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mae-gi-writes · 4 years

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Deobi Playlist (EP 10) | The Boyz Imagine

The Boyz x Hospital Playlist inspired drabble series.

Main characters: Kevin, Juyeon, Hyunjae and OC (Mae)

Sides: the rest of The Boyz

Genre: fluff, slice of life, BROMANCE BRUH

EP 1 | EP 2 | EP 3 | EP 4 | EP 5 | EP 6 | EP 7 | EP 8 | EP 9 | EP 10

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"Excuse me."

"Yes," Juyeon whips his head up to see a pregnant woman waddling over to the counter with an expression that looks murderous. Holding her belly against herself with a grocery bag slung over her shoulder, she slams her entire body onto the front counter, which causes him to jump in surprise.

"How are you, ma'am? How can I help you today?" Juyeon flashes a wan smile, used to dealing with unnerved clients. There's usually always a reason behind their madness.

"I have been waiting for at least an hour!" The woman bellows, practically red in the face, "I'm due in two weeks, and there are so many other pregnant women waiting behind me. How come it's taking so long?"

"Ma'am, I'm sorry we--"

"Do you know how hard it is for us, pregnant women, to sit here in this stuffed waiting room while babies are kicking?!" She interrupts with another yell as Juyeon's hands come up in defense, "I want to see Dr. Bae right now! Right now, you hear me? I'm tired! I want to go home!"

Panic rises at the back of Juyeon's throat, "I--I am so sorry about this ma'am. But due to the number of patients today, the office is running a little slower than usual. I'm really sorry--"

"I don't want to hear your stupid reasons. I want my appointment!" She bellows, "Now!"

Fear coils through his stomach, a sick feeling tying into knots as his throat dries up with the countless excuses dying on the tip of his tongue.

Shit, his heart races. How is he supposed to deal with that?

He'd give anything to be shadowing a doctor right now.

The door to the doctor's office suddenly slides open, revealing a gentle-eyed Jacob who's gaze quickly flits between them in understanding. The woman doesn't even wait a second, quickly twisting her body and waddling towards him.

"Dr. Bae, I was just telling your stupid staff here that you need to speed up your process! Do you know how painful it is to be sitting around with that?" She motions towards her belly, legs wide apart and fists clenched at her sides as though she's preparing for battle.

But Jacob's expression stays unfazed, "I apologize, ma'am. Unfortunately the speed of the diagnosis does not rely solely on me, but my patient."

"Yes, but--"

"Some have--" Jacob pauses, presses his lips together as sympathy flashes through his face, "some have difficult obstacles they've had to face in regards to their pregnancy. Not everyone is as lucky that their baby is growing up to be healthy."

The woman blinks, opening her mouth, then closing it upon realizing that she has been shocked into silence.

"I understand your frustrations, I really do," Jacob's voice is gentle, a soothing lullaby that instantly makes Juyeon feel like the world is a better place, "but we all have to cooperate a little, work together to make this work. Don't you think?"

For a moment, there's a complete silence so palpable that Juyeon can hear the ringing in his ears. He can feel the eyes of a multitude of patients drilling into the back of his skull and goosebumps suddenly explode along his arm at the sensation.

"Alright," the woman finally lets out a grumble, "fine. Whatever."

And she turns around, wobbly on her feet, before plopping back down at her seat looking slightly disconcerted by the effect of Jacob's words.

Juyeon sends the said doctor a look of utter gratefulness, which Jacob answers with a wink of his own before retreating back into his office.

Thank god.

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It's been a long day running back and forth between the maternity department and the pediatric ward, but it is only when the last patient bids their goodbyes that Juyeon allows his neutral mask to fall.

"I'm sorry doctor," he bows his head to the ground, not daring to make any kind of eye contact due to the embarrassment coiling through him, "It was my fault. I couldn't calm her down in time."

"No no," Jacob's lips curl up into a smile, face softening with understanding, "it happens all the time. Impatient patients are the norm around here. Mothers-to-be, especially."

"Still, I'm sorry."

"Did that swear you off the Maternity Ward then?" Jacob's smile widens into a teasing grin.

"Maybe."

"Well, if it's of any comfort, it's no better in the other wards."

"What do you mean?" Juyeon frowns.

"Some of them are always looking for donors, others always doing extra shifts. The pediatric ward is the only one that's doing okay, as of late. Cancer department is just a hole of sadness."

"That's...not very encouraging."

"That's the reality of it," Jacob shrugs, "did you give it any thought? What you wanted to specialize?"

"I don't know. Cancer, maybe. I'm not good with kids and the Cardiac Department looks like hell. Also, Organs make me squirm."

Jacob laughs at that, the sound bouncing through the room like sunlight, "that's exactly the same reason why I didn't want to specialize in surgery."

"That makes the two of us."

After packing up their belongings and clocking out for the day, Jacob offers to buy Juyeon dinner as a thank-you for helping him throughout the day and though the latter tries his best to refuse, the doctor insists that it's just something he does with all of his underlings, and that not treating Juyeon would just not be right.

So Juyeon has no other choice but to follow as they walk to the parking lot. They unexpectedly bump into Hyunjae and Changmin in the lobby, causing Jacob to invite them both to join.

"Why Jacob, I think that's the first time you're buying me dinner," Hyunjae can't help but comment as they settle at one of the tables of Mama's chicken, a small restaurant just down the street from their hospital. Juyeon smacks his thigh in protest, aiming to be subtle while the former stifles his groan of pain.

"What?" Hyunjae hisses venomously.

"You don't say those kinds of things," Juyeon hisses back.

"You only care because you want him to give you a good review."

"Piss off, Hyunjae."

The dinner goes surprisingly well considering that Juyeon isn't really familiar with Jacob. Having Hyunjae helps ease the tension between the interns and the doctors, lightening the atmosphere and loosening up his tongue. They share stories about patients, heart-wrenching stories about the ones they lost, and the ones that they managed to save. The more they spoke, the more Juyeon felt like this was the right path he'd chosen, after all this internal dilemma that had cost him a few years.

"So why did you want to study medicine?" Asks Hyunjae to Changmin, who is already slightly flushed from his second beer.

"I--uh--I just wanted to make the world a better place," Changmin stammers, ears flushing red, "I don't think I've considered anything else."

"See, this is the problem with interns," Hyunjae shakes a hand at him, "you guys think that being a doctor is honourable. It fucking sucks, okay? Like, it's really shitty. The shittiest of everything shitty in this world."

"Not all that shitty," Jacob intercepts.

Hyunjae scowls at him, "for you, maybe. You work in the Maternity Ward. What's the worst? That a pregnant woman comes screaming at you?"

At that comment, Juyeon can't help but glance at Jacob, eyes meeting for a quick second in understanding.

“I think I got used to that,” Jacob answers with a small smile, “Pregnant women don’t scare me.”

“You’re brave, Dr. Bae,” Hyunjae sniffs, “there’s no way I’d be able to make it.”

“Do you regret choosing to be a surgeon?” Changmin pipes up.

“Nah,” Hyunjae flashes him a grin then, leaning back against his seat and poking Juyeon’s neck as he does so, “couldn’t find myself a better match. Surgery is all I live for. It’s like me against death, and most of the time, I always win.”

“And the times you don’t?”

“You win some, you lose some. That’s the reality of it.”

When Jacob and Changmin bid their goodbyes, Juyeon accompanies Hyunjae back to the hospital -- the latter has a night shift. It is his second one in a row -- while throwing his friend a couple of worried glances out of the corner of his eye.

He knows more than anyone how much Hyunjae gives to the people. No matter how much bravado he puts on about doctors and how medicine really is like a beast you can’t tame, there’s definitely always a sparkle in the said doctor’s eyes whenever he talks about it. Juyeon admires that, and he admires Hyunjae (not that he’ll ever tell him though), but his stomach can’t help but churn with worry when he notices the darkening blue aprons underneath his friend’s eyes, or the tiredness lining them, red-rimmed and mouth pulled down in a way that only suggests he lacks sleep and energy.

“Hey,” Juyeon speaks up when they reach the hospital doors. Hyunjae looks back at him as he says, “try getting some sleep. You look like crap.”

“Thanks Juyeon. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m serious, Hyunjae. Continue doing that and you’ll pass out in mid-surgery.”

“Yeah yeah,” the older man sticks out his tongue in retaliation, “I hear you, mother. You heading home now?”

“Yup. I’m done for the day. I got tomorrow off too.”

“Lucky bastard.”

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Tagging: @juyeonzz @thesingingfae1905 @gratefulmaria @nochuu17

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

Also, for all those who have sent me requests, don’t worry I’m working on them! they shall be up soon! <3

I’M SO SORRY IT’S SO SHORT FML BUT LIFE IS GETTING IN THE WAY AND MAE IS TRYING TO ADULT AND GO TO JOB INTERVIEWS SO YEAH IM SORRY FHSDLSDLKJDBUT I HOPE YOU LIKE ALL THIS BROMANCE.

NEXT EP WILL BE FULL OF MAE AND KEV SFKSDHGKDSJGDSLGLDKN <3

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theuntamednarrator · 4 years

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Shenanigans on the High Seas

from @trensu, the blog that brought you WangXiantics, and from that other blog that just, like, screams a lot in the tags, comes the AU that we all desperately need because, frankly, we’re a little dehydrated from crying over the Nie Bros (drumroll please)

PIRATE AU!!!

You know you want it

the Zidian is Jiang Cheng’s ship. he inherited it from his mother, who was known as the Violet Spider, Scourge of the Seven Seas

before she retired, Captain Yu had two first mates she’d trained since childhood, Wen Qing and Luo Qingyang

after Captain Yu retired they got married and are now Pirate Wives with an-all female crew aboard the Yiling Matriarch

her bright red sails are just as feared as the purple sails of Zidian or the sable sails of Ghost General

any man who sets foot on the Matriarch best be prepared to lose it, and the leg it’s attached to

rumour has it that every carpenter from beijing to budapest pays the Matriarch a commission, for keeping them in work making peg legs, but that’s just a rumour

JC captains the Zidian alongside his first mate Jiang Yanli

the rumours about her say that she’s the reason there’s so little murdering done by those aboard the Zidian

but the crew know she once ordered a captive tied to a chunk of bait and thrown overboard near Shark Reef Bay

granted, she let the crew fish him back out after the first bite, and Jin Zixun never said another word about Captain Wei Wuxian until he was ransomed

but still

speaking of WWX, he captains the Ghost General, though far from doing any actual captaining he’s usually to be found up in the crow’s nest with a bottle of rum and his flute

luckily, his trusted first mate Wen Ning is more than capable of handling the General

his very favourite targets are the Jin Company’s slave traders, and most of his crew are former captives who chose to stay with him after their rescue

regardless of how drunk he might be, no one can fight like Captain WWX, except perhaps JC and JYL, they did grow up together after all!

because WWX was a foundling fished from the wreckage of a vanquished merchant ship by the Violet Spider at age 6 and taken to the island hideaway where her lover, former merchant sailor turned stay-at-home-dad Jiang Fengmian, is raising their two children

because this is a HAPPY AU DANGIT, and we deserve ONE AU where these two don’t traumatise their children

Captain Yu and JFM are in fact very, very happy together and raise little WWX together alongside JYL and JC

Captain Yu and JFM met when she raided his ship

he offered himself and all the gold aboard in return for his crew’s lives

she thought him rather striking and went about setting him up on a little island she knew, very out of the way, where she can visit as often as she likes

JFM is DELIGHTED by this turn of events, which he loudly denies has anything to do with Captain Yu’s famed skill with a whip

while JFM was settling into his sugar baby life, his crew were returning back to their home port to report to JFM’s business partner, Lan Qiren, that the Violet Spider had killed JFM and taken all their gold

LQR, who had secretly been in love with his best friend and business partner for years, declares the Violet Spider his ARCH NEMESIS and sets about trying to destroy her

when his brother and sister-in-law die and leave his two nephews in his care he ropes them into the feud

the Lan Brothers both join the merchant navy and are the very most eligible bachelors polite society has to offer

they hate all pirates of course but especially the unholy trio of Zidian, Ghost General, and the Yiling Matriarch

this makes it VERY awkward when Lan Wangji finds himself THROWN OVERBOARD during a terrible storm, rescued by WWX, and dragged aboard the General

at first, recognising the uniform, WWX keeps LWJ under his eye by tying their wrists together with a length of rope for absolutely no other reason definitely not cause he’s cute, nope, no sir

later, LWJ manages to snatch a sword and an EPIC DUEL ENSUES *cue he’s a pirate (main theme) from PotC here*

they’re in the rigging, they're sliding down the sails, they’re fighting up and down the deck

LWJ is HORRIFIED to realise at one point that WWX is laughing

even worse, he, LWJ, is having fun??? wtf he’s never had fun in his life how dare

after the fight ends in a draw LWJ and WWX come to an Understanding and have many deep and meaningful conversations as they sail back towards port

both of them fall madly in love of course, but Pirate!WWX and Midshipman!LWJ are just as emotionally dense as the OG varieties so there’s A LOT of pining

Seriously- so. much. pining

they probably battle a sea monster at some point because that’d be sick

finally, they arrive back at the port and WWX asks (sadly, because pining) where he should leave him and LWJ says (sadly, because pining) that any of the Gusu Cloud piers is fine

and WWX laughs because how funny! my dad used to be a merchant sailor for the Gusu Cloud Company

which is how LWJ discovers that the ‘dad’ WWX has been telling stories about for literal WEEKS is actually his uncle's now not-so-long-lost-love!because they are both Disaster Drama Gays™ they decide they simply MUST do this Right. After all, it’s an Epic Reunion™!!!

LWJ convinces his uncle to come out sailing with him (even though LQR has not boarded a ship since JFM was lost, cue sweeping nostalgic music and distant stare into montage of the two of them in their Youth)

they row him blindfolded out to the island where JFM and Captain Yu live and the moment LQR sees JFM it’s jaws to the floor.

there are tears

JFM puts his hands on LQR’s shoulders and says ‘my old friend. you never said’

they hug

it’s adorable

don’t roll your eyes it’s adorable and you know it

Captain Yu and LQR still Do Not Get Along

their Epic Rivalry™ continues but now it’s just morphed into them trying to outdo each other in displays of affection

JFM’s little island house soon holds more jewels, gold, fine silk, and artwork than half the royal coffers of europe

family dinners are a DELIGHT

JC freaking runs whenever his father hosts Captain Yu and LQR for dinner

because 1) god dad, you're so embarrassing, and 2) HE DOES NOT WANT TO HEAR ANYTHING THEY GET UP TO BEHIND CLOSED DOORS THANKS

JYL thinks it's sweet and loves seeing her dad so happy

WWX does the pirate-time equivalent of a bro fistbump with JFM, like, NICE.

LWJ is very quiet but secretly loves it because he, as we all know, is That Bitch

‘A wedding! I love it! drinks all round!’ – WWX, probably, when the three finally announce they’re getting married

the wedding is WILD

there’s a whole lot of dancing, WWX is in the thick of it of course

LWJ wants so badly to ask him to dance but he still hasn’t told him how he feels (because emotionally dense disaster gays, remember?)

he finally has to go outside after WWX somehow convinces LQR to dance a jig with him which means WWX has officially asked everyone to dance except him

he goes and sits in the tidal rockpool, and his billowy white shirt is all wet and see through when WWX comes stumbling out of the party calling for him

WWX sees LWJ silhouetted by an endless horizon of ocean and stars and dies. he's quiet for the first time in his whole life

then LWJ turns and sees him so of course WWX has to go down and talk to him. he may be a pirate but he’s not a barbarian (unlike some certain nies we could name but won’t he’s definitely not still salty about the arm wrestle incident with Captain Nie’s ‘little brother’ eh he’s not much of a fighter but he’s great with languages yeah right his wrist still hurts sometimes bloody barbarians)

‘ah lan zhan lan zhan! you aren’t allowed to run away; we haven’t had a dance yet. even your uncle danced with me surely you can’t say no!’ *pouts*

lwj.exe has stopped working

but of course he can’t deny WWX anything so he makes to head back inside

now wwx.exe has stopped working

because to HELL if he’s sharing wet LWJ in a see though white shirt with the rest of those imbeciles

‘ah, um lan zhan lan zhan we can hear the music from here just fine can’t we? let’s just dance right here?’

and of course LWJ says yes

so the two of them just dance together on the edge of the ocean, waves lapping over their bare feet

until a particularly big one knocks them flat (listen, it’s a trope for a REASON dagnabbit)

WWX ends up sprawled over LWJ’s chest and he’s laughing and apologizing

but LWJ is just looking at him, wreathed in stars, eyelashes so wet and glittering, the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen

WWX notices how still he is and they just pause for a moment and stare at each other

doesn’t really matter who kisses who but they are kissing and it’s wet and salty, there is sand in their teeth, and they absolutely do not give a flying dutchman

they don’t even register the cheers and catcalling until JC runs up and dumps a bucket of water over their heads

because dammit he hasn’t spent months running out of every room his parents and LQR are in just to watch his big brother pop his cherry get it on on the beach

the rest of the gang are all watching from the porch

WN and LXC look very awkward and embarrassed

JYL looks fond and is shaking her head

JC meanwhile is having a heated argument with WQ because there were bets on you see

WQ ‘pouring a bucket of water over them is cheating I’m not paying you one penny JC’

JC ‘I’m a pirate why on earth would you expect me to play by the rules pay up Captain’

WWX and LWJ sneak away while they’re all arguing

The General has one new crew member when she next sails out

ANYWAY married gay pirates wangxian having adventures AU is what we’re saying

Also for your consideration other delightful Pirate!AU options include:

naval officer!lwj chasing down pirate!wwx (think norrington/sparrow if Disney weren’t COWARDS);

high society!lwj in love with blacksmith-turned-pirate!wwx (the Elizabeth Swann/Will Turner dynamic, except with Swann in the forge fight because we said so);

davy jones!lwj pining for calypso!wwx (carving your heart out = chest brand anyone? seriously, just imagine LWJ setting foot on dry land for the first time in 13, 16, 10 YEARS, playing the song he’s composed for his love and WWX IS NOT THERE!!!!)

#the untamed #wangxian #pirate!au #trensu tells stories #theuntamednarrative #long post

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subukunojess · 4 years

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Your New Best Friend

Finally, a new fic! I have always wanted to write for the Beetlejuice fandom and with the whole chaotic life going on, I got some time to write it. It has taken me months, but I finally finished this. I’ve always wanted to write a one-shot about what happened between acts of the musical and really delve into Lydia and Beetlejuice’s friendship. I hope you guys enjoy under the cut!

Your New Best Friend

Fandom: Beetlejuice the Musical

Major Characters: Beetlejuice and Lydia Deetz

Word Count: 6,018

Links: Archive of Our Own, Deviantart, Fanfiction

Summary: What happens to Lydia after she summons a demon at Dinner Night and kicks out all the adults? A sleepover filled with vandalism, pizza, and beheadings, that's what. Oh and friendship too!

When Lydia Deetz summoned Beetlejuice in anger, she didn't know what to expect. Her entire plan turned out wrong that night. Everyone seemed to enjoy getting possessed by actual ghosts, treating it as if it were a joke. A money-making joke to dance and celebrate about. It made her sick. She had her doubts when she stood on the dining table and called out his name, sensing him materialize right by her side. She hesitated until she saw her own father kiss Delia, a woman he dared to replace her dead mother with. At that point, the third call rumbled out of her mouth in a natural scream that didn't hold back.

"BEETLEJUICE!"

Then all hell broke loose.

Food and furniture went flying in different directions. Chandeliers caught on fire. A murderous roast pig went on a rampage. It wasn't until the ghost summoned a giant version of himself, complete with massive hands and an even bigger head, that everyone decided to run for their lives out of the house. Lydia sat down on one of the chairs, watching all the chaos happen before her. She got a glimpse of Charles reaching out to her by the door and for a moment, she raised her hand slightly towards him, only for her to drop it and turned her head away while closing her eyes tight. She heard the front doors slam shut with a loud bang, then silence. She opened her eyes and she was met with an empty house. No family. No humans. No ghosts. Just her and the demon she summoned.

"You did it." Lydia said in a quiet voice, still in awe and shock that what transpired was real. She stood up from the chair and went up to the demon. "He's really gone?"

"Oh yeah," Beetlejuice nodded with a wicked grin on his face, "It's our house now, kid!" He snapped his fingers and a burst of energy surged through Lydia and the entire house, sending a shiver to the girl's spine. Then the walls popped with black and white stripes as the furniture and decorations warped into twisted contortions of themselves. Both the human and demon slowly turned into a circle, watching this change happen right before their eyes.

"Whoa." Was all Lydia could mutter at the moment once the initial changes were complete.

"Looks like we're not invisible anymore!" Beetlejuice crooned, his voice even more gravely as he wrapped his arm around Lydia's shoulders with a triumphant laugh and pulled her close, proud of his handiwork and excited for the chaos to come. For a moment, the lights flickered a couple of minutes as the two stood at the center of the living room, taking it all in. Then Beetlejuice dropped his arm and glanced at Lydia to see her reaction.

There was a spark in her eyes that the demon hadn't seen before. It wasn't like her resting mourning face or her mischievous grin. It was a genuine sparkle of awe and happiness. At least, he guessed it was. He wasn't sure with breather emotions.

Then Lydia did something that took him aback; she closed her eyes and let out a snarling roar that rolled into howling laughter. She twirled and hopped in place, flapping her hands as fast as she could while chirping and squealing. When she heard herself doing that, she opened her eyes and stopped immediately.

"I'm sorry." Lydia said, looking away out of embarrassment. "I-"

"What are ya saying sorry for?" Beetlejuice asked with a scoff before he grinned and bounced on his heels in excitement, waving his hands in circles. "No one has ever reacted like that to my work before. I like it! Gimme more of that! Gimme, gimme, gimme!"

Lydia blinked, flabbergasted at the response. Then again, this was a demonic spirit thing that was probably invisible since forever she was talking to. Although she had to keep on her toes, she decided to throw caution to the wind on embarrassment by pushing herself forward with a smile, waving her hands around as well.

"That was cool and scary at the same time!" Lydia exclaimed with a laugh as she and Beetlejuice bounced together. "The way they screamed and ran as your arms were like WOOSH! Now that's what I call a dinner party!" After a minute of laughter, she steadied her breathing and stopped in thought. She didn't think she'd get this far into her plan if she were being honest with herself. Lydia expected something to backfire and her father to punish her in some way. Now that she was alone with the demon, she didn't know what came next.

"... So what now?" She asked with a tilt of her head. Beetlejuice grinned.

"Anything you want, kid; we're free! No boring breathers or newly-deads tying us down! It's time to go wild and have some real fun!" He floated up a few feet in the air, streamers popping out of his hands before he landed back down on his feet. "Remember: no holding back on me, Lyds. Tonight's your night, so you get to call the shots! Think of all the things ya wanted to do without Chuck and adults around and do 'em!"

"Okay...?" Lydia quirked an eyebrow, hesitant. After thinking for a moment, she went and picked up an oddly-shaped vase from a stand nearby. Strange how Delia's 'art work' didn't change with the rest of the house. She jutted her hip to the side and mocked, "As my guru Otho always says..." She then threw the vase hard on the ground, shattering it into pieces as she exclaimed, "Shut up, Delia!"

"Yeah, shut up, Debra!" Beetlejuice cheered in agreement as he stuck a striped tongue out towards the broken pieces. "Serves her right trying to tell you what to do!"

Lydia nodded. She reached for another piece of artwork when she stopped herself. She didn't want to make too much of a mess and most of the other pieces were heavy anyway. It wasn't because she felt sorry for the woman trying so hard to get her to like her. To change. Not at all! She recovered by rolling her head back to stretch it out. She probably looked ridiculous, but this was her night after all. It wouldn't hurt to act like a demon.

"As much as I want to break more things, I got a better idea. Let's trash Daddy's office!" Lydia suggested.

The demon clapped and rubbed his hands together with a sinister smile. "Oooooh, let's!"

"Last one there's a rotten egg!" With a sly grin, the girl poked at Beetlejuice's nose, tagged him, then ran off with a laugh. It took the demon a minute what had just happened.

"Hey, that's not fair!" He protested, but laughed as well as he dashed up the stairs after her.

On the second floor, Lydia ran down the hallway and skidded until she arrived at her destination at the end of the hallway. She got inside the room first, surveying her father's office of what potential damage to cause. The office wasn't too elaborate, consisting of a file cabinet, book shelf, desk, and laptop. Charles didn't get to set up the desktop yet. From the corner of her eye, Lydia saw a picture frame lying face down on the desk. She carefully picked it up and gasped.

It was a family portrait with her dead mom. Emily Deetz was a foot or two shorter than her father, but she easily dominated the photograph with her smile. Lydia would best describe her mother as a chocolate cake decorated with black icing laced into spider web designs, cookies that looked like gravestones, and whipped frosting that were shaped to be ghosts. On the day of the photo, Emily wore a straw sunhat, a nice lilac blouse with a pair of jeans, a pair of rose-gold eyeglasses, and her bat necklace which was really a large rubber, red-eyed bat with a string attached to each wing. Her mom would say that on a full moon, she would turn into a giant bat demon that preyed on vampires, monsters under the bed, and tangerines. It made the young girl smile each time she said it.

Lydia placed a hand over her mouth and choked a silent sob. She didn't think her dad would keep the picture let alone have it framed on his desk. Before she could process it further, she heard the demon coming from down the hall. Alarmed, she unfastened the back of the frame and pulled the picture out, placing it in a pocket of her dress before she threw the empty frame to the ground.

"Hey, don't start without me, Lyds!" She heard Beetlejuice exclaim outside the room.

Lydia turned towards Beetlejuice, only to shriek when she saw a huge rotting egg slanted against the wall instead. She covered her mouth as she watched the thing sprout golden eyes.

"Guess I'm the rotten egg." The egg spoke in Beetlejuice's voice.

"Couldn't you just teleport or go through walls or something?!"

"Whoops! Kinda got lost in the moment there." With a puff of green smoke, Beetlejuice shifted back to normal, dusting his suit a bit. He then cracked his knuckles as he went inside the office. "So how should we wreck this place? You take the first swing." He then gasped and snapped his fingers before he suddenly pulled out a baseball bat from behind his back and handed it to Lydia with a smile. She smirked and rolled her eyes in response, but her face fell when she grasped the bat in her hands and surveyed the room. It was different thinking of all the things she could do out of anger versus actually doing them. The bat trembled in her grasp for a minute, but she thought about her father and steeled her resolve as she raised the bat.

"This is for ignoring me." Lydia said, then whacked the desk in front of her as hard as she could.

"Yes." Beetlejuice nodded with a wide grin, taking a step back as Lydia swung at the walls and furniture.

"This is for moving out of our house!"

"Yeah! Keep it going, kid!"

"This is for treating me like I'm invisible!" Lydia roared as she threw the bat down on the chair.

"There ya go! That's what I'm talkin' about! Lemme do something! Lemme do something! I can do anything ya want-" Beetlejuice stopped himself when Lydia opened her mouth to speak and he cut her to it. "Except setting the room on fire. Am I right? You breathers usually don't like rooms on fire. I can even eat anything!"

Lydia raised an eyebrow. "Anything?"

"Anything."

Upon hearing that, the teen looked around until she spotted something in a hidden shelf: her father's laptop. Grinning, she grabbed it along with its plug and shook it right in front of the demon. "How about this then?"

Beetlejuice nodded, excited. "I never had that before! Throw it here!" The ghost smiled as he floated backwards and opened his mouth in order to catch the object like a snack.

Lydia immediately closed her eyes when she saw him open his mouth. Jaws should not bend that way. Ever. She counted to three and threw the laptop in Beetlejuice's direction. She heard a couple of chews and swallows before she opened her eyes to see Beetlejuice slurp up the charger cable like spaghetti. Once it was swallowed, he hiccuped and licked his teeth clean of keyboard letters. Lydia took a wary step back.

"Do you eat teens by any chance?" She asked out of curiosity, hoping that he didn't. The prospect didn't seem to look good as the demon floated in her direction and poked at her arm in thought. She sighed in relief when he shook his head.

"Nah, it depends. Yer kinda scrawny lookin' to me and ya probably taste salty. Besides, adults got more meat on 'em!"

"Oh... good to know. If we have any cranky neighbors, I'll feed them to you!" Lydia smiled nervously as she held a thumbs up, not knowing whether he was serious or not. Or both. Once she saw that the damage was enough in the room, she led the demon out to the hall.

"Before we do anything else, I got to change out of this dress. It's too... bright and cheerful." Lydia almost gagged, then she smirked at the ghost. "Meet me downstairs?"

"You know it." Beetlejuice pointed finger guns at the teenager before he teleported himself back downstairs, sitting on a chair covered in spikes. He stared off in thought.

"... can you believe it?" Beetlejuice addressed his audience as he pointed a thumb upwards. "A breather who actually sees me and she said my name. And we got an entire haunted house to ourselves! This is going to be- oh my gosh, I know this fanfiction trope!" In an instant, the demon took out a printed packet from his back and skimmed through it, squinting a little. "This is the part where the writer goes in between scenes from the original source material in order to show character development, relationships, and something called 'fluff'."

Beetlejuice paused with a neutral expression on his face until he suddenly burst out guffawing and slapping his knee, throwing the packet over his shoulder and causing it to burst into flames and disappear.

"Like that'll ever happen!" He exclaimed after his fit of laughter, standing back up. His face lit up when he heard footsteps from above and he turned his head to see Lydia at the top of the steps. Instead of a normal nightgown or whatever young breathers wore to sleep, she seemed to wear a red poncho that looked just like a spider web over a black shirt and leggings. She also wore fake claws in both her hands, a makeshift wolf tail tied around her waist like a belt, and one of those headband things with animal ears on her head. Around her neck was one of those traditional cameras he had seen breather tourist with whenever he got the chance to explore. With her pale face and eye shadow, she looked spooky.

Lydia let out a loud roar as she laughed, stomping down the stairs, "Grrr! I am Lydia Deetz, the Werewolf Demon! I've come to scare the breathers, kiss all the cool girls, and eat everybody else!"

"Oh no! Connecticut is doomed!" Beetlejuice laughed along with her. He floated right behind her and suddenly grabbed her, lifting her off the ground. Lydia was about to protest when she looked down and saw how high off the ground she was.

"I'm... floating? I'm floating!" She smiled and let the demon lift her up higher to the ceiling. She outstretched her arms and wiggled her claws, pretending she was a flying witch or a real ghost. She then snarled to the air.

"Ya need fangs ta be a werewolf demon!" Beetlejuice concluded after taking Lydia's new costume into consideration. With a blink of his eyes, a couple of Lydia's teeth sharpened into fangs, making the girl's grin grow. He chuckled and levitated back down to the floor. "What's with the red spiderweb get-up anyway?"

"My mom made it herself because I liked spiders. When I was little, I pretended to be a spider witch and I begged to be one when I got older. I wear it to bed every night ever since." Lydia said as she fiddled with one of the poncho's edges and she was placed down. "My favorite Halloween costume was this full body werewolf suit my parents got me when I was nine or ten. It doesn't fit me anymore, so I had to improvise."

"Huh. Even some breathers have good tastes." The demon commented, his face unreadable, but he gave her a thumbs up. Lydia poked her new fangs with the tip of her own tongue before her face lit up.

"I gotta get a picture of this. To celebrate our new house!" She went up to Beetlejuice and grabbed her camera, turning it around towards them and pressing on a button as the camera flashed and the demon winced, shutting his eyes tight.

"Sorry! Didn't think making an old time selfie would be weird." Lydia apologized. While he adjusted his eyes and the photograph started to develop, Lydia also took out her cell phone from one of her pockets. Although she had a phone and she appreciated the modern advances of cameras in her generation, there was something about using a traditional camera that her parents used and a physical photograph instantly appeared that appealed to her. Nonetheless, the occasion called for both types of pictures. When Beetlejuice was ready, Lydia opened up the camera on her phone and took a picture of herself and Beetlejuice with playful, snarling faces and no flash that time. She then went to her gallery and to her surprise, there was Beetlejuice clear as night on her screen.

Beetlejuice gasped, grabbing the phone from the teenager's hands as he examined the handiwork, "I'm visible in photos and technology now! I wish I could say the same thing about the other one." A third arm of his seemed to pop out from the ground, holding a photograph of Lydia and a blurry shadow creature with two yellow lights in the background.

Lydia rolled her eyes and giggled as she reached for her phone. "Glad to make your night, then. Let me just post the digital one on my tumblr and twitter."

The demon almost dropped the cell phone in shock, but Lydia caught it just in time.

"You got a tumblr too? We really are BFFFF's!" Beetlejuice grinned and bounced on his heels.

"How did you get a- oh, wait. Let me guess: it's a hell site, so demons automatically get accounts?" Both she and Beetlejuice smirked and shot finger guns at each other.

"Exactly. You're catching on to the whole being a demon thing!"

"Good to know." The teenager typed and started posting as she continued, "I'm not an online person myself, but sometimes I post some good shots and see what's strange and unusual out in the world. What's your username so I could follow you?"

"3xthecharmguide: Shameless plug-in is shameless!" He announced in an almost mocking monotone as he looked out towards what she guessed was space.

"What?"

"What?" Lydia snorted and shook her head. Once she had finished with her post, she searched for the username until she found his blog. "Huh.... just some pictures for now. I could help tune it out for you if you want. And wait till I show you Tik Tok!"

"You breathers are into clocks now?" Now it was Beetlejuice's turn to raise an eyebrow in confusion. The teenager chuckled and rolled her eyes.

"I'll explain it later." She was about to say something else when she felt her stomach growl and she winced. She didn't eat anything for the whole day and she was too busy organizing the dinner party with the Maitlands to care. Beetlejuice seemed to hear the growl and raised an eyebrow.

"Hungry? All that food from that fancy party is probably gone by now. And I think I saw that roast pig almost ate a man. It. Was. Awesome!"

It then occurred to Lydia: now that everyone living left, there was no one who would make dinner or drive to the grocery store anymore. Sure, she could cook simple things on the stove and use a microwave, but even with that, the fridge and pantry wasn't really filled up ever since she, her father, and Delia moved into the house. Curious, she turned to the demon.

"Can you cook?"

"Do you like stale popcorn and roasted rats?" Beetlejuice grinned as a large flame formed at the palm of his hand. Lydia stared at him in disgust, then pulled his hand down by the wrist without batting an eye.

"No, put the fire down. I'm good." She said, then shrugged. "We could order pizza? And I have a stash of snacks hidden in my room. If we're lucky, maybe there's a monster movie marathon tonight."

"Monster movie marathon?!" The demon exclaimed with a big smile on his face as he bounced on his heels. "Yes, yes, yes! That's a thousand times better! Let's do it!"

With a smile and a nod, Lydia strolled into the kitchen and dialed on her cell phone, calling the nearest pizza place in the area to order delivery as she opened the cupboards and got out two blenders. Luckily, the blenders didn't change with the kitchen and other appliances either.

“Hey, can I have two large pepperoni, one mushroom, and one Meat Lovers all with extra cheese please?” She asked as she placed the blenders down onto the counter and plugged them in. Beetlejuice hovered over her like a child wanting attention and Lydia gently pushed him away. When he kept insisting, she went to the freezer and got an ice cube out, placing it on the edge of the counter without any thought to it. In response, the spirit focused on the cube and hovered over it instead. As Lydia listened to the person on the phone and gave them the address, she couldn’t help but feel like a mother. She suppressed a gulp and hung up the phone once the order was placed, trying to dismiss that thought from her head.

"Lydia, the ice cube is shrinking!" Beetlejuice cried out as he pointed to the melting ice cube, poking at it with a finger.

Lydia stared at disbelief, blinking a few times. "It's melting."

"'Oh... okay." The demon shrugged and seemed to accept this as he picked up the ice cube and placed it in his mouth. A few seconds later, he stuck a black and purple striped tongue out from his mouth, exclaiming, "All gone!"

With a chuckle, Lydia opened the fridge and got the milk, ice cream, and syrups, placing them onto the counter. She then got a big spoon, what was left of the cereals from the cupboards, and any other condiments she could find since something told her the demon had strange tastes.

"Unfortunately, we only got neo- neopol- Napoleon? Uhhhh... the chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla ice cream!" Lydia stuck her tongue out from stumbling on the word. "We're so gonna get new flavors for next time. Like Rocky Road! Or black cherry chocolate chip!"

"Or maggot chili chocolate and horse flesh!" Beetlejuice added with a smile.

"Ewwww? I'm not going to ask." Lydia scooped up half a tub of ice cream for her blender and the rest for Beetlejuice's. She squirted strawberry syrup while the demon chose chocolate. As for toppings, they used sprinkles, different cereals, and mustard for some reason. For a last finishing touch, Beetlejuice added squirming earthworms and beetles in his blender. To make it fair, Lydia put two big helpings of gummy worms in hers. Once every ingredient was in, they blended their concoctions at the same time as some sort of race to see which one was done first. Beetlejuice won by default. Before they could prepare the other snacks,

Ding-Dong!

"Pizza's here!" Beetlejuice cheered at the doorbell and clasped his hands together with a wicked grin on his face. "Let's scare 'em."

Lydia rolled her eyes and shrugged with her own grin. "Why not?" With a snap of the demon's fingers, the two disappeared in darkness and the front door opened to reveal a young adult male carrying a large insulated bag of pizza.

"Uh... pizza delivery?" The man called out to the house, noticing no one at first. He then gasped when Lydia popped up from the ground in front of him, her arms behind her back.

"To be...." She moved her arm forward to hold out Beetlejuice's head in her claws as she dramatically posed, "Or not to be!"

"Is that really the question?" The head replied with a crazed look in his eyes as he stared at the delivery boy, a fanged grin on his face.

The delivery person dropped the bag and screamed at the top of his lungs in response before he charged out of the house and into the streets.

"I love that sound!" Lydia and Beetlejuice sighed in unison. Lydia then turned Beetlejuice's head to face her as she lifted it up and they both laughed with the demon's body jumping in joy from the background.

Monster Movie Marathon night was underway without a hitch. Lydia got all the chips, candy, cookies, and juice boxes she had in her bedroom while Beetlejuice set up a brand new television decorated in stripes and spikes because aesthetic. Along with their pizza, snacks, and drinks, Beetlejuice also conjured up some popcorn, soda, and a pair of 3-D glasses for himself. When they had gathered up everything, the two of them hopped onto the sofa, blender glasses in hand, and Beetlejuice turned on the TV with a snap to his fingers.

"Good evening, Spooks and Ghouls." An announcer greeted from the television in an eerie echo that sent nostalgic chills to Lydia's spine. "We welcome you to our weekend monster movie marathon starting with that classic cult film 'The Boogeyman straight from Hell!'"

Beetlejuice and Lydia smirked as they grabbed a slice of pepperoni pizza each. Pizza, monster films, and no crummy adults? What more could they need? They clinked their blenders together before taking a swig of their respective milkshakes in unison. The two then proceeded to watch the film, occasionally commenting on how cheesy or inaccurate it looked with the demon explaining what would really happen. At one point, Beetlejuice had swallowed his blender in one gulp, glass and machine included.

Lydia still couldn't believe that this striped man lying down on the floor and staring at the screen with a grin on his face, the same man who had begged on his hands and knees for her to say his name earlier yesterday, was an actual demon from Hell. She knew demons took on many forms, but a chubby dead guy who looked like a dumpster-diving raccoon didn't cross her mind. Even though she had her doubts, she was enjoying his company. He was funny, gross, scary, and goofy once she observed him. Back in New York, her only friend was her mother. She didn't really have a best friend until now.

Time passed and another movie played. A vampire flick. Lydia slouched forward, her head resting on the palms of her hands as she watched the film with an eager smile, engrossed by its tone and horror. Beetlejuice took up the rest of the unusual couch with his legs hanging off of the armchair that looked more like a tentacle as he laid on his back, crossing both his arms and legs, and stared at the ceiling in thought. He couldn't believe his luck or what happened either. He found a breather that could actually see him. At first, he planned on ditching the kid and the dreadful house somehow, but that changed within the last few hours. Lydia was much more fun than the stiffs he knew both in the Netherworld and the breathers residing in the house. She was creative, spooky, funny, dark, and one of the few beings that could keep up with his antics. Who knew there were breathers like this out in the world and he hadn't met them yet! He wished he had someone like Lydia in his younger centuries.

Beetlejuice glanced to the side, watching as Lydia's grin grew at the sight of a breather's face contorting in horror with a shadow overwhelming them. The demon then smirked. Lydia Deetz was officially his new best friend and he was determined to keep it that way as long as possible. Forever even.

Before Lydia knew it, it was midnight. The movie marathon had ended and the TV shut off by itself. As she rubbed her eyes that seemed to buzz from focusing too much on the screen, she surveyed the damage of the living room. Or the after-living room now. Empty pizza boxes, chip bags, soda cans, and candy wrappers scattered across the floor. Crumbs were everywhere. Although Beetlejuice ate the most, Lydia felt stuffed from all that pizza and junk food she ate. She slowly stood up from the sofa and took a step forward, only to sway to the side.

"Whoa there, Scarecrow!" Beetlejuice caught the girl in his arms just in time and pushed her back standing. "Ya look like you're about to pass out in a grave."

"Me? Pass out? Not for Lydia Chrysanthemum Deetz! I'm full of energy!" Lydia protested while holding back a yawn as she stood up straight and put her hands to her hips... only to fall back onto the sofa.

Lydia took a few minutes to rest. When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was a tiny window near her eye. Upon seeing it, she jolted awake and sat up. It seemed that she was outside and someone put a replica model of the house and the hill it sat on near her while she was sleeping. She was going to dismiss it as such when she examined the detail of the model and some movement caught her eye. She squinted to find two familiar people waving their arms from one of the windows.

"Adam? Barbara?" Lydia blinked. Sure enough, a tiny Adam and Barbara were waving at her, looking quite shocked to see the now giant teenager. Lydia waved back only for her to let out a scream as something scooped her up in the air by her arms and hugged her tight.

"Lyds, yer just the right size to take over this town!" A familiar gravely voice boomed with a cheer. Lydia struggled against the giant demon's grip, feeling like her bones would pop if he got any tighter.

"I still need to breathe!" She wheezed out. With a sheepish "Oops!", Beetlejuice let go of her and placed her down next to him.

"Would you look at us? Two scary demons ruling Connecticut together and having our kind of fun. First order of business, we make stripes, black, and nail polish the top fashion statement. We're going places, kid!" Beetlejuice pulled Lydia close to him and started walking off, throwing his ideas out there. Lydia shook her head with a smile and was about to listen when she glanced up and caught something at the corner of her eye coming from his striped shirt. In a shirt pocket that seemed filled with who knows what, Lydia swore she saw tiny arms trying to climb out and a woman's head popping out.

"I can breathe! Freedom!" A tiny feminine voice squeaked. The teen's eyes widened.

"Um... Beej? What is that?" Lydia asked, pointing to his pocket.

"What is what?" The demon stopped, causing the obvious human in his pocket to scream and fall back down. He looked down and nodded. "Oh right, that! While you were napping, I decided ta get myself a random breather to play with. Don't worry, she's a big fan and my pocket's not that bad."

Lydia's face fell. "Beetlejuice, no. If we're gonna haunt anything together, we're not kidnapping people!"

Beetlejuice rolled his eyes and groaned. "Ugh! First, it's no killing. Now, it's no kidnapping! What's next? No floating? And it's not even a kid!"

"Oh, thank-"

"It's the writer."

"Dude!" Lydia threw her hands in the air, resisting the urge to strangle the giant demon. "You can't just go into a writer's house and steal them away!"

"Why not? There's no rule saying that I can't and she doesn't seem to mind. Right, babe?"

In response to the question, a tiny tan hand poked out from the pocket and formed a shaky thumbs up.

"See? She has a way with words!" The ghost chuckled, using one of his fingers to gently push the hand back into his pocket. When he saw Lydia give him a disapproving frown along with her arms crossed, he sighed.

"Alright, alright! I'll take her back to her house. But first, I'm takin' you ta bed. Ya gotta have a lot of energy if yer gonna be scary at your own haunted house tomorrow!"

"Wait, what?" Before Lydia could question or protest, she was scooped up by the waist and hung to the demon's side as he carried her off somewhere. Then it became blurry for her. She couldn't tell how much time had passed or where she was. As she let out a yawn, she started to see things. Memories of her when she was seven or nine. Nights when her father would stay overnight on a business meeting and she and her mother would pretend to be giant monsters parading in their home while eating and doing whatever they wanted. At the end of their play, Emily would pick her up, carry her upstairs to bed, and tell her a story as she tucked her in.

Lydia then remembered. She was at a haunted house in Connecticut with two ghosts in the attic and a demon who was taking her upstairs to bed. She groaned sleepily. No wonder grown-ups warned children about eating late at night. As she hung to the demon's side, she couldn't help but reminisce about the good times that she would never have again for a long time.

"Once upon a time... there was a girl who wanted to be... a werewolf...." She mumbled to herself with a soft yawn as the demon trudged through the hallway. "Her daddy wanted his daughter... to be a perfect little girl... but her dead mom wanted her happy... so the girl ran away to the woods... so she could become a werewolf. She... she... she-"

"She came across a demon deep in the forest." Beetlejuice continued with a sigh. "Very powerful, looks great in stripes, and had lots of cool powers and dance moves, but he was lonely because nobody could see him and nobody else was like him. When he saw that she could see him, he got really happy. So he offered her a deal. 'If ya summon me and gimme all the bugs I can eat, I can make ya a werewolf and we could be friends'.

The demon reached the bedroom and went inside, noticing that it was bare of anything interesting save for the dark curtains and spider sheets on the bed. He placed her on top of the bed as he continued, "So she tried to get all the bugs she could get. Mostly earthworms, ants, and some ladybugs ta add a little luck. Sure, she got mud and leaves all over her, but she did it. She said his name three times and poof! He was summoned just like that. He made her a werewolf without the bite thing and they hung out together in the woods, scarin' all the breathers they wanted."

Lydia grumbled in a daze, maneuvering herself so a blanket was covering her up. She smiled and snuggled against the bed, finally asleep. The demon was about to leave when he saw something fall from under her pillow and landed onto the floor with a silent flutter. Beetlejuice bent down and picked it up, examining it. It was a photograph of Lydia and her dad that he immediately recognized, but it was the woman that threw him off. He never saw her in the house or of the recently deceased around the area.

Then it hit him.

He said nothing, some of his hair strands turning purple as he pinched the corner of the photo and tore off Charles's head. He grabbed hold of the other corner, but let go after a long second. He opened the bedside drawer, placed the photo in, then closed it shut. Beetlejuice glanced over, watching Lydia turning to her side, out like a light. Before he disappeared, there was a hint of a smile as he patted the side of the bed.

"Sweet nightmares, kid."

38 notes · View notes

the-fox-populi-says · 4 years

Text

Written & directed by Fangirl Quarantino

Ao3 has been very Foxphobic in that first I had to wait a whole day for an invite once I decided in the spur of a moment I should really make an account, and then telling me my username did not follow requirements (...it really did?? I swear!). So. Ao3 link might follow when that is fixed but for now, have a direct copy-paste of my latest one-shot. Summary: After an Order meeting runs late during a curfew, Shiro is stuck in Faust Mansion. Mephisto offers to poof him home, but had a few glasses and Shiro does not trust drunk magic. He also doesn't trust drunk opportunist Mephisto conveniently having no guest rooms available, and goes in search of alternative beds. Characters: Shiro, Mephisto, Belial, Ukobach Tags: #There was only one bed #which may have been by design #omg they were curfew mates #adult language #nudity #violence #banter #humour #alcohol #mature #Suggestiveness #no out-right smut #But the Thought is there #and a little #erotic aesphyxiation #never killed anyone #oh wait it did actually #Not this time though #dubious consent #or however you call relocating an unconscious naked person for your amusement but without actually feeling them up #well maybe a little #but with a towel

Enjoy~

“What do you mean, I can't go home?!” Shiro yelled at the unmoved face of the butler.

“Curfew, sir. It's past 9 pm.”

Fuck. That was right- there had been a surge in demon activity lately, and as a counter-measure, the Order had issued a strict no-going-out-after-dark policy. “Oh come on- I'm a professional! Any demon encountering me is in more danger than I am.”

“Even unarmed?” A smug, slightly lilting voice inquired behind his back. Shiro balled his fists, surpressing the urge to use them on the face that voice belonged to.

The same face and voice that had informed him a couple weeks earlier he was no longer allowed to bring firearms to Order meetings. Not since he'd emptied almost an entire magazine into the back of Mephisto's chair after the Osaka incident. Insufficient informants his ass. As if that mission hadn't been payback for the whoopie cushion the week before. As if a round of bullets would even kill the bastard. Wimps.

“Could neither of you have informed me sooner?! I was only sticking around because captain naggy pants over here-” he threw out his entire arm to gesture; “-insisted it would be bad form to leave with all the high-ups still here.”

“Bitte do not yell at my butler- it's not hisch fault you don't know how to use a watch.”

Shiro again considered the use of his fists, but instead opted for a look of Promise over his shoulder at the grinning demon getting up from behind the fancy desk.

“Oh relax, Shiro. I can juscht teleport you home.” “Oh nononono- There will be no. Poofing.” He switched from fists to pointing, and waved a warning finger at Mephisto's raised eyebrows.

“May I ask warum nicht?”

“Because you just had to serve prosecco at your stupid meeting and you have the poorest alcohol tolerance in the world. And a sweet tooth.” The eyebrows shot down, along with the corners of his mouth in an affronted expression.

“I had three glasses!” “Yes, and I can see you swaying from where I stand.”

Not to mention the increased use of German. Shiro folded his arms.

“Last time you looked like that and poofed me somewhere, I ended up in the middle of a rice field because you had sake on your brain.”

Mephisto made a dismissive motion with one hand. With the other he pretended not to grip the edge of the desk for balance.

“I'll juscht concentrate very hard on your apartment, it'll be fine.”

“Oh hell no- I don't wanna end up half inside my shower cabin, or inside a wall. I'm staying here. You have like five hundred rooms anyway.”

He turned around. “Yo Belial, point me to a guest room, would ya.”

No response. The butler looked even stiffer than usual, but bounced his eyes back and forth between the two men as if following a tennis match.

Shiro growled. “What?”

Finally, Belial mustered the courage to speak. “I'm afraid there are currently none available, sir.”

“...What.”

He shot a venomous look at Mephisto, who avoided his gaze and uncharacteristically fumbled with the buttons on his vest.

“I may have... clearedthelaschtonetomakeroomfurmeinecollectionofPokémoncards.”

Of course.

“So make a new one!”

Wrong move. Never order Mephisto around. The somewhat apologetic pout was gone in an instant and replaced by silken lechery.

“Oh now Shiro, you don't want me to use my magic while drunk, do you~?”

“...Seriously.”

“You know, there is another option...” The green eyes briefly slid sideways, returning to the exorcist's face to serve up a very clear and satisfied Suggestion.

Funny, how those three glasses of pink bubbly suddenly seemed to have left his system. Even funnier how there suddenly was a direct, open door from his office to his bedroom.

“...You wish.” Shiro planted his feet firmly on the ground. “Allow me to decline that offer with a resounding Fuck No.”

Mephisto rolled his eyes. “Oh please- I'll likely won't even use it tonight. There's a Voltron marathon on channel 12.”

“Ever heard of the phrase 'tying the cat to the bacon', because that's what me sleeping in your bed would be.”

“You overestimate this cat's interescht in your bacon.”

Waddayaknow. Little bubbly left in there after all. But apparently not so much that he couldn't poof himself into a shimmering baby blue chamber robe.

“Bullshit.” Shiro scoffed. “I've seen you checking out my bacon since the moment it turned legal and probably a good bit before that.”

“Very well.” The demon shrugged, and assumed a leisurely walk towards the pillow nest in front of the tv, with the obvious intent to install himself there for the rest of the night. “You're welcome to find yourself the softest spot of floor, then.”

Shiro sauntered after him, a smirk creeping up on his lips. “Actually, I have a better idea.” The moment Mephisto's satin-clad butt would have touched the pink bean bag, Shiro yoinked it from under him, causing the bony structure to make sudden, harsh contact with the marble tiles.

“Ow! What in-”

“Bed aqcuired. Goodnight.” Bean bag under one arm, Shiro marched off.

Mephisto crawled out of the surrounding pillows, rubbing his back with one hand and carrying murderous intent in his eyes.

“Give that BACK, the show's starting in 2 minutes!”

“If you're so confident about your magic, why don't you make me.”

Wrong move again, yes. But too delectable to pass up on. Shiro grinned, tossing the bean bag back and forth between his hands.

“Unless of course, you feel a bit nervous about your aim while I'm standing right in front of your precious figurine collection.”

A hesitation. Mephisto wavered. Little bubbly left in there after all. ...Dare he? He dared. Shiro stuck out his tongue.

Terrible move. The demon's eyes narrowed, and out of nowhere a yellow rubber ball with red stars flew off a shelf, bounced off the floor and hit Shiro square under the chin. He instantly dropped the bean bag to clasp both hands over his mouth with a pained groan.

“Told you there's nothing wrong with my aim.” A poof, and the bean bag was back in its rightful place: under Mephisto, who took his merry time wiggling himself into the most comfortable position.

“Stop being a crybaby and let me take you home, or enjoy the floor.”

Shiro lowered his hands and scowled at the back of Mephisto's head, and that oh so annoying flippant hand motion illustrating this fight was clearly over and he was the victor. As it should be.

When met with a display that level of self-assured superiority, one can only respond in either of two ways. Admit you lost... Or get petty.

“...Fine, swew you.” Fuck. Difficult to sound convincingly stubborn when his tongue wouldn't work.

“Thewe's bound to be a couch somewhewe. Hey Belial, help me out here, would you.” Finally. “Where's the nearest bed-like structure?”

“Belial, do absolutely not help him.” Asshole didn't even look up, just tapped at the remote.

Belial froze, looking extremely unhappy about being involved in their dispute.

“...Dude, seriously, you're a butler. Helping guests is just as much your job as pampering his childish ass.”

“...” Merely a gaze of concern at his master, and an apologetic look in Shiro's direction, pressing his lips tightly together.

Shiro growled. “Fuckin' bootlicker.”

-Some 25 minutes later-

Mephisto's bedroom doors were thrown open, and a dishevelled Shiro unsteadily leaned against the doorway.

“Back so soon?” Mephisto grinned over his shoulder, a drinking straw clasped tightly between his fangs, but his glee evaporated and he took it out when he caught a better look at the exorcist's state. “What happened?”

Shiro tottered in, bits and pieces falling out of his torn clothes, and rubbing the various cuts on his cheek with the back of his equally mangled hand.

“Wound up in kitchen. Dark. Accidentally knocked over a bowl. Side dish or sum'thin. Ukobach did not appreciate. Told him to calm down. Rain of pasta. You wouldn't believe how sharp uncooked penne can be.”

“Tragic.” The grin returned. “Try not to bleed on any fabrics if you're going to take refuge in here.”

Heartwarming. Shiro was too worn out to dig up some choice insults, but addressed Mephisto with the foulest look he could still muster.

The demon chuckled. “...Or perhaps, just let me send you home?”

Silence. There was probably no alcohol in the glittery cinema soda cup, but who was to say for sure. Also, leaving the mansion somehow felt like a greater defeat than staying in Mephisto's room. Like he hasn't just lost the battle, but was too afraid to even remain on the battlefield.

The demon kept his eyes fixated at the colourful robots on the tv screen, but his ears were perked up attentively, waiting for Shiro's response. When that failed to happen, he closed his eyes and gave another nudge-

“...Or use what might arguably be the best bed in the world~”

Bait? Definitely. But also a lifeline. Shiro bit.

“You mean that bed you do God knows what in? Yuck, no thanks.”

Dramatic sigh for effect before deigning to look him in the eye. “Have you met me? My bed is clean, I assure you.”

Shiro smirked. Such a diva. And a dweeb. “Yeah alright, you probably only ever hump anime pillows anyway.”

The corners of his mouth curled upwards. “Justify your choice however you like, Shiro-pon.”

Boxers and t-shirt wouldn't be too bacon-y for the cat, right? Not while there were still mechas on tv to distract it, at least. Shiro began peeling off his tattered clothes, until Mephisto's ears twitched at the click of his belt unbuckling and he turned sharply towards the exorcist.

“...Excuse me, what do you think you're doing?”

Shiro kicked off his pants and flipped back the blankets. “Using your goddamn bed. Happy now?”

“Absolutely not. Get out.”

What. Shiro stared at the piqued face in disbelief.

“...Are you for real? What the fuck is it now?! In the bed, not in the bed, get in, go away-”

“Oh, you're welcome to sleep in my bed.” Mephisto squinted eyes slid up and down over Shiro's post pasta-fight body and the dirty clothes on the floor in a most disapproving manner. “AFTER you take a shower.”

Shiro's shoulders dropped. “...Really now?”

“Like I said.” He decidly turned back to the screen. “I like my bed clean.”

Shiro had no doubt the demon could sense the middle finger aimed at his back, but there were no bouncing balls or other items interfering with his gesture while he strode into the bathroom and yanked a towel out of the closet.

Frankly, it was not exactly a terrible ordeal to use Mephisto's shower. If he hadn't been that tired, be might have opted to wait for the bath to fill up instead- he eyed the pool-sized structure with a mixture of envy and disgust. Filthy rich bastard.

Filthy rich bastard with a royally equipped shower cabin, though. Shiro turned the knob and waited for the water from the various shower heads to heat up, when a voice from the bedroom yelled over the sound of the streams: “You better not use my expensive shower gel!”

Shiro sighed. “Which one?! They all seem expensive!” They probably were.

“...The gold and pink bottle. Do not touch it.”

Definitely touching it, he picked it up and turned it around in his hand. “Oh lord save me, you know how much I'd like to smell like- vanilla tenderness?? ...Is that how you lure in prey?”

“I'll have you know the ladies love it.”

Shiro snickered. “Oh, I don't doubt that. On them.”

“You bet they do~” The smug retort came drifting from under the door.

Shiro shook his head.

“Are you sure they can't sue you for false advertising, cuz there is nothing vanilla nor tender about you.”

“How would you know?”

...Walked straight into that one.

“...Care to find out~?”

“Eat my ass.”

“Maybe after you washed it.”

Shiro didn't know it was possible to choke on your own tongue while standing. Thank God or whomever that the demon couldn't see how red his face was- though judging by the giggling noises, the shower wasn't enough to drown out his coughing fit.

“Really, you are so wonderfully talented at putting your own foot in your mouth, Shiro~”

“Keep it up and I'll put my foot in your mouth!” He scowled, stepping into the shower while Mephisto burst out in a full-blown laughing fit, fuck knows why. Shiro shrugged it off. This was probably one of those better-off-not-knowing times.

Ah, such a wonderful story~ Heroism, friendship, impossible odds, fantastic machinery... The show had ended and Mephisto zapped away from the commercial break to search for something more interesting. Hm, not much, this late. He shook his cup, the decorative re-useable plastic ice cubes rattling about. All out of drinks. Snacks too. Maybe switch to other entertainment. Come to think of it...

He turned towards the bathroom door. He could hear the water still going. How long had he been in there by now? Five episodes? Seven?

“...As much as I appreciate cleanliness, don't you think you're overdoing it just a scooch?”

No response.

“Don't go telling me you dropped the soap and need help finding it.”

Still nothing. No change in sound whatsoever. Not even one of Deliberately Ignoring You. Odd.

Mephisto rose from his pillow nest and knocked on the bathroom door.

“...Shiro?”

Nothing but the running water. And a strange, light ...grating sound? He opened the door.

“I'd suggest you make yourself decent, but given how much water you're using as well as your general behaviour today that is word obviously not in your dic-”

Oh. Oh dear.

Semi-sitting on the floor of the shower cabin, slouched into a corner, was one sleeping exorcist. Mildy snoring.

Mephisto cocked his head. Strangely adorable, but also annoying. He briefly studied the naked, scratched-up figure. Not a bad look, not at all~ But too easy.

He sighed, and peeled one of his sleeves back to turn off the water. Honestly, rude. He should ask Belial to take care of it. On the other hand... being this troublesome warranted some payback. Payback that would take some effort, but be so much more satisfying than just turning on the cold water right now. Especially since Shiro was known to have a habit of getting violent when woken up suddenly. He didn't fancy risking a cold shower as well. Plus, the mere idea of the face Shiro would make when- He snickered. Yes, a much a more rewarding idea. He snapped his fingers.

“Hmmnnggh...” Shiro rolled over, the filtered light making him vaguely aware that it was morning. He hadn't slept this well in ages, and wasn't planning on letting it end just yet. He pulled the sheets along with him. Comfy. His bed wasn't usually this comfy. Smelled different, too. Did he use a new a laundry detergent? Nope, nope- do not get tricked into thinking just yet. That would wake him. Back to sleep. Savour it.

He pulled the sheets a little more, intent on going full burrito mode. Hm. A little stuck. He groaned at the incooperative blanket, and gave a better yank.

“Don't hog all the covers, please.”

A more effective waking method than a needle in his butt. Shiro shrieked -much to his embarassment- and bolted out of bed. A bed, he now realized, was indeed not of his usual comfort level. In several ways. His embarassment rose even higher when he met the incredibly satisfied eyes of the creature inhabiting the bed. Mephisto's face was about sixty percent teeth as he soaked up the image of the severely shocked man, who was still coming to terms with the fact that no, this was not still part of a nightmare, he was, in fact, awake.

And naked.

Upon that realization, Shiro's brain short-cirquited so completely he did not even attempt to cover himself up. Instead, he just froze, blinking fervently as if hoping the next time he opened his eyes, the lecherous monster, half-dressed in an untied silk gown and lying there as if posing for his portrait as a Roman emperor, would somehow have disappeared.

It took a couple minutes -or hours, by Shiro's reckoning- for the demon to get his fill of this view and bestow the smallest amount of mercy upon him.

“As much as I'd love to hang up a story about tequila, I'm afraid you just fell asleep in the shower. So I dried you off and placed you in here.”

Shiro rebooted.

“You... dried me off??”

“Wouldn't want my best exorcist to catch a cold- or soak my sheets.”

Lanes reopened, the backed-up thought traffic in Shiro's head now started honking impatiently to gain first access to his mouth.

“And you- I- but- it didn't- occur to you- that you could have just WOKEN ME UP?!”

“Frankly I hoped you would wake while I was toweling you off, hovering six feet off the floor... But as usual, you were disappointing.”

Mephisto managed to shrug leaning on one elbow, resting his jaw in his hand. He did not quite manage to look genuinely disappointed.

“You really should work on your comedic timing.”

Shiro's face was bright red, but no longer with embarassment. He was seething, fists and jaw clenched, his white bed hair sticking up as steam rising from his forehead.

“I. am not. your entertainment.”

Mephisto grinned. “Aww, no need to throw in the towel just yet~” His eyes glanced down. “You've got such potential, Shiro...”

WHACK. Instead of a towel, Shiro chose to throw in a pillow. And his full weight and strength to press it over Mephisto's face.

-Epilogue-

Oof. Goodness. Mephisto remained lying down, running a system check on his body. Everything was still there and working, it seemed, but he really should not have let Shiro have his little revenge for quite so long. He had to admit he underestimated the man's strength and how long it would take for his body to pass out from lack of oxygen. Too sidetracked by certain pleasant side-effects, perhaps. He should be more careful about that- Shiro probably hadn't noticed, or he might have indeed woken up with certain parts missing. Or at least damaged. Something still seemed wrong, though. Cold. He sat upright on the mattress. But not in his bed. Or bed chamber.

He blinked. Then shivered. As one tends to do when one wakes up soaking wet, outside. Because someone had dragged the entire mattress, demon included, out to the balcony. In the rain.

“...Oh REAL mature, Shiro!”

He teleported indoors, into a warm, fluffy bath gown, and stared at his expensive mattress through the glass doors of his bedroom. Blasted exorcist. Still...

He summoned his phone, flipped it open, and smiled at his new background picture. Dozens of carefully arranged plushies, and in the middle-

“...Best toy I ever had.”

~The end~

AUTHOR'S NOTES

Curfew: Not at all Corona-inspired~ But isolation makes no sense from an exorcism point of view. However, most demons in canon prefer the dark, so when there's an increase in numbers/reported attacks, a curfew is a logical counter-measure to protect the population. And since exorcists aren't supposed to work alone (*casts stern look at Shiro*), only teams on mission would have permission to walk around at night.

Poor alcohol tolerance & increased German: I strongly headcanon Mephisto's host body is in fact that of the original Faust, and it reverting back to its mother tongue when its language cortex is compromised somehow. I also strongly headcanon all strong demons having an insanely fast metabolism, going by the way Mephisto & Amaimon are always snacking yet skeletal, and this got in fact sort of confirmed by the recent manga chapter where Shiro complains about it in regards to baby Rin. So Mephisto gets drunk easily, but it also wears off rather quickly, unless he keeps drinking.

Don't drink and do magic/ rice fields: For more information, read The End of the Beginning by Superior Dimwit, arc 2: Inferno, chapter 39.

Tying the cat to the bacon: this is a literal translation of a Dutch expression. I cannot justify how exactly Shiro got to know about it, but I sure as fuck can justify its use here. It just fits too well.

Yellow rubber ball with red stars: Also known as a Dragon Ball, of course.

Ukobach: I know he hasn't shown up in the manga (yet), but this is one of those very rare times (maybe the only time) where I think the anime changed something for the better, and there is a good chance Kato is the one who told them the name in the first place, since it's an actual known demon. Either way, Mephisto should totally have some mad monkey five-star chef, in my opinion.

The thing about feet you're better off (not) knowing: Words can have interesting double meanings in other languages. For more information, read chapter 17 of Between the End and the Beginning, once more by Superior Dimwit. Technically, you could argue that the majority of mankind has a foot fetish.

Dropping the soap: I trust everyone to know this one. If not, google it at your own risk.

Violent awakenings: Based on Shiro punching little Shura in the face when she kissed his forehead while he was napping.

Pleasant side-effects of lack of oxygen can include popping a boner and light-headed euphoria. Especially when there's a naked exorcist on top of you. Shiro was right: false advertising indeed.

Plushies & pictures: Y'all remember Rin waking up in Mephisto's bed after going full demon mode in the manga? Although he may have sent his butler to pick up the kid and had the common decency to not him in there naked as he did with Shiro in this fic, there were a number of plushies surrounding Rin when he woke up. All facing up and some placed on top of him. Meaning that they didn't accidentally rolled their way there as he tossed and turned in his sleep- someone definitely placed them there. Cute for now, blackmail for later. Always handy.

#aoex #Ane fanfic #Mephiro #ao no exorcist #fanfiction #mephisto pheles #shiro Fujimoto #scribbles #Fox Populi #oh my god they were curfew mates #Belial #Ukobach

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splendidlyimperfect · 4 years

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Umm hi could I please ask for no 11 "morning kisses" in the Im with them au please I really love soft gratsustingue and your writing🌻 *hug* thank you.

thank you so much for the requests! i did morning kisses + “sharing is caring now give me the hoodie” in one fic, hope you enjoy!

It's been twelve weeks in quarantine and the boys decide to head to Gray's parent's cabin for a weekend of isolation.

Rating: General Audiences Pairing: Gray/Natsu/Sting/Rogue Tags: fluff, morning kisses, morning cuddles

every time you kiss me (it’s like sunshine and whiskey)

Sting woke slowly to a warm beam of sunshine spilling across the bed and a quiet, rumbling purr above his pillow. Natsu’s arm was wrapped firmly around his waist, and he was curled up against Gray, nose pressed against the back of his neck.

“Mornin’, sunshine.” Natsu’s muffled voice came from behind him, followed by a kiss pressed to his bare shoulder. Sting smiled, tipping his head back until he could kiss Natsu’s cheek.

“Hey, you,” he murmured. “Time issit?”

“Nine thirty.” Rogue’s voice came from the doorway and Sting looked up to see him standing there in Gray’s hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, long hair pulled back in a messy bun. Frosche, who had been curled up at the foot of the bed, slowly uncurled herself and stretched, then meowed plaintively at Rogue.

Sting yawned, nuzzling Gray’s neck and kissing under his ear. Gray responded with a quiet mumble and slowly rolled onto his back, rubbing his eyes and blinking blearily awake.

“Hey, handsome,” Sting said softly, brushing Gray’s tangled hair out of his face and leaning in to kiss him. “Sleep okay?”

Continue reading on AO3

Gray responded with a noncommittal grunt and returned the kiss, then curled up and tucked his head into the crook of Sting’s neck. “Do I smell coffee?” he asked, yawning and looking over at Rogue.

“You do,” Rogue replied, settling down on the bed next to Frosche and scratching her head. She purred happily and rubbed herself against him, and was quickly joined by Lector and Happy, who appeared from where they’d been sleeping next to Gray and padded across the bed.

Sting felt a soft tug on his hair and tipped his head back to see Soleil sitting behind his pillow. “Hey, pretty girl,” he said. She meowed and balanced on her hind legs, putting her front paw on Sting’s forehead to hold him still while she groomed his hair.

“How long have you been up?” Natsu asked Rogue, sitting up and tugging on his sleeve until he joined the cuddle pile, curling up between Natsu and Sting. Rogue hummed happily when Natsu pulled his hair out of the bun and started combing his fingers through it.

“A while,” Rogue admitted. “I had a weird dream and couldn’t go back to sleep.”

“A bad one?” Sting asked, sliding his hand into Rogue’s and squeezing.

Rogue shook his head. “No, just weird. There were robots… Gray was some sort of ninja and we had these powers to do… something.” Natsu snorted. “It’s all blurry but I couldn’t fall asleep again, so I got some writing done instead.”

Gray laughed, then shifted further onto Sting so he could pull Rogue in for a kiss. “A ninja, huh?”

“Mm.” Rogue ran his fingers through Gray’s hair, trying to undo the tangles. “You had a sword. It was pretty hot.”

“Maybe I should get a real sword,” Gray teased, rubbing his nose against Rogue’s and kissing him again. “You think it’d be hot in real life?”

“You’re already hot in real life,” Natsu argued, tucking the last piece of Rogue’s hair into the braid he was making and tying it off with the elastic. Then he leaned over and nudged himself into the kiss, rubbing his cheek against Rogue’s.

“You need to shave,” Rogue said, laughing as Natsu’s stubble tickled his cheek.

“What, you don’t like my quarantine beard?” Natsu stuck his tongue out at Rogue, who rolled his eyes.

“I like it,” Sting said. “Makes you look respectable.” Soleil, apparently pleased with her work, sat back on her haunches and meowed loudly at them.

“Respectable?” Natsu made a face.

“That’s false advertising,” Gray said, reaching up and running his fingers along the light dusting of stubble on Natsu’s jaw. “People are gonna think you’re a real adult or something.”

“Can’t have that,” Natsu said, grinning and turning to kiss Gray’s palm. “What if I dyed it pink?”

“You will not.” Gray said firmly. “The bathroom still looks like a murder scene from the last time we dyed your hair.” Natsu pouted, and Gray sighed. “Look, if we’re still stuck in here when the roots grow out, we can dye it again, but dyeing this—” he gestured at Natsu’s face “—seems like a terrible idea.”

“Fiiiine,” Natsu said, kissing Gray’s wrist again and then pushing himself up and stretching. “You guys wanna go to the beach today?”

“Are we allowed to?” Sting asked. Soleil headbutted him and he reached up to scratch behind her ears.

Gray nodded. “Not the public beach, but mom and dad said we could stay at the cabin for the weekend if we wanted. They had the cleaners go in and sanitize it and it’s in the middle of nowhere, so it’d be pretty safe.”

“Sounds perfect,” Natsu said. He tugged playfully at Rogue’s braid until Rogue sat up too, leaning back and kissing him. “When do we leave?”

Gray shrugged. “Now?”

Sting watched a grin spread across Natsu’s face, and something in his chest melted at the sight. The last twelve weeks of confinement had been hell on Natsu and seeing him smile made Sting feel hopeful.

“You guys go have coffee,” Sting suggested, nudging Gray off so he could slide off the bed. “I’ll pack.”

“Don’t forget my gray hoodie,” Natsu said as he hopped down from the bed and headed toward the door, followed by three hungry cats. Rogue helped Soleil down and she ran awkwardly after the others with her three-legged gait.

“You mean my gray hoodie,” Sting said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re a thief.”

Natsu raised an eyebrow. “That’s not what we teach at the daycare, Mister Eucliffe,” he said, then started to sing. “Sharing is caring for someone else, giving something away gives you something back.”

Sting rolled his eyes, grabbing a balled-up sock and tossing it at Natsu’s head. “Fine,” he said, turning to the closet and grabbing his favorite hoodie. “But only ‘cause you’re cute and I love you.”

“Love you too, babe,” Natsu said, blowing him a kiss before heading into the kitchen to feed the cats. Rogue followed him, and Gray rolled off the bed toward Sting, yawning and stretching.

“You know,” he said quietly, “that’s my favorite hoodie, too.”

“Oh, don’t you dare,” Sting said, laughing when Gray wrapped his arms around his waist and kissed his neck. “I’m not picking favorites.”

“But I looooove you,” Gray said, laughing against Sting’s skin. Sting sighed happily, turning in Gray’s arms and wrapping his arms around his neck. Playful Gray was rare, and Sting loved it.

“I love you, too,” Sting said, kissing Gray gently. “Now go help in the kitchen and I’ll pack the sweater.” Gray hummed happily, and Sting added, “You two can fight over it when we get there.”

#fairy tail #gratsustingue #ot4 #gray fullbuster #natsu dragneel #sting eucliffe #rogue cheney #fluff #morning kisses #request #prompt #my fic

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mithranqueersmusings · 4 years

Text

Baby, You’re A Rich Man IX

Chapter: 9/28

Rating: T

Summary: Ringo could never understand why that group of three boys made him feel so uncomfortable, or why the way George looked at him sent him into a panic. After a chance encounter Ringo discovers the truth and has no clue what to do with the information.

Tags: AU - Gangsters, Slow Burn, Smut, Eventual Romance, Violence, Angst

Pairings: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

Ringo's next shift felt like the longest one he'd ever experienced, his eyes constantly drawn to the clock as he counted down every individual minute. He was just desperate for this day to be over, he wished he could just sleep through it all, so that he could finally see George again. He even went to bed early for the first time in his adult life, just to hurry up the process, but he lay awake for hours in shameless excitement, just imagining how the following day would go. He didn't care about the new suit, or two, that George was going to buy him; as much as he appreciated his generosity, they could've had the most mundane thing in the world planned and he'd still be just as excited.

The following morning he tried to have a lie in, to wake up as close to 1 as possible, but around 9 he had the sad realisation that he was going to have to get up and fill the time. He decided to drum for a couple of hours, giving him enough time to shower and get ready for when George arrived. That was the plan at least, but at 12 o'clock almost on the dot there was a knock at his door. Luckily he had taken a break from drumming otherwise he wouldn't have heard it. As he made his way through the hall he stopped in front of a mirror: he looked an absolute state. His shirt and hair were clinging to his skin with sweat, his face all red from exhaustion. He cursed George for being early, but cursed himself more for cutting it so close; he had said 1-ish after all. Ringo opened the door tentatively, revealing a very happy looking George dressed yet again in a fine suit, Ringo wondered if he'd look as good as him after today but he knew that wasn't possible. When George saw the state Ringo was in, it only seemed to make him happier.

"Is this a bad time?" George chuckled, he had his arm leaning against the door frame "You did remember that I was coming today didn't you?" Ringo thought he detected a hint of panic in George's voice, but he wasn't sure.

"Sorry, you're just a bit earlier than I thought you'd be. I've been drumming the past few hours and haven't had a chance to shower." Ringo explained embarrassed, the cold air from the outside made his sweatiness all the more obvious.

"Don't apologise, it's a good look." George teased "Are you gonna let me in, or?"

Ringo stepped aside immediately, practically jumped, and George sauntered into the hallway, looking around in inspection.

"Nice place." He said, despite only seeing the thin coridoor.

"You don't have to lie, it's a bit of a dump really. Nothing like the fancy pad you've got." Ringo chuckled and started walking through to the living room "I'll just pop into the shower quickly and get dressed, just make yourself at home."

George walked further into the room, surveying it in a way that wasn't condescending but curious "Why don't I join you?" He grinned and Ringo's eyes widened.

"What?" He stammered.

"I'm just kidding." George smiled innocently as he sat down on the sofa, but his eyes tokd a different story.

"Oh... Right. Well I'll just be a minute. Help yourself to a drink or something." He called behind him as he hurried up the stairs.

Seeing George in his house was strange, as though he was really beginning to become a part of Ringo's life. Seeing him in fancy restaurants or his posh flat was different, like it was part of a separate world, but now it felt real.

Ringo had one of the quickest showers he'd ever had in his life, drying his hair rapidly under his towel and rummaging around for something half-decent to wear. He held up a black jumper in front of his chest as he stood next to the mirror, he couldn't remember the last time he'd put any thought into what he wore. As he lowered his head to examine the slacks he'd picked out, he saw George in the reflection leaning on the doorway.

"Maybe you don't need the suit after all." George purred, looking at Ringo from behind and seeing him completely naked.

Ringo yelped, turning around and concealing himself with the clothes as much as he could. George walked further into the room, settling down onto Ringo's bed, he felt increasingly nervous as he thought about how dirty his sheets were - dirty with the remnants of his fantasies about George.

"There's really no need to dress up, you're gonna have to strip down when we get to the tailor's anyway." George lay down flat on the bed, and it made Ringo blush to see his face on those pillows "Just make sure you're at least wearing boxers. A knob in the face isn't the best way to make a first impression."

Ringo chuckled but still felt nervous, he didn't feel ready for George to see him naked like this even though he had once before, feeling his surveying eyes just made him so nervous. George seemed to be able to read Ringo's expression, he pouted for a second before climbing off the bed and busying himself with pictures and other knicknacks on the other side of the room. Ringo used this opportunity as best he could, pulling on his clothes along with his nicest pair of boxers - which wasn't saying much. When George turned back around he gave Ringo one of his dark glares, like he wanted to eat him alive, and it made Ringo feel drunk.

"Ready to go, then?" George asked, fixing his hair in the mirror.

"As ready as I'll ever be." Ringo laughed, trying to sort out his sloppily dried hair as best he could.

"Great." George grinned, grabbing Ringo's hand and rushing out of the house. The sudden contact was intimate, and it made Ringo gasp to feel George's slim fingers pressed against his own.

As they exited the house, Ringo looked around suspiciously as he wondered if it might look peculiar at all for him to be leaving his house with such a man. He knew he was being ridiculous, they would've just looked like any old friends, but the shame he felt inside him couldn't help but make him nervous.

"Now, can we take my car this time or are you still worried I'm gonna kidnap you?" George gestured to his car which was parked across the street, it was far nicer than Ringo's.

"No clue why you'd wanna kidnap me. The police would probably thank you for it." Ringo chuckled, walking over to George's car to signal his agreement.

"Oh, I dunno... I could see some benefits in having you bound and gagged all to myself." George grinned mercilessly, and Ringo was very pleased that he could hide his growing excitement behind the car. Why did that excite him? He'd never even thought about things like that before, that stuff was for freaks. But his mind couldn't help wandering, images of George tying his wrists together and having his way with him, being unable to shout out or even protest. It made Ringo feel hot, and he had to compose himself before getting into the passenger's seat.

"I've only just realised, you're wearing your rings." George hovered his hands over Ringo's fingers, just close enough but never touching "I like them."

"Thanks." Ringo said bashfully "Never feel quite the same without them."

"Now let's go and get you looking even more handsome, if that's even possible." George winked as he started the car, and they began to drive down his road.

The drive to the tailor's wasn't that long, but it once again brought Ringo to a part of town he wasn't familiar with. It felt like a different city entirely, with the streets all pristine and ludicrously expensive shops dotted on every street. Ringo didn't even feel the desire to window shop, he knew he could only dream about buying some of the things that were on offer. During the journey, Ringo couldn't help looking back over at George, who remained mostly focused on the road ahead of them but every so often their eyes would meet and Ringo's breath would stop. How was George able to do so much to him with just a look? They didn't talk much, everything Ringo wanted to say he wouldn't dare to, but his mind couldn't even focus on anyhing else. He wanted to ask George to kiss him, to touch him, to drive him back to his so they could just have their way with one another. But he didn't. The bravest thing he could do in that moment was stare at the other man, that took courage enough.

When the car stopped outside the tailor's, George once again rushed out so that he could open the door for Ringo. He remembered how nervous he had felt the last time this happened, like George was running off to his accomplices who were all planning on murdering him, but now he felt a different kind of nervous. The sinking realisation of how much George liked him only made his own feelings harder to deny. He passed George a small smile as he stepped out of the car and looked up at the shop in amazement.

"You ever had a suit fitted before?" George asked as they walked up to the front entrance.

Ringo scoffed "'Course not."

"Well it's all very simple. He'll take you into the back room and take your measurements. Then he'll ask you a bunch of stuff about what kind of suit you want, if you don't know the answer I'll be just outside." George smiled reassuringly, holding the front door open so that Ringo could step inside.

As they entered, a bell rang throughout the shop, and soon a short, old man appeared from behind a curtain to greet him. He offered George the typical celebrity-like greeting that Ringo was becoming so accustomed to. He regarded Ringo on the other hand rather peculiarly, as if he could smell the poorness on him. Ringo told himself that he was just imagining things as the man guided him to the back room.

It had gone exactly as George had explained, although at no point did Ringo have to strip down to his underwear which he was very relieved about. Every so often the tailor would ask him something, like what kind of tie he would want or how many buttons on the jacket he would like. At first Ringo thought he would just blag his way through it, but when the questions become more confusing he didn't want to risk messing it all up and had to call George in a few times to help out. George always replied in a very suave manner, as he always did, but he'd always pass Ringo a reassuring glance before leaving into the other room. Every time this happened, Ringo felt the tailor getting more and more annoyed with him but he didn't really care, he didn't have much time for these snooty types anyway.

When they finished, the two of them walked back into the main room to find George reading a newspaper in one of the chairs, his leg was resting atop the other which really accentuated how slim they were, Ringo certainly made a note of that. The tailor beckoned George over to the desk, seemingly glad that he didn't need to deal with Ringo anymore, where they shared a quiet conversation. Ringo saw George writing a cheque, and he was glad he was too far away to see the amount for he knew it'd made him feel guilty.

"So." George began, walking back over to Ringo who was looking around confused "I'll come and pick it up in a couple of days, then I can drop it off at yours on Thursday."

"God yeah, Thursday. I need to make sure I get that off work." Ringo chuckled, he was relieved George had mentioned the day again or else he might've forgotten.

"Oh, well. If its too inconvenient you don't have to come. Just consider the suit a gift." George said with that sad looking taking over his face.

"Don't be stupid. Of course I want to come. Think I'm gonna pass up a chance to see your dance moves?" Ringo smiled and it instantly lifted George's mood.

They walked out of the shop then, George holding the door open for the older man once more.

"I'd love to take you back to mine, but I've got some stuff I need to take care of. I'll drop you off o'course." George smiled sweetly as he climbed into the driver's seat again.

Ringo felt a little disappointed at this news, but a part of him always felt a little relieved when he was avoiding alone time with George; his feelings and thoughts were still at war in his head, and anything George would do to him back at his place would only complicate things further.

"That's alright, I should probably fit some drum practice in before it gets too late." Ringo hid his inner dialogue as he put on his seatbelt.

"I'd like to hear you play some time. Are you in a band?" George asked, his eyes glued to the road.

"No, not anymore. I used to be but it all kind of fizzled out. I've always wanted to pursue my drumming a bit more, but I've never really had the money or the time." Ringo explained, trying not to focus on George's tight grip on the steering wheel.

"Maybe I could help you out. We've got quite a lot of connections, and more money than sense. If I put in a good word about you I'm sure there'd be something." George

"Really? Wow, that'd be great. Thanks, George." Ringo felt a little taken aback, with all the troubles he'd been facing regarding his relationship with George he'd almost completely forgotten about George's 'job'.

"It's nothing really. I'm sure you can find some way to repay me." George smiled devilishly, his sharp teeth poking out from behind his lip, as he moved one of his hands from the steering wheel to rest on Ringo's thigh.

Ringo inhaled sharply at the touch, George lightly ran his palm up and down his thigh before giving it a tighter squeeze. George pulled his eyes away from the road for a second, relishing in the mixture of panic and pleasure on Ringo's face, then pulled his hand away and placed it back on the wheel.

"Sorry, I shouldn't tease you. But if we get started on that, I won't be able to stop, and I can't afford to be late." George's voice was low and sultry, and Ringo had to squeeze his eyes together to calm himself.

It wasn't long before they were back outside Ringo's house, and yet again George rushed over to the other side of the car to open the door for Ringo.

"Such a gentleman." Ringo joked as he climbed out onto the street.

"Only when you want me to be." George whispered in his ear as he leaned down to close the door.

Ringo shuddered at the words, and stood awkwardly in front of the taller man, looking up into his eyes and at his soft lips. He wanted to kiss him goodbye, but there was no way he was going to risk it in public, especially not right outside his house. George seemed to be thinking the same thing, he smiled sadly before walking back to his side of the car.

"So I'll see you Thursday? Will probably be quite early, I'll call you to let you know." George said as he leant on the top of the car.

"Thursday it is." Ringo smiled as he walked up to his house. "Bring your dancing shoes!"

"Only if you promise to wear those rings. I can think of a few uses for them." George spoke quieter, but Ringo still worried that someone might overhear them and he felt panicked.

"Ha- Yeah I will do." He called back as he hurriedly unlocked his front door. When he turned around to close it behind him, George was still looking at him longingly. He held up his hand to say goodbye and George just nodded, finally getting into his car and driving away.

Every time he was away from George, he felt himself letting out a heavy sigh of relief. All the tension between them could finally be released, and he felt somewhat exhausted. He walked into the kitchen to put the kettle on and smiled when he saw the bouquet of roses sitting on the counter. Ringo felt extremely lucky that George had taken such a shine to him, because he was clearly the spoiling type. Ringo had never grown up with much, and he lived with even less now, he had never expected to be eating at fancy restaurants or being decked out in the finest suits. While it still felt pretty alien to him, and he supposed it always would, it was nice to experience it through the generosity of someone else.

He thought about George's words from the car journey home, about repaying him, and Ringo tried to think of something he could do. He didn't have a lot of money, certainly nothing compared to George's wealth, and he wasn't particularly crafty or inventive, so he struggled to think of anything. Then he remembered George's hand on his thigh, and he couldn't help but think that when they had spent the night together, it was only Ringo that had been satisfied. He felt a little disappointed in himself, almost rude, as much as he knew there was no chance he was ever going to reciprocate anything in that moment, that had to change.

All this was still so foreign and new to him, but he tried to think about whatever a girl would do to him in order to make him feel good. His mind battled with the idea of giving George a blowjob, he wasn't sure if he was prepared for something like that. Then it raced to raunchier things, like letting George fuck him, and Ringo couldn't deny that it made him hot just thinking about it. Wouldn't it hurt? He'd never met a girl who was ever up for doing anal, not that Ringo was ever that bent on doing it, and he wondered why. Maybe it was painful, dirty even. He just wished there was some way he could learn about it all, to just wake up one day and be an expert on all things gay, because he didn't want to continue being so awkward and hesitant around George.

If what George said about after the wedding was true, then Ringo certainly had to be prepared for that. And in that moment he got an idea, at first he dismissed it because it seemed to absurd, but it kept rushing back to him. He didn't want to risk ruining his first time with George because he was too scared, because he just wasn't ready. He had to at least try it, just once. Maybe he'd discover he didn't like it, and then maybe all these weird feelings would just go away entirely. He just had to know, had to feel what it was like to have something up there.

#the beatles #beatles #beatles fanfic #the beatles fanfic #beatles fanfiction #george harrison/ringo starr #ringo starr/george harrison #george harrisonxringo starr #ringo starrxgeorge harrison #starrison

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theartoflovingthomashunt · 4 years

Text

I Need You💎

[Red Carpet Diaries Masterlist] || [Hollywood U Masterlist]

– – – Characters: Alex, Thomas Hunt Rating: Explicit (by clicking “read more” you are agreeing that you are 18 years of age or older) Notes: Production on The Diagnosis wrapped early so Alex is back in LA and surprises Thomas on set. (This takes place shortly before RCD3)

@choicesnovemberchallenge Day 19: Desire – – –

“Surprise,” Alex snuck up behind Thomas, reaching around to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Oh!” She pulled back with a start.

“Alex!” Thomas turned to face her. He ran his hand across his jaw and his newly acquired beard. “I didn’t expect you! I will shave when I get home.”

Alex lifted her hands to his face letting her soft fingertips massage his rough facial hair. She pressed her lips into his urgently relishing this new sensation.

Alex bit her lip as she pulled away. “Don’t you dare! Isn’t it time for you to take a break?” She raised an eyebrow and dropped her voice to a whisper in his ear, “I need you.”

“Let’s take an early lunch,” Thomas called quickly. Before the cast and crew could question the unexpected and out-of-character change to their schedules, Alex was already dragging Thomas off in the direction of the trailers.

Alex’s lips pulled at his as they shut the door behind them. She wasted no time removing his jacket and tie. Thomas pushed Alex back onto the couch, not letting their lips part for even a second.

“What do you want?” Thomas questioned between kisses.

“I want your mouth anywhere–everywhere,” she ran her fingertips across his beard. I want to feel you everywhere.”

Thomas smirked as he pulled away from her. He had never seen her like this before. Her eyes were not quite literally begging for him, but it was the closest thing to it without misusing the word literally.

“Please,” Alex pleaded, her voice wavering.

“Oh, my love,” he held her face a moment, savoring every drop of her wanting and longing.

“Thomas!” Alex practically screamed. She had never desired anyone or anything more than him at this moment. She tried to reach up to pull him back down to her but he grabbed her wrists and pinned them down before she could get what she wanted.

“I like seeing you like this,” Thomas almost growled. He lowered his lips onto her neck letting his beard brush against her tender flesh. She shivered at his touch. He felt her breath catch in her throat as he took advantage of every inch of bare skin. His teeth grazed her throat as he worked his way back up to her mouth. “Is this what you want?”

Alex closed her eyes and nodded as she focused her attention to the way he felt against her.

“Then you should enjoy the next part even more,” Thomas pulled at her lip with his teeth. “I’m going to let go of your arms. You are not to touch me. Do you understand?”

Alex nodded eagerly.

“Good,” Thomas’s lips crashed down on hers once more before making their way back down her neck and across her collarbone. He ran his hands under her shirt, massaging his way up. Alex leaned up and lifted her arms so he could remove the unnecessary item. Thomas made quick work of her bra giving his mouth more room to play.

Alex squirmed under him as his beard danced across her already hardened breasts. She let out a soft moan that was pleasing to his ears.

Thomas began kissing and sucking his way down her stomach. Without thinking, Alex reached to run her fingers through his hair. As she began to pull at him, he quickly removed his lips from her skin and pinned her arms down beside her again. “You’re a very bad listener.”

“I’m sorry,” Alex breathed. “Don’t stop.”

“Why should I listen to you when you clearly won’t listen to me,” Thomas questioned.

“It won’t happen again,” Alex insisted. “I promise.”

“No it won’t,” Thomas began to get up from the couch.

“Come back, I promise I’ll listen,” Alex begged.

“Oh, I know you will,” Thomas retrieved his tie from the floor where Alex had tossed it. “Give me your hands.” Alex did as requested. Thomas wrapped the tie around her wrists, tying it tightly, ensuring that she could not slip out of it.

“Now… where was I?” Thomas’s tongue cascade down every area of sensitive skin. Alex fought fruitlessly against her restraints. “Much better.” Thomas ran his hands between her legs as his mouth continued its exploration of her body.

“Enough teasing!” Alex complained.

“Is this not exactly what you wanted? I distinctly remember you saying ‘anywhere-everywhere’” Thomas teased.

Alex groaned in frustration. Her entire body ached for him.

“Almost,” he promised. Thomas unbuttoned her pants and pulled them off of her. Her underwear followed. He traced the length of her newly exposed leg with his fingers. He moved toward her ankle, placing a soft kiss on the inside. Slowly and methodically he worked his way up the inside of her leg.

His every touch was electric coursing through her body causing goosebumps to rise in his wake. Alex fought against herself wanting so desperately to take control of the situation, but she brought this on herself.

As Thomas moved his head between her thigh’s Alex rocked her body closer toward him. He was so close, but still so far.

“Finally!” She thought as his tongue moved between her slit, licking up some of her wetness. He pushed deeper into her, his tongue just grazing her, causing a low moan to escape her lips. She closed her eyes and leaned back ready to enjoy what she had been waiting for when he moved away.

Thomas rested his hands on her hips holding her down. “I should probably get back to set. We can finish this tonight?”

Alex threw him what she imagined was a murderous look. “Don’t you even dare!”

“No?” Thomas sat back on the couch admiring her at his mercy.

“Dammit, Hunt! Get back here! Now!” Alex commanded, a burning sensation flooding her body.

Thomas always loved it when she used his last name. It was the way she said it. The way she looked when she said it. If he could insist no one else use it aside from her he would. It was hers. As she was his.

“Say, please,” Thomas smirked.

“You will pay for this later,” Alex insisted. Thomas maintained his position. “PLEASE!”

“As you wish,” Thomas returned to his position between her legs.

Alex gasped as his lips moved against her. Waves of pleasure pulsated through her body as his tongue worked on her. As her bliss grew, Alex bucked against him. He didn’t pull away this time. “Don’t stop… please… don’t stop.”

Thomas moved faster over her until she cried out as ecstasy washed over her. Alex’s breathing slowed as Thomas began kissing his way back up to her lips. He untied the tie, releasing her. “I trust that was satisfactory.”

Alex nodded, she was still catching her breath. She had missed him so much during their time apart. Alex ran her hands along his back, caressing his muscles as Thomas continued planting kisses on her neck.

Alex guided Thomas’s lips back to hers, letting her fingers run through his thick hair, pulling him further into him. She wasn’t quite finished yet. After a few minutes, she unbuttoned his pants exposing his own desire. She pushed Thomas back on the couch and straddled his lap.

Alex lowered herself onto him as she moved against him building up a rhythm. Thomas’s hands held her hips guiding her pace. Her lips were on his as they continued to move as one–this time, both of them relishing in the waves of pleasure crashing over them.

---- Tags: @the-soot-sprite ; @hopelessromantic1352 ; @flyawayboo ; @mfackenthal ; @lilyofchoices ; @alleksa16 ; @alj4890 ; @thearianam ; @twin-skltns ; @riseandshinelittleblossom ; @choicesnovemberchallenge ;

#thomas hunt #thomas hunt x mc #thomas orson hunt #red carpet diaries #thomas hunt fan fiction #fan fiction #alex hunt #alex spencer #halex #alex x thomas #blame it on the beard #choices november challenge #the art of loving thomas hunt #taolth

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cuthian · 4 years

Text

Dancing in the Rain Chapter Six

Hi everyone!

I hope everyone is doing okay and you're all able to stay safe! <3

This is the last chapter of this part.

Thank you all so much for sticking with me for so long! There will be one more (short) work wrapping things up, with Bucky and the others recovering and tying up things neatly (possibly) that I'm working on right now.

Please, read the tags and be sure to leave a comment with your thoughts!

Love Annaelle

Chapter Six

Thule Society Project Persuasion

[United States of America] Mission date(s): [07/27/2011] to [09/15/2011]

Mission objective

Remanding of the Target to Thule Society custody for optimal reconditioning

Destabilisation of target’s mental health by use of Asset’s previous relation with the target – stage sightings of the Asset to ensure a shock to the target’s system and proceed to further intimidation (scripted recordings) until the target is suitably malleable and open to recalibration.

Mission target

Captain Steve Rogers – threat level 9

Status: extremely enhanced

Mission dates

27/07/2011

- Establishing surveillance in target residence

- Briefing Asset

[…]

19/08/2011

- Mission progress report Asset

- Reconfiguration and recalibration Asset

[…]

15/09/2011

- Progression to Phase Two

[…]

Team members

Brock Rumlow – STRIKE handler

Alexander Pierce – Asset primary handler

Jasper Sitwell – mission planning

ELISA SINCLAIR – head technician and physician

-----------

Lobby of the Avengers Tower, New York, Manhattan, New York State, U.S.A.

12:24 a.m., 3 April 2016

Bucky Barnes / The Asset

The Asset eyed the large blond man dressed as a walking flag in confusion.

The woman—sister, Rebecca, Becky, little Cece—leaned heavily on the metal shoulder, and the Asset briefly considered that that could not be comfortable before his eye was drawn back to the walking American flag, who looked alarmingly like he was about to burst into tears.

“Bucky,” the man said again, blue eyes wide and watery. “You’re Bucky.”

The Asset blinked. The name did not mean much to him, but there was something about the blond man—Steve, Stevie, Captain, sweetheart—that made the Asset’s insides churn and twist, that made his flesh hand itch to reach out to him, to touch and soothe, to…

He—it was a weapon.

It could not soothe, it could not comfort, and it couldn’t find the small ticklish spot just above the blond man’s left elbow and press his fingers to it.

“You are,” the woman—Rebecca, a little voice in his head supplied again, Becky—said to him, her fingers digging into his flesh arm. “Bucky Barnes. Remember?” The Asset—Barnes?—looked down at her, wrinkling its nose in confusion before it decided that there were more pressing matters at hand; mainly that the—Rebecca, that Rebecca seemed to be resting more and more of her weight on him.

“You are injured,” the Barnes-Asset pointed out. “You require medical assistance.”

Rebecca looked up at him blearily. “Alright,” she nodded, before turning to the strange man in green who had taken them from the facility and brought them here. “You need to—you need to keep him safe. Make sure no one can hurt him anymore—protect him.”

The man looked quite baffled, but—to the Barnes-Asset’s surprise—only nodded.

“Okay,” Rebecca said. “Okay, good. Bu—Bucky, you go with him. He’ll keep you safe.”

Barnes-Asset frowned. “The Asset is required to remain in close proximity to ensure your safety,” it protested lightly. “The Asset is not efficient when it is not within range.”

“You don’t need to protect me,” she said immediately, although the Asset privately thought the argument lost most of its merit when she swayed so violently both he and the man in green needed to take her arms to steady her. “Others will take care of me,” she continued, although the Asset noted she was paling rapidly and swaying again.

“Rebecca,” the other, bigger blond carrying a large hammer called out, voice wavering, and when the Barnes-Asset looked at him, the man had moved forward a few paces, holding out a hand towards Rebecca, expression pleading. “Please, let me—”

“Thor,” Rebecca breathed, and she started forward, out of the Barnes-Asset’s grasp, stumbling forward into the large man’s waiting arms. The Barnes-Asset watched as she clutched at the large man’s impressive bicep with one hand, dropping the other to her swollen belly. “We need Eir,” she told the man seriously. “I really don’t feel good, and I need Eir—now.”

Before anyone could say more, she went limp in the other man’s grasp.

There was a beat of silence before thunder outside roared and the big blond man bellowed “Heimdall!”

An explosion of colors filled the entire space abruptly and the sound of it—oddly silent but inexplicably loud at the same time—thundered and echoed in the Barnes-Asset’s skull, leaving its ears ringing and its body sluggish and creaky.

When it looked up, the spot where the bigger blond and Rebecca had stood was empty, an intricate symbol burned into the tiled floor where they had stood. The Barnes-Asset looked at his own big blond, who was gazing between the Asset and the spot where Rebecca had stood with a torn expression and swallowed thickly.

“Well,” the man in green said. “That was dramatic.”

------------

Steve Rogers, Becca Barnes and Thor’s Floor in the Avengers Tower, New York, Manhattan, New York State, U.S.A.

3:02 a.m., 3 April 2016

Steve

Steve felt like he’d aged twenty years in the past five hours.

He felt wrung out and exhausted, his body sore and sluggish like it hadn’t been since before he’d received the serum. He would probably have to call Karen-the-therapist soon, would need to schedule more sessions than he’d had in the past year…

He heaved a sigh and ran a hand down his face.

He had no idea what would be happening now.

He wasn’t sure if Becca and Thor had made it to Asgard alright, or even if Becca was alright—Loki had been frustratingly uninformed on her physical condition, and Bucky hadn’t been able to provide more than a cursory “in need of medical attention”—and yet he found it incredibly hard to care.

He found it so insanely difficult to focus on Becca when Bucky was sitting next to him, breathing and alive and real. He looked to the other man, who sat stiffly on one of the highbacked chairs in his kitchen, eyeing everything and everyone in the room with a great deal of suspicion.

He was afraid to think very hard about the circumstances that had led to Bucky sitting alive, breathing and confused on one of Steve’s dining chairs.

He was pretty sure that if he did think about it too deeply—if he did consider what caused the vacant look in Bucky’s eye, what had happened to him that made him look at Steve with a confused frown—he would lose his marbles and go on a killing spree to murder every single one of the sick sons of bitches that had ever dared lay hands on his Bucky, and Steve couldn’t.

Bucky needed him here, not off in the world burning down Hydra bases.

“I will help him sleep,” Loki spoke quietly, drawing Steve’s eyes to where the God of Mischief stood, still as tall and healthy as the last time Steve had seen him. Steve wanted to marvel over Loki’s miraculous revival, his stunning appearance, but he found he barely had the energy to care overly much anymore.

Bucky, who had since moved from his perch on the dining room chair and was prowling around the room, examining corners and books and everything he could get his hands on, looked up at Loki when he spoke, blue eyes wide and apprehensive.

He had not spoken since the lobby, since he had told Becca that he needed to stay close to her to protect her, since she had told him Loki would care for him.

He looked so scared and lost it made Steve’s heart hurt.

“Yeah,” Steve nodded mechanically. “As long as he’s… He’ll be safe, right?” He looked up at Loki with tears still burning in his eyes, breath wheezing in his lungs.

The god nodded, face twisting into an expression of compassion. “I owe Rebecca a debt. I will not let any harm come to him, I assure you.” They were both silent for a moment before Loki spoke again. “I remember what it is like to be unmade. To be… ripped apart and put back together into something you are not. I will not allow him to suffer. I give you my word, Captain.”

Steve nodded jerkily and swallowed thickly, wrapping his arms around himself to… to keep himself from falling apart all over again. “Just…” Steve hesitated. “Ask him. If he wants—don’t just… He deserves to have choices.”

He watched as Loki approached Bucky, offering the other man a smile and a few words, to which Bucky nodded jerkily before Loki waved his hand and Bucky’s head slumped back, his entire body relaxing into what Steve hoped was a peaceful, dreamless sleep as Loki manoeuvred him onto the couch.

“Why didn’t you tell Thor you were alive?” he blurted, wincing a little at his own lack of tact when Loki spun around with an incredulous expression on his face.

“It was too dangerous,” Loki finally allowed, wrinkling his nose a little as he moved back to the kitchen, where Steve stood leaning against the counter. “The All-Father would have me executed for treason in a heartbeat should he find me, and Thor along with me if he tried to hide me.”

Steve opened his mouth, but he found he really didn’t have the words to express what he needed to say. “I’m sorry,” he finally settled on, softly patting his hand on the back of Loki’s shoulder after a brief moment of hesitation. “That must’ve been an incredibly difficult decision to make.”

Loki looked at him as though he’d grown two heads for a long, tense moment before he nodded. “It was. It helped, knowing Thor had the Warriors Three, Sif and you and Rebecca to care for him.”

Steve looked down and sighed, rubbing his hand through his hair when J.A.R.V.I.S. chimed apologetically from the ceiling, “I apologize for the interruption, Captain, but the Lady Carter has requested you join her on the common floor for a short moment.”

He’d forgotten Peggy and Sharon were on their way here at all, too caught up by Becca showing up in the lobby with Bucky and Loki of all people, and he immediately felt like the worst friend in history, because as much as he loved Peggy and liked Sharon, he wasn’t sure he’d be able—and, God forbid, willing—to make time for them right now… now that Bucky was back.

If the glimpses Loki had caught in Bucky’s mind were any indication, Bucky was going to need all the support in the world to recover from his ordeal, and Steve couldn’t imagine a world where he wouldn’t provide any and everything Bucky could ever need.

Steve just didn’t know how to fit his other friends in there too.

“Go,” Loki said calmly, slipping onto one of the barstools and raising an eyebrow when Steve didn’t move. “I’ll keep watch. No more harm will come to him.”

Steve nodded mechanically, moving towards the door even though there was nothing he wanted to do less. He didn’t want to see the others, didn’t want to see Peggy or Sharon, didn’t want to have to deal with the unavoidable fall-out of Steve’s formerly-dead boyfriend suddenly turning up again.

He just wanted to stay here and sit beside Bucky, run his fingers through that long, unkempt hair and make sure that Bucky wasn’t hurting anymore.

He got onto the elevator anyway.

—————

Natasha

Rebecca Barnes Sr. paced around the couch impatiently, tutting disapprovingly every time she passed the elevator. Sharon sat beside her aunt on the couch, a nurse from the medical floor kneeling by her feet with a medical bag folded open to display an array of bandages, band-aids, disinfectant and cotton balls, checking her for more injuries and helping her care for the minor scrapes and bruises that littered her skin.

The sight of the wounds made something deep in Natasha howl with rage, because the other woman was her friend and a good person, and she’d deserved much better than her fiancé cracking her head open on the dresser and locking her up in their basement.

The nurse had already stitched up the large, deep gash that ran diagonally up from Sharon’s left eyebrow into her hair and applied a cooling gel to the swelling around her eye. “You’ll need an x-ray,” the man said in a soft, calming voice. “I don’t think it’s broken, but there might be hairline fracture or a crack that I can’t feel.” He gently pressed his fingers to the bruised and swollen skin just below Sharon’s eye and sighed. “Just to be sure.”

“I’m not going now,” Sharon said, her voice steely, avoiding the nurse’s eye steadily. “I’m fine. We have other things to worry about than whether or not Brock cracked my eye socket.”

“Miss Carter,” the nurse said slowly, but Sharon shook her head sharply, pushing his hand away.

“I said no,” she bit out. “If he did, it’s been broken for at least forty-eight hours. I’m sure I’ll be fine if I wait a few more hours to get it checked out.”

The nurse stared long and hard at her, and Nat was a little impressed that the man didn’t even flinch when Sharon glared back at him, before he sighed and relented. “Alright,” he said. “Fine. But I expect you down at medical by the end of the day.”

“Fine,” Sharon said, staring ahead again, eyes hard and focused on the picture of the entire Avengers group and most of their friends and family at the last 4th of July/Steve’s birthday barbecue, ignoring the nurse as he reached out to tend to her split lip and visibly forcing herself not to respond as her aunt patted a comforting hand on her thigh.

The man heaved a sigh, but accepted defeat and stood, packing up his medical bag.

“End of the day, okay? We gotta check out your eye,” he told Sharon sternly, pointing at her until she nodded grudgingly. The man sighed again but turned and left without further comment.

When the elevator doors closed behind him, Tony turned and looked at her, frowning severely, and Natasha sighed too. She’d prefer to wait until Steve was here to discuss everything she and Tony had found, but there were a few things they needed to get out of the way without him interrupting every five minutes to correct them.

“We have to talk,” she said, stepping forward so all eyes were on her.

The room was full. Bruce and Clint had followed her and Tony up here once Steve had taken Barnes and Loki up to his own floor, and Sharon, Peggy Carter and Becky Barnes had arrived not ten minutes later. Fury, Maria and Phil had, thankfully, let themselves get booted from the Tower, although Natasha didn’t doubt they’d be back—if not for Loki, then for Barnes.

“I imagine we have to talk about a great many things,” Peggy Carter said kindly. “But I suppose you have something specific in mind, dear.”

“Yes,” Natasha said curtly, turning to Tony.

They’d not really discussed how much they would tell the others—not without Steve present.

“The man upstairs with Steve,” she said slowly, “he might be more than just Bucky Barnes.” She and Tony exchanged another glance, and she plowed on before the others could cut in with questions. “We think he might be the Winter Soldier.”

Sharon and Peggy Carter both inhaled sharply, and Clint startled, but the others looked a little uncomprehending.

“He’s…” Nat sighed.

“He’s a myth,” Peggy said sternly. “I looked for the Winter Soldier for the last twenty years of my career—he’s a ghost.”

“Yeah, well,” Tony interjected, pulling up a holographic screen with the documents Nat had given him earlier. “Whatever he is—whatever he became with them… they used him to try to break Steve.” Peggy let out a dry sob and pressed trembling fingers to her mouth, reaching out to pull the holographic screen closer, to read through the horrifying content of the reports.

“Are you sure this is about Steve?” Sharon asked skeptically. “All the names are redacted.”

“The dates match up,” Tony said. “With his breakdown. Before he tried to jump off the Tower. The dates, the times—all of it. I called his therapist, but she wouldn’t say if he ever discussed seeing Barnes with her without his permission, so…”

“We’ll have to bring it up with him,” Clint said.

Tony nodded with a grimace.

“You’re sure?” Becky Barnes said quietly. “Is it worth exposing him to a trigger?”

“We have to know,” Natasha said quietly. “And he needs to know. Think of what this means,” she gestured to the documents. “If it really is Bucky Barnes up there, and this document is real… Think of what they’d have to have done to him to make him consciously hurt Steve, of all people. We need to be prepared for the possibility that…”

She bit her lip and glanced towards Becky Barnes—who was, she realized with a jolt, Bucky’s little sister. “…not everyone who has been exposed to that level of brainwashing can recover.”

“He’s my brother,” Becky Barnes said in a small, soft voice. “And Steve loves him. We can’t—we can’t give up on him.” She looked around at the others when no one spoke, and Natasha felt a great wave of sympathy for the older woman. “We’re not giving up on him before he’s even had a chance,” Becky Barnes said again, sternly.

“No one’s giving up on him, Aunt Beck,” Tony said. “But we have to consider the possibility.”

Bruce heaved a sigh. “Depending on the kind of neurological damage they inflicted on him, it is a valid concern.” Natasha eyed the scientist concernedly—it didn’t look like he’d slept at all in the past forty-eight hours—before she turned her gaze to the twins.

They’d been silent the entire time, and since they were the only ones who’d been—however unwittingly—a part of Hydra recently, they might have valuable insights.

Wanda, who undoubtedly felt her gaze, looked up.

“I remember they spoke of a chair,” Wanda said. “That’s why we ran from them. They thought I didn’t understand if they spoke English—they talked about a chair to make us comply. Maybe that’s what they used on him.”

“Maybe,” Nat conceded. “We’ll have to see what he remembers.”

Everyone fell silent, and Nat noted absently that Sharon had swiped one of the nurse’s cotton balls and was dabbing at her split lip and scraped chin lightly. “J.A.R.V.I.S.,” Tony said after another beat, pacing restlessly behind the sofa, his hair standing up in tufts and dark circles lining his eyes. “Is Cap coming down here or what?”

“Yes,” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied pleasantly as the elevator doors opened and Steve emerged. Nat was actually vaguely impressed that they’d been able to pull Steve away from Barnes—if the man upstairs was indeed who Becca, and now Steve, seemed to think he was.

She had seen Steve grieve Bucky Barnes for years, had been privy to and part of a few private conversations about Steve’s previous relationship with him, and she knew that prying Steve away from Barnes now would likely require a crowbar and more than a few bribes.

Or, apparently, a request from Peggy Carter.

Steve walked out of the elevator looking decidedly worse for the wear already, and she hadn’t even brought up the reports they’d found yet. His eyes were rimmed with red and stained with dark circles and his hair was messy. He had only changed out of the top of his uniform, which left him in his dark blue uniform pants and boots and a dark, tight compression shirt—something that attracted attention of everyone in the room even in the current situation.

Natasha barely refrained from rolling her eyes.

They had more important things to deal with than the potential impropriety of Steve’s wardrobe.

“Steve,” Becky Barnes said immediately, springing back up from the couch with surprising vigour and flexibility for a ninety-year-old. “Is it really—how—how’s he—how, Steve?” She grasped at Steve’s forearms and he held her steady with soft, careful hands.

“I don’t know,” Steve admitted, sounding small and unsure, and for the first time in years, Natasha remembered how he’d looked in those first few months after they’d gotten him out of the ice. “Loki’s—Loki’s watching him. He helped him sleep.”

“I want to see him,” Becky told him mulishly, and for the first time Nat really saw the resemblance between Becky and Becca. They had the same stubborn set to their jaw, and Steve reacted almost exactly the same way to Becky’s stubborn glare as he did to Becca’s. If the situation hadn’t been quite so dire, she might’ve smiled.

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, a deeply resigned expression on his face. “Okay. Has anyone heard from Becca and Thor?” He looked away from Becky, glancing at Nat and Peggy in turn, before looking at Tony. “Anything at all?”

“No,” Tony shook his head. “Nothing.”

Nat ignored the painful twist in her chest at the reminder that no one actually knew how Becca was doing and focused instead on the problems that she could fix.

Steve guided Becky back to the couch where Peggy sat before he shuffled over to the twins and unceremoniously dropped himself on the seat between them. He grinned tiredly at Pietro when the youth stuck his tongue out at him and slung an arm around Wanda when she leaned into him.

It was sweet, Natasha realized with a pang, to see him with them.

They looked up to him, had trusted him before they’d trusted any of the rest of them. Wanda had confided to her once that Steve was like the big brother she and Pietro had always wanted, and Nat really saw that now—Steve was drawing as much comfort from their proximity as they were from his.

That was… that was good, considering the conversation they needed to have.

Sharon set down the cotton ball she had taken from the nurse, apparently entirely unaware of the thin trickle of blood that ran down from her lip to her chin immediately. Instead, she leaned forward, eyeing Steve with a breathless kind of intensity that Natasha recognized all too well. She had spent enough time focusing on the mission, on her tasks, on erasing the red in her ledger, to know when someone was trying to avoid thinking about their personal burdens by focusing on work.

She didn’t begrudge the woman her focus.

If anything, she understood.

“We have some things to discuss,” Natasha said, determinately ignoring the feeling of déjà-vu that hit her abruptly. She took a seat beside Sharon and directed her gaze towards Steve. “It’s not… it’s something that might trigger you—but we think you need to know.”

Steve looked at her with wide, blue eyes, chewing on his lip for a second before he said, “Tell me.”

Tony stepped forward and drew up another holographic screen, this one a lot smaller, more discreet, and pushed it towards Steve. “We found this,” he said slowly. “The dates… I know it’s really hard to talk about, to think about, but…” Tony cut off and Natasha sighed, stepping in smoothly.

“Steve, this implies that they used Barnes to destabilize your mental health. And we—” She glanced towards Tony. “Did you see him? Is that why… is that how—”

Steve looked like a deer caught in headlights, his eyes wide and startled, and Natasha felt horrible for bringing it up, but they needed to know. If Hydra had brainwashed Barnes to the point that he was willing to hurt Steve of all people, they needed to prepare to deal with that.

“Before we get into that,” Peggy cut in, and Steve looked so relieved he might cry, until Peggy—delicate as ever—said, “The man upstairs… How sure are we that he is, in fact, Bucky Barnes?”

“I know,” Steve insisted passionately. “I would—I would know if it wasn’t him.”

“Steve,” Becky Barnes said. “We have to know for sure. What if he’s a clone or something?”

“He isn’t,” Loki said, suddenly appearing in their midst with a flash of bright green light. Clint shot off an arrow that passed right through the god without doing any damage whatsoever before Natasha had a chance to shoot him, and when she looked, everyone except Steve and Becky Barnes had drawn some sort of weapon and had it aimed at Loki.

The man barely even blinked. “Honestly, no need for those. I am here on behalf of Rebecca, and as long as I am under her command, I am of no danger to you.” Clint scoffed loudly and Natasha could see his and her own scepticism mirrored on several of the faces in the room.

“He owes her a life debt,” Steve piped in. “He’s telling the truth. She told him to protect Bucky so that’s what he’ll do.”

Loki grimaced in distaste but didn’t contradict Steve either.

Huh.

Nat eyed him. Interesting.

“How do you know it is Bucky Barnes?” she asked him cautiously. “You never met the man.”

“Because,” Loki drawled, gesturing towards Steve with a bored expression. “He is whole when he stands beside Barnes. It was a rare thing, you know, to see a man alive in lìkami and munr, absent hugr. Now that Barnes is beside him, his hugr is returned, and he is whole. Surely even you can see it.”

Natasha blinked.

She’d only understood about half of what Loki had said, and yet, she knew what he meant anyway. There was something different about Steve—she hadn’t noticed before, but… she had never noticed that he slumped his shoulders, before. She’d never quite noticed that he tried to make himself smaller, that he seemed dimmed, whereas now…

It was like he was lighter, like the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders.

“Okay,” Nat said, and though Clint and Tony both looked at her incredulously, she turned back to Steve. “Okay. So he’s really your Bucky Barnes. She gestured towards the documents still displayed on the holographic screen and said, gently, “Did you see him? Is that why you felt so horrible?”

Steve bit his lip harshly, and he seemed to shrink in on himself before he whispered, “I thought… I thought I was imagining it. Karen said it was normal, to see the people you’d lost, so I thought—I just thought I was going through something normal.”

Wanda rubbed her hand over Steve’s arm, and Pietro leaned against him, and Natasha felt almost bad for asking, but this was what they needed to know.

“He started whispering things,” Steve admitted in a small, trembling voice. “Played into the survivor’s guilt. He told me he was waiting for me, that… that I shouldn’t keep him waiting any longer, and that all the others were with him too, that my mam—”

He broke off abruptly and looked away, and Natasha diligently pretended she didn’t see him wipe away the small tears that had run down his cheeks.

“That’s enough,” Becky Barnes said. “Does that match what the file said?”

“Yes,” Natasha nodded. “Hydra used him against you. They knew who he was to you.”

Steve snorted a weak little laugh. “Well, at least they’re quicker on the uptake than the rest of the U.S. I’m pretty sure our relationship was the worst kept secret in the Army—I was so surprised people didn’t actually know when I woke up…”

Nat smiled a little.

“He is the Winter Soldier,” she said. “A ghost story.” Steve looked at her with those wide, baby blue eyes of his, reminding her distinctly of a confused puppy, and she huffed a sigh. “Most of the intelligence community doesn’t believe he exists. He’s credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years.”

Steve looked distinctly nauseated. “How—how do you know it’s him?” he stuttered. “If he’s a ghost story… How do you know that it’s him?”

She hesitated.

This would not be an easy thing to explain to Steve. Not, she thought, because he would react poorly or because he would not understand, but because she was sure it would break his heart.

“We have a history,” she finally said. “Five years ago, I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran, somebody shot out my tires near Odessa. We lost control, went straight over a cliff, I pulled us out, but the Winter Soldier was there. I was covering my engineer, so he shot him straight through me. Before that…” she stilled and looked down at her hands, feeling distinctly vulnerable and exposed. “…Before that he and I were in the Red Room together. They let him train us.”

She had been right.

Steve looked faintly green.

“Nicholas is pulling up everything S.H.I.E.L.D. has on the Winter Soldier,” Peggy Carter said primly, leaning forward a little. “But we need to decide if we want to keep this under wraps, and if so, how.”

“What do you mean?” Steve croaked, and Nat diligently pretended not to notice that his eyes were bloodshot and shiny.

Sharon huffed and shook her head. “Think, Steve. Use that big, strategic brain of yours. Barnes obviously wasn’t supposed to saveBecca, and he clearly wasn’t supposed to be discovered. We need to figure out how to handle the media angle if this gets out, and we need to know what to tell other letter agencies when they inevitably come knocking.”

“What we need to know is who was aware of Barnes’ real identity,” Natasha pointed out.

“Well, Brock knows,” Sharon bit out angrily, tossing the cotton ball she’d been using to disinfect her split lip and scraped chin in the little waste basket next to the table.

“We need more information before we can make any decisions,” Steve pointed out, and Natasha noted that he carefully didn’t reply to Sharon’s outburst. “We need to figure out who Brock was working for, why he took Becca, what he was trying to achieve, and how he got his hands on Bucky.”

“How did he survive?” Peggy Carter piped up. “You said he fell off a cliff—no normal person could’ve survived that fall.” She frowned. “Your report mentioned that specifically.”

Nat eyed Steve shrewdly. She didn’t think he would’ve left Barnes unless he was absolutely sure there was no way the man could’ve survived—and yet he had. Carter was right, they did need to know how Barnes had gone from dying at the bottom of a ravine to the most feared assassin of the 20th century.

“Zola,” Steve breathed, his eyes widening with horrified realization.

Natasha frowned in confusion, but Carter—senior—nodded in silent understanding. “Azzano,” she said slowly. “Barnes was experimented on.”

Steve nodded slowly. “They must’ve given him a version of the serum.”

“That would explain a lot,” Peggy Carter agreed, and Natasha nodded in agreement.

The man she’d known had been far too strong to be merely human, and now that Steve mentioned it, she remembered a few instances where the Soldier had been injured on a mission and had shrugged it off like it was nothing—his stoicism had been held as an example for her and the others, and they had fought long and hard to emulate it, but none of them had been quite capable of doing so.

The Soldier had been able to shrug off physical injury like it was nothing—like she had seen Steve do during their longer, more difficult battles.

The Soldier being enhanced too would make a lot of sense. The ultimate counter-weapon.

“Until we know more,” Peggy said slowly, “I think caution and discretion are our best friends. We should keep Barnes’ survival under wraps until we know more, either from him or from other sources.”

“I guess that’s as good a plan as any,” Clint agreed from his spot in the vents, and Natasha nodded while the others made consenting noises. Steve nodded curtly before he rose from his seat and said, stiffly, “I’m going back up. If there’s—if we hear anything more from Thor and Becca—”

“We’ll let you know,” Peggy Carter nodded with a patient smile. “Go see to Barnes, Steve.”

Steve nodded jerkily and stood, but Becky Barnes immediately burst, “I’m coming with you, Steven.”

“Cece, he’s just sleeping,” Steve said beseechingly, but it didn’t seem to deter the older woman, who got to her feet and wobbled over to Steve determinedly.

Natasha watched them, feeling oddly detached, as they disappeared into the elevator.

She kept staring after them for another moment before she dropped into the seat beside Sharon and picked up an abandoned swab to clean up the little streak of blood on her chin.

“Now,” she said as the others gathered around them. “Tell me everything that happened to you.”

------------

Fensalir, Valaskialf, Asgard5 April 2016 – 9:02 a.m. ((Earth UCT+1)

Thor

A hushed silence lay across the lush green gardens Thor’s father had once planted for his mother. A deep, mournful silence that draped across Thor’s shoulders like a well-worn cloak, almost as though the latent seiðr in the gardens sensed his downcast mood and acclimated itself to him.

He had always felt at home in these gardens.

Safe. Sheltered. Cherished.

His mother lingered in these gardens. Her touch, though distant, was what had given life to most of the things that bloomed in these fields, and he could feel her lingering, could feel her, however faintly, and took comfort in her presence.

He had long since lost track of how long he had been sitting in the gardens, his back pressed against the rough trunk of a tree with a base wider than he was tall. He clutched the looking glass that Eir had enchanted for him in one hand, casting furtive glances at it every few heartbeats, although the image remained unchanged since Eir had banished him from the infirmary.

In the end, he had only conceded because she had enchanted the mirror for him.

He’d not have left Becca’s side if he’d not been able to look in on her the entire time. Eir had propped up its twin beside the bed Becca slept in, so the looking glass always gave him an unobstructed view of her. He would be able to see when she started to stir, so he could be there when she opened her eyes.

So he could be the one to tell her that… to… he exhaled shakily and set the mirror down on the grass, rubbing both hands across his face.

Eir had confirmed what he had feared from the moment Becca had stumbled into his arms back on Earth. He’d not needed her to confirm it—he… he was a God of Fertility.

He had known, however instinctively, that Becca carried his child, and so he had also known that the life in her womb was no more, even before Eir had mournfully informed him that there was nothing more she could do. According to the healer, the men who’d kidnapped her had dosed with a kind of Midgardian drug to keep her compliant while they took her—a drug that had been entirely unsafe for the baby.

Coupled with the physical trauma she’d sustained…

There hadn’t been anything—there wasn’t anything they could do.

Thor felt oddly numb.

He’d thought, before, that he knew what grief was… that he knew what heartbreak was.

When Loki and his mother had been torn from him, he’d felt as though they had taken the very air that he breathed with them. For a long while, he had felt as though he had very little to live for anymore—and indeed, it seemed the very Norns themselves agreed with him, because the food he tried to consume thereafter tasted like ashes in his mouth and however much he drank, he was never able to satiate his thirst.

There had been a large part of his soul missing, but, in time, he had grown used to the constant ache and constant yearning to see them again.

He would have given anything for just one more hour with his mother, for one more chance to embrace Loki, but now… now he had Loki returned to him, but he had lost his firstborn, and he didn’t think it was a trade he would ever have considered.

Damn the Norns for ever treating his desperate pleas as true requests.

He found it difficult not to linger on… on what-ifs and should-haves. He had run over the events of the night a million times, had considered the many, many different ways he and the Avengers could have gone about rescuing Becca, had considered what forbidding Becca from doing the mission would have meant for their relationship…

There was little to be said and even less that he could do now.

Perhaps if he had not stalled, in the tower, if he had been out searching from the moment she had been taken—perhaps he’d have found her sooner.

It still would not have saved their child, but… perhaps they could have done more.

Perhaps he could have done more.

He should have done more.

He’d known Becca was… a little concerned about taking the mission, but that she’d had enough faith in Steve and the others to set those fears aside and take the mission anyway and that he probably should have insisted she defy the others, but he had believed Steve when they promised it was not, by far, a dangerous mission.

By all rights, it should not have been.

But it had been, and it had left his beautiful mortal in a broken, vulnerable state, and he was powerless. He’d not had much experience feeling thusly, and in this situation he had absolutely no idea how to handle the influx of feelings it brought.

He barely had any idea how to deal with the grief of losing their child. He did not know if he could cope with the knowledge that he could have prevented all of it too.

He both feared and anticipated the moment Becca should awaken, for he was sure she would agree.

Heimdal had told him his Midgardian friends were concerned about Rebecca, and that Loki—and Norns, he’d barely even begun to think about that—was still with them, keeping watch over the other man that had saved Becca—the man she had called Bucky.

Thor had been rather preoccupied at the time, of course, but he did vaguely recall the familiar hue to the man’s hugr. He wasn’t sure why Loki had accepted Becca’s orders as absolute, and he certainly didn’t know what to think of Loki’s decision to hide, to let Thor grieve him, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear it.

Thor did know that when the time came, he wished to hear the words directly from his brother.

But now… his glance strayed back to the looking glass, to where Rebecca lay, small and weak. He couldn’t deal with Loki now too—not while Becca was so weak and ill, not when he would have to tell her their child had passed when she woke…

Not when he did not know how to say the words aloud himself yet.

His eyes fell upon the looking glass again, and he noticed the slightest stir in Becca’s features. He had been sleeping beside her for the better part of four years—he knew her tells. She was waking up, and he needed to return to her side.

He reached out to touch the warm glass. “I’m here, Krúttið mitt. You’re in Asgard, you’re safe.”

He stood, very deliberately trying to shake off the melancholy that wrapped around him like a particularly constricting cape, and made his way back to the palace, walking through darkened hallways and deserted corridors, and praised the Norns for not putting anyone in his path right now.

He did not think he could stand having to speak to anyone right now.

The infirmary was, mercifully, also empty—save for Lady Eir, who eyed him meaningfully—and he was able to move into the sequestered alcove where Becca slept unhindered. He stared down at Becca and swallowed thickly, unable to stop himself from reaching out to touch her, to take her hand in his and to rest his other hand on her belly.

Their child still rested there under a spell of preservation, and would until Becca was strong enough to survive the birth.

He did not tear his eyes from her—from his brave, sweet, strong Midgardian—until he heard someone come up behind him. Sif’s warm, calloused hand fell onto his shoulder, and he looked up to find her looking at him with sadness in her eyes. “Have you slept at all?”

“No,” he admitted. “No, I don’t—I couldn’t. I can’t risk not being there when she wakes.”

Sif eyed him shrewdly before she sighed. “You need to sleep,” she insisted quietly. “And eat. Keep up your strength. You’ll need it.”

“For what?” he replied listlessly, eyes still locked on Becca’s still form. “For what, Sif?”

His eyes burned with unshed tears, and he found, not for the first time, that he couldn’t breathe. Becca was unconscious, in critical condition still, Loki was alive and his child—his baby—his firstborn—was dead. His father would probably be delighted.

“I should’ve…” He choked back a sob and shook his head. “I should’ve felt something. I should’ve noticed that something was wrong—I should never have let her go—”

“Thor,” Sif whispered, softly, brokenly, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t hear, he couldn’t stop—

“What good is being a god,” he cried, “if I cannot even protect my own child? My own kvàn.”

He barely heard Lady Sif’s hurried assurances, the empty platitudes meaningless. “It’s not your fault, Thor,” she insisted. “None of this is on you. You did everything—”

“Everything,” Thor repeated hollowly, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Everything in my power. And yet my child will never draw breath. Rebecca may never speak to me again. How am I supposed to…” He shrugged helplessly, and for all that he had been alive for fifteen hundred years, he had never felt more like a powerless child.

“How am I supposed to tell her? How am I supposed to tell her that—that our—that it’s just—”

“I don’t know,” Sif whispered. “I don’t know.”

She let him lean on her for a while, let him grieve and sob until he was… well, not better, but certainly more in control of his emotions. “I’ll need to go to Earth,” he croaked. “Tell our friends what happened.”

“I can do that,” Sif said kindly. “Rebecca will need you here. That is what you must be strong for. I’ll speak to your Midgardians.”

Thor looked up at his friend with an unimaginable amount relief. “Thank you.”

Sif patted his shoulder. “I know there is nothing I can say to ease your suffering, but this I can do.” She squeezed his shoulder again in support before she left, her footsteps echoing just a little in the empty space before the door fell shut behind her.

A part of him wanted to start crying again, wanted to break down and sob and rage and scream and raze the entirety of the villainous Hydra to the ground, burn it all until there was nothing but ashes left—but he could not go.

He could not leave Becca when she would need him.

He rubbed his thumb across her belly in an unconscious gesture he’d repeated a hundred times before, tears burning anew in his eyes. He would never get to sit upon his father’s throne with their child on his knee to claim her—for it was a girl, they’d have a daughter—as his own. He would never partake in the vatni ausinn with her, would not get to bestow the name he had chosen on her—would never get to see his daughter grow up.

He wouldn’t get to introduce his firstborn to their people and wouldn’t get to see Rebecca take on the role of a mother—one she had never let herself want before.

A role he knew she’d been looking forward to, even though it terrified her too.

Tears ran down his cheeks as he bent forward, resting his forehead against the curve of Becca’s belly. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, both to Becca and their daughter. “I’m so sorry I didn’t protect you.” He exhaled a shaky laugh and continued, “You surprised us—your mother and I—but I was so happy as well. I wish I could’ve met you, my bumbubúi. I wish I could’ve told you everything I planned, that I could’ve… could’ve taught you all the things I wanted to. I love you so much, bumbubúi and I’m so, so sorry that I couldn’t save you.”

Becca stirred again, and he pulled away, wiping a hand across his face to dry his tears before her nose crinkled as she turned her head into the pillow, huffing a tiny sigh. “—hor?”

“Yes, Krúttið mitt,” he whispered, lifting her hand to his lips. “I’m here.”

Her eyes weren’t quite open yet, and Thor was fairly certain she wasn’t quite awake, but her brow was furrowed, and Thor couldn’t resist the urge to smooth out the little wrinkle with his thumb. Becca huffed another sigh, but turned her face towards him nonetheless.

Thor smiled despite himself and pressed another kiss to her hand before squeezing it to his cheek, relishing in the warmth of her skin against his.

She woke slowly, gradually, and a slow, sweet smile tugged on her lips as her eyes fluttered open. “Thor,” she said again, her voice low and rough with disuse, and sweeter than anything he’d heard in hours—he hadn’t realized how afraid he had been of losing her as well, of never hearing her speak again, until she spoke again. “Hey.”

“Hi,” he said again. He pressed another kiss to her hand. “I love you. I love you so much.”

------------

Undisclosed Hydra Base, New York City, New York, United States of America

5 April, 2016 – 5:32 PM

Alexander Pierce

“You lost the Asset?”

Pierce made sure his voice was level, perfectly calm as he stared down the man that kneeled at his feet. Brock Rumlow looked distinctly worse for the wear, his face swollen and beaten—and Pierce wondered how many of those bruises had been put on the man’s face by the Asset and how many by the loyal men he had sent to retrieve their rogue agent.

“It’s not my fault,” Rumlow spat. “That bitch had magical fucking back-up! And how was I supposed to know that the Asset would break free?”

Pierce didn’t deign that with a response and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Was a little competence so much to ask?

He was tempted to shoot the man right then and there, because he had been far more trouble than he was worth and Pierce was disgusted with Rumlow’s impulsiveness and downright stupidity, but he refrained. Barnes would’ve known it was Rumlow who’d taken her, since the Asset had ripped off his mask, and even if she didn’t, there was fucking Carter to consider.

No, it’d be far more advantageous to him to arrange for Rumlow to perish at a more convenient time.

His death could be used to secure the Avengers’ gratitude.

“Throw him in the deepest, darkest cell we have,” he told Rollins, who stood just behind Brock, holding the man down on his knees with a heavy hand on his shoulder. “I’ll decide what to do with him later.”

Rollins nodded curtly, and he and two other men dragged Rumlow—who was still spitting inane justifications for the clusterfuck he had left Pierce with—out of his office. “Get me Zola,” he told a technician, who cowered in the corner. “Get me a direct connection to Lehigh. We need to coordinate this mess and control the narrative before it controls us.”

He pulled out his phone and dialled the number of the only person who might give him insight into what the Avengers knew—who might slip up and tell him if they had the Soldier.

“Nick,” he said concernedly as soon as Fury answered. “I just flew back in from L.A. and I heard about Barnes’s kidnapping. She’s been a tremendously loyal employee for us in the past decade—I want to help any way I can. Is there any news?”

To Be Continued

---------

Start from the beginning:

In Hell We Stand By You:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Never Feel Alone:

(1) (2)

Decisions:

(1)

Dancing with a Limp:

(1) (2)

Chances:

(1)

Starting Over:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Dancing in the Rain:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

Or read it HERE on AO3 :D

#dancing in the rain #ditr #ihwsby sequel #stucky #stucky fanfic #Steve rogers #Bucky Barnes #Thor #RebeccaBarnes #tw:miscarriage #tw: canon-typical violence #tw: gaslighting

2 notes · View notes

assembledherethevolunteers · 5 years

Text

Collisions and Confessions

A/N: Hi! This is my first reader fic and I hope you like it!

Summary: You and Pat have been dating for some time, but haven’t told anybody outside of Maz. Today, you’re playing each other in your baseball league.

Warnings: Cursing

You yawned loudly and poured yourself a cup of coffee in your kitchen on a bright Saturday morning. You felt a pair of large hands grasp your waist. You smiled as your boyfriend placed a kiss to your neck.

“Morning,” he muttered against your skin, his voice still rough with sleep.

“Good morning, love,” you placed a kiss to his ginger hair.

He hummed and buried his face in the crook of your neck. You giggled when he peppered your neck and collarbone with feather light kisses.

“You’re touchy-feely this morning.”

“I just want you to remember this me instead of the one that you’re going to see this afternoon.”

You smiled and rolled your eyes.

You’d had this day circled on your calendar all season. Today you were playing the D’Backs, AKA the team your boyfriend, Pat Murray, played on. Nobody on either team knew that you were dating, except Maz (since that’s how you two met). Not even your older brother Derek, who was on the Raiders with you.

“I’m sure you’re not THAT bad. Plus, we all get upset when we lose,” you joked.

Pat swatted at your butt and pulling away, got his own cup of coffee.

“Seriously though, I get…” Pat paused, trying to find the right word. “Loud. And some, including me, would say obnoxious.”

You set your coffee down and cup his face in your hands.

“Pat, it’ll be fine,” you kissed his nose.

He sighed.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The two of you made and ate breakfast before Pat left so he could get ready for the game.

“I’ll see you there,” Pat pressed his lips to yours one, two, three more times before he left.

You sighed against the door after he left your apartment. You usually didn’t have him stay over the night before game days, but last night you two had been watching a movie and…well, things had ended in the bedroom. At that point it was so late that it just made more sense for him to stay over.

You heard your brother honk outside a couple hours later. He was picking you up for your game. You grabbed your bag and walked down to get in Derek’s car.

“Hey, Y/N, ready?”

“Oh yeah, can’t wait,” you replied as your brother started driving towards the park.

“This team is actually pretty decent, so we’ll need to be on our A-game.”

“Oh yeah?” You smiled, a pride for your boyfriend’s team swelled in your chest. That was a high compliment coming from your brother.

“Yeah, they’ve got John Mazzello, he’s damn good. And then there’s Ryan Palacco, and if he actually plays, we’ll really be in trouble. And then there’s Ty…”

Your brother kept talking about the players, not knowing that you already knew all these people. Well, of them at least. You knew their stats almost as well as your own team’s. You and Pat had a tendency to come over to each other’s apartments and cuddle and talk about the games (“I couldn’t BUY a fucking hit!” “I’m sorry, babe”).

You pulled into the parking lot of the field and got out as your brother finished talking about his game plan. He was the co-captain along with Nick, who was already in the dugout.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“What’s up, Nick?”

“Ready for some baseball!”

“Hell yeah!” The two of you high-fived. Derek rolled his eyes.

“We’re going to start you off in the one spot and you’ll be playing left,” Nick said with a slight grimace.

You groaned. You much preferred being in centerfield, but if you were playing left, that meant…

“It’s time for Peaty to pitch again, huh?” Derek sighed.

“Yup!”

You started to pull your cleats on when you heard a familiar voice.

“Y/N!”

You looked up and smiled at Maz.

“Hey, Maz.”

“Whoa! You two know each other?”

“Yeah, we both…”

“Teach at St. James,” you and your brother said at the same time.

“How did I not put that together?” Derek shook his head. It was common knowledge that Maz had turned the baseball program at St. James High School around since he’d become the coach three years ago.

You and Maz laughed.

“I just wanted to come over and wish you luck,” Maz winked and then jogged back over to Pat, who was standing outside the dugout, stretching against the fence.

You and Pat locked eyes and you turned away before you gave anything away.

“Are you dating him?”

Your head snapped to look at your brother.

“Who?”

“John Mazzello! You got super blushy and he winked at you!”

You rolled your eyes. Glad your brother was wrong.

“No, Derek, we’re good friends. We have the same free period, so we usually hang out in the teacher’s lounge a lot and talk baseball.”

“Sure,” was all your brother said as he glared over at the D’Backs’ dugout. He was the number one reason that you and Pat hadn’t told people you were dating. Derek was ridiculously protective of you, especially since you were the only woman in the league. Most of the guys didn’t care, but some of them would make comments, or try to touch you in some way. You could handle yourself, but older brothers were older brothers.

The rest of your team started showing up and a few of you went out to the outfield to stretch. You saw Pat and who you were pretty sure was Ryan Pollaco playing catch.

You turned your back to them, spread your legs, and bent down towards the ground to stretch your inner thighs.

“OW! FUCK!” You heard a British voice yell.

“KEEP YOUR EYE ON THE FUCKING BALL, POLLACO!” Pat shouted.

“I got distracted, you lunatic!”

“Quit checking her out!”

You looked over and saw Pollaco rubbing his chest. Pat still had his back to you, but you could tell he was fuming.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” The blonde flipped off Pat and walked into their dugout.

The rest of the warmups went on without incident, but your brother at Pat wore matching murderous glares, even if they didn’t know it.

The umpires called for captains and Nick and Derek jogged to the batting boxes. You saw a tall, bigger guy that you were pretty sure was their power-hitter, Ty Delamonica. There was another man standing next to him that you weren’t sure who he was. Maybe Dells, the pitcher? Lastly, there was a shorter guy that you knew was Garvey, the catcher.

You watched as they all talked and shook hands. The umpire clapped his hands together and they all broke apart. Nick and Derek came back to the dugout.

“Y/N!” Nick yelled. “Get your helmet on!” Nick ran through the lineup quickly as you put on your helmet and batting gloves. You walked out and timed your practice swings with Dells’ pitches.

“Ready, Y/N/N?” Derek asked as he slowly swung his bat.

“Always,” you gave him a smile and then walked over to the batter’s box. You looked over at Nick in the coach’s box at third base. He gave you the sign for bunt.

You smiled, looking at the infielders playing far back. Maz must’ve given them a scouting report. You settled into the box with your routine. You looked at Dells and smirked. They had no idea what was coming. You watched the ball get released and then squared to bunt.

“FUCK!” you heard from Ty.

You laid it down the first baseline and took off running. You hit the base and then the ball hit the glove. Yes!

“WHO BUNTS IN A SUMMER LEAUGE?!” You heard from the DBacks’ dugout.

“Somebody who listens to their coach, Barone!” Ty snapped as he ran back to his position.

“You’re not the coach, Ty!” Barone called back.

“Nice job,” the first basemen gave you a smile. He was older than pretty much everybody else on the field. He must be Fotch.

“Thanks,” you smiled back. From what Pat had told you, you liked Fotch.

“Come on, Pads!” You yelled to the next batter.

He hit a deep fly ball to centerfield. You lead off the base as much as you dared, hoping both that Pat would drop it and catch it. He caught it and you went back to first, muttering under your breath.

“Let’s go, D!” You yelled at your brother.

Derek took the first two pitches, one ball and one strike. He connected with the third pitch and, when you saw it was on the ground, you took off running. You saw Ty bobble the ball for a moment, then decided to throw it to first. You were safe, but Derek was out.

You snuck a glance back at Pat in centerfield and saw him give you a small smile. You smirked and spread your legs, almost straddling the base and stuck your ass out a little bit more. You knew how great you looked in your baseball pants. Anybody else looking would think that you were just trying to get a good leadoff, but you knew Pat was looking.

“STRIKE THREE!” The umpire yelled.

“Shit,” you said as the DBacks started to run in. Pat ran past you and quickly pinched your butt where nobody could see.

You yelped and stared at him for a moment before running back to your dugout.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked, handing you your glove.

“Yeah! Sorry, I thought there was a spider on my cleat,” you said, the first thing that came to your mind.

Derek didn’t look like he believed it, but you all ran out to your positions. Peaty took the mound and you sighed. Peaty was a great guy and to be honest, a decent pitcher, but he didn’t have a lot of speed. Which is why you were in left field. You were one of the fastest people on the team and most of the balls that were hit, were hit to the left side of the field.

The first two batters, Maz and Barone, got on. Ty was up now and you took a couple steps back, not wanting the ball to get in front of you.

The ball cracked against the bat and you saw it soar towards you. You caught it and quickly threw it in, knowing Maz would try to tag up and get to third. Maz knew you had an arm though and didn’t even try it.

“Nice catch, Y/N!” Peaty yelled.

Nobody scored.

Pat came up in the second inning and struck out, watching the third strike go by. You thought he seemed calm enough until he screamed and threw his bat against the dugout fence. You flinched, more for the bat than anything.

As you ran by the DBacks’ dugout, you could’ve sworn you heard Pollaco and Barone arguing about ‘getting her number’. Last you knew, Barone had a girlfriend.

“Will you all shut the fuck up?!” Pat yelled.

“Well somebody isn’t going to win the bench bet,” somebody responded.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, DAVID!”

You chuckled to yourself.

“Seems you’re making an impression on them,” Derek’s eyes narrowed as he put his helmet on.

“Oh stop,” you rolled your eyes. “You’re not going to do anything.”

“If any of them lay a hand on you…”

“Alright, Derek.”

The game started moving faster. You’d never seen Pat play before, but damn, did he yell. A lot. It was actually kind of funny because you’d never seen that side of him.

“Catch the damn ball, Vinnie!” “TY! Cover the FUCKING BASE!”

You couldn’t help but watch him as the game went on (and maybe it had something to do with the way he looked in his uniform).

You walked your second time up and got to second on a pass ball.

“So Y/N,” Zapata, the second baseman, said to you as Garvey and Dells were talking on the mound. “Doing anything later?”

“Actually yeah, I got plans,” you gave him a smile and could practically feel Pat’s eyes boring into both of you.

“Psh, blow ‘em off. We’re…”

“ZAPATA! PAY ATTENTION TO THE FUCKING GAME!”

Zapata frowned back at Pat but didn’t say anything before looking back at you.

“Sorry, HE CAN BE SO RUDE!” Zapata called over his shoulder towards center.

“I’ll show you fucking rude!” Pat started to make his way in, but Maz interfered.

“Murray! Get your ass back in position! We’re ready to go!” He nodded at Garvey jogging back to home plate.

“This isn’t over, Zapata!” Pat stomped back to place.

You met Maz’s eyes and you two smirked.

The next pitch was hit to right field, but over Vinnie’s head and you started running.

“GO GO GO!” Nick waved you home.

“Up easy, up easy,” The umpire told you as you crossed home plate.

You turned and watched as Vinnie threw the ball and Pads got thrown out at second.

“FUCK!” You yelled as the DBacks started running in.

Garvey chuckled.

“You’d get along with our centerfielder,” he muttered.

You bit your bottom lip to keep a smile from your face.

At least you scored.

The next half inning, the DBacks didn’t score.

Soon, it was the final inning and your team was winning.

You watched as your teammates hit one to Zapata (out) and one to Maz (line-drive, caught). The last person up hit a pop up between right and center field. You heard both Vinnie and Pat call each other off. You knew what was going to happen before it did.

Vinnie caught the ball, but they collided, and Pat bounced to the ground.

“PATRICK!” You ran out to centerfield. You heard people yelling at you, but you didn’t care. You kneeled next to him. His eyes were open, but he seemed dazed and his eyes weren’t focused. “Pat, baby? Are you okay?” You placed your hands on his cheeks, trying to get him to look at you.

He blinked his hazel eyes a couple times and then focused on you. He smiled and took a deep breath.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay, just got the wind knocked out of me.”

“Oh, thank God,” You leaned down and kissed him, just happy that he was okay.

You heard people yell again, including your brother. You still didn’t care.

“I’m okay too, by the way!” Vinnie called at both of you.

“Um…whenever you two are done, we’ve got a game to finish,” Maz’s voice was above the two of you and made you break apart. You didn’t move your eyes from Pat.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You asked.

Pat nodded and gave you a small smile.

“Does this mean Murray won the bench bet!?”

“I think, David, this means that Murray won the bench bet before there even was a bench bet.”

“Babe, I…I need to go in. I’m up first.”

“Right!” You stood up and helped him up too.

The DBacks started to run in, but then you saw Derek start stomping over.

“Shit,” you muttered. You chased after your brother.

“What the fuck?!” Derek yelled at Pat.

“Whoa whoa,” Maz got between your brother and Pat. “Hey, man, calm down.”

“CALM DOWN?! This guy is making out with my sister in center field and you’re telling me to calm down?!”

“Jesus, Derek, stop it!” You stood next to Maz. “He’s my boyfriend, not just some guy!”

Derek’s eyes met yours and they softened for a moment.

“You have a boyfriend and you didn’t tell me?!”

“No! Because you’d act like an idiot!”

Derek opened his mouth to try and argue, but you cut him off.

“I’m serious, Derek. You do this every time I try to date somebody. I’m in my twenties, I can handle myself,” you reached out and took one of your brother’s hands.

“Um…I hate to interrupt whatever is going on here, but we’ve got another half inning to play,” the umpire came over to see what was going on.

Derek pointed at Pat with his free hand.

“This isn’t over, and we will talk after the game.”

You heard Pat’s teeth snap together.

“Great, can we finish this now?” The umpire’s tone was annoyed.

You turned back to Pat and placed a kiss on his cheek.

“Any advice?” He asked, eyeing Derek as he walked back to the dugout.

You and Maz replied at the same time.

“Get a hit.”

“Thanks.”

You laughed and then jogged over to Derek who was holding your glove.

“I’m serious,” he started. “You, me, and him are going to have a talk after this game.”

“Fine, Derek. Can we finish the game now?”

“Are we ready?!” The umpire yelled as everybody got into position. He made a circle with his finger. “PLAY BALL!”

Pat came up to the plate, and you still were pretty sure that he was a bit dazed. His teammates were yelling for him. You wanted to yell too, but your competitive side was a little too aggressive for that.

Pat connected with the ball and it actually made it through the gap between first and second base. You had to bite your lip to keep from cheering for him.

“YES!” You heard Pat yell from first base.

“Way to go , Murray!”

“NICE JOB, PAT!”

You were beaming. As much as you wanted to win, you knew how much getting a hit meant to Pat.

Vinnie struck out, watching the third strike go by, much to Pat’s loud chagrin.

“SHITTY CALL, BLUE!”

The umpire took his mask off and pointed at Pat.

“Watch it, son!”

“Murray! Shut up for once!” Ty yelled from the coach’s box on third.

Pat was still grumbling and kicked some dirt when he went back to the base.

Garvey was up next. He hit a ground ball to Nick at shortstop. Nick threw the ball the second, getting Pat out, and then Pads at second, threw it to Derek at first, getting Garvey out. A double play. The game was over.

Pat threw his helmet on the ground.

“FUCK!”

Your team ran in and as you did, you picked up Pat’s helmet that was still in the base path. When his eyes met yours, his softened and he sighed.

“Thank you,” he took his helmet from you. He looked upset, even though he got a hit.

You leaned up and kissed his cheek. It was slightly dirty and sweaty, but it didn’t bother you.

“Please don’t make out here on the field again,” Maz said behind you. You turned to look at him.

“Can I help you, Johnathan?”

“Oooh, full naming me, huh? I just wanted to ask you if you and anybody from your team wanted to join us for a drink? We’re going to Sledge’s.”

Your eyebrows shot up and you looked around him to look at the DBacks’ dugout.

“Really? You guys want me to come?”

“Oh, hell yeah!” Dells smiled. “We all want to hear how in the world you put up…”

“Y/N!” Derek’s voice carried across the field. “Bring your boyfriend over here!”

You rolled your eyes then looked at Maz.

“I’ll get you an answer in a minute,” You took Pat’s hand and pulled him towards your dugout.

“No, Y/N,” Pat muttered. “Your brother is going to kill me!”

“He’s not going to kill you,” you paused and thought about it. “Well, he won’t kill you a lot.”

Pat gave you a small laugh.

“How does somebody kill somebody a little?”

“You’ll see,” was all you said back before you stopped in front of Derek. You gave him a huge smile. “Hello, brother mine.”

Derek wasn’t looking at you. He had his eyes locked on Pat.

“Oh!” You feigned forgetfulness. “This is Pat,” you moved so that Pat could step in front of you. “My boyfriend. Pat, this is my brother Derek.”

Pat hesitantly stepped forward and extended his hand.

“Hi, Y/N has told me a lot about you.”

Derek took his hand and shook it for a moment before letting it go and crossing his arms.

“Wish I could say the same,” Derek frowned. “How long have you been dating my sister?”

“Um…f…four months.”

Derek’s glare turned to you.

“Four months? You’ve been dating this guy for four months and haven’t said anything?”

“No, because you tend to scare my boyfriends away and I figured that if you knew I was dating somebody on another team it would be even worse.”

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Yes, after baseball season. You also get so worked up…”

Derek scoffed as his eyes flickered to Pat and then back to you.

“…so I told Pat it would be better if we waited. He wanted to tell everybody right away.”

Derek’s eyes softened, then he looked at Pat.

“You did?”

“Well, yeah. I mean…who wouldn’t want to shout from the rooftops that they’re dating somebody like Y/N?”

You felt a rush of affection for Pat. “You’re in love with him” a voice in your head shouted, and you knew it was true.

You stepped closer and wrapped your arms around Pat’s waist. He wrapped one arm around your shoulders, not breaking eye contact with Derek.

“D, please be happy for me.”

Derek looked at you and sighed.

“Of course, I’m happy for you! I just wish you would’ve told me. Maybe we can go for a drink…”

“Oh!” You looked to your teammates who were watching the whole interaction (not even pretending they weren’t. In their defense, neither were the DBacks). “Do you guys want to go to Sledge’s with the DBacks?”

Some of your teammates said they would go so you yelled over to Maz that some would be going.

“Great! We’ll see you there!” You heard one of the DBacks yell back at you.

“Do you want to ride with us?” Derek had his arms at his sides now. His face had lost all of the hardness he’d been wearing since you had run out to centerfield.

Pat’s nervous look faded from his face and he slowly smiled.

“Yeah, I um…I’ll just go tell Maz really quick.” Pat placed a kiss to your forehead, almost subconsciously, before turning and jogging back to his friend. The two of them started talking in low tones.

“You know I’m going to tell him the story about you jumping on the bed after lights out and then you fell out of your bed and broke your arm, right?”

You groaned. Maybe introducing Pat and Derek wasn’t a good idea after all.

#pat murray #pat murray fic #pat murrayxreader #joe mazzello #joe mazello x reader #bohemian rhapsody #undrafted

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tysonrunningfox · 5 years

Text

Ripped: Part 16

Ao3

“People who do this don’t look at pictures of it like that.”

The plain-faced supposition of Hiccup’s innocence in Eretson’s office after Dave’s murder flashed back into Hiccup’s mind the second that Grisly saw Tuffnut. Hiccup had looked at those crime scene photos with a shivering, pale-faced feeling of dread, something more instinctive and paralyzing than fear. With a slow spreading numbness in the center of his brain, somewhere between clinical detachment and an abstract refusal to accept the reality of the gore.

But when Grisly saw Tuffnut and smiled like he was imagining a duplication of the horrible scene in the alley, Hiccup wondered instantly if that’s what Eretson meant. What if people who murder and mutilate their victims look at the pictures like Grisly stared down Tuffnut? More than predatory. Not a hungry lion but a bored housecat holding a trapped mouse by the end of its tail.

Astrid’s right, it’s a basket of leaps, but leaps based on a gut feeling that gets deeper the longer that Hiccup tries to shake it off.

He knows that theories are supposed to be based on facts, and he tries, really, but usually his theories are based on flippant comments that connect two things with a random click. A joke that amounts to pulling two random puzzle pieces out of a thousand-piece box and finding a mysterious miracle fit. The first click is enough to make him curious and that’s when he shifts to more systemic tactics, looking for corners and edges and working inward with obvious patterns until a picture starts to form.

Johann’s ads got huge, so he must have been making money, and in comparing the dates of his biggest ads to the dates of the murders, a blurry but cohesive picture emerged. It’s eternally unfinished though, a puzzle in an elementary school library, some pieces pocketed and some chewed up and hidden away or just plain lost.

All the pieces of this puzzle are still here though, it’s only three quarters unwrapped, and Hiccup happened to slip two miracle pieces out of the side of the box. Grisly looks at people like he knows what’s under their skin, but wants to visually confirm. And as Eretson glared over Hiccup’s shoulder out that bulletproof window, the corners started to take shape.

Grisly wedges himself where he doesn’t belong. Grisly works for the condos that do the same, muddling the character of Downtown Berk into something new and clean that just doesn’t fit. Grisly hired Heather, who enhances unfinished puzzles from cryptid pictures of a real solution to high definition snapshots, like a thesaurus fueled scientist on CSI.

He doesn’t want it to take shape, necessarily, but at the same time he can’t stop dwelling on it, finding grains of fact in the space of it. Pieces craving one or two matches attach to the bigger, truth shaped possibility. And with Snotlout stuck on traffic duty, Hiccup can’t go research at the station without looking more suspicious. But then again, a few sepia toned pixels from a half-ruined older version of similar events might provide insight to the shape emerging from cool alleyway fog.

That’s half the reason he goes to the archives two days after finding Gruffnut’s body. He never spent that much time on the Elizabeth Smith murder, probably because no one questions a beginning. Well, no one but Astrid, with her theory that her apartment isn’t involved at all, rewriting the root of the narration in an attempt to distance herself from it.

He wishes that tactic was working better for her.

The other half of his reason for visiting ticks up to an easy seventy five percent when he’s halfway down the stairs and hears Astrid’s voice, hovering just past the cusp of irritated above the sound of rustling papers.

“…being ridiculous, Fish,” she snaps, setting something heavy down on what Hiccup assumes is her desk.

“I’m no Grimborn-ologist—”

“Not what it sounds like.”

“It’s simple pattern recognition,” Fishlegs’s arms are crossed when Hiccup comes around the corner, and Astrid is elbow deep in a dusty box of paper scraps, a brown smear across her scowling eyebrow. “All I’m saying is that there’s reason to believe there will be a murder at your apartment in the next week and a half, and I have a guest room—”

“You’re looking for somewhere to stay?” Hiccup blurts and they both turn to look at him. Astrid tries to wipe the streak of dirt off of her forehead and leaves a larger smudge behind and Fishlegs sighs heavily through flaring nostrils, moustache barely budging in the breeze.

“She’s not looking, she has one.”

“I’m not looking because I don’t need one,” Astrid corrects him, going back to sorting through her box, “what are you doing here?” The question starts out harsh and ends flat, but she shoots him a genuinely curious look and he shrugs.

“I was hoping to do some research,” he says cautiously, edging a step closer to her desk to try and see what she’s looking at. “And maybe see you, if that’s ok?”

“I don’t know, have you done your taxes?” Fishlegs rolls his eyes.

“I didn’t realize I needed to pay taxes to talk to Astrid,” Hiccup tries to drag a laugh out of the room, but it doesn’t work, the air as stale and tense as the centuries old contentions in the papers around them. “If so, is there a special form? Or a student loan balance exemption—”

“What are you looking for?” Astrid abruptly pulls her hands out of the box, wiping dusty handprints on her jeans and gesturing back at the stacks.

“I was going to umm,” he thinks briefly about lying, given the conversation he walked in on, but thinks better of it with her paralyzing blue eyes staring straight through him. “I was going to brush up on that first Elizabeth Smith article, actually.”

“Sure,” she waves him along after her and he follows down an unfamiliar, narrow catalog of books to the left and through a door into a dingy back room full of boxes.

“It smells like my dead great aunt’s attic in here,” he comments, running his finger over a dusty letter box that threatens to crumble under the gentle touch.

“Maybe she donated something,” Astrid stacks two dirty boxes on top of each other and wipes down a table with a dust cloth. “This is the new arrivals room, but Fishlegs said if I shuffled things around, I could make it the Grimborn room. I already moved some of the Grimborn things in here after I caught people trying to sneak out with them in their coats.” She picks up a carefully folded but newly wrinkled newspaper and sets it down on the clean section of table, “Elizabeth Smith paper, have at it.”

Then, with a casually familiar but all too brief pat on his shoulder, she walks back towards the door.

“Wait,” he turns around and she stops, looking at him expectantly, “I was kidding about using you as a tax loophole, I actually did come to see you.”

“I know, but I’m working,” her lips twitch into a small but sincere smile as she shrugs and leaves the room and he can’t help but remember her kissing him goodbye after their date. He wanted to walk her home, but it felt like bad luck, just more time to peek into alleys and have another moment ruined. He got the feeling she silently agreed and they both ended up calling rides, much to Snotlout’s instant disappointment.

And Hiccup’s slightly delayed disappointment.

It was the first time their dare-he-say romantic interaction didn’t get smothered by a new murder discovery or accusation in the next twenty-four hours. No, this time there have been no tours full of prying questions or alleys full of gore or faces full of suspicion, just empty hours to think about Astrid.

One time he stopped responding to a girl after three unremarkable but overall decent dates after she mentioned being the fifth wheel on a ski trip with two of her coupled up friends. It was June. Just the thought of tying himself to a potential weekend months in the future with a girl he barely knew made him back off, even though she’d tagged along on a tour and handled meeting Snotlout with a surprising amount of grace.

On a first date with Astrid, he offered to be her date to a family wedding at some point far in the future.

He tried to pawn it off on the fact that Eretson spent their entire interview looking at him like a perfectly healthy dog abandoned at a high kill shelter for being ugly, but being a more-than-potential murder suspect isn’t affecting his decision making as much as it probably should. The fact of the matter is when Astrid started yelling theories down at him from her window, she did what he’d always banked on being impossible. She made learning about the past make him think about the future. She gave him something to look forward to, to depend on. And then she had to take over his tour with an impossible picture and kiss him surrounded by history and anchor him again and again when things kept turning for the worst.

For the first time in five years, he’s desperate for forward motion. And more than that forward motion towards something. Someone. Even scarier, with someone.

“Finding anything?” Astrid’s voice breaks his concentration and he blinks twice at the paper he hasn’t even started to read.

“What?” He shakes his head, watching her set down another heavy looking box and start digging through it.

“I asked if you were finding anything,” she smiles at him, a fond minimal smile he definitely hasn’t done anything to deserve, “sorry to break your deep concentration.”

“No, you’re good, I wasn’t concentrating on the right thing anyway.” He laughs and it feels more like a lie when she nods bemused and turns to leave, “or I mean I was, actually, concentrating on something more important than reading this old thing again.” He smacks his knuckles on the edge of the table when he gestures at the paper and she raises an eyebrow. “Can I help? It looks like you’re sorting through things, I could help with that.”

“I thought you were here to research.”

“I’ve got nothing but time,” he shrugs, “unless you don’t trust me not to pocket any of this delightfully dusty paper.”

“I trust you,” she says it like it’s a phrase in a foreign language she’s just learning, “I just found all these boxes under that table where we were displaying some of the Enquirer correspondence, I have no idea what’s in them.”

“Have you informed Area Fifty-One that you’re on the cusp of a big discovery?” He asks seriously as she opens the box and she elbows him a little harder than necessary on the way to set the old lid down. “Ok, I get it, don’t diss the Enquirer, you don’t have to break a rib.”

“You know how I feel about the Enquirer,” she teases, voice dipping, and Hiccup’s heart jumps in his throat remembering his too big hat on her head and how fiercely beautiful she is when she’s trying to convince him that she’s right.

“Right, it’s the clandestine shrine to the preservation of the everyman’s most rationally thought out theories about their place in the universe,” he talks too fast, like always, but Astrid keeps up, narrowing her eyes and shoving a heavy manila folder at his chest. He promptly nearly drops it, barely saving a scrap of paper from drifting out the bottom. “This could be a priceless piece of history—”

“I’m working,” she turns back to the box and squints to decipher a handwritten date at the top of a page of notes. “Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Flirting.” The red on her cheeks is more obvious when she holds another clipping up to the light and pointedly avoids his eyeline.

“What? I’m not flirting,” he relishes in even the tiniest second that he has her unbalanced. And it’s true, he didn’t think he was flirting, he was talking about the Berk Enquirer, that’s not flirting.

Maybe Astrid thinks that’s flirting.

“I’m working,” she repeats and Hiccup turns around to lean back against the table, studying her like she’s studying an old dusty letter.

“I can see that.” He cocks his head at her and she spares him a glare, the heat rising further in her cheeks when he doesn’t flinch.

She has a face made for smiling but she holds it like she resents even the implication of that decision being made for her. Maybe it’s because she knows he’s watching her, but the line of her jaw is tense, working quietly as she knits her brows together and sounds out an unfamiliar word to herself. She’s all contrast, upright spine in a comfortable sweatshirt, hair in front of her ears escaping a neat ponytail, fundamentally kind eyes bristling at his persistent attention.

“I thought you were going to help,” she breaks, setting the letter down gently with frustrated hands.

“Am I qualified to sort through the Enquirer?” He touches a folded paper in the box, using false reverence as an excuse to step closer. “Or can you point me to some sort of bullshit subtext interpretation certification?” He takes a notebook out of the box and starts skimming through it, carefully avoiding disturbing a century old folded corner on a page. “Some kind of supply manifesto? Doesn’t look like a big ship, maybe a private merchant?”

“On second thought, I don’t need your help,” she takes the notebook from him, dusty fingers grazing over his hand. Her eyes flick to his lips, almost a glare, and it would be funnier if it didn’t make the dingy room feel so much warmer.

“Sorry,” he says even though he isn’t, backing up a step and giving her what he hopes is an at least half-convincing apologetic smile, “I didn’t believe that you actually considered making fun of the Enquirer to be flirting. I had to check.”

“That’s not—what is your thing with visiting me at work anyway?” She huffs, sorting things into nonsense piles without reading them.

“You visit me at my work every night.”

“That’s because you bring your work to my apartment,” she says slowly like she’s disappointed she has to explain something so obvious to him.

“Here I was feeling flattered,” he shakes his head, letting her get back to reading before continuing, “I do have a reason to visit you though. I’m worried that too much time with Fishlegs might bring you to his side of the historic copier blood feud we have going on.”

She snorts, “so you came to annoy so much it shoves me in that direction, ok.”

“I was just thinking that it absolutely doesn’t bode well for me if you’re staying with him while,” he pauses, trying to think of a half-decent way to say this, “you know, your apartment is…while you’re waiting to see if—”

“If there’s a fourth murder,” she stands up straight and dares him to argue with her, “I’m not scared, or even if I am, I’m not going to run just because Fishlegs thinks I can’t take care of myself.”

“Who said anything about running?” Hiccup gestures at himself, “all I’m saying is that I know what it’s like to be constantly inconvenienced by where these murders keep happening. It makes sense to umm, lean on someone who gets that unique complication, I think. So if you need some place to stay because Eretson’s creeping you out by glowering at the chalk outline on your living room floor all day, I get that.” He waits for her to respond but she’s just staring at him, apparently confused, all of that righteous anger fading into something tired that makes him want to hug her. “I don’t have a fancy guest room with all the…I don’t know, little soaps and stuff that Fishlegs probably has but—” He yelps when she punches his arm, “what—”

“I said stop flirting with me while I’m working,” she tucks her hair behind her ear, “and inviting me to stay with you when you don’t have an extra bed is definitely flirting, you don’t need to double check that one.”

“Oh, I didn’t—I can see how you—not that I don’t want, I mean, I’ve finally had a little time away from murder to clear my head and you’re so—”

“Then what did you mean?” She asks the right question, bouncing him back to the root of the issue even as he’s still trying to swallow his foot.

“I don’t like the idea of you being involved in whatever’s going on more than you already are.” He reaches for her hand and she lets him, her stubborn expression falling slightly, “I hate feeling like I’ve involved you in this, I hate that you have to be my alibi, I—if anything else is going to happen, I want both of us, but you especially, to be far away from it.”

“I don’t think you have much say in how involved you are,” she says quietly and he hates that his heart stutters when he realizes that she’s worried about him. It shouldn’t make him happy, especially when he’s saying how much he hates that she’s involved, but it does anyway.

“That’s fair, given how this has gone so far, but digging a foxhole and hunkering down in your particular apartment right now doesn’t seem like a way to disentangle either of us.” He squeezes her hand and while she doesn’t back down, she seems to remember that it’s a thing she could be capable of, with much conscious effort and determination. “Plus, I was going to offer you Snotlout’s bed, I thought you’d really appreciate all of the Patriots posters and the signed football in a glass case—”

“No,” she laughs, shaking her head, “absolutely not.”

“Framed tickets from some big game—”

“Over my dead body.”

00000

“Gruff’s is open?” Snotlout sits bolt upright on the couch, jerking Hiccup out of his book. Viggo Grimborn Solved: The Admiral Haddock Connection is even better after Astrid returned it with comments, mostly half coherent swearing about how stupid it is on little blue sticky notes, because she wouldn’t write in any book, even one she thinks is this stupid.

“I can think of one really big reason that’s not possible,” Hiccup hunkers down further in his father’s chair, carefully holding a sticky note aside to read the words underneath it.

“Just got a text from Johnson, they just broke up a fight there, it’s totally open.”

“I don’t see how Gruff’s could be open, dude.” He’s halfway through a sentence when Snotlout snatches the book and grabs his wrist, yanking him unwilling and stumbling to his feet. “Give that back—”

“Astrid’s…not even dirty notes,” he wrinkles his nose in disgust, “will be here when we get back.”

“My back’s killing me, I don’t want to walk all the way down to Gruff’s just to find it predictably closed, as usually happens when bar owners are murdered.”

“Then get an Uber,” Snotlout is undeterred, tossing Hiccup’s shoes at him, “unless you spent all the money you made with those big-ass tours on some lame book or something.”

“I don’t know when I’ll be able to start tours again, this money might have to last a while.” Hiccup is glad that the original floor plan of 324 Harbor Road he ordered yesterday hasn’t arrived yet, even though it only looks expensive because it’s old paper. In reality, finding something that specific and having it shipped overnight would usually cost way more than the couple hundred dollars he spent on it.

“You could get a normal job—”

“Fine, I’ll come look at the locked front door of Gruff’s with you,” he starts putting on his shoes, “just leave the concept of a job out of it.”

So Hiccup hasn’t been having the easiest time of it lately and he spent some time trying to find the shift between his original holding pattern and the quick descending chaos of the last couple months. His mind immediately jumps to Astrid and her toothbrush and the midnight tour that entangled them in something bigger and more horrible than he could have imagined, but if he thinks a little deeper, his trouble started way before her.

Hiccup’s life took a turn for the dismal when Snotlout started having frequent opportunities to say ‘I told you so’.

Gruff’s is definitely open. If anything, it has more than its usual crowd and Hiccup spots a few people in Ripped Tavern shirts around a booth when they first step inside. Of course, Gruffnut’s murder would have caused a real increase in a certain kind of business, but as seedy as he was, Hiccup can’t see how he would have managed to take advantage of it.

When they finally make it through the crowd, there’s a split second where Hiccup thinks that Gruffnut has miraculously done exactly that, but then the doppelganger behind the bar tries to twirl a bottle like Tom Cruise and when it shatters on the floor, he breaks into an unmistakably authentic grin. In years of coming here, Hiccup never saw Gruffnut smile.

“If this is your bar, that’s your gin you just threw on the floor, idiot,” Ruffnut is leaning on the bar and pleading with who Hiccup obviously must accept is her brother, even though it’s still really creepy.

“I’ll get the hang of it,” Tuffnut assures, picking up another bottle and starting to throw it.

“If you’re just going to smash that, can I have it?” Snotlout tries, sliding onto a stool beside Ruffnut and holding out his hand.

“No,” Ruffnut chastises him, “at least pay for it.”

“Here you go,” Tuffnut sets it on the counter with a couple of shot glasses, “it’s on the house. I’ve always wanted to say that. I don’t know who calls a bar a house though, that’s never made sense to me, you can’t live in a bar.”

“That means that the business is eating the cost of the drink,” Ruff groans, but she doesn’t think twice about accepting a shot from Snotlout.

“Good, down with the business.” Tuffnut pours himself a shot out of the bottle and clinks it with Snotlout’s, “and the man and the establishment and—”

“Tuff, you are the business. That’s your money now.” Ruffnut points to an official looking piece of paper that was recently on the bad end of an attempted bartending trick involving blue curacao. “You have to sell this place.”

“Sell?” Hiccup sits down, leaning on the bar to relieve the aggravated ache in his lower back. Just leaning doesn’t do much and he accepts a shot from Snotlout, who seems to be doing more actual bartending than the person behind the bar. “When did you buy it?”

“Like five years ago, apparently,” Tuffnut shrugs, wiping the filthy bar with a rag and refilling a glass someone brings him. “Do I look cool or what?”

“Gruffnut put it in Tuff’s name,” Ruffnut tosses a shot glass at him and it misses, shattering on the floor, “look over here, Tuff, I mean it. Look at what that asshole did to your credit score.”

“Uh, you already showed me that, my credit score is perfect. Beautiful bastard had one more gift to give me.” He pauses to wipe a fake tear, absently glugging vodka into someone’s highball glass as they come up to the bar to order again.

“Um, can I get a well whisky, neat?” The would-be paying customer asks and Tuffnut rolls his eyes.

“Well, whisky is pretty neat, but this vodka is fancy.”

“How much?” They look dubiously at the mostly full glass of alcohol and Tuffnut shrugs.

“On the house.”

Hiccup reaches in front of Snotlout and grabs the piece of paper, a bank statement of some kind, and raises his eyebrow, “your credit score is 420?”

“Nice,” Snotlout holds his hand out for a high five and Tuffnut narrows his eyes.

“Aren’t you a cop?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” Tuffnut claps his hand to Snotlout’s over the bar and pours another sloppy round that Hiccup decides to sip rather than knock back all at once, “I didn’t know you guys were in on the code. Hip to the lingo, as it were.”

“Did you come with Astrid?” Ruffnut asks, looking genuinely concerned when Tuffnut makes sloppy change for a tray of beers and struggles to slam the register door shut.

“No,” Hiccup instantly wishes he’d changed his shirt or looked in a mirror before leaving. In his defense, he thought he was going to a bar that was closed due to murder, but that doesn’t matter now. “Is she coming?”

“She said she was on her way.”

Hiccup isn’t really used to panic. His first reaction to a problem is usually more along the lines of breaking it down or figuring it out. And he knows he doesn’t have proof, he doesn’t have anything but a gut feeling and the memory of feeling chilled to the bone when Grisly looked at Astrid at the archives, but thinking of her walking alone still makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

“How long ago?” He tries to sound buoyantly curious but Ruffnut sees through it.

“A little early to be keeping tabs, isn’t it? You two have been on like one date.”

“He was reading her dorky little notes in his book all afternoon,” Snotlout snorts, “he’s probably wondering if he has time to go get it so they can discuss.” The last word is in Snotlout’s favorite, completely inaccurate nasal tone and Hiccup rolls his eyes.

“They’re over here!” Tuffnut shouts in the vague direction of the door from the other end of the bar, all while pouring beer and spilling most of it on the floor when he uses a full glass to point towards Hiccup.

“So it’s true,” Astrid fights her way through the crowd a second later, catching herself on Hiccup’s shoulder when someone jostles her, “this is exactly what I would have guessed Tuffnut playing bartender would look like.”

“I’m winning bartender, thanks,” he gestures at the shelves behind him, “or I will be when I figure out how to reach the bottles on the top shelf.”

“Keep giving those out for free,” Snotlout nods and Tuffnut points at him.

“Good call, why should I use storage I can’t even reach?” He turns around and starts staring at the liquor shelves, “does not spark joy…”

“Does he know that’s all his now?” Astrid leans in close enough to ask Hiccup in particular, her breath cool against his ear in the over-crowded bar.

“There have been attempts to explain it to him, I don’t think any have sunk in.” He laughs and she leans a little harder on his shoulder, “so Gruff had the bar in Tuffnut’s name?”

“Apparently,” she shifts, lips nearly against his ear when she speaks again, “a letter showed up at the twins apartment earlier with no return address and a copy of the deed inside.”

“No return address?” Hiccup frowns and turns to face her, momentarily preoccupied by the mystery enough to fend off being overwhelmed by her proximity and the tickle of her hair against his cheek, “did you recognize the handwriting?”

“It wasn’t Comic Sans,” her smile is tight and not quite comforting, teasing and oddly protective at the same time. “If that’s what you’re asking.”

“Not in so many words.” He scrambles when Astrid half falls into his lap, half catching her and flinching when she pushes herself back upright with a hand on his head.

“Snotlout, oh my god,” she snaps and Hiccup can hear Snotlout rolling his eyes.

“I’m just trying to hand you a shot, get the rest of the way onto Hiccup’s lap if you’re so clumsy.”

“I’m not clumsy,” she fixes her shirt but keeps her elbow on Hiccup’s shoulder, “and it’s Wednesday, you know that, right?”

“We’re celebrating the fact that this bar doesn’t suck anymore without Gruffnut being a dick to cops,” he shoves a shot into her hand and half of it sloshes onto Hiccup’s leg, thankfully cooling the idea of Astrid on his lap. He’s doubly thankful for the sudden chill when she shifts behind him to let someone through, her fingernails almost habitually raking across the nape of his neck.

She pauses and he wonders if she caught his shiver, but then an unmistakably familiar voice attached to partially familiar biceps next to them announces itself.

“What do you mean Gruffnut Thorston didn’t get along with the police?” Eretson leans on the bar, almost unrecognizable in a black tee-shirt with the sleeves ripped off. Almost, except for the absolutely familiar, business-like scowl he’s directing at Snotlout.

“Oh come on,” Snotlout throws his head back but still manages to slap Tuffnut’s hand when he sets a free high ball glass of something from the top shelf in front of Eretson, “don’t serve him—“

“This is Gruffnut Thorston’s bar, isn’t it?” Eretson shakes his head and does a double-take when he catches sight of Astrid out of the corner of his eye. “And you’re here.” He looks at Hiccup and then pans past Tuffnut to Ruffnut on Snotlout’s other side, “you’re all here.”

“I am,” Ruffnut nods, “but your sleeves aren’t, and I have to ask, are those guns standard issue?”

“Come on,” Snotlout groans, spinning on his seat to face Eretson and nearly jabbing him in the chest with an intentional but thankfully hesitant finger. “What are you doing here?”

“Some friends invited me,” Eretson sounds almost bashful, like he’s not supposed to tell suspects that he has friends, and maybe he’s not. That sounds like the kind of protocol Snotlout wouldn’t mention breaking.

“Now you’re bragging about having friends—“ Snotlout starts but Eretson stops him with a clap on the shoulder firm enough to at least attempt to anchor him back to his sensibility, that is if he had any.

“Wait, how do you all know each other?”

The pause is long enough that the initial awkward silence fades back into the indistinguishable din of the crowded bar and Hiccup clears his throat.

“So, again, I gave a Viggo Grimborn tour to Astrid’s apartment and Snotlout is my cousin and at some point he went by Astrid’s place and met Ruffnut and—“

“Shut up,” Snotlout hisses, kicking Hiccup a little too hard in the shin. His left shin. The metallic ringing echoes in Hiccup’s ears and he waits for Eretson to hear it. For the air in the room to shatter.

“My office. Eight o’clock tomorrow. Be on time or I’ll send officers to collect you.” Eretson slaps the bar and turns around, disappearing back into the crowd.

#ripped #httyd fic #hiccstrid #modern au #serial killer tour guide au #loving how fishlegs and hiccup can't get along #loving bartender tuffnut #loving exasperated coplout #and the fact that Eretson can't relax for five goddamned minutes

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ladykateofledfordpark · 5 years

Text

The Most Amazing Person (Parker x MC)

OMG this took so long to edit. I still haven't really finished, but I don't have any patience anymore. So I hope this is good enough. XD

This one-shot is dedicated to @pbmychoices! Hope you like it! =)

And thank you, @kinda-iconic and @choices-fam for your support! ^-^

If anyone wants to be tagged, comment below! Just don’t forget to specify if you want to be tagged in all my fics, or only specific ships! =)

Pairing: Parker x MC (Harper)

This story includes:

Talk about trauma and murder

Fluff

Summary: A few weeks before Harper leaves for school, she goes over for a romantic dinner at Parker’s house.

Word count: 1953

______________________

It felt like ages since Harper finally had time to relax. The last attempt on her life left her reeling, and it was still nearly impossible for her to let her guard down. She would wake up multiple times every night, every movement of Thumper a step of an intruder, every shadow a looming figure. She already made sure Richard Sutcliffe will never bother anyone again, but history taught her that nothing was ever certain. As far as she knew cult lackeys could still be hiding, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Richard’s ghost wasn’t an absurd theory either: if Josephine came back, who said he couldn’t do the same?

Harper’s only comfort was the marlinspike under her pillow. Every night she would take it out from its hiding space and hold it, her hand firn and the weapon ready to strike. In the moonlight it would shine like a beacon, warning any who dared come near. It was beautiful as much as it was deadly: the perfect weapon to kill anyone who dared harm the Vance family.

Harper didn’t know for how long she would sit in her bed, eyes alert and shoulders stiff. Sometimes it would be solely for minutes, while other times she would sit there for hours. Once the erratic beat of her heart slowed down she would force herself back to sleep, ignoring her shaking body. Everything’s fine, she would whisper to herself, everything’s fine.

And maybe everything was fine. Danni’s photographs were gaining more and more popularity, the demand growing the more time passed. Her smiles were much more common, her success in ClickIt the reason behind it. Tom was as excited as anyone could possibly be for his return to Hartfeld, talking animatedly about all the unique experiences waiting for him there. Imogen was finally free to find herself without the added weight of her parents, and she flourished now more than ever. Parker himself proved to be just as talented as Harper knew him to be, leading the police the way Pine Springs deserved.

As the time to leave neared, Harper found herself spending more and more time with Parker. He may have been much busier than his predecessor, but luckily for Harper, Pine Springs was a small place, leaving him more available than one would’ve guessed. She loved entering his office in the morning, holding warm coffees for the both of them, and seeing his brilliant smile. It was the highlight of her day, and by the way Parker showered her with affection- she was sure it was the same for him.

But somehow he still managed to catch her off guard when he casually asked if she wanted to eat dinner at his place. The offer was long overdue, considering Parker saw her house more than a month ago, but she still hesitated before giving a yes. She never reached this stage before, but this was the first relationship where she really felt safe. She could never turn him down.

That was how Harper found herself at the entrance to a vast house. It wasn’t exactly the size of a mansion, but neither was it as small as a cottage. It's security was more upkeep than the Sutcliffe's mansion, warning her that one small step could kill her on the spot. Harper frowned as she scanned the exterior. This building was hauntingly beautiful and yet strangely empty, like a memory from the past. Was she sure this was the right place?

She squinted at the address written on the house, and compared it with the one Parker sent her. Once she was sure that was the right place, she smoothed down her dress and pressed on the intercom. At first there was only static, but then Parker's familiar voice sounded from the device. “Harper?”

“I'm outside.”

Even without seeing him, Harper sensed the smile in his voice. “I'm coming.”

She didn't have to wait long before a tall figure opened the door and walked in her direction. Parker smiled at her, the twinkle in his eyes stronger than all the light of all the streetlamps combined. He was always radiant when he saw her, but now he stopped mid stride. “Harper, you look-”

She shrugged, a small grin on her face. “I wanted to surprise you.”

Parker shook his head. He walked toward the keypad, which was in safe distance from the entrance, and absentmindedly entered the code. “If I knew you were dressing up I would have done the same.” He frowned as he looked down at his everyday clothes.

The light on the keypad pulsed green and the gate slowly opened. Harper hesitantly walked inside as the gate closed behind her with a metallic grinding noise. The crunch of the grass beneath her feet was almost deafening in the silence, but that didn't erase her smile.

She stopped once she reached Parker, and a small smile rose to her features. “It's fine, Parker. You look good in anything.” She scanned him once again, admiring how his tight shirt hugged his torso and the way his pants hung on his frame. Somehow Parker managed to pull off even the most simple clothes- something that was no small feat.

Parker smiled as he gently snaked an arm behind her waist. His brown eyes appraised her sea green dress, admiring the way it shone in the weak light. He turned so she was facing him before he lowered his head, his breath fanning her mouth. “And you, Harper, will always be the most beautiful girl in the world.”

Harper wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled. “Really?”

Parker pulled her so almost no space stood between them. “Even if all the others would wear the fanciest dresses while you would wear a potato sack.”

He cupped her cheek, his eyes shining in affection. “Even then you would be too good for me.” His eyes met her own before his gaze flitted to her lips. He leaned in, his lips brushing hers, before he backed away and cleared his throat. His warm hand found hers and he gently pulled on it. “Let's go inside.”

Somehow, the Victorian seemed even emptier once they entered. Everything was more advanced than Harper had ever seen: the door closed itself, the windows opened without waiting for a command, and a tiny screen blinked on with illegible writing. Warm air encased her, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She could swear that she could smell all the metal, even if it was hard to pinpoint exactly where some of the hidden technology lay.

Parker pulled her closer, a weak smile to his lips. “Abe wasn’t the type to spend his riches on big and fancy houses. Since he was the only one who lived here, he prefered to keep his house as modern as possible. Once we grew close he had more reason for such a big house, but he was never the generous type. Even I visited him only a few times.”

Parker shrugged nonchalantly, but his hold tightened on Harper’s hand. “He was always more of a loner. Sometimes I managed to break through and see a bit more of him, but never enough. I saw his fatherly side mostly at the station, but even then he still had his walls. I guess he just never wanted me to come close enough to find out everything he was hiding.”

A bitter laugh escaped him, and Harper’s heart sunk. She squeezed his hand, but his eyes still stared ahead. He was drowning in a sea of grief, and she didn't know how to fix it.

They passed through a vast living room, which was cluttered to a fault. Old clothes lay on the floor, thrown haphazardly in a careless mess. Police accessories were strewn around, while some albums lay open, revealing hundreds of pictures, all of them of Kelley: some were in color, while all the rest were in black and white.

Parker scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry about all this,” he cleared his throat and shifted his gaze, “ever since Abe died...” he trailed off, a faraway look in his haunted eyes.

“It's alright.” Harper smiled. She knew from experience how traumatizing death could be, and she didn't expect Parker to fare any better than he was already.

Parker sighed. “Somehow, even after everything he did, I miss him. He’s still the man who saved me all those years ago. Still the guy who took me in and turned me into who I am today.”

She squeezed his hand, and he shot a grateful smile her way. “Hey, it’s okay. I get it.”

It was hard to fathom how many of their group lost their parents in the bloody fiasco. Imogen was now all alone, barely coping with the nightmares of the horrible deaths she witnessed. Parker lost his only father figure twice: when he realized that the man who raised him wasn’t who he thought he was, and when Abe was murdered with a spike to his throat. Harper already lost both of her parents at the bloody crime scene Richard left in their home, and Josephine almost stole Arthur too.

She tightened her hold on Parker’s hand. A cruel string connected the three of them, tying them in a bond that would never break. Harper wished she could take all their pain away, but she knew better than that. Living in illusions wouldn’t help, but she could help them regain their strength. That way they could stand taller, and be stronger in their fight against the world.

Once they reached the kitchen, Parker hurried to prepare the ingredients. He didn't look at her as he emptied the fridge, though she could make out the slight blush to his cheeks. “I'm sorry you had to see the living room like that. I would've organized it, but there was something at work today that-”

Harper laughed, and Parker's eyes met her in question. “What's so funny?”

“I already told you it's okay. Why are you so worried?”

Harper walked toward the ceramic table, which was already piled with different ingredients. She could feel Parker's gaze on her, his warm brown eyes filled with adoration. Her whole body tingled as she reached for the cutting board, waiting for his answer.

“Harper… you're the best thing to ever happen to me. You know that?” Her hands froze and her pulse quickened, knowing he wasn't done. “I want to be the best I can for you, but then you come to Abe's old house, see the messy living room and watch me at my most vulnerable state. I guess that I'm just worried that maybe this is too much for you.”

Harper turned so she was facing him, a smile on her face. “Parker, since coming here I escaped crazy cultists, fought undead monsters and was almost killed more times than I can count. Somehow, through all of that, we stuck together. Do you really think that seeing a bit of a mess will make me run away?”

Parker's eyes shone, and in that moment Harper knew that he was the most beautiful person in the world. He walked toward her and stopped when they were only inches apart. “You're the most amazing person in the world. You know that, right?”

She took hold of the lapels of his shirt and pulled him so their lips were nearly touching. “Stop being so humble. You're the only person who would hurt himself before he would hurt others.”

“I guess we'll just have to see who's right, won't we?”

His lips brushed hers, and an unbidden smile rose to Harper's face. “I guess we will.”

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nin-jay-go · 5 years

Text

Hey I updated Shadows of Envy

Chapter One

Tagged on my blog as either Shadows of Envy or ekau 3!

Contains no romantic pairings aside from Pixane and hinted Geode (esp here)

The living room was still alive with the sounds of discussion, though mostly from Jay and Cole’s playful banter. Lloyd had seemingly just finished his comic book, and with a quick goodbye to the boys on the couch, he left for bed. It was late, anyways, probably around 10 or 11 at night. Perfect for bedtime.

Footsteps made their way to the living room, drawing their attention. Cole glanced over to investigate only to see Kai making his way through the living room to the bedrooms. He seemed to stare at them all oddly, yet when he met Cole’s gaze, it melted back normal.

“Oh, hey Kai!” Jay leaned back towards him, “where were you all day?”

The red ninja shrugged. “Just doing some late night training,” he replied. “Can’t get out of shape, y’know?” He looked around the room. “Where’s Llo- I mean, everyone else? Are they all asleep?”

“Yea, they’re all actually getting sleep,” Jay chuckled, “unlike us.” Telltale shadows showed under his eyes, but they were to be expected since he, well, never sleeps. He can stay up all night without issue and be fine all day. How Arid boiled with envy.

“And I, uh, can’t really sleep all that well anymore?” Cole said. “Since, uh, I’m kinda dead?” Lucky.

“Well, you two night owls stay up as looooong as you want, but I’m gonna hit the hay,” ‘Kai’ began to leave to the bedrooms. “Crashed myself completely during training, gotta relax a tad.” He easily sauntered out of the room. “Night, losers.” “Night!” “Nighto, Kai!” As he left the living room, he heard the farewells of his friends. They’re only saying that to pretend they don’t hate me, Arid’s internal monologue interjected, but I know they do. They’re just trying to not show it. He scoffed to himself. In the room they all shared on the Bounty was darkness. The lights were off and Nya, Zane, and now Lloyd were asleep in their beds.

Lloyd. The Green Ninja. The Golden Ninja. Everyone loved him. He saved the world many times and everyone praised him for it. I should’ve been the green ninja. I trained for it so much and got nothing out of it when he, a child, got to save the world and be rewarded for it. If anyone in the room was still awake, they’d probably be terrified of the cold, vengeful glare on Kai’s face, marred by red eyes glowing black from the shadows surrounding them.

What no one had noticed was that ‘Kai’ no longer had a shadow.

Kai’s shadow, or more appropriately, the real Kai, was still down in the forest, stewing in the shades of the trees. How DARE Arid just… walk off with his body like that!? That was so wrong of him to do, and Kai was going to get it back.

“But how?” he wondered aloud. He clearly couldn’t leave the shadows, since the light would hurt him. Kai plopped down into a criss-cross position, although it wasn’t entirely visible to even himself. His legs were almost gone, just a slight shade darker than the forest floor.

Suddenly, a thought crossed Kai’s mind. He had escaped from Arid once. How did he do that? One moment he was affixed to his body’s legs, the next he was in the trees. All he did was want to leave the proximity…

Maybe that was it. Standing back up, he stared at the opposite side of the clearing. The trees there gave as much shadowy coverage as anything else here, so if Kai just… thought… himself to the other side, maybe it would work? He closed his eyes, imagined the shade, and thought ‘I want to go there.’

A strange sensation overtook his body, or whatever his form was right now. A rushing feeling, almost as if the particles of his body were rearranging to another location without him walking there. He opened his eyes and found himself staring at the side of the clearing he had just been, marked by a few mushrooms at the trees’ base.

“YEA BABY!!” Kai pumped his fist excitedly into the air. He thought of something… and for once, it actually worked! Well would you look at that! With this newfound knowledge, Kai closed his eyes again and imagined the storage closet of the Bounty, knowing that it would more than likely be closed and dark. After a few minutes, it was clear he wasn’t going anywhere.

Opening his eyes, he found himself nowhere near the closet, or the Bounty, for that matter. He was still in the forest, and still alone. Glaring up at the floating ship he now calls home, he tried to reason with himself as to what went wrong. Was he too far away? Could he not… teleport like that, and he could only do it to nearby places, or was it…

Kai looked back up the the Bounty. It floated like any other flying ship, with a long anchor tying it to the ground. Onboard, however, he saw something that might help. A barrel holding lots of spare swords for training that was usually uncovered. He focused really hard on that barrel, feeling his particles again flutter. Everything went dark for a split second, and the next thing he knew, he was in the barrel with about five swords slicing cleanly through his form. He yelped, then shut his mouth immediately. What if someone heard? Oh, who was he kidding, of course someone heard that.

Strangely enough, the swords didn’t hurt. His limbs seemed to warp around them, not allowing them to attach themselves to his arms. Kai waved his arm through a sword curiously, which simply ghosted through it, leaving wisps of slightly darker shadow in its wake.

Enough with swords and barrels; Kai needed to get out. Once again he tried to poof to the closet, only for it to not work again. The hypothesis proved true: he can only teleport to what he can see directly, or move around freely in darkness. Thankfully, the barrel seemed to be in a shaded part of the training deck, so he carefully poked his head out to check for moonlight, before the rest of his body followed. All the lights inside were out aside from the living room light, where Jay, Cole, and Lloyd probably still were.

Picking the closest dark room he saw through the windows, Kai found himself in the kitchen. Here he walked around freely, staying clear of the windows showing light in. The burning really hurt and he wasn’t stupid enough to try it again. He followed his route from earlier, where he was practicing his sword tricks, until he came across the storage closet. Kai sent it a murderous glance, or at least what he thought was one. Did he even have a face anymore?

Past the storage closet he saw light. The living room. Kai walked up closer to it, as close as he dared to go, to investigate. There he saw Cole floating lazily in the air, all alone. Perfect.

“Hey! Hey Cole!! Look over here!!!” Kai yelled at him. “Cole!!! I’m! Over! Here!” With each word he moved his arms and jumped around, tried to make noise so that the ghost would look over and see him. Tried to being the key word. Cole didn’t notice him in the slightest and instead of making noise when his feet met the floor, he was as silent as a feather. Pounding the wall did nothing; it made the same sound as hitting a mattress.

Now Kai was getting frustrated. “COLE!!! OVER HERE!!!!!!! LOOK!!!!!!!!!!!!” He yelled as loud as he could, because what if Arid was here and could hear? Still, he was impatient, and impatience waits not for caution. He poofed to random shadowy points of the room to try and grab his attention, but nothing worked. Back in the doorway, he tried a last ditch resort. He stuck his hand into the artificial light.

The searing pain that danced across his fingers was horrible, Kai could almost hear them hiss and fizzle. He drew them back gingerly, already regretting his decision as he hissed himself.

Somehow, this worked. Cole’s head abruptly snapped up, and he was on his feet and levitating a pillow in his hands as best as he could. “Who’s there?!” Cole yelled out. As he scanned the room, his eyes met Kai’s. Yet as relief filled the red ninja’s eyes, the black ninja wasn’t satiated. “Who- what the- what the fuck is that?!?” He tossed the pillow at Kai with surprising force, who ducked out of the way.

“AHH- COLE STOP!” At this, Cole froze. He walked over to Kai, who straightened back up and stared at the ghost.

“How do you know my name?” He asked in an even tone. Kai gave a nervous chuckle.

“Do you not recognize me? Dude, I’ve been trying to get your attention for the past, like, 5 minutes maybe? Do your ears need to be cleaned?”

Cole just looked even more confused. “How should I recognize uh… whatever you are? WHOever you are?”

Kai frowned. “Dude it’s me, Kai.” Doubt seeped into Cole’s face, to which Kai quickly raised his hands in confusion. “Do I not look like myself or something? I mean, I KNOW I’m like, a shadow right now or something like that, but don’t you recognize me at all?”

The black ninja squinted at him. “You’re literally a slightly darker silhouette with two glowing red dots on your face. I don’t think Kai looks, or ever looked, like that. Plus,” he jerked his thumb over to the corridor to the bedrooms, “I just saw Kai go bed. Seemed pretty tired from training on his own.”

“That wasn’t me,” the real Kai protested, “That was NOT me, Cole.” “Then explain who that was, if you’re the real Kai.” “That’s my shadow possessing me.” A raised eyebrow. “Look, I don’t know how else to tell you that you guys are probably in danger, because that. Was. Not. Me.” His voice took on a dangerous note at the end, and Cole seemed visually disturbed.

After a bit, Cole glared up at Kai. “Ok then, if you’re the real Kai, then tell me.” He leaned in closer. “What is… my favorite ice cream flavor.”

“Usually whatever Jay picks-” Kai muttered under his breath, “-I mean, uh, you usually go for, uh…” Was this a trick question? Cole either picked rocky road or whatever Jay had whenever they went out for ice cream, but as for what his actual favorite was…

“You never chose one, I don’t think, so you went with the, insert sarcasm here, oh so amazing choice of ice cream cake. Even though ice cream cake is like, many different flavors-” “But I chose it because it was cake and I love cake more than ice cream! Well, loved…” Cole’s gaze turned melancholy before he looked back at Kai. “But that was the right answer, so I guess I’ll take your word for it. Now Cole looked at him more, bewildered than anything. “What the hell happened to you, Kai?”

“It’s uh,” the shadow laughed nervously, “a long story. You’re gonna have to turn off the lights for this.”

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bye-hadfun · 5 years

Text

under the neon lights

Chapter One: December 1st, 2012

Trigger Warnings: slight homophobia

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: despite everything, they’re still together, and that’s what matters to Dan.

Or, alternatively, two times dnp visit nyc to see the ball drop

Written for the @phandomreversebang , inspired by @catzoomies beautiful art, and beta’d by the lovely and supportive @ty-ly-bby / @literally-just-fandoms

i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it.

Ao3 link

‘Fuck off.’

‘Excuse me? I’ve been nothing but patient Dan. What more do you want from me-’

‘I said fuck off.’ Dan slammed his door with a sort of finalty, a short breath escaping from his throat. He doesn’t mean to hurt Phil, ever, but these days the sky seems a bit duller than usual, and words are too much for Dan. He’ll apologize later and Phil will accept, and they will eat dinner and pretend that nothing’s wrong with Dan, with their relationship, with their life. That’s just how they work.

He can hear Phil in the lounge, talking on his phone, voice distant yet still decipherable. He know he shouldn’t, yet Dan still puts his ear to the wall, desperate to hear even a sliver of Phil’s normal voice. It’s been ages since they’ve had a calm conversation. Not that they ever talk much at all these days.

‘I just don't know what to do. Everything is so messy, you know? Sometimes I regret even moving in with him.’

There was silence on the other end and Dan assumed it was just Kath speaking. Hopefully.

‘I do love him, but love can only do so much. If this keeps up- what am I even going to do? Break up with him?”

Dan let out an involuntary gasp at that one. Even at the worst points in their relationship, he never assumed either of them would consider breaking up. It was Phil and Dan, Dan and Phil, the inseparable duo. Whatever he said in the videos, it was just a defense mechanism, and Phil knew that, right?

“I know, mum, but what would you do? I doubt you and Dad had these problems- and even if you did, this is the internet. You’ve never known anything like this, Mum. It’s terrifying.” Phil stifled a sob. “They’re everywhere, prying and spreading hate. We just want to live, and they won’t let us. Why does everything have to be about our relationship? Even if they found out, what would they do with the information? Can’t they just enjoy our content and shut up?”

Phil has his own way with words. Whilst Dan had emotional blow ups, Phil had, what could best be described as his word clusterfuck breakdown moments. He spoke less, compared to Dan, but that boy could talk his way out of a murder if he so wished. That, combined with his Eenglish degree, Dan sometimes thoughtthink that he would’ve been a better lawyer than Dan if he wasn’t so damn empathetic.

But that empathy is basically the only thing holding their relationship together at the moment, so he should be thankful.

Should he?

Sometimes, late at night under the covers, when they had had an argument and tears were threatening to spill, Dan wished that he never met Phil. Sure, he’d be miserable at law school and forced to be a lawyer for the rest of his life, but he wouldn’t harbour this immense sense of loss and heartbreak.

He never meant to hurt Phil- god,he hated seeing Phil sad. He would do anything just to put a smile on that boy’s face, and whatever Phil wanted, Dan would provide. Once upon a time, before the dreaded video leak, he was sure that Phil would too. Now? He’s not so sure.

Dan is slowly retreating back into his mind now, bringing back bad memories of The Day, and losing focus of the phone call in the living room. Hazily, he thinks it might be his brain’s shitty way of trying to protect him from what he might overhear, but it was too late. The memories were already returning, flooding his senses and drowning out the world. It was just him, his brain, and- Phil. Being tagged in every one of Dan’s mentions, their twitters, social media, and messages blowing up, and Phil crying on their kitchen floor, because of course the video leaked whilst they were making breakfast. Their most peaceful and normal routine, broken by the irregular and madness of the internet. Every tweet was about the same, and that ought to balance out the stress, but it didn’t. They kept pouring in, tens and thousands of the same message with different varieties, and every one of them just added fuel to Phil’s tears.

They had dealt with this once before. They could do it again.

Dan remembered it clear as day: Him, calmly picking up Phil’s phone and going onto YouTube to private the video again, tweeting out their response ‘It was just a joke we made!’, answering the texts from their family and friends, soothing those who knew and deflecting those who didn’t. Turning and hugging Phil from time to time when his sobs grew louder, when he saw in the corner of his eyes that he was shrinking into himself. He smoothed down his hair and comforted him, reassuring him that it was all ok. Gentle whispers of ‘I love you, it’s going to be ok’ murmured against skin.

Phil, after four hours and one cup of hot chocolate, ceased crying and started to help Dan fix things. He remembered Phil smiling sadly and saying, “Isn’t it sad, Bear, that all this is just a PR nightmare for someone else? Yet it’s hell for us.”

Dan whipped his head over to look at Phil, to try to comfort him somehow, but Phil only shaked his head slightly and started to reply to some of Marianne’s emails. It was for the best. Dan wasn’t even sure what he could say- ‘It’s not like that?’ ‘Don’t you dare talk about our relationship like that?’ Every word he said would just make the situation worse.

So he kept his mouth shut, and they plundered through their phones for the rest of the day, until the emails ceased, their text messages was cleared, and Twitter calmed down. (Or at least some of them had enough sense to stop tagging them). They went to Phil’s room, closed all the blinds, and burrowed under the bedsheets, whispering their sorrows and apologies.

Dan had finally let himself cry, and Phil had held him, his own tears dropping on Dan’s hair, and for the first time, Dan had doubted their relationship. Whether it was a good idea, two teenagers meeting on the Internet and working on a job online, where everything is exposed to the public?

But then Phil kissed him on the forehead and snuggled in closer to Dan’s neck, and Dan is grateful. No matter what happens, YouTube brought them together, and he’ll forever be grateful for that. Even if shit like this happens.

As he drifted off to sleep, he was vaguely aware of Phil’s tears on his neck, faint sniffling coming from his side. Frowning, he reached out for Phil’s face, wanting to wipe the tears tracks off his face, but Phil just gently pushed him away with a wet chuckle, and so he let sleep drag him into consciousness.

He still doesn’t know why Phil cried. He just know that, the next day when he woke up, Phil was back to his normal self again, all traces of sadness gone, a sharp glint of anger to his eyes. That was the same day they sent a harshly-worded letter to YouTube, informing them of their slip-up in the system. They received not a response, but an entire update ensuring ‘more privacy for creators’. Phil had smiled coldly at that.

It scared Dan sometimes, when Phil’s coldness shows. He’s truly different when he’s angry, and Dan would never like to be at the other side of his wrath. Dan had only seen it in action, once, when Dan was called a slur on a train ride. Phil had gone still, so still that Dan’s brain couldn’t register when he saw Phil’s fist connecting with the guy’s face. One moment to the next, and Phil was pummeling the living lights out of the dude. By the time Dan could react, the guy was already backing up, holding his hands up in surrender. Tugging Phil gently away from the scene, hoping not to trigger anything else, they made it back to the apartment. They never talked about it.

Dan was brought out from his reverie by Phil’s gentle knocking on the door.

“Dan? I don’t know if you’re still angry, but i made pasta. I’ll leave a plate for you in the fridge if you don’t come out in thirty.” There was a little pause on the other side of the door, almost like Phil was hesitating, before he continued to speak. “You know i love you, right? I really wish I could help you with your problems, but I can’t always do that when you’re stuck in your head.”

As Phil walked away, immense panic washed over Dan. What if this was it? They’re going to break up, and Dan’s going to get his heart broken, move back in with his parents, and his YouTube dream might as well die. Most importantly, he’ll lose Phil. Phil, who’s so patient with him every time he has a breakdown. Phil, who loves him so much that he’s willing to put up with his ‘scared of the dark’ bullshit, closing the lights after Dan’s been securely tucked up in bed, soft fairy lights illuminating the room whilst waiting for him. Phil, the person who got him through some of his darkest days.

He has to try, for Phil.

Dan’s looking around the room, searching for ideas to make it up to Phil, when it hit him. Phil’s been talking about going to NYC for years now, since they first started Skyping. The man had a weird affinity for touristy places, and Dan could never understand why. But it was Phil, and wherever Phil went, he would go.

Quickly typing in the Google search bar, he found what he wanted and smiled. A genuine one, a rare sight these days. He winced a bit at the price - but it was worth it. Hopefully. Dan scanned their schedule briefly, just to make sure they were completely free. He didn’t want to receive an angry phone call or email from their nice (also hot-tempered, but you didn’t hear that from Dan) manager, Marianne, scolding them because they missed a potentially important meeting. It still amazed Dan that YouTubers actually had meetings to attend, brand deals to accept, deadlines to meet. There wasn’t the pressure of an office job, but it was still jarring, how YouTube was an actual job. It made him feel like a celebrity. But of course, he thought to himself, amused, we’re not actually stars that can attend important events.

Focusing back on the monitor, Dan entered his credit card number, and confirmed the transaction. Sure, it was a noticeable dent in his bank account, but they had the Radio 1 gig later on anyways. It couldn’t hurt that much to have a nice week long holiday with his boyfriend.

Especially if it meant saving their crumbling relationship.

Humming softly under his breath, Dan unlocked his door and practically skipped out to the lounge. He’ll try his best to keep his temper in check. He was in an exceptionally good mood, and suspected that Phil would be too, once he got the news. It was no Japan, but New York City couldn’t be that far off.

“Phil?” Dan yelled down the stairs. This was new to him, having to shout to alert the other. In the Manchester apartment, the space was so small, so cramped, sometimes Dan wondered if Phil could hear him through the wall singing songs whilst he edited. His suspicions were confirmed one day when he broke off in the middle of the Llama song and Phil picked it up. He nearly choked on his drink. The Manchester apartment was filled with fond memories. He hoped that this one would be too.

“Yeah?” Phil was answering in a struggling voice, which meant either a) he was holding something heavy, or b) he was taking out his contacts and was trying not to poke himself in the eye. Dan was secretly pleased he knew Phil well enough to know this.

“Have you had dinner yet? I wanna watch a show with you while we eat, if that’s fine?” Dan said this with some preparation of disappointment. Given that he had just yelled in his face, Dan was sure that Phil would be salty, even if he had cooked dinner.

There was a slight pause, and then Phil replied, “Yeah sure, just let me finish taking off my contacts first!”

Dan did a little fist pump in the air for getting scenario b right, then turned back to the kitchen to get the pasta Phil had promised. Taking care to close all the cupboard doors first so he wouldn’t get a weirdly shaped bruise on his face for the next week and drop their pasta in the process, he managed to safely get the pasta on two plates and make it out to the lounge.

Phil was there already, looking a bit anxious with his glasses on, seated on the sofa changing the channels mindlessly. It was immensely cute. Dan smiled for a bit, stalling in the hallway before walking over to the couch, promptly plopping himself next to Phil. Depositing one of the plates on Phil’s lap, he blurted out what he had been meaning to say for the past half hour.

“I’m sorry.”

Phil, originally planning on devouring the plate of pasta, paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. “What?” He stared at Dan disbelievingly, almost as if he couldn’t believe- oh.

He never did apologize to Phil, huh. He’d always just assume that the unspoken apology was enough, that Phil understood him. It was a shitty move.

“I’m sorry. For yelling at you this afternoon. It was unprecedented and you didn’t deserve it, and you even made pasta for me.” Staring down at his plate, Dan collected himself before speaking again. “I’m just scared, you know? I don’t want us to fall apart because of some mean comments on the internet. But they’re under my skin constantly, talking about things they have absolutely no business meddling in.”

“Is it really so hard for us to be just- us? Dan and Phil? Sometimes, i swear, it feels like it's the whole world against us. The turmoil, the battles, the accusations, they're overwhelming.”

Phil smiled a bit. “Dan and Phil Versus the world, huh.”

Dan broke into a grin, and replied, “Dan and Phil Versus the world.”

And so for the first time in what seemed like months, Dan fell asleep peacefully, with Phil by his side, all of their problems thrown out the window.

The ticket can wait, Dan decided. He'll wait till it's right.

Until then, he'll just let himself be held by Phil, feeling safe and warm in their own little world.

#danielhowell #amazingphil #dan and phil #phandom #phanfic #my fics #prb

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