, I’m calling this Dub-Con (but only in the sense that things might not be what they seem) Language, mild Angst, an attempt to be eerie. 

Word Count:  about 3000

This is for @sherrybaby14‘s Fall Into You writing challenge from the prompt: “Halloween Party”  

It’s loud like parties always are and Bucky welcomes a reason not to join in their bickering, no matter how playful. 

“It’s the principle, really.” Steve says, sniffs whatever Thor tipped into his glass this time. 

“Yes, that’s my point. Thank you. Don’t make a rule and then break it.” Rhodey gripes, adjusting the gold construction paper shooting star taped to the center of his shirt.

“I believe the rule as stated was ‘don’t spend more than $10 on a superhero costume.’ I spent zero dollars on this ensemble.” Tony gestures at the Mark 5 armor he’s wearing. “What we need is a neutral party analysis, who will then concur I am winning at not spending.”

Clint twirls an empty beer bottle between his fingers. “Look, I’m not saying that it’s cheating to come as yourself...”

“I sense a ‘but’ in there somewhere,” Nat says.

“I sense a butt right here,” Rocket chimes in. He’s dressed no differently, having openly complained he didn’t see the point and costumes sound more like some of the stupid shit Quill would be into. 

Steve flicks the deep red bed sheet pinned to the back of his shirt, making it swoosh around his feet, casually flipping what no one needs to know is Thor’s actual hammer. The group chatters on as he surveys the room, pausing when he spies Bucky in a far corner, his arm slipping artfully around the waist of a very pretty woman in a white post-Edwardian nightdress. She seems familiar but he can’t really get a good look at her and, considering Bucky’s clearly enthralled with her, he doesn’t think he should be trying to get a better look. They appear deep in conversation, the woman’s hair falling across her face like a curtain. It’s intimate, the way they lean in, and suddenly Steve feels like he’s intruding. He coughs and returns his attention back to the current debate. 

***

She curls further into his side, burrows her chilled shoulder down where he’s warm and snug. Her head falls back to look up at him with doe-eyes. He gets lost in them, irises so peaceful and deep, dark like still waters, like starless night sky. She runs her hand over the blue near-ancient canvas stretched across his chest, traces the white star with an elegant digit.

He leans in, almost captures her lips.  Forgets it’s not private. Like there’s no one else. Like there shouldn’t ever be. She offers her neck, bends so far back that it’s a bit unnatural, but he brushes the thought away. He shakes his head, tries to recall something. It seems important. Scratching at his brain. 

He stops, pulls back. His eyes pinch. He doesn’t know this woman. Doesn’t know anything about her. But he wants to. He wants to know her. Maybe that’s what he couldn’t remember. “What’s…” Runs his nose along her cheek. “What’s your name, Darlin’?”

Did she already tell him that? Did he already ask?

***

“Tell me again, how is coming as yourself and wearing your actual multi-million dollar suit not breaking the rules?” Nat saunters across the circle, grabbing a drink off the bar.

“I’m just saying, that since you were the guy who made the rule, it’s kinda weird that you’re the one breaking it.” Clint sets his bottle down with a clink that sounds a bit more irritated than he appears. 

“Point of order: Cap lent his costume to two people.” Tony feigns deep offense, gestures toward Scott.

“What? This? Nah, I hand-sewed this baby myself for Comic-Con years ago.” Scott stands proudly, hands heroically on his hips. 

Tony’s eyes roll back into his brain. “That still leaves Barnes and his circa WW2 Star-Spangled-ness? Care to explain the museum piece over there and the clothes he’s wearing while you’re at it?”

***

She smiles softly, delicate. Her features unbothered despite that it seems he’s forgotten her. Goes up on her toes and places cool fingertips on his fevered lips. Pushes her own together in a silent hush and he feels it in his gut - feels himself give in to something more than gravity pulling him down, twisting. He leans in toward those lotus-petal painted lips, almost...almost. 

She pulls back just a little. Smile shy, but somehow not. A little knowing. Knows a secret she’s going to show him. He doesn’t like secrets; he’s kept too many, he’s been too many. Doesn’t trust them. 

But he wants to know hers. Wants her. Needs to see where this leads. 

Her fingers entwine with his, pull him fluidly toward the exit door. 

And he forgets. Forgets they are leaving a brightly lit room, forgets there are people who might miss him, forgets everyone, everything but the promise of losing himself in her. 

***

Steve shrugs. “Bucky asked how much trouble it would be to borrow it. Turns out it wasn’t much trouble,” he says, pulling his eyes away from the door Bucky had disappeared through. 

“Excellent!” Tony claps. “Now that we can all agree the utilization of old suits is not a budget factor, let’s discuss what I am sure is a fascinating reason why Wilson here jumped on the opportunity to dress as a defunct Russian asset.”

Sam scoffs and pretends to smooth the aluminum foil wrapped around his left arm. “The Winter Soldier? Nah, my arm’s just dressed as a baked potato.” 

***

Her fingers swim up under his shirt and along each rib like organ keys. He’s draped over her, touching every inch, body covering her like a blanket, a pall. Their kisses swell and he dives when her mouth parts for him. At first a shallow exploration, his warm pink tongue skimming inside until she, impatient and sudden, curls into his mouth and catches it. 

The party and the lights feel a million leagues away. The sounds muffled and distant as if they’ve sneaked off to skinnydip not go necking in a backseat.

Lips and teeth banging, urgent. She’s under and around him all at once. Calling him to claim her like the open sea. 

Hot breath rushes from him as he pulls away and she floats up to follow but then settles back flat along the seat, smiling up at him. Hair splayed out around her face in waves and her face glowing like the moon. 

It registers with him that they’re in a parking lot, in the back of a car. It seems like new information, as if he had just realized. Must have been too busy kissing her, touching her because he doesn't know how they got here. Doesn’t remember clambering into the car. It’s large and old. A Studebaker? A Streamliner?

No, that can’t be right. 

***

“Hey, Mr. Stark. Cool Costume. Ned dressed as Mark 5 in 3rd grade.” Peter scurries up, acting slightly winded, as most of the crowd shoots daggers at him. “It, uh, it looks way better on you though.” He looks hopefully around, checking if that fixed whatever he’d said wrong. 

Shuddering, as if he’s just recalled what he’d come to say, Peter looks back quickly over his shoulder at the doorway Bucky and the woman walked out. “That’s all kinds of creepy. Just like that urban legend, right?”

“When it comes to questionable bed partners, I am spectacularly aware that I have no room to talk. But what is the deal with Steve’s pal and Coraline?” Tony gestures over his shoulder. “There’s a line between cute and creepy. But that one just runs a bit too realistic as The Woman in White.”

Steve looks between them and the door again. “The what?”

***

He presses his lips to her neck. Runs his tongue up a long trail to the shell of her ear.

Soft. He’s never felt anything so soft in his hands. Breasts like silt, spilling under his palms.  Soft every place he’s hard. He’s so hard, aching with it. Cock straining, reducing him down to that near-pain desire. He wants to bury himself between her thighs, drown himself inside her.

She pulls the gown free from her shoulders and it pools around her. She arches up to him. Offers. Urges. 

Insists. 

He licks his lips and wants more. Already can’t remember what she tastes like, saltwater or sweetened honey? He kisses her again, soft press against his tongue and he’s thirsty. Parched. Dives in for more but each touch leaves him wanting more. More heat. More water. More...air.

She’s under him and begging him. 

“Take me.”

Rouge tongue runs over chapped lips as he comes up for a breath. “You don’t have to ask me twice, Sugar.” He rasps, lungs seized up in want. 

Her hands dig into blue shoulders and her legs wrap around red and white stripes, clasping behind the small of his back. Pulling him down to her, pulling him under. 

Fog coats the windows. Their want dripping in rivulets down the glass. The air is thick with it, clings to his lungs, each breath heavy, laboring. 

“Hang on babe,” he pulls back, heart racing gulping down air. “Whew. Huh. Wow.” He looks around, squints, trying to get his bearings. “Gimme a sec, okay?”

She smiles again, sweet as rain. Shakes her head slowly, hair swirling around, a tangle of moss on the seat. Locks her hands behind his neck and digs her heels into his thighs.

She reaches down inside his pants and draws him out, a whisper caress on his length. Barely there, but possessive. Hers.

“Take me.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he gasps, breathless. Gasps as strokes him. “I’ll make it good, so good for you.” 

He wants her. Wants her like air. “Can’t wait. Gotta have you - now.”

She flips him over, deft like he weighs nothing and he floats beneath her. Straddles his hips and anchors him, grinding onto his cock. Her head falls back again, does that deep swoon to expose the marble column of her neck. And he feels again like he needs to stop her, to catch her head and stop her. To cradle her skull.

***

“I can tell you, Cap,” Sam says, leaning in conspiratorially, “but you and I are going to have a long chat later about how you manage to interact with other humans every day and still stay so damned isolated.”

Steve gives Sam a withering look but motions for him to continue. 

“The story goes, there’s a ghost that wanders the area. She fell for a guy years ago and got abandoned. The story changes in the details. Sometimes she died in childbirth, jumped off a bridge, whatever.  But one detail is always the same: heartbreaker was shipping off to war the next day. So, she, you know, ‘did it for her country.’ But the guy never comes back and she dies, waiting for him. Wandering the road leading to where they were last together.”

“Huh, that’s super weird,” Scott says, throwing back what he immediately learns is heavily-spiked cider, his eyes going wide on the burn. 

“Ghost stories are weird by definition, Scott” Nat says, licking the rim of her glass. 

“No,” Scott coughs, throwing back two more cider shots in quick succession. “I mean it’s weird because I picked her up on the road coming here. She asked all slow and dramatic about her soldier - I guess she is just super into Halloween - and I was gonna call her an Uber but then she said she was looking for Stark’s thing.”

Steve is incredibly done with this entire conversation. Peter, the exact opposite, presses for more info. “Which road?”

Sam shrugs dismissively. “The one by the old fairgrounds.”

Scott chokes on a fourth shot.  “Down in Queens.”

“You mean the fairgrounds where Stark held the first Expo?” Steve say, unblinking. All fun gone. 

Suddenly, Steve knows where he’s seen her. It’s just been a very, very long time since 1943.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Tony says, eyes locked on Steve. 

“Are you saying that I picked up a...a... ghost and rode with her for an hour? Guys...guys, I need to sit down.” Scott wobbles, hand shooting out to steady himself on Rocket. Rocket steps aside. 

Before Scott’s ass hits the floor, everyone else is out the door. 

***

She sinks down around him, fluid and silk. Her hands press into his chest. His warm muscles tense and brown nipples pebble in her touch’s wake. 

As she rides him, the night’s light behind her makes her hair look like a halo floating out around her. A thought breaks through that she looks familiar - he does know her - but she’s just one more thing he lost along the way. 

He wants to tell her they can make this new, start over, whatever went wrong before, he can fix it and it wasn’t his fault and didn’t mean to leave her and please forgive him because he didn’t mean to toss her away.

Wait.

Wait...

He recalls a flash of her face, dry and bright. She’s looking up at him in his brown uniform. Red car hovering on a stage behind her. Then, as suddenly as it came, the picture’s gone, popped like a burst bubble.

***

Steve and Sam are first out the back, toward the dock. Peter has a legit meltdown but still manages to check every car. They’re all empty.

“Cap! There!” Clint shouts, pointing out at the water. 

The middle of the goddamn lake.

In the goddamn, deathly still, dark lake.

***

She glides over him and it’s so desperate and slippery. Everything urgent when all he’d really wanted is to take his time. To do this right. Bring her some daisies  - or, no, she'd like lilies he thinks dumbly and runs his hands up to cup her face. He wants to show her a good time before his ships out in the morning and see if she has a different friend for Steve. 

The guilt is raw and burrowing in his heart he can’t shake it but he doesn’t quite know why. 

Maybe that’s her secret. What she wanted to show him. 

Maybe it’s that she deserves better than this back seat in a parked car outside Stark’s expo. He starts to say sorry but is silenced with another watery kiss.

Burning starts low in his back, the building pull low in his spine, and he wants to come. Desperate for his end. 

 Maybe it’s too much because she can have it all she can have him and he’s not scared - but a small spark fires some forgotten place in his mind, that he is scared - that maybe he should be.

Sliding over him, bend and rock. Tight. He surges up into her again and again. His release looms, vision tunneled down to her. Nothing but her and the sweet hold, the way she’s anchored him down after so many years adrift. 

He thinks blindly that he should warn her. Opens his mouth but she swallows his words. 

Then he’s coming, pulsing out of him like lifeblood. Breathless and drained. And he’s so tired. 

Peaceful. Serene. 

“Take me,” she sings.

He can’t hold on. Body aches for rest. 

Her brow furrows. “Take me home.”  

His eyes flutter. He starts to form the words, but just...can’t. 

He would’ve taken her home and not left. He didn’t mean to make it seem like it must have seemed. He didn’t just throw her away. But it was war and he wasn’t expecting the hell it brought or the hell that came after. It had all seemed so innocent in that old back seat, with his promises he didn’t mean to break.

She grinds down, damned serum refractory period kicking in. He swells against all reason and moves with her until she shakes and clenches, nails digging into his skin, a mournful wail spiraling out of her as he feels himself spill again. 

She touches his neck, feels his pulse stutter out, slow.  Her face is confused. Head shaking. 

He takes her hand, holds it to his heart. An apology. 

Then, she rails back, wretches and twists. She slips through his fingers like time, like silk, like thread.  

What was once solid, warm like new sun on a cold sill, now shifts. Contorts and writhes, skin viscus and pooling around his fingers like so much rancid dough. 

He wants to care but he wants to sleep. Just rest his eyes. Just for a second. It doesn’t feel right but he can’t make himself care. It’s so quiet and peaceful, down here where she used to be solid, where he used to be warm.

***

Then, when he’s almost gone, when peace has fired off in nearly every cell, he’s yanked free. 

Colder than he’s ever been. Night air like a fire burning, like he is nothing but frostbite dropped in a boiling pot.

Sam drags him up onto the dock and collapses beside him. Sam’s face is drawn and terrified and their clothes soggy and weighted, water running off between the wooden planks.

“The Hell Barnes? Party full of perfectly available, alive folk and that’s the strange you go for.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x original female character #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction

[turtlepated]

The Handbook for the Recently Married (to the Deceased)

Chapter 3 - 

[TW: brief, loose description of a panic attack. Just tread lightly! Don’t wanna upset anybody!]

Tag list: @sapphic-florals , @beetlejuicebeadoll , @do-ya-hear-that-sound , @imtherain , @imsuchahobbit , @pastelnacht , @tialanderrol , @sammyskip

----

At my pronouncement Beetlejuice whipped around to face me so quickly that his head actually spun on his shoulders like a top for a moment before he stopped it by clapping both palms to either side. There was also an audible record scratch followed by complete silence. “I’m sorry, what was that?” he asked, jamming a finger into his ear and wiggling it vigorously as though a blockage may have caused him to mishear me. “I said I’ll marry you. If you want, that is.” He blinked slowly a few times, his mouth opening and then shutting again. His brow furrowed deeply, his eyes narrowing as he fixed me with a doubtful look. “This is a trick, but I’m not sure how.” Despite the complete absurdity of the situation, or maybe because of it, I laughed through my nose at the blunt certainty in his statement. “No trick, you have my word.” Beetlejuice scoffed incredulously and I recoiled from the spray of saliva, wiping the wetness off my cheek. “Nice try, dollface,” he sneered, pacing around me so that I had to turn to keep him in sight. “I’m not fallin’ for that one.”

“But I really mean it,” I insisted. “You said you wanted life, right?” Eyes still narrowed, Beetlejuice gave a jerky affirmative nod. “Yeah…?” “And the only way for you to… become alive is to marry a living person?” He turned his head, fixing me with a mistrustful side eye. “Yeah…?.” I nodded along, shrugging one shoulder as though it were the most casual suggestion possible. “So then, why not marry me?” 

I could practically hear the wheels in his head turning, his expression softening from skepticism into slack-jawed surprise and back again as he debated internally. I watched, amazed and curious, as shoots of different colors flared in his hair like a neon sign: purple and red and blue and yellow. After taking a long moment to think it over, he looked back at me with eyes wide and round.

“Why?” he asked, his raspy voice so quiet it came out like a croak. My throat tightened and I had to swallow hard to force the feeling back down. No one had ever looked at me with that kind of vulnerability, no one had ever spoken to me with such bald openness, and I wondered if he was even aware of just how transparent he was in this moment.

I flashed him a lopsided smile, relieved when my lips didn’t tremble and the burning in my eyes subsided. “You said you were tired of being alone,” I explained, taking a deep breath and mustering my courage. It was my turn to be open. “I am, too. So… let’s get married.” His brows knitted together, his eyes darting back and forth as he thought, his tongue darting out to wet his parted lips. “You’re… you’re serious?” I nodded firmly. “That way, neither of us has to be alone anymore.” From above and behind us, someone cleared their throat. Beetlejuice turned to look and I leaned sideways, peering over his shoulder at the man on the platform. He was still sweating bullets and pale as milk, but he was trying to smile in a friendly way that ended up more of a grimace.

“It just so happens, I’m ordained,” he announced. “I could marry you right now!” At the podiums, Delia let out a sharp cry of alarm. “Otho!” she chastised, aghast. “What are you doing?!” “Oh, shut up, Delia!” Otho nearly shrieked, his voice ratcheting about an octave higher. “I can’t die in Connecticut! Mr. Ghost Demon, sir, if you’ll let me down I’ll gladly perform a civil ceremony!” Beetlejuice beamed, his previously serious and rather melancholy demeanor wiped away as easily dry erase marker off a board. With a snap of his fingers and a tremendous puff of brilliantly green smoke, the scaffold and gallows disappeared and left Otho standing on solid ground, his hands patting himself down all over as if to make sure it was still in one piece.

“Anything can happen in a live show, folks!” Beetlejuice said into his mic, turning once again as if addressing an audience. “We’ll be right back with the wedding of the century! Eat your hearts out, Will and Kate!” Tossing the mic carelessly over his shoulder (it landed somewhere with a shrill scream of electronic feedback) Beetlejuice reached up and began fussing with his bow tie, smoothing the ruffles down the front of his green polyester button-down shirt. “Let’s get this show on the road, Skippy! What’s first?” he asked, practically bouncing over to Otho and slinging an arm around his shoulders like they were old school friends. Jumping and uttering a tiny frightened sound, Otho cleared his throat and took a moment to compose himself before turning on a winning, charismatic smile of perfectly white teeth. While they worked out the particulars, Delia and the Maitlands converged on me like a flock of extremely concerned birds.

They all began speaking at the same time. “You don’t have to do this!” Adam insisted, whispering vehemently so Beetlejuice wouldn’t overhear. “He’s right, we can figure something out together!” Barbara agreed. “We can’t let you go through with this!” Delia tittered anxiously. “He’s a demon!” “He’s dangerous!” “His vibes are atrocious!” I raised my hands in a supplicant gesture, trying to get them to calm down when I felt a cold, clammy hand take me by the elbow. “Shake a leg, babes! It’s showtime!” Beetlejuice tugged me resolutely after him to where Otho stood with his hands clasped loosely in front of him like a very posh reverend. The specter had undergone another wardrobe change, now wearing a somewhat shabby and extraordinarily garish tuxedo of red crushed velvet, his verdant hair slicked back flat against his head. It took a very long moment for me to realize that since pulling me away from the three distraught sympathizers, Beetlejuice had been talking animatedly.

I had thought that I was making, if not a rational decision, then the only logical choice I could make. Now that the moment was upon me, I found that I wasn’t quite as at peace with the whole arrangement as I’d thought I was. Beetlejuice’s words, which were still issuing from his mouth at a startling rate, did not penetrate the cottony fluff that seemed stuffed in my ears as he steered me forward. Was this what getting cold feet felt like? I wasn’t sure, I’d never been engaged before, I’d never been anything before. What had I gotten myself into?

Beetlejuice pulled me up short beside him, turning and glancing me up and down. “Hmm,” he murmured thoughtfully to himself. “Just a sec, doll. Needs a little…” He trailed off, snapping his fingers and enveloping me in a puff of red smoke. It cleared a moment later and I looked down at myself to see that I was now clothed in a long-sleeved dressed of frilled layers with a high, lacey collar. It was also bright red to match his tux. At my right side, Beetlejuice grinned toothily and took my hand, tucking it into the crook of his left elbow and turning us both to face Otho. “All right, sunshine,” he said, grinning ear to ear and bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. “Do your stuff!”

Otho’s eyes darted from Beetlejuice’s to mine, his mouth pulling into a thin line and his eyebrows rising marginally as if to say, “Sorry”, and then he cleared his throat and began to speak. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today before these witnesses to join this… erm…man and this woman in wedded bliss!” Behind us I heard scrambling footsteps, craning back over my shoulder to see Delia and the Maitlands rushing forward as if to put a stop to the proceedings. Without turning, Beetlejuice made a sharp, dismissive gesture with his free hand and the three of them stopped suddenly as if they’d collided with an invisible wall. “Can we just, uh, skip to the important parts?” he asked/instructed the reluctant officiant. Flustered and put on the spot, Otho’s mouth opened and closed like a fish a few times but he did as he was asked.

“If you’ll both just sign your full names to this marriage certificate,” he said, withdrawing a flat leather pouch from an interior pocket of his jacket. He opened it, rifled through for a moment, and pulled out a single slip. “Got a pen, pal?” Beetlejuice asked, plucking it deftly from Otho’s fingers as he dove into another pocket in search of a pen. When Otho produced a pen, Beetlejuice gestured for him to turn around and pressed the certificate to the man’s back, signing his name on a line at the bottom of the document before presenting the pen to me with a flourish. “M’dear,” he said with an enormous rakish grin. I watched my hand reach mechanically forward and take it from him but it wasn’t acting on any conscious input from me. I raised the pen to the paper and wrote my name on the dotted line. Otho spun back around, Beetlejuice insistently stuffing the paper back into his hands. He read the document carefully, shot one last sorrowful look at me, and added his own signature to the final line before shoving the pen back into his pocket without replacing its cap. “Very well then. Lawrence Betelgeuse Shoggoth; do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, and forsaking all others for as long as you both shall live?” Beetlejuice was beaming at me, his hair such a vibrant shade of green it was practically glowing. “I do!”

I blinked dumbly, momentarily thrown by the unexpected normalcy of at least part of his full name as Otho turned at last to me. “And do you… yada yada yada, so long as you both shall live?” he asked, cutting an anxious glance to Beetlejuice who was making an impatient “hurry it up!” gesture. I opened my mouth but couldn’t make a sound, my mind going totally blank. I could hear muffled thumps and voices behind us, as if Barbara, Adam and Delia were trying to get through whatever invisible barrier Beetlejuice had erected between them and us. My eyes turned to the expectant face of the man beside me. Beetlejuice’s eyes were fixed on me, his grin slipping slightly as I kept my silence. I heard myself say the words in my head before they made it to my lips: “I do.”

Exhaling quietly, Otho concluded, “Then by the power vested in me by the state of whatever, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.” Without further adieu, Beetlejuice slipped one arm around my waist, grasped the back of my head with the other hand and crushed his mouth against mine as he spun me dizzyingly around, dipping me so severely I gasped against his lips, sure that I was about to hit the floor. But he held me up with apparent ease, cantilevered at a steep angle to the floor, and took my gasp as an opportunity to slip his chilly tongue into my mouth. The scent and taste of him flooded my senses; damp soil and stagnant, mildewy water, dead leaves and the sickly-sweet odor of long-wilted flowers. It was wet and melodramatic, slightly musty and interspersed with an almost painful press of teeth. He was also making no attempt to be quiet about it, moaning lewdly against my mouth.

How much longer was he planning this to go on, I wondered? Laughing softly through my nose, I figured I might as well play along and raised my hands to his face, cupping his jaw. His bristly scruff was rough against my thumbs as I ran them up and over his cheeks, my fingers coming to rest in the short, thick hair at the base of his skull. A jolt passed through him as he sucked in a sharp breath through his nose and his eyes snapped wide open. Just as quickly and easily as I’d gone down he swung me upright, separating from me with a sound like a plunger being pulled from a sink. We looked at one another in silence for a beat, my eyes rising to the top of his head where I could swear strands of his hair were turning a soft cotton candy pink. Clearing his throat and averting his gaze, Beetlejuice lifted his hands up to his face. He spread and wiggled his fingers, rotating them at the wrist to scrutinize the front and back of his palms. “Huh,” he grunted, underwhelmed. “That seems pretty anticlimactic.” “Was something supposed to happen?” I asked. He gave a noncommittal, one-shouldered shrug. “I mean, I thought so, but maybe-”  

Beetlejuice cut himself off with a sharp cry, doubling over, his face crinkling as if in pain and his hands pressed flat against his chest. All of us jumped back, alarmed, unsure what to do as he let out a strangled gasp, curling further in on himself, staggering unsteadily and grunting, his eyes pinched tightly shut and his teeth bared. After a moment he relaxed, head hanging down, trembling arms braced against his thighs as his back rose and fell in deep, shuddering breaths. “Wow,” he said, somehow even raspier than before. “That was a thing.” Blowing out one last hard exhale he righted himself, hands on his hips. “So! When do we eat the cake – oh….” Beetlejuice froze in place, his mouth a tiny o, his eyes the size of saucers. “What was…? There it is again!” He dashed the few feet over to me, so fast I thought he might bowl me right over, seizing one of my hands in both of his and mashing my palm firmly against his chest. “Do you feel that?!”

I stiffened at the unexpected closeness and contact, but I tried to figure out what he was talking about. Truthfully, I didn’t feel anything at all at first, but when I concentrated I did indeed distinguish a rhythmic thump. “Your… your heartbeat?” I asked. A harsh gasp tore from him, his face going totally slack in shock. “I have a heartbeat?” he repeated numbly. “I’m… alive?” He let out a bark of laughter, then another, then launched into a full-on bout of hysterics ranging from deep belly laughter to high, tittering giggles as he flung both arms around my waist, lifted me up and spun me around, so overcome by his elation. “I’m alive! I’m aliiiiive! Thank you! Thankyouthankyouthankyou! I’ve never been so happy!” With another loud gasp he stopped again, the skirt of my dress swinging around us as he plopped me unceremoniously back on my feet. “I’m happy!” he said, the word coming out as a reedy squeak.

His joy was so contagious I couldn’t help smiling myself. Even the others, glancing uncertainly to me and one another, were looking at the very least hopeful that maybe it was smooth sailing from here on out.

It was not.

“Oh God, what if it doesn’t last?” he whined, twisting his hands together anxiously. “Oh God, it’s gone! The happiness is gone! What if it never comes back?! Now I feel bad! Ugh, why does it feel like I swallowed a bowling ball? And like somebody melon-balled out my heart?! That’s not fair, those feelings don’t even go together! Now I’m mad!” We all stood stupefied by the intensity and speed of his emotional 180. He rounded on us in a fury, charging towards no one in particular and raving about how society failed to teach men how to properly process their anger. The others clustered loosely together, safety in numbers after all, and I stepped toward him, laying a hand lightly on his arm and making a soft shushing motion with the other. He stopped when I touched him, chest heaving, jaw clenched, eying me hard. “Just take a deep breath,” I urged, taking care to keep my voice as calm as possible, demonstrating for him the long slow inhale through the nose, the long slow exhale through the mouth. “Try it,” I said when he looked doubtful, still practically panting but at my insistence he begrudgingly copied me, sucking in a huge lungful of air and puffing his cheeks out. We exhaled at the same time and repeated the exercise and I was relieved to note the tension draining out of the set of his shoulders and the forearm which I still had my hand curled loosely around.

“Better?” I asked. He grumbled something under his breath. All eyes turned in the same direction then as a door opened in the wall, emitting drifting mist that glowed faintly green. Lydia emerged from the murk, followed closely by the tall man who had run through after her, presumably her father. Both of them stopped dead, faces freezing into nearly identical masks of confusion as they took in the scene before them: Delia and the Maitlands huddled, Otho hiding behind them, while Beetlejuice and I stood together in ostentatious red wedding apparel. “What the hell?” said Lydia, her father too befuddled to reprimand her for the swear. The door swung silently closed of its own accord behind them, awkward silence filling the room until I cleared my throat. “Are you Charles Deetz?” I asked. Charles Deetz nodded mutely. I raised my hand in a half-hearted wave. “Hi. I’m your neighbor. I brought your mail.”

Delia raced forward then to Charles and Lydia, flinging her arms around them while the Maitlands kept their distance for the time being, turning their attention to myself. “What’re you gonna do now?” Barbara asked, trying not to make it obvious that she was talking about the now no-longer-dead demon standing next to me. I raised my eyebrows. I hadn’t even stopped long enough yet to think about what would happen now. “I… have absolutely no idea,” I admitted, turning to see that Lydia had pried herself free from Delia and had marched over to Beetlejuice. She stopped right in front of him, glaring defiantly, arms crossed over her chest. “That was a crappy stunt you pulled,” she said matter of factly. Beetlejuice, unimpressed by her demeanor, held his ground. “Don’t gimme that, half pint. You started it!” he growled back. Lydia’s glower faltered, replaced with total incomprehension. “What? What are you talking about?” Beetlejuice pointed triumphantly, nearly poking her in the face as he said, “See! There you go again!” She batted his hand away and considering his shaky handle on the whole emotions thing, I thought it best to intervene before things got out of control. I looped my arm through Beetlejuice’s and steered him purposefully away from the irate teen and towards the door. “Come on, honey, we don’t want to overstay our welcome.” Charles and Delia, who’d been cooing and fussing at one another, seemed to remember their unexpected guest at that point and called after me. “Wait!” Charles began, bringing himself up short, unsure of what to say. “Will you… be all right?” He shot a quick glance at Beetlejuice as if to add “with him?” I felt Beetlejuice tensing again next to me, leaning into him and laying my other hand against his bicep. “We’ll be just fine. It was, er… very nice to meet you all!”

With that, I opened the front door and walked out with a husband in tow. As we descended the steps, from inside I heard someone, it sounded like Delia, shout, “Congratulations!”

-----

Ah, weddings. Tears, emotions, full blown meltdowns and threats of physical violence... 

Thanks for reading! Up next, domestic bliss with the Juice man! PFT!

If you’d like to be tagged, gimme a shout!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 4

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice broadway #beetlejuice x reader #beetlejuice x self insert #my writing #Pate writes #The Handbook

[missielee]

A token

Day 4,5&6: Bulky, radio& blade

“….zz… In other news, two people have been missing on recent report by Sheriff Midton… zz..zz”

“Darn this old junk never work! Might as well dump it out in trash” A frustrated male struggled to twist the broken knob jammed to the left side “Oh come on, work you piece of garbage!”

The rouge machine was clearly trying the patience of him, squeakily grumbling against the twisting force. Craig was this close to throw the rusty radio through the window if he can’t switch to his favorite morning show. A “Plop” sound was heard when the turning comes off as Craig growled directly at the poor outdated device.

“Piece of junk! Not a thing works anymore!”

There go his good morning, Craig muttered while biting his toast and putting on his jacket. Without “Jack the Bumpernickel”, he couldn’t even sit at home peacefully to enjoy breakfast. Rummaging the couch for his keys, Craig cursed himself for not putting it on the drawers and probably going to waste half of the morning looking for “dem jingles”.

*Knock Knock*

“Mr. Krimel? Are you home?”

Craig looked up from the table “Just a sec, darn jingles!”

Searching but no avail, he gave up and went for the door.

It opened, showed a young girl in a thick fur coat with red mitts and scarf. A small wool hat covered most of her hair but some got out. Pink face lit up with a toothy smile as blue sapphires gazed up to Craig.

“I had a day off! There is a lot of snow at school so mama told me I don’t have to go to school!” she beamed “I thought I could hang out at your place!”

“How much snow was it that they let ya skip school?” He raised an eyebrow at the petit figure in front of him

Following the direct where the youngling pointed, Craig peeked out to see his truck sank in 5 inches snow, the top was covered in thick white. Groaned in agitation, he knew this day was gonna be sour the moment that radio roared his last glory buzz before going into deathbed. With this weather, driving isn’t an option so either he spent another hour shoveling or walked to Bernie’s to get his stereo fixed.

Wait a minute…

“Emma, did ya tell ya mom that ya here with me?”

Little Emma has already snuck through the wooden door and into the living room to play with Hoppers – the old German shepherd sleeping peacefully next to the fireplace.

“I snuck out through the gate! Momma wouldn’t mind!” Craig frowned

‘This didn’t sound like it’s gonna be good…”

As predicted, his phone rang from the other room. Rushed to pick up, Craig prepared himself for a tantrum from the other line.

“Craig! For godsaken, is Emma at your place!?! She isn’t in her room and I’ve looked everywhere!! Oh please tell me she’s at your house!” the frantic voice of a female bursted louder even though it’s not on speaker

“S’alright, Jane. She’s here. Little squirrel must have forgot to tell ya. Don’t worry, I’ll drop her at yours on the way.”

“Oh thank you so much!! What a relief! Can you put her on so I can talk to her?”

“Later, Jane. You can have a talk with her when she’s back, ‘kay?” He hung up

Head into the living room, Craig saw a very happy Emma rubbing old Hopper grumbling on his bed. Emma is daughter of a florist in town, who likes hanging out with the lumberjack than with her friends around her age for some reasons. Despite living over a mile from the town, this little girl will find her way on his front porch whenever she got a chance. It’s not the first time Jane – her mother, call Craig of her daughter whereabouts.

“Alright kiddo, let’s go. I got a radio to fix and I ain’t letting ya stick around here” Craig whistled “Come on Hopper boy”

“We’re going to Mr. Porter workshop?! Woohoo! Come on Hopper!” Emma ran to get his leash, too familiar with the surrounding.

The old man put on a scarf, gazed at the cigarettes on the table with lighter. ‘Kid’s here, can’t smoke or damn well Jane will give me an earful’

Emma, accompanied by Hopper, was excitingly waiting at the door. She gave him her scarf, saying that “Doggie might get sick!” but Craig already put a different one on her before they went out.

“Looks like we’ll have to walk to town. Are ya down for some boot in the snow, kid?” Emma perked up

“I’m always down! Let’s go!”

 __________________________________________________________

The town sparkled in the cold white powder, stores lit in warm yellow lights. Emma ran up ahead with Hopper to join some kids playing in the snow. A few townsfolk were cleaning up snow on the street as well as those piled in front of their shops. Craig told Emma to stay near the town square while he went to Bernie’s. The little one nodded before running off joyfully with the hound. Craig turned his heel and headed towards the wooden store on the left side of the square, Bernie’s Workshop.

The floorboard creaked as the heavy man stepped in, bell chimming woke the sleep male at the counter. Bernie Porter was Craig’s good friend back in the days, but after the incident that cost him his leg, he retired and opened a workshop in town. His shop originally sells weapons for hunters but with people’s demands in fixing household appliances went up, he decided to change it into a workshop, even sells some others tools which earns him quite decent. It’s winter so his orders pile up on fixing heaters, stored up quite a few in the back. Craig went up to counter to greet his friend.

“How ya doin’, old bud? See ya got quite a lot orders here ‘round the cold weather”

“Crappy weather I tell ya! Mah’ knee ain’t lovin’ this icy breeze, crampin’ up and gave me hella hard time!” Bernie scratched behind his ear and put on a worn trapper “Ain’t got no idea why people keep messin’ around with the heater, if ya broke it, better just buy new. What ya got there?”

“Ah, the old rusty bastard broke. Thinkin’ ya might give it a try” Craig put the radio on the counter, along with a singular turner

Bernie gave it a look, grunted in disapproval while taking the whole thing apart. The inside is all dusty and the inner weren’t looking too good. Craig left his friend doing his job while taking a look around. Most of the weapons for hunting seasons have been put away, instead there are tools and materials for multiple purposes. A sharp gleam caught his attention in the corner of the shop. Thick wooden haft, clean-edge blade shone in his eyes. Craig picked up, felt the smooth pine handle and lightness on his palm. It’s been years since he last held an axe this nice, it gave out a homey sensation, so familiar to him.

“She’s a beauty, ain’t she?” Bernie spoke up “Careful now, she’s sharp enough to split a hair. Interested?”

“Hard to resist, I can say. But ya know I don’t do axe no more. I ain’t got the gist like before” Craig admired it before carefully leaned it back to the corner

“You ain’t got the gist? Strong as a grizzly, you ain’t fooling me. I may lose a leg but not an eye” Bernie cackled while twisting the screws.

It’s true that despite being in his 50s, Craig still looks like he’s in his prime. Body stone stiff and bulky, tall like a pine tree. It would be a joke to think that the lumberjack couldn’t handle an axe.

“Maria never likes me leaving these at home. Said it ain’t good if Nancy found them”

Bernie glanced up “Maria ain’t minding that, I’m sure. Holding on to old things ain’t good for ya, Krimel”

“You do you, Bern. Ain’t have to worry ‘bout me” Craig snickered “How’s mah thing? Can ya get it to work?”

“Can’t say I haven’t tried. This thing is a sight for a sore eye. I could always get ya settle on something better...” Dull eyes answered Bernie “…but I’ll see what I can do for the time being”

“Thanks, old pal. I swing by next week to check on it” Bernie waved at his friend as he disappeared behind the snow curtain.

Bernie returned to his work, baffled on how he’s going to get materials for such outdated radio model. “I’ll be damn if I can find where to get quadcoil to fix this wreckage”

On the side carved an inscription ‘For my beloved, Maria Fall”

#inktober #inktober2020 #day3 #lumberjack #original

[is0gild]

Ice Cream and Fire Oven Pizza - Chapter 8

Pairing: Elsa x Lea/Axel || Side Pairing: Riku x OC

Summary: Modern AU. She's an introvert ball of nerves who works at Ice Palace, a mall food court ice cream shop. He's the outgoing, sassy goofball who works at the Pizza Planet across the way. Hilarity, snark, and fluffy romcom hijinks ensue.

Word Count: 6,473

FIRST CHAPTER || PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

Credit for super friggin’ cute and super friggin’ amazing cover art goes to the super friggin’ talented ky-jane here on tumblr!

It was dawning on me that I hadn’t fully thought this through.

This whole “having friends” thing.

There were so many factors I hadn’t even considered. Like, once you’ve made a new friend…

...what the frick are you supposed to do with them?

One would think I’d have this figured out by now. After all, I was friends with Rayne, wasn’t I? But Rayne was different. There hadn’t really been much to think about there, we’d just sorta clicked. Besides, we’d met when we were children - a time when the hot topics to talk about had been our favorite toys to play with or which of the boys had cooties or our latest masterpieces made during Arts and Crafts time involving gluing popsicle sticks and sequins to pine cones. You know, kid stuff.

But now I was an adult. An adult who had just made new adult friends who probably expected adult conversations.

And unfortunately I just didn’t think cooties and sequins were going to cut it anymore.

Which is why I could now be found on this fine Friday afternoon shift at the Ice Palace having borrowed Kristoff’s phone, making use of the current lull in customer traffic to carry out some important research. And how, one might wonder, was this important research being gathered?

By googling the phrase “how to friendship.”

Genius, I know.

Thousands of articles and tutorials had come back in the search results, not all of them useful, but I’d landed on a couple that could maybe help a little bit. I gnawed on my lower lip as my eyes quickly scanned over the words. Then with a nod, I used a pen to transcribe the cliff notes version over to my palm, adding on to the ever growing list of useful tidbits that could now be found there.

Call it my Chit-Chat Cheat Sheet. That’s right, folks, you’re witnessing a crucial life hack in the making. This handy-dandy little list was going to be my one-stop shop to social butterfly success. Look out, new pals of mine, you were about to be friended so hard. I was going to friend your butts off! This was-

“Hey, I also like to doodle on my hand whenever I’m bored outta m-”

With a half gasp, half yelp, I jolted up straight, wide eyes discovering Lea now standing on the other side of the counter from me. He brought up his hands, “Woah now, sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you.”

My own hand flew up to cover my pounding heart as I breathed out and shook my head. “No. No, it’s fine, I should’ve been paying more-” My fingers flexed, closing around empty air. My brow furrowed. “Wait…” Where did my-? Did I drop it? “...I had a pen.”

It suddenly blurred down from up above to crash land into the countertop, making us both flinch and jerk back slightly.

Oh. Heh. There it was.

“Sorry about that,” I gave a weak laugh, retrieving the writing implement and giving it a little waggle as I held it up. “I… guess I still got a few kinks to work out before I can successfully launch the first unmanned pencraft into orbit.”

...wow, did that stupid joke really just come out of me?

Must. Resist. Urge. To. Wince.

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Might I suggest waiting for a day when the weather forecast reports zero chance of ceiling?” he pointed up.

I nodded, “Good note. Excellent observation. Prime example of one of my kinks.” I blanched, then hastily stammered, “I mean the… one of the kinks that, uh, needs to be, er… worked... out.”

Ugh, what’s wrong with me? Why am I like this?

This is why I needed the list.

...crud! The list! My eyes darted to my palm where it was scrawled in plain view for all the world to bear witness. Then my gaze flicked to Lea, looking at me with an eyebrow cocked and one side of his lips turned up. Then I balled my fist and jammed it behind my back.

Had he seen?

He mustn’t know about my secret hacks!

That’s when I spotted it. Kristoff’s phone. Still on the counter between us. Still open to the WikiHow I’d been taking notes from. My other hand shot out and swatted the device away, sending it slamming into the wall on my right before clattering to the ground.

Oopsie. Sorry Kristoff!

Luckily he was currently out and about taking his ten. He’d never have to know. This could just be our little secret between the phone and me.

“Shit, what’d that poor thing ever do to you?”

...rather, between the phone, me, and Lea.

What had it done to me, he asks? It’d tried to rat me out, that’s what!

My eyes darted to one side. “...let’s just say the crime fits the punishment.”

Snitches get stitches.

He glanced to where the abused phone still lay abandoned on the tiled floor, then snorted and crossed his arms with a shake of his head, “If you say so.”

Alright, so this exchange so far? Could be going better. Not exactly textbook. Lot of room for improvement. But that was okay because (ba-dum ba-dum!) Chit-Chat Cheat Sheet to the rescue! It could salvage any social catastrophe! Let’s just watch it work its magic, shall we?

I shifted to bring my hand out in front of me once more, casually resting my palm face down against the countertop. Then I lifted it just barely enough to furtively peek at the first couple lines I’d written there.

Start with a warm, friendly greeting. Examples include…

I locked eyes with him. “Whassup.”

He blinked. “Um… hi?”

Nailed it.

Alright, now that a proper line of communication had officially been established in the most cordial manner, on to the next step: small talk. After sneaking another quick look at my notes, I pressed my hand back down again and recited the words I’d just glanced at, “So nice weather we’re having, huh? At least it’s not raining like last week.”

This list was a god send. Pure gold.

He squinted upward, scratching the back of his head. “Hasn’t it been sunny for months now?”

...fudge.

Abort, captain, abort! The first one was a dud! Quickly, lock and load the second one and fire!

I anxiously checked my palm again and latched onto the next line, reading out, “That’s an awesome shirt you’re wearing!”

He frowned down at it, eyebrows knitting together. “You mean my work polo? Not… really, but okay.”

Aaaaaaaand another swing and a miss!

Oh wise and powerful Chit-Chat Cheatsheet, why hast thou forsaken me here, now, in my greatest hour of need? Me, your most devout and faithful of followers? Me, who loved and worshipped you so?

Feeling my panic spiking, I looked to my hand again to find one more line I had yet to try. One final chance for salvation. This was it. My ace in the hole. List, don’t fail me now!

Desperate, I didn’t even register the words as my eyes snatched them from my palm, handed them off to my brain that then shoved them down the pipeline to my mouth which proceeded to blurt out verbatim, “So what do you do in your flamingo?”

...the list had failed me.

“I’m sorry, what does who do in the what and where now?”

And we’re talking like… epic failure.

I was just now realizing this was the one I’d been in the middle of jotting down when Lea had startled me. So chances were good that that sloppy mess of a scribble at the end of the sentence? Wasn’t actually the word flamingo.

At least, I hoped it wasn’t.

Whatever. I give up.

Puffing out a sigh as I pinched the bridge of my nose, I muttered, “You know what, forget it. I’m just… having a bit of a malfunction. One of those days, I guess.”

“Oh,” he chuckled, “no worries! Those come up all the time working customer service, so I totally get it.”

This guy was too nice. Here I was, spouting off nonsense like a gibbering baboon and he was just brushing it off like it was no big deal. Like it was an everyday occurrence for a person to ask him if he did lord only knows what to a neon pink bird. I should get on with assisting him with whatever he’d come over here for. It was the least I could do in exchange for him putting up with the trainwreck that was me. Taking a deep breath and putting on a smile, I asked, “So what can I help you with today?”

He returned the smile, “Take a wild guess.”

I glanced around my work space. “Ice cream?”

“Got it in one,” his thumb went up. “I’m a total addict by the way, so you’ll be seeing a lot of me.”

“I’m sure your dentist says the same thing,” I deadpanned, pressing my finger to a button on the cash register. “Sea Salt, right?”

“You’re on a roll today!”

My grin twitched wider. He was so much better at this small talk thing than me. “How would you like it?”

“I like my ice cream like I like my women: swirly and in a waffle cone,” he winked, tossing out some finger guns.

...I take that back, this dork was just as clueless as I was. Had to be if he thought that was funny.

I merely arched an eyebrow at him as the silence stretched. Then he pouted, “Aw c’mon, kid, these are the jokes! Don’t leave me hanging here.”

I snorted, tapping a couple more keys on the register. “Sorry. It’s just that after the other day, I would have thought your answer would’ve been more along the lines of ‘frozen solid and on a stick.’”

“Oo, dirty,” he chirped, his eyebrows bouncing.

Welp. That’d teach me for trying to play along.

“But no,” he waved off, “that was more out of necessity. Only the ice cream bars can survive the long trip up the clocktower without melting first. Otherwise, give me creamy, fluffy, and with a twist any day!”

“Duly noted. Just a sec.” I turned, plucking one of the cones off the top of the stack as I walked past, approaching the soft serve/milkshake machine.

Ah, my old nemesis. We meet again. One could almost hear the Old West face-off tune whistling in the background. But thankfully, there would be no drawing of pistols this day. 

I liked to think there was a grudging, mutual respect between us now.

Being super mindful of the Anger Button, I switched it to the appropriate flavor and pulled down on the lever. As I moved the cone in small circles while it slowly filled with blue, sugary goop, I heard Lea ask, “Snow Bear?”

I looked back at him, a crease forming between my eyebrows as I tipped my head to one side.

...what’d he just call me?

He was hunched forward now, elbow on the countertop and chin propped in hand, fingers drumming against his cheek as he squinted at me with a frown. Then shook his head, “Nah, too healthy, even for a goody-goody like you. Tofu has no business being anywhere near ice cream.”

Then it clicked. Snow Bear was one of the flavors we offered.

“Big Bad Pete?” he pursed his lips to one side, then crinkled his nose. “Nope. Too nutty. Thinking you like a crunch, just not that kind.”

I returned my attention to the machine, making sure the cone wasn’t too top heavy. “Are you… trying to guess the type of ice cream I like?”

“Yup! Since Sea Salt clearly wasn’t your thing.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily say that.” I released the lever, completing the stacking spiral with a nice little curl at the top and turning to face him once more. “But it is… shall we say, an acquired taste?”

Lea smirked and scoffed, “Blasphemy! Don’t worry though, I won’t judge you too harshly for your dirty, heathen tastes.”

“You’re too kind,” I rolled my eyes as I handed him his purchase.

Taking it in one hand, he used the other to give me the munny due. “Consider it my one good deed for the century. It’s a doozy though. I’m expecting my sainthood any day now.”  He then lapped off a big blue chunk as he eyed me thoughtfully. “Donald Fizz maybe?” Then he pulled a face with another shake of his head, “Nu uh, too close to Sea Salt.”

“If you really want to know that badly, it’s-”

“Buh buh buh,” he pressed a finger to my lips, cutting me off. “Yeesh, don’t spoil my fun like that, let me guess! This is like my mutant power, I can always tell a person’s fave ice cream.” He narrowed his eyes on me as he took another bite, licking some of it off from the corner of his mouth. “You’re a tough read though. Gonna need more time, gather more intel.” A grin broke out again, “But I do oh so love a challenge.” Then he snapped his fingers, “What about-”

“Elsa?!” 

My blood ran cold at the voice that cried out from across the food court.

A very, very familiar voice.

One I had not expected to hear again for a while yet and certainly not here, at the Dusk Town Center mall, at my sanctuary of all places.

Lea glanced over his shoulder, looking for who’d interrupted him before yelping and leaping out of the way so as not to become roadkill to an auburn and blue blur zooming straight for me. It crashed up against the other side of the counter, lashed its limbs out over the top and seized me in its vice-like grip, yanking me forward into a bone-crushing embrace and squeezing the absolute life out of me as it once more shouted, “Elsa! I found you! At last, I found you!”

Or rather… not it, but her.

Anna Fryse.

My sister.

...who, as I was just now discovering, might also be part boa constrictor. Good lord, this girl did not know her own strength!

“Anna,” I wheezed, feebly patting at her elbow. An extraordinary feat, given that her bear hug was practically super gluing my arms to my sides. “Can’t. Breathe.”

“You’re okay! I was so worried! I thought you might be hurt or trapped or drugged or kidnapped or amnesiad or dead or, or, or- but you’re not! You’re really, really not! You’re alive!” 

“Won’t be for much longer if you don’t let go,” I croaked out, starting to see spots. Finally she released me and I gasped for breath. Ah, oxygen. Beautiful, life giving oxygen. I coughed, “Did you seriously just use ‘amnesia’ as a verb?”

Completely ignoring my question, her hands still grasped tightly at my shoulders as sharp, blue eyes set in a freckled face looked me over. Her red hair was done in pigtail braids and she was in a dark cobalt sundress with a black bodice.

Then she opened her mouth.

“Woah, Elsa! You look different! It’s a good different! I love everything about it!” She grabbed me by the cheeks, “Your face, the outfit, that hat - oh gosh, that hat! I never thought I’d see you in a friggin’ baseball cap! It’s too friggin’ cute! And a ponytail! How many times have I said you’d look totes adorbs in a ponytail, and you know what? Told you so! And- oh. My. Gawd!” She bellyflopped onto the countertop, pointing down, “I just saw the mini skirt! Friggin’ you! In a friggin’ mini skirt! Damn girl, you hawt!” She fell back onto her feet once more, looking up at our sign, “And this place! What is this place? This place is amazing! Do you work here? Please, please, please tell me you work here! Oh my gawd, you do! You have a friggin’ job! What do you do? How much do you make? Do you pay taxes? Do you pay rent? Do you have a 401k? What is a 401k?” She pointed at an ice cream spade, “What’s this thingie do?” Next at the soft serve/milkshake machine, “How does that work?” Up at a dangling Sven plushie. “What’s up with all the friggin’ deers?” Then at Lea standing off to one side, slowly eating his ice cream and watching on with one curious eyebrow quirked. “Who’s the hottie with a body?” She started to wave, calling out, “Hello, Mr Hottie-With-A-Bo-”

“Anna!” I hissed, cheeks roasting as I snatched her hand back down. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Lea returning her wave with a tiny one of his own, to which I shot him a dull stare. He just grinned and shrugged. Shaking my head, I asked him, “Could you, uh… would you mind giving us a minute alone? Please?”

“Sure, no problem. I should be getting back to work anyhow. Laters, El!”

...El? Who’s El?

“Nice meeting ya, El’s friend!” he gave a two finger salute to Anna with a wink before sauntering off.

Huh. Guess that’d make me El. I’d earned a nickname. Had our friendship leveled up? Wow, I was so good at this friends thing! Without even understanding it, I had somehow already mastered it.

Bravo, me!

Anna watched him go, then turned back to me with a low whistle. “Okay, seriously, who was the sexpot and please, for the love that is all that is good and foxy, tell me you are tapping that.”

“Oh my god, Anna!” I facepalmed. I wasn’t going to dignify that with a response. “What are you even doing here?”

“I told you already, I was worried!”

My forehead wrinkled. “But you knew I wasn’t abducted or anything, you were the one who helped me run away. Besides, didn’t you receive my text telling you I was okay?”

“Yes, weeks after you disappeared!” She smacked me in the arm with a glare. “You could have contacted me sooner, brat! And what the frick was up with your stupid text?!”

“Stupid...? What was wrong with it?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry, don’t come looking for me,” she flatly recited the words from my message before looking away with a huff. “Please, have you never seen any kidnap movie in the history of like friggin’ ever? That’s like classic code for ‘help me, help me, I’ve been taken hostage and am being forced to tell you these things under duress.’”

“Ugh, the way your mind works,” I grumbled, massaging one temple. “How did you even find me anyway?”

Anna snorted. “What, you think just cuz you blocked my number that I wouldn’t be able to track you down? Sis, please, we live in the golden age of technology. Trust me, I have my ways. There’s a lot a girl can do with just a phone number and this little thing called the internet.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but then froze with a gasp as another thought struck me and nearly stopped my heart. My eyes darted about, searching the food court while I fidgeted with my fingers. “Wait… oh god, does… do Mother and Father… do they know? Are they also here? Did you tell-”

She gently shushed me, reaching over the countertop to rub my arm. “Sis, Sis, it’s okay, they’re not here, don’t stress! I did tell them I got the text from you so they’d know you’re okay, but I didn’t tell them I’d figured out where you were. They don’t know that I came here looking for you. You don’t have to talk to them until you’re ready.”

“Oh thank god,” I sighed, slumping against the counter. That… was a talk I was in no way prepared for. Not just yet. I gnawed on my lower lip for a second, glancing back up at Anna. “What about-”

“He’s fine too,” she said softly.

I frowned. “...really?”

Her face pinched into a tiny grimace. “I mean, he’s not great. He got dumped at the altar, what do you think? But he’s a big boy, he’ll survive.”

Well that was a load off my mind.

Not. 

“Ugh, I feel terrible,” I buried my face in my hands. Then I peeked out between my fingers at her. “Could you… I don’t know… maybe do damage control with him for me or something?”

“Was already on it,” she beamed with a thumbs up. “But enough about all that, gah, so friggin’ depressing! I wanna hear more about you and your new life and this whole job thing and that redheaded Hunky McHunkface and all that’s happened to you since you flew the coop! Tell me everything!”

A tiny smile crept up onto my lips. I knew I’d been missing my little sister, but it was only in that moment... seeing her here in front of me, hearing her voice again... that I was realizing just how much. “I’d actually really like that. But uh…” I looked past her, noticing more shoppers wondering about amongst those tables out there now than there had been just moments ago, with even more trickling in by the second. “Looks like we’re about to get our afternoon rush, so it’s not really the best time.”

Anna tapped her chin with a low hum before her face lit back up. “Are you free tonight?”

My head tilted to the left. “I’m working closing, but I should be out of here by nine I think.”

“Perfect! Let’s do dinner! Then we can properly celebrate your new found freedom as you tell me all about it! Whaddya say? Pleeeeease?” Puppy dog eyes initiated.

I laughed and nodded. “Yeah, okay. That sounds nice.”

“Yay!” she bounced on her heels, rapidly clapping her hands together with a tiny squeal. “Ahhhh! Can’t wait! Okay, you said nine, right? Right! I’ll be waiting in my car right outside those doors over there, got it? Good! I’ll leave you to it then!” Then she was snatching me into another hug over the countertop and planting a kiss on my cheek with a loud mwah! “Love ya, Sis! See you then!”

And just like that, Typhoon Anna whooshed off once again, disappearing into the ever growing crowd.

Not a second later, I heard the door open behind me. “Hey, I’m back, sorry it ran a little long, I- hey, why’s my phone on the floor?”

I winced.

Heh… woops.

One tiny detail may have slipped my mind in all the mayhem that had been the last ten minutes.

I turned to see Kristoff stooping down to pick it up before he graced me with a scowl.  I chuckled sheepishly, “So… funny story…”

I got the feeling Kristoff hadn’t found my story all that amusing.

Don’t think he’d found it particularly believable either.

Not sure why. I mean, wasn’t it totally plausible that a strong gust of wind had blasted through the entire mall, causing one of the bigger reindeer dolls to fly off its hook and rocket straight into my hands, knocking his phone free from my grasp and sending it slamming into a wall where I had then left it for fear that moving it could cause more damage and trauma to the poor little device that had already been through so much?

No? Not plausible? Not even remotely or in the slightest?

Drat.

I'd never really been good at the whole lying thing.

But it'd been the best I could come up with on the spot. I mean, I wasn’t about to tell him the truth about how I was a total, pathetic dunce when it came to making friends which in turn caused me to do idiotic things like fling other’s people’s fragile property at hard surfaces.

In any case, Kristoff and I were currently not on speaking terms.

At least, I’m pretty sure we weren’t. That was my best guess anyway, given he hadn’t spoken two words to me since I’d spun my little tale.

Eh, he’d get over it.

A couple hours of the silent treatment later and he’d clocked out without so much as a goodbye. Then a few more hours brought me to the here and now of closing time. I was almost done wrapping everything up, just needed to finish wiping down all the surfaces. Having already ensured the inside of the little shop was pristine, I’d stepped out to be on the food court side of the counter, using a cloth to remove any fingerprints and other smudges that’d been left by customers on the display glass.

As I finished cleaning the last of it, I exhaled heavily and straightened up, planting my hands on my hips as I inspected my work. Nodding in approval at a job well done, I then looked to the clock on the wall to see that it was a quarter to nine. Perfect. Plenty of time to grab my things and lock up before heading out to meet Anna. Stretching my back to loosen some of the stiffness that had settled in there, I then took a quick glance over my shoulder.

It really should come as a shock to no one at this point that Lea could once again be spotted across the way from me. I was beginning to think the people in charge of scheduling our shifts met up for weekly tea and crumpets or something while they made sure the hours the two of us worked almost always lined up exactly. What nefarious scheme was being cooked up by the upper management of our two separate companies? What could they possibly hope to gain by it? Only time would tell.

In any case, he too looked to be almost done with all of his closing tasks. He was currently out in the food court area as well, using a broom to sweep up the area in front of Pizza Planet. Or so I’m sure the intent had been.

Except... he wasn’t really so much in front of the pizzeria as he was on top of one of the tables.

And it wasn’t so much a broom as it was an impromptu mic.

And he wasn’t so much sweeping as he was in his own little world, enthusiastically lip-syncing and dancing away to the song blasting out of his phone in the back pocket of his pants. I Believe In A Thing Called Love by the Darkness, if the wild electric guitar, high falsetto vocals, and cheesy lyrics were anything to go off of.

Wow, he really was a complete dork.

A splutter of a laugh burst out of me before I was able to clamp both my hands over my mouth in a vain effort to stop it.

I’m not sure how he heard me over all that explosive glam rock, but it seemed he did somehow for his head suddenly jerked in my direction. Then he beamed and started hopping across all the tabletops towards me. That couldn’t be sanitary. His feet at last touched ground in front of the Ice Palace as he crouched low before springing back up into a half-turn, landing himself in a seat atop the counter right between the ice cream display case and a cash register.

Still directing that ear-to-ear smile my way, he pulled his phone out long enough to hit pause on his music. “So whadja think? Do I put on one hell of a show or what?” 

Oh dear. Not only a dork but no shame to boot. A deadly combo, that.

I snorted, eyes on the glass once more as I went back to scrubbing it for the now nonexistent spots. “For sure. You should hurry up and get on becoming a bigtime rock star already.”

Broom balanced on the floor between his knees, he folded his hands over the handle point and rested his chin on his knuckles. “Nah, all that fame and fortune I’m guaranteed to get cuz I’m so loveable, awesome, amazing and cool would go straight to my head.”

I bit back a grin. “Because you’re so modest now.”

“Oh yeah, I’m humble as fuck!” he declared brightly. Then he shrugged and sighed, “Guess I’m just kinda perfection that way.”

My eyelids drooped. “...clearly.”

“So,” he lifted his head off its perch, freeing up one hand to scratch behind his ear, “everything okay? Between you and your sister, I mean.”

I looked at him, blinking a couple times. “How’d you know she‘s my sister?”

“You two got the same nose,” he smirked, tapping a finger to the side of his. “But seriously, you all good? She seemed pretty frantic.”

“Oh, that’s just Anna for you. The Looney Toons Tasmanian Devil personified. Pretty sure she doesn’t even know the meaning of the word ‘calm.’ But no, she’s fine. We’re good.”

“Glad to hear it!” A pause. “So…” he said again, this time stretching the word out as he bounced the broom handle back and forth between his palms now. “...you eat, right?”

Hand still absently running the cloth along the glass, I raised an eyebrow at him. What kind of question was that? “...I have been known to on occasion, yes.”

“Good. Any dinner plans tonight?”

I froze, eyes round.

Oh.

...was he asking what I think he was asking? I think he was asking what I think he was asking. Why would he ask that?! Wait... oh no… did he think that I was thinking that he should ask what I think he was asking? Because if that’s what he thought I was thinking, I most certainly was not thinking that!  Not even close! Unless… did this here right now count as me thinking that?

...hold up, now I’m confused... what was I thinking again?

Oh that’s right.

I was thinking about him.

Asking.

Me.

Out.

Which I was so not ready for! I mean come on, I had just gotten out of a long term relationship! What was that rule? The one about how long after a breakup before you should start dating again? Something about waiting at least thirty minutes before getting back in the - 

Wait no, that had to do with eating and pools…

Whatever, gah! However much time it’s supposed to be, pretty sure it’s more than just a few weeks if you’d not only been together for years, but also frigging engaged to your ex! 

Current relationship status aside, let’s just be real here... I’m not sure if this was something I would ever be ready for. Hello, Mayor of Hermit Island here! They throw hermit parades in my honor. Those parades have zero spectators and consist of one (1) person marching, that person being me, all alone, by myself, because it’s Hermit Island and kind of the whole point! It was sort of a miracle I’d ever started dating in the first place, much less wound up with a fiancé of all things! When you think about it, and I mean really think about it… how the frick had that even happened?! I’d been there, heck, I’d lived it and even I was still scratching my head over that one. I mean, how had I ever-

“Hey now, what’s with the-?” Lea’s words broke me out of the word jumble that was my brain and my eyes darted over to him. His furrowed brow suddenly went slack and he blinked, heading rocking back. “Hold on, you don’t think that I- That I’m asking you out on a- No! God no! No, no, no, that’s not what this is!” 

Oh thank goodness!

Wait… how did he know that’s what I’d been thinking?

...could it be the fact that all the color had drained from my face and I had stopped breathing?

Speaking of which, I should really start that back up again.

Okay, all together now, one, two, three annnnnd sharp, deep inhale.

Whew, much better! Man, oxygen and I were having a real on-again, off-again relationship today.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with y- I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed to- that is, uh… aw, crap,” he groaned, bonking his head against the top of the broom handle. “Forget it. Look, what I was trying to say was we - that is, the kiddos and I and a buncha other people who work at other stores 'round the mall, all of us get together every Friday night for food and drinks at the 7th Heaven. It’s this nice little pub not too far from here and I dunno if booze is your thing or what, but the grub’s pretty good there too, way better than your average bar food and so I was just wondering if you’d like to, I dunno… come join us and just hang out for a bit, have some fun. Interested?”

Ooooooooooh, got it! Well that was a relief!

...wait, was it?

Oh dear, just the thought of me having to interact with that many people all at the same time was enough to make my soul leave my body. Because once again, I have to play the President of Hermit Island card here. That’s right, I’d promoted myself from mayor to president within the last five minutes. I like to think I’d earned it after all my years of exemplary hermit service.

The point was, this little get-together sounded precisely like the kind of situation that I wanted to be on the polar opposite end of the planet from. Seriously, the Devil himself could not have designed a more fitting hell for me. Don’t get me wrong, it was sweet that Lea had thought to include me and I’m sure all the other people going would be nice and everything, but... I just couldn’t. I couldn’t do it. Not with the cold, stabbing pangs of anxiety already coursing throughout my chest at even the mere mention of going to such a thing.

Luckily, I didn’t have to. I had an out. A beautiful, glorious escape route courtesy of the one, the only, my savior (queue angelic choir singing)... Anna.

Clearing my throat, I managed a small smile. “Thank you, I appreciate the invite, I really do and I’m so sorry but I’ve already made plans with my sister. Speaking of,” I glanced at the clock again before hurrying past him and back into the Ice Palace to drop off the cleaning rag, “I really should be going now, she’s probably already waiting for me.”

He slid off the countertop, spinning around to face me with a frown. “Aw, ya sure? Why don’t you just bring her along too? We won’t mind, the more the merrier!”

Still with the smile, now accompanied by a slight scrunching of my nose, I shook my head. “Mm, no, I don’t think that’ll work. But maybe next time, okay?” Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I stepped out from behind the counter once more and stretched up on my tippy-toes, reaching for the pull-down gate. Crud, why was I always so stupidly short?

“Let me.” Him being the absolute Ent that he was, Lea had no trouble whatsoever reaching it and yanking it down for me.

“Thanks,” I murmured before locking it up for the night, then turning and making my way towards the double doors leading outside.

“Hang on, I’ll walk you out,” he said, bringing me up short.

Turning my head back towards him, I held up a hand, “Oh no, that’s fine, you don’t have to!”

“I’m heading that way anyway.” He started walking away backwards, jerking a thumb over his shoulder towards the Pizza Planet, “Just let me close up shop real quick.”

“Really, it’s not necessary. I’m just going to-”

“Be back in a sec!” he spun one-eighty, jogging off.

“...go,” I finished weakly.

Well now what? I guess maybe I should wait? My eyes shifted to the doors longingly.

...well, I did tell him he didn’t need to walk me. Not my fault he couldn’t hear me over the sound of his own chivalry.

Screw it. I’m leaving.

With a small grimace and one last peek back to where Lea had just disappeared, I turned away, squared my shoulders and strode off.

Pushing through the exit doors and out into the night air, I spotted Anna parked at the curb right in front of me in her bright red Porsche convertible, its top already folded back. She honked at me, calling, “Hey, hot stuff! Looking for a good time?”

I merely grinned and shook my head at her as I approached the vehicle. However, just as I was reaching for the car door, a voice called out behind me, “Wait up!”

I winced, screwing my eyes shut.

Fudge.

Lea came to a stop next to me, panting and hunching forward, planting his hands on his knees. He must have been running the whole way to make sure he caught me before I could esc- erm, I mean, before I left. He lifted his head, blasting us with the full force of those dimples of his as his gaze flicked back and forth between me and Anna. “You sure you ladies can’t join us tonight?”

“Thanks, but-”

“Join you for what?” Anna cut me off, scooting closer by shifting from the driver's seat to the passenger, arms folding across the top of the door.

This. Right here. This was exactly why I hadn’t wanted him to walk me out.

“Nothing big,” Lea straightened up, placing a hand on the car door as well and leaning against it. “Just drinks and food with some friends from work. If you can’t change your plans though, that’s totally cool, I just wanted to-”

Because once Anna found out...

“What are you talking about?!” she laughed. “Of course we can change our plans! That sounds so fun, count us in!”

…there was no way I was getting out of it. Ugh.

“Wha- really?” No doubt about it. He was quite pleasantly surprised. “Great! The place we’re meeting at is called 7th Heaven. Short drive from here.” He waved to another car parked a few spaces further down the curb, which responded by flashing its blinkers, “That’s Xion. She drew the short straw for designated driver tonight. Just follow her car and she’ll lead you right to it!”

“Sounds good! See you there!” she waggled her fingers at Lea as he dashed off to get into the other car. Then she scooched back over behind the wheel, making room for me. Face pinching just a smidge, I sighed and got in, slamming the door shut behind me. Bouncing in her seat as she started the engine, she chirped, “Wow, we lucked out! This is gonna be a blast! You excited?”

“...thrilled,” I said dryly, buckling myself in.

Welp. Let’s get this over with.

Personal hell, here I come.

Author’s note: Ahhhh, there she is! Elsa’s feisty-pants lil sister makes her debut! Also, notice how much Anna says friggin’? Now those sound more fitting coming out of her, but Elsa grew up hearing those friggin’s (and fricks) coming out of her sis for years now, so it may have rubbed off on her a lil. Also the last name Fryse? Norwegian for ‘freeze’... yeah, I got a lil punny in coming up with Elsa’s family name, ignore me and my silly lil pleasures xD And more BBS ice creams sneak into this chapter - and I was mindful of their in-game descriptions too, so yes, it is in fact canon in the video game that the Snow Bear flavor has *shudders* tofu in it. TOFU. In ICE CREAM. Thanks, but no thanks!

Anyway, moving on! Now Anna drags our dear antisocial hermit off on an unwanted adventure! What’s next for our intrepid heroine? Will she survive this dreaded night of socializing? Just who exactly will be at Friday night drinks anyway? And with the sheer volume of ice cream Lea probably consumes daily, just HOW massive must his dentist bill be at this point, I mean really?? We may never know the answer to that last question, but as for the rest, stay tuned to find out next chapter!

Thanks for reading, I super duper appreciate it! And an extra BIG thank you to any new followers out there (hello! :D) and to those of you who hit that like button last chapter, seeing that always brings the biggest, goofiest smile to my face!

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#kingdom hearts #frozen #elsa #axel #fanfiction #lea #fanfic #kingdom hearts fanfiction #frozen fanfiction #kh fanfiction #kh fanfic #frozen fanfic #kingdom hearts fanfic #axelsa #fluff #romcom #slow burn #kh3 #my writing #ice cream and fire oven pizza #rare pair #crossover pairing #humor #snark

[etherealwaifgoddess]

Memories

Characters: Steve Rogers

Summary: Steve thought he could outsmart the soul stone to get Natasha and Gamora back. He should have known better.

Content Warning: Heavy angst and Steve pulling a repeat of the stunt he pulled with the Valkyrie. I still feel like an asshole for writing this. 

Word Count: 1.8k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies. Please don’t hate me for this one. I’m still bitter AF over how Endgame played out for Steve and an evil little part of my mind conjured this up as an alternative. Which honestly, is kinda worse than what the Russo’s did. Sooo... whoops? If you’re here for some Steve angst, saddle up. If you need fluff in your life, maybe check out one of my other Steve fics, mmkay? I’ll be here for virtual hugs when it’s over, lovelies! XOXO - Ash

Memories

The twilight rays from Vormir’s dying sun cast a haunting glow over the barren wasteland. Steve looked off into the distance, his mind quiet for once. He’d made his decision before he left to return the stones, he couldn’t go to Vormir without at least trying to get Natasha and Gamora back. Steve had done a little poking around, some seemingly innocuous hypotheticals, trying to figure out a way to return the stone and bring one of his best friends back from the dead. Natasha shouldn’t have had to sacrifice her future for theirs. They didn’t trade lives. Except, Steve thought, when it was his own.

Steve had found a grim satisfaction that his old nemesis was trapped for eternity in such a desolate place. It was close enough to what Steve thought Hell might be that it seemed like a fitting end for a monster like Johann Schmidt. He had only seen the man briefly as he hurried into the shadows but Steve knew exactly who he was. 

Looking down at the glowing orange stone in his palm, Steve sighed. It was his last stone to put back and he figured it would all be worthwhile if it worked. Natasha and Gamora would get to return home to their friends and loved ones, and he would finally be at peace. He’d almost stayed back in 1948 with Peggy, it had been a close thing, but in the end he knew she went on to have an amazing life that he wasn’t destined to be a part of. He would always love her, and he would cherish his memories of her for the rest of his days, but it just wasn’t meant to be. So Steve got his long overdue dance and wished Peggy all the best in life before hopping forward through the decades to his last stop, 2014 - Vormir. 

It was because of Peggy and all that he’d been through that Steve was uniquely qualified for his last mission. Leaving Peggy to the life she was meant to have, left Steve with nothing else to lose. He was a man out of time, destined to forever feel like a stranger in his own modern life. He couldn’t think of a single thing that he could sacrifice to the cliffs of Vormir, and that was why he would be the perfect person to carry out the exchange. He set his wristband and the remaining Pym particles on top of a white envelope on a nearby rock, the envelope containing a letter saying goodbye and explaining how to get back to 2023 should Natasha not remember. He’d planned it all out for so long, he ran through his checklist like a mantra.

Steve pulled out his compass, wanting to see Peggy’s face one last time before it was all over. If only the world had been different, maybe things between them could have been different too. His mental checklist complete, Steve knew it was time. With no unnecessary flair or delay, Steve took four long strides to the edge of the cliff, and then over. His last thought was that falling off the cliff felt almost exactly like going down in the Valkyrie. There was a peaceful sort of deja vu to it and Steve found a smile tugging at his lips as he collided with hard stone. The world went black.

xxXxx

The sky was glowing red and pink, casting purple shadows over the shallow lake Steve woke up in. He sighed, defeated, realizing he’d failed. Natasha and Gamora were nowhere to be found and the damnable glowing orange stone sat in his hand like a beacon. Steve whipped out his compass to help locate where he was in relation to the cliff, squinting in the dim light to see the dials. Figuring out where he was, he snapped it shut, tucking the old compass back into his pocket and heading north.

“I am surprised to see you again, Captain Rogers.” Schmidt hissed from behind a pillar of rock. He had been slithering around, wraith-like, since Steve arrived atop the cliff for the second time. 

“You and me both.” Steve grit out, frustrated by his complete failure. Schmidt laughed, a high pitched, crazed sound, and Steve snapped, “What?” he demanded, “Enjoying my failure?”

“What failure? You completed your sacrifice, the stone is now yours to wield.” 

“What sacrifice? There’s nothing I love to sacrifice. That was the whole point.” Steve huffed.

Schmidt chuckled again, “You always were deluded, Captain.” 

Steve swore under his breath, storming off. He couldn’t deal with Schmit’s nonsense on top of everything else. He gathered up his wristband, tucked the letter in his pocket, and activated the particles to get him home.

xxXxx

“It’s good to see you back in one piece, pal.” Bucky said, clapping Steve on the shoulder. 

“Thanks, Buck. It’s good to be back.” Steve leaned in to hug his best friend.

Bruce joined them, still uneasy about the whole thing. “Did everything go as planned?” he asked nervously. 

“Yep,” Steve nodded, “Not a hitch.” He certainly wasn’t going to admit his failure to his friends, not when that would have included having to explain his second failed attempt to sacrifice his life for the greater good.

“Glad to hear it.” Bruce told him, finally breathing a sigh of relief. He collected the wristband from Steve and then hustled back to start shutting down the time travel launch pad. 

“How was it going back to our time? Did you finally get that dance like you’d hoped?” Bucky asked him as they walked back to the car. 

“It was nice being back in the Brooklyn I’m used to. No dance though, I never did have any luck with the dames. Not enough time while I was there anyway.” Steve shook his head with a chuckle.

“Really?” Bucky stared in disbelief, “I thought the first thing you would have done after returning the stone would be to track down Peggy.”

“Peggy who? Was that Dot’s sister? The redhead you were always setting me up with?” 

“Peggy, Steve.” Bucky drew her name out slowly for emphasis. 

Steve shook his head, “Not ringing a bell, Buck. Now, what are we doing for dinner? I’m starving. Didn’t have any free time to grab a bite while I was running around time and space, and it feels like it’s been days since I’ve eaten.” 

“Steve,” Bucky changed tactics cautiously, “Can I see your compass for a sec?” 

“Sure thing.” Steve pulled out the black metal disc and tossed it to Bucky. “I think we’ll find our way to Burger King faster with GPS though.” 

Bucky stopped mid-step, staring at the old black compass. It was familiar but also, not. On one side of the interior were the dials and white face he knew like the back of his hand, but on the other side was glossy black metal where the face of one Margaret “Peggy” Carter used to be. 

“Steve, what happened while you were putting back the stones?” Bucky asked, his voice low and commanding. His tone had Steve pausing and turning back to face him. Steve knew that tone, it was the same one Bucky had used when they caught Jimmy Tammlin pocketing candy at Mr. O’Malley’s shop. They’d known what he’d done, but needed to hear him admit it. 

Steve sighed, rubbing a large palm across the back of his neck. “I put the stones back and came home.” 

“Bullshit,” Bucky grabbed Steve’s wrist, lightning quick, and started dragging him across the yard away from the car. “Bull-fucking-shit, Steve. You changed something, you stubborn asshole. I don’t know what you did, and clearly you don’t remember it, but we’re gonna have to figure out what it was and what other damage you may have caused.” 

Bruce heard Bucky calling his name as they got closer to Pepper and Morgan’s house. The look on Bucky’s face was all Bruce needed to know that the mission hadn’t gone off without a hitch after all.

xxXxx

It took three days of tests and repetitive questions, of Bruce and Bucky taking turns grilling Steve about every single moment of his time travels. Steve did finally admit to walking off the cliff in Vormir, knowing it was inevitable. Bucky had stormed out at that point to god only knows where. When he came back halfway through the following day he looked ragged but significantly calmer. Sam accompanied him upon his return, looking equally ragged but supportive. He was never more than a few steps from Bucky’s side, occasionally leaning into whisper something to the brunette that would have him nodding and taking a steadying breath. Steve felt awful he had caused everyone so much distress but as he kept telling them, if it had brought Natasha and Gamora back it would have been for the best. 

By the end of the third day Bruce seemed to have figured something out, though it still didn’t make any sense to Steve. They told him it was fine, no further damage had been caused, and let him go back to his hotel room on his own. Steve sensed something was up but if they weren’t concerned enough to tell him, it wasn’t worth worrying himself over. The battle was over, at least for what he hoped would be a while, and Steve needed to get back to New York and start putting the pieces of his new life back together. Again. It was far from the first time, but Steve hoped that maybe it would be the last.

“No one tells him, ever.” Bucky demanded after Steve left the lab and was far enough away not to overhear them.

“I’m not entirely comfortable with…” Bruce whined lightly. 

Sam shook his head, unable to believe he was about to agree. “Bucky’s right. We’ll tell the others, make sure no one says anything. Though mentioning her to him doesn’t seem to stick, so it’s not like if someone says something that it’ll matter.”

Bucky nodded, gesturing at Sam as proof. “See! All we’d be doing is hurting him. And that man has had enough hurting for five lifetimes. No. One. Tells. Him. Agreed?” 

Bruce hung his head in defeat. “Okay, he never finds out.” 

Sam nodded solemnly, knowing it wasn’t the best option but the only one they had. 

Bucky stormed out, his heart aching for his best friend. He couldn’t really be surprised, Steve always had always been a self sacrificing little shit. He should have known better than to try to outsmart the stones. And now, because of that, they had taken the very last bit of love Steve had in his life: his memories. 

#steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers fanfic #captain america fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #steve rogers centric #angst #heavy angst #all the feels #post endgame #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #i still feel like an asshole for writing this fic

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

WhatsApp? Part 5. (Steve Rogers x reader)

Description: You’ve never been lucky with guys. You just wanted to catch someone’s eye, to be loved. One day, that’s about to turn completely - with one fake, completely imagined number a guy gave you

A/N: I am a little shit for this tbh. But shush.

Warnings: FIRST ACTUAL SIGN OF FLIRTING. 

Tagging: @missdictatorme @songforhema

Read the rest and don't be scared bcs of my crazy ass:  Part One  Part Two  Part three  Part four

Series master list if you love to read series in order like me :) (I got u, boo):  H E R E

You had coma while you slept. Not like an actual coma - but you were totally dead when you fell asleep at half-past one a.m. You were done for - three and a half hours past your bedtime, charmed by some mysterious man and worried the hell out for that poor boy who snored all over the place.

Thank God May was woken up and that she had lived nearer to the office than you do. Because you could wake up later than you usually did. The traffic wasn't so bad in this part of Queens either.

"Pancakes are on the table, sleepyhead. Now wake the hell up." - She giggled when you just hummed into your pillow, refusing to wake the fuck up. You fell asleep at one a.m. for god's sake. This was some torturing and you were sure of it.

"I think I need to take a day off. I'm dead. I'm more dead than Peter was yesterday." - You mumbled into the pillow, smelling the delicious pancakes.

"I'm feeling ok now, Y/N." - A young voice rang through the living room. You felt dizzy, yet you take your head off the small pillow you've slept on. Peter, who's body most likely had the last hurrah before death yesterday, was sitting at the table, grinning at you widely. - "You're the dead elephant in the room right now."

He had his sweater on, his hair was super messy and he looked tired as hell. But he was alive per se.

"I will recall what I just thought in my head before a second." - You sat, yawned out loud like a lion on savanna at the midday and turned your head to him. You looked tired but really, really happy. That made him look happy as well. - "Because you're having your last hurray before your death. Guess the joke's on you, zombie-kiddo."

Peter knew you were just messing with him. You two did it all the time - friendly beefs and arguments about everything - the most of them happened after you've seen the last sci-fi movie in local cinema (you were his adult company to the movies he and his super best pal couldn't go alone to and you knew that even if Pete will grow up or find a gf, this will be a part of your life that's not going to change.)

"I'm mentally more mature than you are. At least I know how to get my crush better without panicking and talking to a fifteen-year-old boy. I know better than you." - Pete was teasing the hell out of you. - "Anyway, how did it even go?" - He wiggled his eyebrows at you, eating the pancake slowly.

"Well if you didn't come practically walking dead into our office yesterday, I would tell you... That we moved from strangers to friends with Steve." - You served yourself a pancake with some syrup on it. You sometimes slept over at their place, May always being the chef. And her pancakes? Dear lord. That was the best fucking thing ever. Period.

"He texted her six of those worried messages when she forgot her phone at the office." - May abrupted the conversation without taking her eyes off her newspaper. - “I think we all can consider that as something.” - She laughed a bit when you hissed in her direction. 

“Choose your side here May!” - You laughed and heard your phone vibrating at the small table in front of the TV, plugged into the charger as you left it before you fell asleep. You smiled and saw Peter grinning at you under the palm that covered his mouth. 

--- 

You couldn't even believe how fast can a month go around. You didn't even notice - you worked from nine to five at the charity, enjoying your time with your girl, sometimes you even hang out. Not too often tho, because you loved when you just curled in your favorite PJs, watching a movie and letting Steve make you laugh. (Don't worry, Steve’s unintentional dumbness made Sam laugh a lot as well.)

You two were basically internet besties. Steve read almost everything that happened you during the day (he found your life so calm and nice, he almost got jealous at you) and he even shared some details from his day-to-day life with you as well. He was usually surrounded by his friends - some name called Sam, one named Bucky and a woman whose name was apparently Natasha. They seemed to be an extra funny squad from what Steve had told you. 

Peter got really better after he almost stressed you out at the hospital. The fevers didn't come back, he didn't vomit since then and that biting on his wrist disappeared as well. He survived that and you were nothing but happy for him.

You even bought a hella good and hella cheap costumes for your performance at that Stark Charity Evening. You had a long meeting about what choreography you will actually do, but then Kat, the biggest sex bomb at your office stood up. 

“I think we should do Candyman choreography. It's thematic and it's sexy. And we are sexy, isn't that right, Val?” - She encouraged you. She was a feminist and May was too energetic and too much of a leader, she liked that idea immediately. 

“Ladies, that's it. We can be sexy but not slutty female officers. I like it. Yeah. We can get some costumes like a uniform tux and a pencil skirt...” - May tried to get you a vision of her idea. You honestly thought it is a bit stupid - Christina was super slutty in that clip. May was not really that type of a gal - but she would be up for it if is PG-13. 

“But you know, we can show some skin off.”- Deena took off where May started, looking at everyone. - “Jesus May, I didn't say we will make it a lesbian show-off strip tease even tho I know that Val would've loved it.” - She winked at Valerie and she just laughed. - “I mean, we can have those shirts tied around our back and some short under the uniforms. Like that girl who is showing her biceps off and is like a mechanic? Abby knows what I'm talking about, she has that posted in front of her for two years now.” 

“So...” - Suzie looked at everyone. - “We will start off as officers but then we will strip the formality off and show the men that we can take care of ourselves.” - She continued. Kat just seemed to be proud of that idea. And to be honest, when it would be like that, you were up for some Candyman as well. - “It will be a nice nod to the marinas and if we will have a good choreography, we can raise more money. Especially from the men. And that is our goal.”

“Okay girls. We have ourselves a plan. Now the choreography is in your hands and costumes are the things that I will take care of.” - You smiled shyly. You were off to a good start.

But you know, everything has to stop eventually. 

Steve: I will be off the country for the next fourteen days and maybe more because of my work. I'm really, really sorry. 

That hit you completely unprepared. You almost forgot about that thing with Steve’s job... Everything was just too dreamy to think about that mans job.  You bit your bottom lip, looking around. You felt like everyone in the office could feel your mood shift even if nobody paid you any attention. But you tried to play it off as a joke - you were friends after all. 

Y/N: As long as you will send me a postcard and you'll miss me out there, I think I'll make it somehow. 

You put your phone on your desk and looked at the computer with a blank stare. You knew him an only month and a half - you didn't know where he lives, what does he look like or how does his voice sound like, but that man just had some magic in his texts.

You wished that you were joking when you said it yourself, but he really had some magic in him. Two weeks without him? You will miss him badly. A month? You will go crazy in no time. 

Steve: That can be arranged. :)

A gentleman at all costs, you smiled and closed your eyes for a while. Maybe it was good that you will take a short break from each other. You will be more looking forward to his kind words. Even more, you did now. Which sound impossible, but it may be right. 

Y/N: Which one of the things we are talking about? I don't want to make any high hopes, handsome. 

You joked and looked back at the stuff you were working on. It looked good - it was a document about the usage of food and the clothes you gathered from the locals. There was one big pre-fall evening where you will be giving the thing to the homeless people and you needed to document how many things you had actually. You were almost done so a little dispersion from Steve was not a bad thing.

Steve: I thought we are talking about both of the things you wrote to me. Especially about the second one. 

Everything in you froze for a sec. Did he really... Did he really just flirted with you? And was it you or it was the most fascinating and smooth thing someone ever did around you? You half-hissed and half-laughed at that, suddenly being happy as hell. Wow. 

Y/N: So you would miss me?

No need to be overreacting. Maybe he is just messing with you - yeah. This man here sometimes got you good, once or twice, but it didn't happen too often. Which was kind of a bummer? He was so funny at times.

Steve: Do you even need to ask about that? Of course, I will. 

And that was it. You felt like screaming and jumping so high you will touch the clouds. Steve Rogers, the man who made you laugh with his shyness and cuteness had definitely told you that he will miss you. It almost felt like a first I love you. But you didn't want to get too over yourself. 

“I know that victory dance you're performing now.” - Suzie, the elegant tall blonde suddenly appeared at your desk with other papers with you. - “This man is actually doing a thing to you, do you know that? It's lovely to see.” - She said quietly as she let you off. 

The squad you belonged in had almost the most stereotypical friends in it - May definitely was the Mom one, there was no point in denying that. Deena was a girl full of energy and love for life, the paries felt wilder with her in it. She was the energetic one, still listening to Wannabe by The Spice Girls or Fancy by Iggy Azalea. Suzie felt like the quiet one, but she was just reserved and well mannered - she was somehow related to some fancy monarchy people or what. And you were the wallflower - everyone told you things and you just kept them a secret. Also, you were the hanging out friend. Things were much more enjoyable and funnier with you around.

So yeah. That was typical Suzie. She noticed, told you - but she was really formal and reserved, just giving you a shy smile. If Deena found you in this state, she would remind you every three to five seconds about your dreamy face. You should be grateful to Suzie for waking you up to this gently.

Y/N: I will miss you too. 

And it was out. Just like that, you admitted you will miss him. And you thought like everything just started with small, five- worded sentence.

---

Steve looked at his phone with a frown, watching your conversation for a little while. You weren't exactly making it easier for him to leave America and go to Russia. Most likely a whole month without you. He inhaled deeply. 

Both of you got used to each other's virtual presence so much it felt like the day will not be complete without the other one in it. Was it the feeling Clint told him about? The one when he had to leave Laura and his kids? It must've been something fairly similar, but on a smaller scale.

And you will miss him as well. Damn it, weren't you a sweetheart?

“Are we ready to take off today or should we call it off?” - Natasha called at him from inside of the Quinjet, looking like a walking hair product commercial. She was truly beautiful, but not for Steve, he had someone else on his mind. She was beautiful for Sam tho and he didn't hesitate to tell her, but she always rolled her eyes and told him to bugger off.

“Let him be, he has to say goodbye to his online girlfriend.” - Sam answered Natasha in a cocky voice, patting Steve’s back. At that point, Sam declared you like Steve’s girl at every actual chance he got his hands on. 

Bucky was more calmed and down to earth about that. He knew you make Steve smile and that you charmed him with your points and kindness. But there was a lot of more far ahead of you two - to meet up, try if your chemistry actually works in person and so on. But that didn't make him stop from making dumb jokes about you two from time to time. But he was not as persistent as Sam. 

“Shut up birdbrain.” - Bucky hushed him as he prepared his things inside the Quinjet next to Nat. - “You are just jealous because no girl has an actual interest in you. That is a point.” 

“I wonder why I wonder how...” - Natasha sang quietly and made Bucky chuckle. 

“It is a real mystery. We should call Scooby-Doo. Aren’t you fellas? You know, you're both animals and...” - Bucky shrugged his shoulders and just continued in teaming up with Natasha against Sam. They were a strong team, quite an enforcement commando used against Sam. Also, Bucky was a sucker for Scooby-Doo. He loved Velma especially.

“The girl from the bistro would tell you different, old man.” - Sam sat next to them, watching Steve with a slight smile. He was proud of him. He didn't fuck up and it was almost two months since this WhatsApp thing started. 

“She smiled at you and laughed at your jokes because she knew you will give her a bigger tip.” - Nat zipped Sam off before he could even start about that Tessa girl from the place they had lunch in. - “Because no one would laugh at your jokes willingly.” 

Bucky gave her a high five. - “Shots fired.” 

Steve: I'll call you when I'm back. And that's a promise. 

Steve: I really need to go, my friends are getting impatient and they are behaving like literal children. I need to take care of them. Be safe, Y/N. Okay?

He wrote quickly and followed his friends, knowing that he will hear your voice when he gets back. And that was a thing worth of speeding the mission up. Or at least doing everything it takes for that.

#steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #sam wilson #the falcon #natasha romanoff #black widow #peter parker #may parker #lovely

[yellowninjaleopard]

Autumn winds short: wash it all away.

The riverpersons boat continued to rock against the current of the water as it road along the stream, autumn rested her head against the palm of her hand as she looked around her surroundings, until a waterfall came into sight, along with a blue wetland with streams of water, bridges and bright blue flowers. Autumn looked up and realised something, she stood up. [*Hey, stop here, we'll come back in a bit] "tralala, checking out waterfall i see? A wise choice for site seeing my friend" said the riverperson in a friendly tone. [*Oh cool.] Autumn shook the others awake and stepped out of the boat and onto the blue grass. "Where are we going autumn?" Said bandy curious as to why they had halted their trip. Autumn looked towards a waterfall surrounded by a pile of garbage and trash. [*Bingo baby.] Autumn walked towards the waterfall, the others following behind. "Why are we here?" Said irro with his hands in his jacket pockets. Autumn turned towards them with her hands resting on her hips. [*Shower.] Everyone looked at autumn in a state of confusion. Autumn sweatdropped and sighed. [*Guys, this is a waterfall, and we're all hecka dirty from either death or just plain ol dirt, plus you gotta clean those wounds a yours and fear sweat, also our clothes.c'mon y'all let's take a shower.] The others agreed and began to walk towards the waterfall, autumn began to remove her t-shirt, revealing the bandages underneath that cover her chest area, then removing her shorts, socks, shoes and hair bow, compass and her friendship bracelet. Then dipping her head and body under the waterfall like the ninja movies. After washing herself completely, she stepped out and shook the water from herself. [*Woah that's fresh.] Autumn then stretched her arms and popped her back, stepping out from the lake autumn began to dip her clothes into the water, letting the water rinse them of dirt and blood. She then placed them down to dry out before going to check on the others, Bandy seemed to be fairing just fine, sitting under the stream placing his fists together like he is meditating, he is also smiling gleefully. Nona however seemed to be hesitant, autumn walked towards her and pet her head gently. [*It's ok, it's not a pool, it's just, ankle deep. Ok?] Nona looked up at autumn for more reassurance. "Mana, drown?" Said Nona pointing towards the water. Autumn understood what she meant, she doesn't like swimming Because she is afraid to drown. Autumn held Nonas hand while looking at her, smiling warmly. [*It's ok, your not going to drown, I'm here, I'll always be right here.] Nona suddenly saw autumn be replaced by a girl with black hair in braids, a blue and pink dress and a sun hat, the background changes to a beach. She also heard a voice say the same thing autumn had. {*I'll always be right here.} Nona snapped back into reality, looking up at autumn. Autumn slowly walked Nona into the water, Nona flinched and held onto autumns right leg tightly, feeling the water rush against her feet was a bit scary, autumn gently pet Nonas head. [*See it's ok, your not going to drown, not on my watch.] Nona slowly let go of autumn's hand and leg, taking a step under the falls to wash her hair, Nona giggled at the feeling, irro came over and said "I'm gonna go check out the trash piles you guys coming?" Autumn looked up at Irro. [*Yeah dude, one sec, ok? Just uh gotta get dressed y'know?] Irro nodded and gave a thumbs up before walking over to the stream where bandy was. Some time later Autumns clothes were dry and she was wearing Everything again, autumn waited for everyone else to get dressed before following Irro, irro was Searching through the trash before turning around. "Cmon guys, this stuffs from the surface!" Said irro motioning for them to come over to the piles and search with him. Autumn and the others walked over and began to rummage through the pile of trash and things, autumn came across a bunch of old backpacks that looked like they were once new but thrown away, upon closer inspection they still had their price tags. Autumn sweatdropped [*Yeesh, talk about hating school.] Autumn put the backpacks aside [*hey guys! There's bags over here if you guys want one!] Bandy shouted back "ok!" And continued to search through the trash. Autumn then descovered a broken bunch of wood planks with a box of  matches. [*Hmm, we could use this to make a camp fire and warm up a bit.] Irro groaned in frustration. Autumn walked over and saw Irro with a bunch of bottle caps and paperclips, Nona with an old valentine's day love teddy bear that has one eye missing, bandy has a toy ninja katana and a black sash around his waist like a ninja and the other souls are just staring at him with an eyebrow raised so is Wimsum. [*What's up dude?] Irro looked at autumn and showed her the bottle caps and paperclips "i keep finding these things!" Irro stuck a hand into the pile and pulled out a cherry bomber bottle cap. "What the heck man! They're all soda ones!" Irro said frustrated. Autumn thought to herself for a minute, before taking them from him. [*You know, i could make these into jacket buttons for ya, you know, to decorate that jacket, a kid at my school had pins all over his jean jacket and he looked so cool.] Irro looked at autumn "really? You'd make those for me?" Said irro. [*O course pal, what're friends for y'know?] Autumn smiled. Later on, everyone was sitting gathered around the camp fire autumn had made. Nona was cuddling her valentine's day teddy closely. Autumn looked at her maple leaf locket and sighed [*I wish Frisk coulda been here, don't worry buddy, we'll go home soon, i promise.] Autumn looked up at the only other one awake, the purple soul. [*so..Where's your body huh?] The purple soul pointed towards the way they came. [*Wha? The ruins again? Really?] The purple soul nodded. Autumn yawned then stomped out the fire after watering it down, autumn then picked up Nona bridal style and carried bandy on her back, the purple and yellow soul carried irro and the green soul back to the riverpersons boat. "Tralalala, where to my friends?" Said the river person. [*The door to the ruins please.] Autumn set bandy and Nona down while the purple soul and yellow soul set irro and the green soul down before sleeping themselves. "Tralalala, I'm to be expecting a new passenger?" Asked the River person. Autumn sat down as the boat began to set off. [*I sure hope so pal.] Autumns eyes began to close as she lay down in the boat and drifted to sleep herself.

To be continued...

[*Knowing that you may find all the bodies in the very same place fills you with COURAGE.]

[justsomerandomweebo]

Just A Dream

"You know, if we could all just stop dying or almost dying, that'll be great." Kai sighed as he looked at their most recent addition to the murals.

All of their hand prints to symbolize the ultimate tornado of creation to defeat the One. It was simple yet... Powerful.

"Well, considering that the Oni are done for and Ninjago is busy recovering, we should all be good for now." Jay says with a smile as he held Nya's hand.

"Key word is 'for now'. Ninjago is almost always in danger and it's not like they have anyone else aside from us to protect them." Cole pointed out from Kai's right. "Sure we'll be more careful but who knows, you know?" He shrugged.

"Can we not focus on dying right now? I don't know about you but I've had enough of the topic to last a lifetime." Nya says with a grimace.

"She's right. We should be glad we all survived that mess." Kai says with a grin, turning to them. "I don't know about all of you but I could use a vacation!"

"Sign me up- Ooh! What about a beach wedding?!" Jay says eagerly to Nya who smiles fondly.

"It sounds like a good idea now but when all that sand gets in your shoes, you'll think otherwise." She says, patting his shoulder as he grimaced at the thought.

"I still think you guys should just do it here at the Monastery." Cole says as he headed inside, the rest of the following.

"Cole's right. The Monastery is the best place. I mean, it may not be the original but we have a lot of memories here." Kai says with a smile, recalling training with Cole and the others, even competing to see who the green ninja would be.

"Plus, it's easier to keep private. The whole city would probably show up if we do it in a public setting." Nya adds, nudging Jay.

"I don't mind having it here. I just want the best wedding for you, you know?" Jay says and Nya awed.

"You're so thoughtful Jay..." She says, kissing his cheek and Jay blushed.

"How about we ditch the couple and hit breakfast?" Kai whispered to Cole who smirked.

"I thought you'd never ask." He says and both ninja slipped away from the sappy couple.

Once they got to the dining area, they found a tired looking Lloyd already seated, drinking a cup of tea as Zane bustled around the kitchen near by.

"Hey squirt." Cole says in greeting and Lloyd only grunts.

"You looked like you hardly slept." Kai says as he sat next to the green ninja who remained quiet. "Nightmares?" He asked quietly as Cole went into the kitchen.

"Yeah." Lloyd sighed and Kai patted his shoulder. "But it wasn't too bad. I just... Couldn't fall asleep after." He shrugged.

"Hey, it's OK. It gets better." Kai says eothban encouraging smile. "And if falling back asleep is the problem, Sensei Wu has a wicked chamomile tea blend that'll knock you out faster than you can say tea."

"It works, believe me." Cole says as he walked out of the kitchen, catching the last of their conversation. "Drank it on accident once and slept for 10 solid hours. I felt great afterwards." He grinned as he sat down on Lloyd's other side.

"10 hours? I can't sleep that long. What if-"

"What if, what ifs are just that?" Kai countered. "You've been through enough to earn the right to sleep in. We're here too you know. We'll handle whatever comes and if we really need you, well, we can always wake you up." He says, ruffling his hair and Lloyd laughed, batting his hand away.

"Haha, I guess you're-"

"Kai." They all looked towards Zane who was looking at them all with a stony expression.

"Woah, why so serious?" Kai joked, hoping to lift the sudden tension in the room-but failing. "Did something happen?" He asked, serious now.

Surely something villain sized must have happened for Zane to be so serious.

"Who were you talking to Kai?" Zane asked, ignoring his question.

"What do you mean? I was just talking to..." Kai's voice trailed off once he looked at the two empty seats next to him. "Woah, where'd they go?" He whispered, wondering how that got so stealthy to leave the room without him noticing.

"Answer the question Kai." Zane prompts again and Kai frowned.

"Lloyd and Cole of course. I mean, Cole literally just came out of the kitchen with you!" Kai yelled, upset and confused at his weird questions.

Zane pressed his lips firmly together as Nya and Jay stepped in- only to back out slowly.

"You two." He says and the couple froze before looking guilty as they walked back in.

"Nya, great. Could you get Lloyd and Cole and calm Zane here down? I don't know what his deal is but-"

"Why didn't you tell him?" Zane spoke, looking to Nya and Jay and Kai glared at them all, realising that he was being ignored.

Rude much?

"I couldn't. He looked so calm for once and I-I..." Nya broke off as tears streamed down her cheeks, hiding her quiet sobs into Jay's shoulder.

"Nya..." Kai says as he stood then scowled once Zane stopped him from approaching by holding his hand up in his direction.

"We just thought this once wouldn't matter, you know? He always slips by tomorrow anyway. I mean-"

"Could someone stop ignoring me and tell me what the hell is going on?!" Kai yelled, interrupting Jay.

Both lightning and ice ninja looked at him Nya keeping her face hidden in Jay's shoulder.

"Kai-"

"No, I'll tell him." Nya spoke up, cutting Zane off as she pulled away from Jay.

"Nya..." He says, heartbroken as he looked at her red face and teary eyes.

"Kai..." She whispered, wiping her eyes. "I should have told you earlier but I was just being selfish." She says and Kai shook his head.

"No way." He says with a reassuring smile as he walked over. "Nya-"

"No Kai. I have to say this." She says, cutting him off and he frowned. "Kai... Lloyd and Cole are dead." She says firmly, despite the tears rolling down her cheeks.

"What?" He whispered, wide eyed as he stepped back.

He shook his head.

"They can't be. I just spoke with them-"

"They aren't real Kai." Nya says, walking up to him. "It's all on your head. Cole never survived that fall and Lloyd died from a head injury after we did the tornado of creation. You know this Kai. You were there." She says, cupping his cheeks as he stood there, conflicted.

On one hand, he saw Cole come back in the storm raider during the battle and he saw when Lloyd woke up after he had hit his head but on the other, more painful hand, he recalled them using Wu and Garmadon to take Cole's place in the tornado of creation and checking Lloyd's pulse after, finding none. He recalled Misako crying over Lloyd's body and recalled them pulling him away from his body. Even worse, he recalled being called to ninjago City with the others to collect Cole's cold, lifeless body.

"No." Kai whispered as he stepped back.

He couldn't have imagined it all... Could he?

"I'm sorry Kai." Zane says quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder as Jay swiped at his eyes.

"No, it can't be." Kai says, drying it all, backing away from them all.

"Kai-!"

"It's not true!" He yelled at his sister, flames ignighting in his hands.

He jerked awake with a gasp, gripping scorched sheets in his fists and drenched with sweat. He panted heavily, looking at the blackened sheets in his hand as his heart pounded against his chest.

"OK, deep breaths Kai. Just a Dream. It was all just a dream." He whispered to himself, pushing his sweat slick bangs back.

He breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Sorry to tell you pal." Kai jerked his head up, looking owlishly at the two ghosts at the end of his bed.

Cole was seated on the edge, looking nonchalant while Lloyd looked remorseful.

"It really did happen." Lloyd finished Cole's sentence and Kai yelled, jolting awake yet again.

"Ow!" He hissed once he hit his forehead on something.

He blinked then reached up and touched the wood over us head. What? Why was he- He blinked, noticing his hand had blood on it.

"What the hell?" Kai whispered, patting himself over in the tiny box to see where the blood was coming from.

Was it even his? He paled once he felt something off. Not just off. Something was missing. His chest had a hole in it his hand went through. Wait. He... He was in a coffin. He was dead!

"Kai." Said ninja jolted awake at the sound of Zane's voice, looking around wide eyed.

"What? Where are we?" He asked as he looked around the Earth Driller at the unfamiliar surroundings.

"You'll remember in a sec. Come on." Nya says, helping him out.

He looked around and froze at the sight of the weeping willow tree ahead. He remembered now. He numbly walked over, Nya, Zane, Jay, Pixal, Sensei Wu and Misako falling just behind. He gritted his teeth as he looked down at the two gravestones before him, for Cole and Lloyd. Tears dripped down his chin as he dug his nails deep into his palms until blood dripped from them. This was the reality of things. Lloyd and Cole did die. Why couldn't this be the dream and one of his other dreams be a reality? Even if it was in his head or if they were ghosts, he would still had them with him. If he was the one who was dead then... Then he wouldn't have to feel this... Nya placed a hand on his shoulder then took his hand, uncoiling it before holding it, blood and all. Why? Why couldn't this be the dream?

**********

Not gonna lie, I had fun playing with Kai's mentality. I might just write more dark stuff like this because why not torture the Ninja? I wrote this spontaneously in like 20 minutes so it might not be the best either. Cheers!

#ninjago #kai #zane #jay #nya #cole #lloyd #wu #Sensei wu #ninjago sensei wu #ninjago misako #ninjago cole #ninjago zane #ninjago jay #ninjago lloyd #ninjago kai #pixal #ninjago pixal #ninjago nya #ninjago fanfic

[quarterfromcanon]

How Long Do You Plan to Keep Me at the Back of Your Mind?

Heather & Valencia - Femslash February - Day 21 - Basic [2,442 words]

“Hello, ladies, and welcome to the trial run of Hallmark & Hummus.” Rebecca splayed her fingers. She waggled them as if the name were appearing in lights. “On this very special evening, we will be enjoying some unarguably bland dip only made interesting with other foods. Whatever film is selected by our vote will be much the same: devoid of flavor until the added ingredients -- us, in this case, the added ingredients are us -- come along to spice things up.”

Valencia offered a strained but well-intentioned smile. She turned to the right and consulted with Heather. “Translation, please?”

Heather’s beleaguered sigh preceded the reply. “She wants to watch sappy made-for-TV movies and eat tortilla chips while we talk about them.”

“Ohhhhh,” the rest of the group chorused. 

“I wanna take this opportunity to just apologize to everyone,” Heather told them, ignoring Rebecca’s background indignation. “The theme tonight is my fault and I am already so sorry.”

“How’d that happen?” Paula draped her arms over the sides of her chair.

“We were kicking around viewing options for Girls’ Night earlier this week and everything totally snowballed outta control. I was trying to steer her away from them by pointing out that they’re usually a little boring and unoriginal... which, like, ‘a little’ was being generous, honestly... and she just really latched onto the metaphor.” Heather folded her arms and shot Rebecca a ‘Why are you like this?’ look. 

Rebecca tried to mirror the stance but ultimately just stuck out her tongue. “I still think we can make it fun. Plus, your cleverness sparked the creative spin! You should be owning this with pride! You were my muse.”

Heather wrinkled her nose. “I accept full responsibility for the apt comparison but not its application.”

“Compromise met.” Rebecca clapped her hands into a clasp. “Now, before we get into any of that, the first order of business is to greet our special guest. Thank you for joining us tonight, Beth. Welcome.”

Beth was clearly not expecting an individual shout-out like that. Still, she leaned forward to acknowledge them all with a salutatory wave before settling back against the couch. “Thanks for inviting me.”

Heather readjusted on her respective cushion. She pulled one leg up to her chest and locked both arms around the kneecap.

“Okay, so, drinks are in the fridge,” Rebecca continued the hostess explanations. “There’s wine, juice, water, beer, et cetera. I originally floated the idea that we take shots of Hennessy for every glaring instance of sexism to keep going with our letter ‘H,’ but Heather did actually talk me out of that one because we would all die of alcohol poisoning.”

She gathered a tall stack of borrowed cases in her arms, each labeled with a barcode from the local library. “I grabbed all the ones I could find. Their collection was unexpectedly extensive, so let’s see if we can start the process of elimination.”

“Nothing with a cover that looks like pretty white characters are gonna fall in love or die at Christmastime,” Heather declared.

Rebecca pouted and removed six boxes from the tower. “That’s practically their entire yuletide catalog - heh, yule log, that was unintentional - but fair enough. It does whittle the options down by a significant margin.”

“No movies with sequels,” Valencia suggested. “The last thing we need is to get stuck with these people for more than one.”

“And none with punny titles,” Paula added.

“Why not?” Rebecca countered.

“Check how many that eliminates and you’ll see.” Paula assembled a plate while she waited.

“Oh wow, you guys are going after their whole brand,” Rebecca muttered as she continued to weed out entertainment that matched the criteria. “Hallmark came out to have a good time and is honestly feeling so attacked right now.”

“What does that leave?” Beth peered at the titles one by one when they passed through her acquaintance’s hands.

Rebecca held up a single DVD. “Something called The Love Letter.”

“Hang on a sec.” Valencia’s brow furrowed. “Can I see that?”

Rebecca passed her the box. Valencia tapped the name in the bottom corner. “I knew it! That’s Jennifer Jason Leigh.”

Beth chuckled. She rubbed her palm along her girlfriend’s spine. 

Valencia peeked to the left self-consciously. “What?”

“Nothing. I just think it’s cute you followed the career of an actress with a big gay fan following before you even figured things out.” Beth kissed Valencia on the cheek.

Rebecca joined in the affectionate laughter. “Adorably oblivious.”

Heather popped the lid off her beer and drank.

Paula tucked a diced piece of pepper into the side of her mouth and lifted her own bottle. “Let’s get this party started.”

She tapped the alcohol against her friend’s serving. Just for a moment, Heather thought she saw a flicker of sympathy in Paula’s eyes.

They all settled more comfortably while Rebecca turned out a couple of the lights and readied the selection. Rebecca stretched across the chaise lounge. She pointed the remote control toward the censor. “Drum roll... play!”

Within the first sixty seconds, a store owner made a comment about women dragging their boyfriends into the building to look at a white dress in the window. Valencia and Rebecca automatically flipped their middle fingers at the screen. 

“Damn,” Valencia commented just shy of the seven minute mark. “She likes some imaginary pen pal better than the guy who just proposed to her. Are we sure she’s not a closeted lesbian in this, too? Fixating on an unrealistic man-of-her-dreams seems like a handy excuse.”

“You would know,” Paula teased with a smirk. She sipped more of her drink.

Valencia arched an eyebrow but inclined her head. “Touché.”

“Ooo, it’s near Salem!” Rebecca enthused. “Witches?” She waggled her eyebrows.

“Dude, again, late ’90s Hallmark,” Heather reminded her. “They aren’t gonna throw us a lot of surprises. Also, wrong time period.”

“If Hocus Pocus taught us nothing else, it’s that they don’t have to be bound to their own era. Spooky shit happens,” Rebecca reasoned.

Heather shook her head and laughed quietly.

The female lead was finally introduced. Valencia and Beth exchanged knowing glances when her first onscreen act was writing a poem for a flower consistently referred to with “she” and “her” pronouns. ‘Gay,’ they both mouthed.

Half an hour into the run time, Beth whispered, “So, is this basically The Lake House with a more cockblocking year gap?”

“Kinda, yeah,” Heather confirmed. “This one’s just eight years older.” 

“Good to know.” Beth smiled with genuine appreciation for the trivia.

Heather felt a twist of guilt that her first internal response was ‘ugh.’  Then the story randomly included a scene involving kitchen spices and she choked on a scoop of hummus.

“Are you okay?” Valencia murmured.

“Yeah, just went down the wrong way,” Heather managed to reply.

A strange reaction crossed Valencia’s features but she periodically hovered a concerned hand over her friend’s back until ten minutes later.

“It must be true love if you get turned on by air touches, amirite?” Rebecca joked. Heather and Valencia froze before they realized she spoke in reference to the film. They scooted to opposite ends of their couch space.

Beth’s fingers interwove with Valencia’s when the movie’s ill-treated fiancée got to confront her betrothed’s emotional infidelity. Heather’s eyes found the ceiling as she tried not to notice.

The end credits rolled. Rebecca wiped away a few tears. She tucked both legs beneath her body as she faced the other women in the room. “So, what did you guys think?”

“I really liked that checkered dress. Oh, and the giant cloak when she left for Gettysburg!” Paula stayed seated but pantomimed donning the aforementioned clothing while sweeping away in a hurry. “I mean, c’mon, can you really call it a dramatic exit without some kind of cape to swish behind you? It’s the only way to go.”

“Right? So pretty. So stylish. And when they got into the rowboat and she read her poetry to him?” Rebecca pouted and held her hands over her heart. “I loved that.”

“He was kind of an asshole, though,” Valencia concluded. “Waffling between them both like they were equally viable options. Pick a path and stick to it. And for the love of God, invest in wax or a razor.”

“That’s a justifiable point,” Rebecca acknowledged. “I’m a big advocate of a person having as much or as little body hair as they see fit so, you know, more power to him. But, practically speaking, that stuff is gonna scratch your tits to hell when you’re pounding it out together. R.I.P. reincarnated lady’s boobs.”

Heather and Paula concurred with empathetic nods.

“I’m not super into the reincarnation angle itself, though,” Heather decided. “They had a few set traits because of the whole same-internal-essence thing, but Caleb and Scotty were still different guys living different lives, y’know?”

“They did each have their own vibe,” Paula concurred. “The two were very similar but not identical. Close, but no cigar.”

“Exactly! And I think they knew people weren’t gonna be as into modern JJL after ninety minutes with Civil War her. That’s why her name went from Elizabeth to Beth so it’s like, ‘Oh, don’t worry. It’s cool for us to just end the movie now because she’s literally the same,’ but she’s not. She wasn’t there for any of it. Beth doesn’t share all the history and she doesn’t know everything that happened before she came into the picture. It’s like, dude, she’s a separate person and eventually you’re gonna have to explain everything. I guess go ahead and get attached to someone who’s superficially a match, but it doesn’t make her your soulmate.”

Heather finished her rant and stared down at the empty bottle in her hands. She could feel Valencia tense beside her but neither risked eye contact. 

Heavy fabric pelted against the top of Heather’s head and fell to the floor. 

“What the...”

She looked up to realize Rebecca had chucked a throw pillow at her. 

“Start believing in romance, you cynic! Stop deflating love bubbles with your logic!” Rebecca reached for another to lob, but Heather held her hands aloft.

“Yeah, there’s an open container of salsa literally two feet away from me, so I’m thinking we should call for an armistice.” Heather forced her expression into a semblance of contrition. “No more mood-killing. But also no more furniture attacks. Deal?”

“I can agree to those terms.” Rebecca let the second pillow fall from her grip.

“Cool. I’m gonna go use the bathroom before we start whatever’s next.” 

Heather departed for that location and locked the door. She splashed water on her face and met her own gaze in the mirror’s reflection. “You are acting like such a jealous douche,” Heather reprimanded herself in a low voice. “That may be the literal brand you represent, but it’s not who you are as a person. Cut the crap.”

She towel-dried her skin and sighed. Somehow, she had to come to terms with the chasm between where she used to think her life would be at this point and where things were actually headed. It wasn’t fair to Valencia to keep letting an undercurrent of bitterness guide the course of their interactions. Then there was Beth, genial and charming, who had done absolutely nothing to earn a cold shoulder. Heather frequently hashed and rehashed it all out in her mind, and she knew Beth had proven herself to be an exemplary first girlfriend. Whether the process of doing so was easy or not, she had to step aside. After all, Valencia wasn’t the only one in a new relationship. Heather had someone, too. Hector... No, she couldn’t tackle her feelings about him right now. The main thing to focus on was turning over a new leaf, and she intended to do so once she rejoined the others.

Heather left the bathroom, pivoted out of habit toward the living room, and almost ran right into Beth. She pulled to an abrupt stop. “Sorry. All yours.”

Beth hooked her thumbs in her belt loops. “Thanks. Hey, I don’t now if it’s a breach of that treaty you and Rebecca have going to tell you this, but you made a pretty solid point earlier.” She cast a covert glance at the rest of the group, playfully following along with the faux tension as well as the subsequent peace. “What makes a person isn’t just what they’re starting with, but how they’re affected by things, and what they do in response to that. Like you said, it’s from their ’90s collection, and I don’t know if they were really encouraging us to look that deep, but still.” She shrugged. “V told me you’re good at reading people, and she was right.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Heather nearly crossed her arms, but instead she slipped her palms into the pockets of her vest. “I may need to call on you for backup in the event of another pro-tearjerker uprising, so, be ready with a strong argument. Rebecca loves a debate.”

Beth laughed. “You got it.”

They parted ways and Heather turned around again. Valencia was watching. She twitched her lips upward timidly. Heather flushed with remorse that things had become so difficult between them. She returned the greeting with a sincere smile. Valencia beamed and approached to talk. 

“How’s movie vote number two going?” Heather asked.

Valencia looked back at their companions with loving exasperation. “We’re officially in Eeny Meeny Miny Mo territory, but Rebecca and Paula got into a discussion about whether it should be the full rhyme or just those four words. I feel like I don’t need to tell you which friend was in favor of which option.”  

“It’ll be all right. Paula will wrap things up one way or another,” Heather said confidently. “My money’s on her grabbing something out of the pile and shouting ‘This is it!’ just to cut the rounds short.”

Paula’s voice suddenly projected over Rebecca’s. “Oh, look! It’s the brunette from Down with Love. A Christmas Wedding -- we have a winner!” She held the box aloft and then carried the disc to the player. 

Rebecca was miffed by the interruption for only a few seconds before her shoulders rose and fell. “Works for me.”

“You called it.” Valencia nudged Heather. “You know us all too well.”

“I feel like you could probably make an educated guess what I’m thinking sometimes, too.”

“Like right now?”

“Sure, if you want.”

Valencia considered Heather with exaggerated scrutiny. “Switching from beer to wine before we start another cringey movie?”

Heather elbowed her and they both smiled. “Bingo.”

#H+V FF #CEG Writing by Me #Helencia #Heather x Valencia #Heather's really sharing my friend's 'Oh poo. Beth's here.' reaction in this one. #I put all three women on the same couch and H+V were hashtag not happy about it. Justifiably so. #IT'S TEMPORARY ANGST #please forgiveee meeeeee