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beelsnack · 4 years ago

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Bad Influence - Beelsnack's 666 Follower Special!!

(Technically I'm over 666 - shoutout to the porn bots)

But seriously, holy shit, there's a lot of you. Thank you all so much for liking my stuff, and for interacting with me and sending me good vibes and all of that. I hope I can keep giving you guys quality work!!

And yes, I am a nerd and I consider 666 a milestone for a blog for a bunch of demons. No, I'm not sorry.

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Lucifer: He couldn’t help but wonder when the change had set in.

When the human first arrived in the Devildom, they had been humble and meek. If anyone complimented them, they deflected it with the mastery and resignation of someone who had been doing it for far longer than they should have. And if someone thanked them? You would think their entire world was dissolving around them.

But now?

He extended a gloved hand towards them as they descended the stairs. Tonight was one of the rare nights where they had the opportunity to be alone without one of his brothers tagging along, and they had been planning this date for nearly a week now. They slipped their hand in his without any of the hesitation they would have shown at first. They knew they deserved his reverence.

“You look radiant as always, my dear,” he curled his fingers around theirs as they reached the bottom step, bringing the backs of their knuckles to his lips. “Surely there is no star in the sky that could outshine you.”

They laughed - his theatrics always did amuse them. “You do have amazing taste, after all.”

He chuckled as well, guiding the two of them to the front door. “Of course. Do you think the Avatar of Pride would associate with anyone less than the best?”

“Definitely not,” the wind that came through the door when they opened it blew their hair away from their face, and Lucifer couldn’t help but preen at the fact that he had helped that quivering little animal grow into the proud swan that stood before him.

“Speaking of the best, where are we going for dinner?”

“Don’t worry, my dear,” he laughed as they made their way out into the night. “You deserve the world, and the world you shall get.”

“Unless ‘the world’ means a steak dinner, I’m not interested.”

Mammon: “Come on, don’t leave me hangin’ out here!”

The curtain covering the entrance to the changing room rustled, and Mammon heard a faint “Fine, fine, just give me a sec!” before it finally opened and out stepped the human.

Mammon always thought they looked good no matter what they were wearing, even if it was one of his old t-shirts and a pair of shorts. Actually, especially if it was one of his old t-shirts and a pair of shorts. But seeing them decked out in his fashion brand - one he had both designed and modeled - was definitely making him feel some type of way.

He let out a low whistle when they stopped in front of the chair he had seated himself in. The results of his own shopping spree were tucked haphazardly into a colorful assortment of bags at his feet, but the human had taken a bit longer than he did picking out their stuff. And damn, was he glad they did, because otherwise he wouldn’t get the chance to see them modeling his clothes.

It was a private fashion show, just for him.

The outfit itself was pretty simple. A black fitted tee beneath a cropped leather jacket, a pair of faded dark-blue skinny jeans, and a pair of black sneaks with a gold stripe going up the side. But the thing that brought the whole outfit together was the long necklace with a topaz pendent resting against their breastbone.

“Well?” they asked, giving him a spin before striking a pose before him. “What do you think?”

For a moment, he couldn’t speak. The human wearing his clothes...it was the next best thing to them walking around with “I Belong To Mammon” tattooed on their forehead.

“I, uh...I guess you...um,” he swallowed thickly. “Ya look alright, I guess.”

“That’s tsundere for ‘you look hot,’ right?” they grinned before spinning around to look in the mirror. “Man, this is a whole look! I have to have it!”

If this had been a few months ago, the human would have waffled back and forth about whether or not to buy anything. It didn’t matter how much they wanted something, it was almost like they just couldn’t do anything nice for themselves. There was being frugal, and then there was deprivation. Now, though, was completely different.

“I wonder if I should get some shades to go with?” they mumbled, looking themselves over in the mirror. “I think that would really pull it together, don’t you?”

“Just don’t go for the Ray Bans, it’s a fucking scam.”

Leviathan: "Come on, come on, come on…"

Very rarely was Levi the one watching someone else play games, unless it was a stream. And as mind-blowingly awesome it would be to watch the human stream one of his current faves, he definitely didn't want other people seeing how adorable they looked when they were focused.

They had come to him with absolute determination in their eyes, begging him to help them out. There were a limited amount of UR armor sets in the event, and they needed to get their hands on one. And, well, what kind of friend would he be if he didn't help them out?

(The fact that he already scored the armor is irrelevant.)

So, here they were, camped out in the pillow nest that they often made for themselves when gaming in his room, laser focused on the screen with Levi giving them guidance. The event level was brutal, but they were in the final hours, so it was crunch time.

"Okay, this boss is easy once you know the attack pattern. Four regular slashes, a jab, then you've got about five seconds to get behind a pillar before it uses the AOE."

"Gotcha."

Even then, it was a long battle, and they had used up most of their healing potions by the time the monster let out an anguished roar and disintegrated into a pile of bones. The human held their breath as they moved towards it to gather their loot.

"Yes!!"

They practically leaped out of the pillow nest in triumph. There, right on the top of the loot list in shimmering gold font, and the UR armor that they had been coveting.

"I got it! I got it!" they cheered. "Levi, I finally got it!"

"Hell yeah you did!" the two of them shared a crisp high five as the results of the campaign loaded on the screen. It was updating in real time, so they could watch as the final moments of the event ticked away.

Levi knew what they were looking for. Early on in the dungeon, another player had done them real dirty, sniping them from a few levels above and then taunting them over VC about how they would never get the armor now. So of course that only inspired the human to work harder, and here they were.

3...2...1

Event over. Quickly, the human scrolled up to the beginning of the list, checking the names of all the players who scored the armor.

Levi sat next to them, chewing his lip. What was that person's tag again? He didn't remember.

Suddenly, the human let out a snort that turned into a full-on giggle fit.

"They didn't get it!" they cackled like a hyena. "Serves them right, the jackass!"

Levi was pretty sure it wasn't a good idea to laugh at the misfortune of others. But, he knew better than anyone that spite was a hell of a motivator. When they had first gotten themselves isekai’d into the Devildom, they had let demons walk all over them, Levi had personally witnessed a lower-level demon shove them out of the way to get a sandwich they had been reaching for, and the human just stood there and let them take it. But they had grown to be a little more selfish, and if they wanted something, they were taking it.

And maybe, just maybe, seeing them like that turned him on just a little bit.

Satan: "You want to come and say that to my face?"

Satan stood there in stunned silence as the human spun on their heel to look the demons right in the eyes. They had their back to him, so Satan couldn't see the look on their face, but whatever it was made the two lesser demons flinch.

"Hey, come on, Human, we were just joking."

"Yeah, no need to get all worked up."

They scoffed, and Satan knew them well enough to know that they were rolling their eyes. "Is that right? So you don't think I'm a...what was it? A fleshy meat sack who thinks they can get what they want by sleeping with the strongest demons in the Devildom?"

Another flinch. Satan chuckled to himself.. Did those morons really think they wouldn't hear them? Humans might not have super-heightened senses but they weren't deaf.

A small crowd had begun gathering around them, waiting to see what would happen. It wasn't every day one of the human exchange students squared up to a demon.

"You've got some nerve," the human drew themself up to their full height - which, admittedly, was laughable compared to most demons - and crossed their arms. "What do you think Lord Diavolo would do to demons who messed with his exchange students?"

"I believe there's a special spot in the Royal Torture Chambers for such demons," Satan came to stand next to them, and the other demons downright cowered. "If I recall correctly, there's an Iron Maiden down there."

"Ooh, cool!"

"Alright, we get it!" One of the demons cried, throwing their hands up defensively. "We're sorry!"

Satan opened his mouth to spit a curse at them, but the human beat him to it. "I've got Lord Diavolo on speed dial, so start running."

The two demons turned tail and booked it down the hallway, nearly crashing into Beelzebub as he turned the corner with a sandwich hanging out of his mouth. He stood frozen for a moment before he swallowed and turned to Satan and the human.

"Were those two bothering you guys?"

Satan cast a sideways look at the human before a wicked grin spread across his face.

"They took care of it."

Asmodeus: "Well, someone's feeling bold tonight."

The door had barely shut behind the two of them before the human was pressing Asmo against it, mouthing at his neck as their hands traveled down the front of his silk blouse. He shuddered gleefully as their breath ghosted against his ear lobe.

"I can't help it," they murmured, fingers skirting just beneath the hem of his shirt. "You looked so good out there."

"I look good all the time, darling," he hummed, reaching up to grab a fistful of hair to gently pry them away from his neck.

"You looked especially good," they huffed as he let go of their hair. "Dancing like that, I could barely wait until we got home."

"Aw, sweetheart, you should have come to join me." Asmo rolled his hips in an echo of the dancing he had been doing at the club, delighting when he felt them shiver against him. "We could have put on a show that would have captivated the whole Devildom."

"I don't think the staff would appreciate it."

"They would be too busy watching to care," Asmo giggled, diving down to capture their lips in a quick and dirty kiss. "Although I can't say I'm not thrilled to be getting a private show."

Beelzebub: “Man, this place has the best barbecue!”

Dinner dates were a pretty common thing for the two of them. Over the course of the human’s stay in the Devildom, the two of them had figured out which restaurants would put up with Beel’s appetite and which would visibly freeze when the Avatar of Gluttony entered the establishment. The Hellfire Barbecue was one of the good places, probably because Beel made sure to tip really well, and one time personally went into the kitchen to tip the chef. Or, well, he tried, anyway. He ended up giving the money to the human and told them to give it to the chef because he knew if he went in there he would devour everything. But the sentiment was still there.

Beel smiled down at the human as they wiped the barbecue sauce off of their face. “You finished all of it this time.”

“Huh?” they glanced at their plate. “Oh. Yeah, I guess I did.”

“You usually don’t.”

“I was really hungry, I guess.” they grinned sheepishly.

Beel distinctly remembered the human telling him that they always tried to save some food for later. Whether it was being resourceful or because they had a weird sense of shame around eating too much, Beel didn’t know, but he had never pressed in case it was a sensitive issue. But, seeing them indulge themselves and looking genuinely full and satisfied made him happy. And was probably his main motivation for taking them out to dinner so often.

Well, that and getting his own food.

“I like watching you eat.” Beel said, waving to the owner as he passed by.

“You...like watching me eat.” the human repeated, looking somewhat confused.

“You look so happy when you eat good food,” Beel smiled. “I like seeing you happy.”

Belphegor: Oh, how the tables have tabled.

“Come on, I don’t feel like dealing with Lucifer’s lectures today.” Belphie grumbled, tugging half-heartedly on the human’s arm that was flung around his waist. “We should get up soon.”

For all of his complaining, Belphie didn’t move. If anything, he snuggled down deeper into the bed. He loved when the human agreed to have a sleepover in the attic with him. They got uninterrupted cuddle and nap time, since nobody dared to come up to the attic except Beel. And Beel was almost always welcome to join the cuddle puddle.

“Five more minutes…” the human mumbled sleepily, burying their face into Belphie’s neck. The soft, contented sigh they let out tickled, and he squirmed a little.

“Aren’t you usually the one waking me up?” Belphie nuzzled his nose against their hair.

“But it’s comfy here,” they whined. “I don’t want to get up.”

“You just don’t want to do the presentation in class today.”

“Your point?”

Belphie laughed. “Can’t say I disagree.”

“I did all the hard work anyway,” they shrugged. “We’ll make Mammon give the report.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

The two of them settled back down into the nest of pillows. The human had almost drifted back to sleep when Belphie brought his nose down to theirs to nuzzle them together.

“You’re cute when you’re sleepy.”

“You’re cute when you shut up and let me sleep.”

#obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie

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dameronology · 4 years ago

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welcome to the jungle {frankie morales}

summary: after taking a job with the delta guys, you cross paths with frankie morales. even though you’re at each other’s throats at first, it proves to be the start of something beautiful. (for @what-the--curtains - i hope you enjoy!!) - 7k words

warnings: swearing, mentions of ptsd

this is kinda ambiguous in terms of the timeline of the film but i sort of hint to the first half being before the events of t.f and the second half being after -- with that said, you can take it as you would like :D

- jazz

Your brother had dog sat for a few days.

In exchange, you were flying out to Colombia in the middle of your work week.

You believed in favours, but these two did not feel like they were equal.

Still, you were a person of your word - and getting to fly to South America was exciting. The job itself was exciting, if not a little...eyebrow raising. His friend, an ex-Delta soldier, needed somebody to ID a body. That part didn’t bother you - you were a forensic archaeologist after all and it was quite literally your job description. The suspicious bit was the circumstances under which you were doing it; Santiago Garcia hadn’t been entirely clear on the phone, but he’d said something about witnesses and getting the government off of our backs. You’d met Santiago a few times and you knew what kind of work he did - military stuff. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that it was probably an under-the-radar kind of affair. But, you’d never been one to back down from a challenge.

So, here you were on a warm Colombian Tuesday afternoon, suitcase trailing behind you as you trekked towards a dusty old air base. The sun was high in the sky, beating down on your back in a way that had initially been comforting, but was now just plain annoying. You didn’t know how long you were going to be here, but packing three jackets now felt like a stupid idea. The one one you’d worn on the plane over had been long discarded and tied around your waist, which only added to the struggle of dragging your case up the steep, sandy hill. In the distance, you could see an ATC tower glinting under the sun - the streams of light bounced right back off of it, causing you to shield your eyes with your forearm. The taxi you’d gotten from the international airport - not like this sandy little place - had only taken you so far. At least, of all things, the boots you’d opted to wear were built for this kind of thing.

A few hundred meters up the road, you finally saw another sign of human life. A 4x4 was parked outside the abandoned terminal entrance, three men leaning against the side of it. You spotted Santiago standing a few metres away on his phone, thumbs tapping away. He didn’t look any different to the last time you saw him; dark and curly hair, a semi-friendly smile and stubble littering his chin. You hadn’t seen him since your brother’s birthday party a few months ago.

‘Hey!’ The former soldier offered you a grin when he saw you, holding his arms open. ‘Long time, no see!’

‘Hey, Santi!’ You replied, giving him a pat on the back as he pulled you into a hug. ‘And yeah, it’s been a while. Then again, when was the last time you were in the country for more than five minutes?’

‘I’m in high demand.’ He shot back.

Pulling back from the embrace, Santi pointed to his colleagues. There was Will and Benny, two blonde boys, both in military gear. It didn’t take much to figure out that they were brothers; same smirk, same stance, same eyes. Even if Santi hadn’t pointed it out, you would have figured as much. You were naturally deductive - came with the job. After the brothers, there was Frankie. He had dark eyes and hair, the latter of which was covered by his hat. Unlike the other three, he was wearing more casual clothes, just with a tac vest over the top. You kind of got the vibe that he didn’t want to be there - that was...comforting.

‘What’s all this?’ Frankie asked, gesturing to the heavy metal suitcase behind you.

‘Just...stuff. Tools.’ You replied. ‘Things I need to do my job, I guess.’

‘How heavy is it?’

‘Light enough that I was able to get them onto a commercial flight?’ You offered.

‘The plane is already at max weight.’ He replied, brown eyes flickering up to meet yours.

‘God, give ‘em a break, Fish!’ Santi slapped him on the shoulder. ‘It’ll be fine.’

‘Remember last time you said it would be fine-’

‘- hey.’ He cut him off with a harsh look. ‘We don’t talk about that.’

‘So I can bring them?’ You raised your eyebrows. ‘Because I can’t do whatever it is you need to do unless I have them.’

‘Yeah, it’ll be fine.’ Santiago gave you a comforting smile. ‘Let’s head to the jet and we’ll talk about the job.’

Swinging your duffle bag back over your shoulder, you picked up your suitcase and began to follow the guys further up the hill. There wasn’t anybody else around -- just sand, sun and rusting old jets. There was one in particular that they seemed to be headed towards. It was only mildly less eroded than the damaged ones around you, but the engines were running and the cargo doors were open. Santiago took your bag from your hands as you approached it, tossing it in with the other luggage.

‘Do not throw that one, Garcia!’ You demanded, flinching slightly as he took your suitcase.

‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ He shot back.

‘Sure thing.’ You rolled your eyes at him. ‘You brought a medkit right?’

‘No. Why?’

‘There’s one in my duffle bag.’ You replied. ‘Side pocket. Can you grab it?’

‘We don’t need one, we’ll be fine-’

‘- Santiago Garcia, do you want me to report back to my brother that you took his baby sibling on a jungle-wide expedition without the correct medical supplies?’ You challenged.

Santi swallowed, mind briefly flashing back to the time he’d almost been decked by said brother for letting you walk home alone. ‘Fine.’

Your triumphant smile only lasted a split second; as soon as your eyes fell on the plane, you realised you still had to get on it. Fuck.

The engines seemed to be working fine, but it was just...old. And eroding. And making a funny sound. You were by no means an engineer, but even just binging a few episodes of Air Crash Investigations made you feel qualified enough to know that this was not where it was at in terms of air safety. You could have taken it up with Frankie, but he didn’t seem entirely approachable.

You did trust Santi, however - though sometimes that seemed a little against your better judgement. Every crazy story that your brother had relayed back to you from their time in the military involved him making questionable decisions. Hopefully, opting to fly this hunk of metal wouldn’t be one of them. Here’s to hoping it was aerodynamic.

‘Are you getting in or…’ Frankie peered down at you from the stairs, eyebrows raised.

‘Yeah, sorry.’ You blinked in surprise. ‘This thing is safe, right?’

‘What’s it to you?’

‘What is it to me?’ You snorted. ‘Just, y’know, that I’m about to fly a few hundred thousand feet in the air and if it falls out of the sky I’ll die.’

‘I know what I’m doing.’ Frankie shut the door behind you as you climbed aboard, twisting the handle shut. ‘I’ve been flying for years.’

‘I’m not saying it’s you.’ You brushed past him, shoulders bumping as you did. ‘Captain fucking Sully couldn’t fly this thing.’

‘The guy from Monster’s Inc?’

‘No, the guy who landed the plane on the Hudson? They made a movie about it, with Tom Hanks-’

‘- you should sit down now.’ Frankie turned away from you. ‘We’re about to take off.’

Your mouth fell open in slight disbelief. What an asshole.

Santi called your name, signalling for you to sit with him in the cockpit. The seats on the plane hardly looked comfortable, and your brain was mentally working out if it was safer to sit over the wing in a crash, or by the tail. You’d definitely seen it in a documentary once, but you couldn’t remember exactly what they said. Perhaps the best option was to just be less dramatic.

Taking a seat between Frankie and Santi, you pulled your seatbelt on and shuffled awkwardly. This was fine. Absolutely fine. Frankie was a trained pilot (and a dickhead, but that didn’t take away from his flying skills) and you were going to be fine. Fiiiiine. Maybe if you said it once more, you’d believe yourself. You were going to be fine. Yeah, there we go.

A few deep breaths and you were certain. Or, at least you’d convinced yourself to be certain.

‘So.’ Your eyes momentarily flicked over to where Frankie was adjusting some controls. ‘What exactly am I doing here?’

‘A few months ago, the boys and I were involved in the shoot-out.’ Santi began. ‘Pretty standard for the type of operation we were on.’

‘Right. Standard office work.’ You muttered. ‘Do go on.’

‘We thought everyone who had witnessed it had been recorded.’ He continued. ‘And everyone who we spoke to verified that it was a justified shootout. No dirty work, no ulterior motive. All valid, from a legal perspective.’

You thinned your eyes. ‘I don’t think I like where this is going.’

‘We ID’d all the bodies at the time.’ He said. ‘Including a Ricky Martinez. Except now, a guy claiming to also be Ricky Martinez has come forward, claiming that his version of events is a little different. Like, different enough to incriminate us.’

‘He’s lying, right? You guys were the good ones?’ You urged. Santiago’s silence was anything but comforting. ‘Right?’

‘Morals are all a matter of perspective.’ He replied. ‘Our labs ID’d Martinez’ body twice but we need a third party opinion before we can completely dispel the guy pretending to be him.’

‘Guess that’s where I come in?’ You asked, leaning further back into the seat as the jet began to move.

‘Exactamente.’ Santi nodded.

That didn’t sound too bad. Between excavating the grave, running tests and returning the body, it would take a few days tops. You could manage that.

The jet began to pick up speed, making its ascent towards the runway. Frankie did look like he knew what he was doing -- heck, the man looked bored, even. He barely even had to look at the dash controls as it moved forward, hands moving freely and easily to manoeuvre the plane down the runway.

‘What are you staring at?’ Frankie glanced over at you.

‘N-nothing.’ You replied. ‘Shouldn’t you be focusing on the road-’

‘- that’s a runway.’ He cut you off.

‘Whatever.’

You were thrown backwards in your chair from the momentum of the take off. The plane angled upwards as it went up in the air, tilting sideways as it balanced out. You felt your stomach drop as the ground disappeared from beneath you, the push of the engines pulling you up higher into the sky. There was a clunk, signalling that the landing gear had retracted.

Well, the plane had fulfilled its first purpose: taking off. That was a good sign.

‘So,’ Benny peered over at you. ‘What’s your callsign gonna be?’

‘My name, presumably.’ You quirked a brow at him.

‘We have Ironhead, Catfish and Pope.’ He continued. ‘But Will and I were talking, and we thought Barbie was gonna fit well.’

‘Oh, really?’ You sniffed. ‘And why might that be?’

‘Because you’re young, and pretty hot-’

‘- so your call sign is Benny, right?’ You cut him off. ‘Short for Benjamin? That’s really clever. Did you come up with it yourself?’

‘Maybe Eye Candy will be beter-’

Benny was cut off when you reached across, leaning over Santi to smack him in the chest with your balled up fist. All four of them jumped in surprise at your action - clearly, you weren’t somebody to be fucked with. You hadn’t worked your ass for years to get your degree to get discredited like that.

‘Make a comment like that again and I’ll drop kick your ass out of this plane.’ You jabbed your finger towards him.

Benny thinned his eyes at you. ‘Frankie wouldn’t let you do that. Right, Cat?’

‘You heard ‘em.’ Frankie’s eyes didn’t move from the clouds ahead.

To give credit where credit was due, Frankie was good at landing planes.

Specifically, he was good at landing planes in places where planes should not have been landed. Not that he’d had much of a choice when the engines gave in half way through the journey, a couple hundred miles over the thick Colombian jungle.

In short, you’d been right the entire time. The damn thing wasn’t safe. Of course, you weren’t going to say I told you so right then, since it felt like a little bit of a sensitive subject.

Now, the five of you were standing next to a pile of what-used-to-be-a-plane, defeat plastered over every one of your individual faces. You were lucky to all have made it out okay - just about. Santiago had taken a hit to the head, Benny had bitten his tongue pretty hard when you’d collided with the ground (fitting) and Frankie had split his head open. You and Will were the only ones who hadn’t sustained any injuries. He had proven to be much more tolerable than his brother.

‘Okay, we just gotta…’ you looked around, eyes taking in the debris around you. ‘We just gotta stay calm-’

‘- stay calm?’ Frankie cut you off. ‘You’re the reason the fucking thing went down! If you hadn’t taken all that extra weight-’

‘- do you ever shut up, Morales?’ You snapped. ‘And I’m no genius but I don’t think the engines catching fire was anything to do with me bringing an extra bag onto the plane!’

‘I’m the pilot.’ He reminded you. ‘I know what I’m talking about.’

‘Maybe it was the weight of your ego that made it go down.’ You chided.

‘Hey - Patrick, Spongebob!’ Will finally yelled. Both your heads snapped in his direction, eyes wide. ‘Can you keep it in your pants for two minutes so we can work out how to make it through the night?’

‘Right, sorry.’ You nodded.

You glanced around the crash site, brain calculating for a minute as you took in what little was left. The plan had landed on its belly and skidded for a few hundred metres; consequently, most of the luggage had come out on the way. That left you with the one remaining bag, the medkit you’d scared Santi into bringing and the strewn camping kit that had been ditched in the back of the fuselage.

Pulling your phone out your pocket, you sighed when you realised that you had no signal. What had you expected? Four bars in the middle of the jungle? Probably not realistic. You did, however, have a compass app. That was something. You thought for a moment, glancing between the app and the sun’s position in the sky. It was splintering through the trees, washing heat over you like a bucket of cold water. There was a small stream a few metres away, which was a source of water at least.

‘It’s just gone four, maybe five in the afternoon.’ You announced. ‘So we have about three hours till the sun starts to set. The water in the stream runs that way so if we follow it, we’ll find the source. People are more likely to set up civilization around a source of water.’

All four of them looked at you like kids who had lost their parents in Walmart. Were they really ex-military?

‘So, what?’ Benny frowned. ‘We...set up a new civilisation?’

‘Oh my days.’ You muttered under your breath. ‘I am spoon-feeding this to you! It means that there will be a town with people.’

‘That’s smart.’ Santi nodded.

‘But before we do that, we gotta sort this out. Will, d’you know how to check for concussion?’ You asked, to which he nodded. ‘Okay, you check Santi and I’ll clean up Frankie’s head. Then we gotta gather those camping supplies and head east. Best case scenario, we find a town before sundown. Worst case scenario, we camp out for the night.’

‘Who put you in charge?’ Frankie asked.

‘Me.’ You replied.

Taking the medkit from Santi’s hands, you quietly thanked him and led Frankie over to some rocks. He didn’t seem all that pleased when you forced him to sit on one - and he was even less pleased when you pulled his hat off. It revealed a tangle of dark curls, some of which you had to push back to get to the mark on his head. Some may have debated the importance of mentioning such a detail, but you couldn’t help but notice how soft his hair was.

You knelt down in front of him, pulling the supplies out of the little medical kit. There weren't many, but there was enough to give him something temporary till you got to a proper hospital. If you got a proper hospital.

‘It’s not too deep.’ You observed, running your thumb over the creases of his forehead. ‘Just a couple stitches at worst.’

‘Don’t you normally stitch up bodies?’ Frankie asked. His brown eyes were glued to the floor, following the outlines of the boot-prints that you’d left.

‘Yeah, it’s the same kinda principle though.’ You laughed slightly. ‘Despite your attitude, I’m not gonna give you Y-incision stitches.’

‘Thanks.’

‘At least not in a place people can see them.’

Frankie snorted, but it translated to a hiss of pain as you dabbed an alcohol wipe at his forehead. Despite everything, you had a slight admiration for him. He’d managed to land the plane safely as the situation allowed and despite a few minor injuries, things could have been much worse. You didn’t quite feel like vocalising that to him when you were still stranded in the middle of the jungle, but if you ever got out? You might get Santi to pass the message on.

‘D’ you think it’ll scar?’ Frankie quietly asked.

‘Maybe.’ You admitted. ‘Just take a deep breath.’

‘Where did you even learn to do this stuff?’ He asked, letting out another small grunt of discomfort. ‘The stitches and the compass shit.’

You shrugged. ‘I’ve been around the block a few times. You kinda learn to be prepared.’

‘Really? As a morgue worker?’

‘Not a morgue worker.’ You grumbled. ‘Then again, I am stabbing a needle through your skin so I suppose I’ll allow the discrepancy.’

‘What is it you do then?’

‘I’m a forensic archaeologist.’ You explained. ‘So it’s my job to retrospectively work out how people died, whether it be because their body was found a long time after they died or because they had to be exhumed from their original resting place.’

Gently pulling the needle back from Frankie’s forehead, you cut the thread and dabbed it again with an alcohol wipe. You brushed his hair back down and placed his hat back on his head, offering him a smile. For the first time since you’d met him, he returned the gesture.

You dusted off your knees and took a place on the rock beside Frankie, examining your handy work. Considering you’d been in a plane crash not quite an hour ago, it wasn’t too bad. At least if it did scar, it was in a place his hair covered up. And in your defense, scarring wasn’t usually something you had to worry about with your other...patients. They usually went back in the ground not long after you dealt with them.

‘You’ll wanna sit down for a minute.’ You replied. ‘D’you feel dizzy at all? Sick?’

‘I was just in a plane crash.’

‘Me too, funnily enough.’ You rolled your eyes at him. ‘I s’pose it’s the most interesting job I’ve worked in a while.’

‘Same here.’ Frankie said. ‘I normally work for a flight school, so this is...something else.’

‘It’ll make me grateful when I get back to the office.’ You agreed. ‘Because it has four walls, air conditioner and co-workers who don’t give me ridiculous nicknames.’

‘Right.’ He snorted. ‘Benny can be...Benny. He doesn’t mean to be an asshole.’

‘Benny wasn’t the asshole.’ You quipped, nudging him with your elbow.

At least Frankie had proven now that he could talk to you without being insufferable. You couldn’t work out if you’d warmed to him or if he’d warmed to you, but doing somebody’s stitches was unarguably one hell of an icebreaker. He was just a little closed off; quiet and reserved, you figured. You didn’t know what him and the Delta guys had been through, but Santi had mentioned a few things in passing that pointed to a heavy past. That was something you could relate to - your job was no walk in the park either

‘It’s not...personal.’ Frankie glanced off into the distance.

Will had managed to salvage the remaining bag from the jet, meaning that Santiago could use it as a seat. Benny was sitting with them, talking amongst themselves. You would have to move soon, in order to find a suitable place to camp before sundown, but taking a minute to recover from the last hour was also important. You’d barely stopped to sit down since the plane had gone down, and now you had, the shock had hit you. Your suspicions about safety had actually been correct. Not that it mattered now, but at least you had a plan to get everyone back to civilization as soon as possible.

‘So you being an ice cold bitch isn’t to do with me? That’s a relief.’ You joked. Frankie smiled in response; his first genuine one since you’d met.

‘The witness that you were going to ID was from the last job we all worked together.’ He explained ‘It went bad. Really bad.’

‘From what Santi said, it sure did sound like it.’ You replied.

‘I hadn’t seen anything as bad as we did then since I was stationed out in the war zones.’ He continued. ‘So being back here, and being with the guys, has just put me on edge. I’m sorry if I was an asshole.’

‘You don’t have to say sorry.’ You shook your head. ‘I mean...actually, yeah, you were an asshole but I get it.’

‘You do?’

‘Forensic archeology is no walk in the park either.’ You replied. ‘It’s my job to work out how people have died. Most of my work is on crime scenes or in war zones so I’ve seen some...dark stuff.’

‘It sticks with you.’ Frankie quietly murmured.

‘Yeah, it does.’ You said. ‘I know you might not think it on the surface, because it’s the usual sort of job that leaves stuff weighing on your shoulders-’

‘- doesn’t matter.’ He cut you off. ‘Trauma is trauma. Regardless of how you got it or where it came from, it’s valid.’

You gave him a small smile. Maybe he wasn’t so bad.

---

Later that night -- and after a few hours of walking -- you and the guys had settled down into a makeshift campsite. It was just at the edge of a clearing, not too far from what looked to be a small town glinting in the distance. You did offer to keep going, but between the injuries the group had sustained, it was easier to stop for the night. You had enough of a combined skillset to find some fruit growing to snack on and to start a fire.

Santiago, Will and Benny had long passed out. It wasn’t until after they had done so that you realised there was absolutely no room left in the tent. It was only built for two people, let alone five. Where that left you in terms of sleeping arrangements, you didn’t know, but the chances of even getting to rest felt low. Your brain was on full overdrive, tired eyes darting constantly around the distance. How safe was this place? You’d managed to convince yourself that the plane was secure, and that had gone down like...well, like the fucking plane.

You were sitting on a log, drawing pictures in the dirt with a stick. It was just something to keep your brain occupied as you fought off the tiredness. The jet-lag from your flight to Colombia had hit in full force and you wanted nothing more than to crawl into your bed -- the bed that wasn’t there.

‘So, are you keeping a look-out?’

You jumped at the sound of Frankie’s voice, twisting around to face him. ‘Something like that.’

‘I can take over if you want.’ He offered. ‘You should get some rest. You’ve saved our asses like three times today.’

‘Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t fit into that tent.’ You replied. ‘I can hear them snoring from here.’

‘Is it worse than the alternative of me keeping you company?’ He softly smiled, taking a seat beside you. ‘I’ll promise not to be an asshole anymore.’

‘We spoke about this.’ You reminded him. ‘I get it. It’s okay.’

‘I still feel bad.’ He sighed. ‘Especially after you stitched me up and led us through the jungle. We woulda eaten something poisonous and died if you hadn’t stopped Benny going near those mushrooms.’

You chuckled. ‘Don’t feel bad, okay? You’ve had bad experiences before and it’s natural to be anxious.’

‘I shouldn’t have taken it out on you-’

‘- Frankie!’ You cut him off with a groan. ‘I’m about to be an asshole if you don’t stop saying sorry.’

‘So we’re good?’

‘We’re good.’ You smiled. ‘Thanks for keeping me company.’

‘Santiago, in no uncertain terms, made it clear that he would come for our kneecaps if we left you alone in the dark.’ Frankie admitted. ‘I think he likes you.’

You chuckled, shaking your head. ‘I think you have the wrong idea. Santi is only so protective of me because he’s one of my brother’s best friends, and I guess by extension, that kind of makes him my brother too. They go right back to high school, and then they did the academy together.’

‘That’s a long time.’ Frankie nodded. ‘So you and Santi, that’s...nothing, right?’

‘Absolutely not.’ You snorted derivatively. ‘And if it was, my brother would probably end him.’

‘So,’ He took a stick from the floor, joining in with random doodles you were carving into the ground. ‘Be honest: if these stitches scar, d’you think I’ll look rugged and handsome?’

You peered over at him, eyes creasing as your smile grew wider. ‘Sure. Why not?’

‘Ouch.’ He dramatically grabbed his heart, shaking his head. ‘The correct answer was no Frankie, you already look rugged and handsome.’

‘Okay, it would make you look more rugged and handsome.’ You rolled your eyes. ‘Better?’

‘Better.’ He grinned triumphantly. ‘When was the last time you stitched up a living, breathing human?’

‘College, I think.’ You replied. ‘My roommate got into a fight and didn’t have insurance, so I did some makeshift stitches with a cheap sewing kit we found at a 24/7 corner shop.’

‘We’ve all done it.’ He laughed. ‘I’m glad the stitches you gave me were actual, professional ones...right?’

‘Obviously!’ You exclaimed. ‘You’ll probably want to get them redone when we get back to...y’know, civilisation.’

‘Naturally.’ He nodded. ‘I appreciate you stitching me up. The others would not have been able to do that if it had been just us.’

You shrugged. ‘It’s nothing, really.’

‘What if - and feel free to blatantly reject me for my earlier actions - I took you out for a drink when we got back? Y’know, if we ever get back to civilisation.’

‘Yeah, okay.’ You smiled.

Normally, Frankie wouldn’t have been that bold -- and you would have absolutely rejected someone who had made such a terrible first impression. But, said impression had changed. He’d been an asshole but you could see why; you could reason with it, even. God knew that you also had a tendency to become withdrawn and irritable when you were retracting back to the darker corners of your mind. Bad days on the job were hard to shake. They stuck with you for a long time.

The conversation continued, though you couldn’t recall exactly what it was about. Nothing and everything. Growing up and going to college - or for Frankie, the military. You compared stories of Santiago; Frankie’s were better, but yours were pretty good. He told you about how he’d got his piloting license back, and you in return offered a tale of the time that your brother had gotten a DUI.

Between the warmth of Frankie beside you and the crackling fire in front of you, it became harder and harder to fight off your exhaustion. You would have been tired enough if you were from this timezone, but your body clock was hours out of whack. With your eyelids getting heavier and the dark sky above you, it wasn’t long before you’d flopped into the pilot’s side with defeat.

‘’M sorry.’ You murmured.

‘It’s fine, you don’t have to apologise.’ Frankie replied. He moved his arm around your shoulders to support your weight from falling off the log - also to give a sign that he was more than okay with it.

You rested your chin on his shoulder, peering up at him. Now that his cold facade had slipped away, you could admire him a little bit more. Warm chocolate eyes, a strong jawline, and a face that just felt kind, even despite initial impressions. The warm glow of the fire illuminated his face with a soft hue, making the lighter tones of his eyes a little more visible.

You were both still lingering from the adrenaline of the plane crash, hearts pounding in your chests and brains wrestling with the idea that you’d both made it out with minor injuries. Was that what had made you bold? The sudden reminder of your mortality? Because you never would have kissed him if it had been a normal night.

He met you halfway, lips gently capturing yours in a soft kiss. They were a little chapped from the humidity of the jungle air, but intoxicating and enchanting all the same. He tasted very, very faintly of tobacco and a little bit of mint -- had the bastard had chewing gum this whole time? Not that it was relevant. Not that anything else in the world was relevant. Not when Frankie Morales was kissing you.

Neither of you said anything after; he simply pulled you into his chest, resting his head on top of yours. Between the mental exhaustion and emotional ping-pong game that you were partaking in, you wanted to sleep.

And sleep, you did; tangled together on the dirt of the jungle floor, not a worry in the world.

---

Time passed.

It passed quickly and slowly all at once.

Once you’d found a little town and got on a coach to Medellin, you did what you came to do: identified the body, cleared their names and closed the case. Your duties at your actual job called you back home and less than a day later, you were on a plane home.

After that, everything was a blur. You tried to keep in contact with everyone, but life was demanding as ever. Thanks to a promotion at work, you were being kept busy 24/7. Santiago finally retired from active duty and moved back to your hometown, near to his parents and to the guys. Even with the group chat he’d made - affectionately titled Plane Pals - it was hard to constantly keep up with everyone.

You and Frankie had texted for a while, but it sort of faded out. Whenever you were able to make it back home to see him and everyone else, he was busy. You’d both tried to make plans a few times but they’d never come to fruition. You still texted each other happy birthday every year, but that was it. Like that night in the jungle, he quickly became a thing of the past. A distant memory that sometimes felt like a dream.

It made a good dinner table story, especially for first dates. You told it on many actually, actually -- only one ever went well. So well, in fact, that you’d ended up in a four-year-relationship. A marine biologist called Simon; not boring, but not necessarily exciting either. He was nice...enough. Nice enough that you didn’t find a reason to leave.

Looking back, you probably had a million reasons to leave. He was an asshole, for one. The last time he’d treated you right had been your first anniversary - and for some reason, you’d stuck around to celebrate your second and third and fourth. Everyone around you was settling down, and you felt that pressure too.

Even Santiago fucking Garcia, the biggest flirt and bachelor you knew, was getting married. You’d RSVP’d a plus one - Simon, obviously - but the week before you were due to fly home for the wedding, things had finally reached a bitter end. You weren’t sad about him; more sad that you’d wasted four years of your life on the Walmart equivalent to Ned Flanders.

On the brightside, your brother’s respective relationship had also gone through a shitty demise, meaning you could move your seats at the reception next to one another. Like Santiago, he had also retired from the military and was living his best life - even though it had taken six months for him to start speaking to his friend again. He hadn’t taken well to the idea of Santiago taking you on a job that left you in the middle of the jungle.

‘People are gonna ask where Simon is, aren’t they?’ You muttered.

‘Cheer up.’ Your brother nudged you. ‘I know what’ll help - let’s make a bet.’

‘What?’ You groaned.

You were standing outside the church, waiting to be called inside. You’d waved at Benny and Will as they came in. The latter had kids of his own now, but Benny was focusing on his boxing career. He hadn’t called you Barbie again though, so that was something.

‘I bet you twenty bucks that Santiago is divorced by the end of the year.’ Your brother grinned.

‘No! That’s horrible.’ You slapped his arm.

‘Whatever. That’s $20 you’re missing out on.’

‘I hate that we’re related.’

‘Me too.’

‘Shut up!’

‘You said it first!’

The two of you were cut off by someone clearing their throats.

You almost did a double take when you saw Frankie Morales stood in front of you. He didn’t look that different to his six-year-old Whatsapp profile picture; he wasn’t wearing his hat, instead wearing his hair pushed back, and rather than his old tac vest, he had a suit and tie on. You had a sort of vision of him in your head from that night, but it didn’t do him justice. He was even better in person.

‘Catfish!’ Your brother jeered. ‘Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes!’

‘Says you!’ Frankie gave him a slap on the back. His eyes then fell to you, and his demeanour changed a little. ‘Hey.’

‘Frankie fucking Morales.’ You murmured. ‘How’re you?’

‘Thriving.’ He replied. ‘You?’

‘Also thriving.’ You smiled.

‘I was sorry to hear about the divorce, man.’ Your brother, as clueless as ever, didn’t sense the sudden onset of tension.

‘Divorce?’ You blinked in surprise. ‘Is that really something you should bring up-’

‘- you brought up your break up at dinner last week-’

‘- only because you brought up yours first-’

‘- guys!’ Frankie cut you off. ‘It’s fine, really. I appreciate you looking out for me but it was a while ago now. Besides, I’ve got Leya. She takes up all my time.’

‘Leya?’ your eyebrows shot up. ‘Is that your girl-’

You were interrupted by a bell ringing, signalling that it was time for the guests to enter the church. Did the universe hate you? What kind of fucking dreadful timing was that?

‘I’ll see you guys at the reception, right?’ Frankie asked.

‘Sure thing, dude.’ Your brother waved him off.

The pilot turned on his heel, giving you a smile as he headed for the church. He was the best man after all, and his presence probably was needed.

‘You asshole!’ You have his shoulder another whack. ‘I was talking to him!’

‘Jesus, calm down! And why do you hit so hard?’ He huffed. ‘What’s so important?’

‘Who’s Leya?’

‘I dunno! Do I look like Gossip Girl?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You’re mean.’ He grabbed you by the arm, dragging you towards the church entrance. ‘And mum made me promise to make sure you wouldn’t play Doodle Jump during the vows.’

‘That was one time!’ You snapped.

Thankfully, the actual ceremony passed quicker than you thought. Santiago’s new wife was beautiful -- you hadn’t met Yovanna before, but both her and Santi had greeted you with a bright smile as you entered the reception. It was in a large hotel room, decorated with strings of fairy lights and a large dance floor. A lot of thought had clearly got into it.

It made you a little sad to think about. How many weddings had you been to in the last five years? How many times had people looked at you and your former boyfriend and said you’ll be next. You weren’t even sad about him. If anything, you were mad that you’d let yourself think about marrying him. You could do better. You were going to do better.

‘Is that girl over there eying me up?’ Your brother’s voice pulled you back to reality. ‘I swear she’s been giving me heart eyes since they brought dessert out.’

‘Which one?’

‘The one in the cute dress! Brown hair, dark eyes-’

‘- that’s Santi’s cousin.’ You rolled your eyes.

‘And?’

‘Santi’s cousin who is a lesbian?’ You tried to suppress a laugh. ‘Who has been with her wife for 11 years and has three children?’

He groaned. ‘Why must you find such joy in my pain?’

‘It’s what siblings are for.’ You grinned. ‘I’m gonna get a drink. D’you want anything?’

He only let out another groan in response - you took that as a no, simply giving him a pat on the head as you stood up.

You’d tried to ask around with a few mutual friends if they knew who Leya was -- either they hadn’t seen Frankie in a while, or they pushed to know why you were asking. You couldn’t exactly play that one as suave. Nobody took a casual interest in the personal life of somebody they barely knew -- even though you did know Frankie. Quite well, actually. He’d practically recounted his entire life story to you that night. Told you things that not even Santi knew.

‘What can I get for you?’ The bartender asked.

‘Uhhh…’ you glanced up at the menu. ‘Is it an open bar?’

‘If I had enough money for every time someone asked me that tonight, I’d be able to pay for all the drinks.’ She shot back. ‘So, no.’

‘Jeez.’ You muttered. ‘How much for a double rum?’

‘Fifteen bucks.’

‘Fifteen?!’ You spluttered. ‘How much is tap water?’

‘Y’know, I still owe you a drink.’

Like earlier, Frankie had suddenly appeared unannounced. You couldn’t help but grin when you saw him leaning against the bar beside you, a goofy smile plastered across his face and his undone tie wrapped around his left hand. Your eyes flickered up to his forehead, examining it for a minute.

‘So the stitches didn’t scar?’ You asked.

He pulled back his hair, shaking his head. ‘Nope.’

‘You lucky duck.’ You quipped. ‘So. About that drink?’

‘This shit is insanely overpriced.’ Frankie said. ‘I can steal us a bottle of wine if you’re willing to hide and drink it?

You glanced over at your brother, who was now crying to one of Santiago’s great aunts, piling cake into his mouth.

‘Yeah. I’m down for that.’

Five minutes later, you and Frankie were out in the gardens of the hotel. It had been raining all day, but there was an undercover patio not too far from the main reception; the walls were made out of white wood, with red roses trailing up the side. The fairly lights tangled beside them illuminated the place in a gentle glow, blue evening sky providing a beautiful contrast. Even though the showers had stopped, you could still smell the rain in the fresh evening air.

‘Wine?’ Frankie led you to a seat by the edge of the patio. ‘I stole it from the head table so it's the expensive shit.’

He tore the cork off, handing you the bottle. Neither of you had brought glasses, but you didn’t mind drinking from the same bottle. You’d kissed already - what was the point in formalities?

‘I hate it to break it to you.’ You paused to wipe your mouth, recovering from the bitter taste. ‘But that’s champagne.’

‘Still alcohol, right?’ He took it from your hands, taking a swig. ‘And it’s free!’

‘You’re right.’ You chuckled. ‘So...I believe we have four years worth of catching up to do.’

‘D’you wanna go first?’ Frankie offered. ‘I heard you got a promotion.’

‘I did, yeah.’ You grinned. ‘It’s a thousand times more work but I get more control over what jobs I take, so that’s good.’

‘Anyone special in your life?’ He asked.

‘Cut the shit, Frankie.’ You groaned. ‘I know that Santi updates you on every second of my life as it happens.’

‘You got me there. He mentioned a...Steven?’

‘A Simon.’ You corrected. ‘But Dickhead or Asshole works just as well.’

‘Damn, I’m sorry.’ Frankie gave your leg a light squeeze. ‘What happened?’

‘He didn’t deserve me and I stayed with him too long.’ You shrugged. ‘I didn’t think I had a reason to leave.’

‘Not having a reason to leave isn’t a reason to stay.’ He murmured.

You didn’t know whether to bring up the D-Word. D-i-v-o-r-c-e. He hadn’t seemed that phase when your sibling had so eloquently and gently brought it up earlier, but you knew Frankie was good at putting on a front. It was why you’d clashed when you first met.

‘Am I allowed to ask?’ You quietly said.

‘It’s nothing bad.’ He shrugged. ‘I mean it is bad, terrible actually, but it was two years ago now. We only got married because she got pregnant and then left the minute our daughter was born.’

‘Leya.’ You didn’t mean to say the name out loud, but it made sense now. ‘Leya is your daughter.’

‘Yeah.’ Frankie warmly smiled. ‘I hate what happened but I’d do it all over again ten times if it meant having her in my life.’

He spent the next few minutes telling you about her. She was named Leya after a certain space princess, though Frankie had changed the spelling to make it less obvious (to which you had argued it was still quite obvious, but a cool name nonetheless). She was currently three years old, often got confused between Spanish and English words, and enjoyed Power Rangers. All in all, she sounded like a great kid. Above all, it was obvious how much she meant to Frankie. His whole face lit up when he spoke about her. Her mum was entirely out the picture, meaning he was doing the whole thing by himself.

‘She sounds amazing.’ You beamed, peering down at the picture on his phone. ‘She looks so much like you.’

‘Thank God.’ Frankie murmured. ‘I dunno if it being a dad has made me more introspective, but I think about that night a lot.’

‘Me too.’ You replied. ‘Not the thing about being a dad. The other part.’

He laughed. ‘I got that.’

‘What do you think about?’

‘You, mostly.’ He admitted. ‘The fact I was an asshole. The fact you basically saved us all. The fact I never got to take you out for that drink.’

You took a swig of champagne, poking his arm. ‘We’re doing it now!’

‘I know.’ He grinned. ‘I just...I know it was only one night but we might not have been around to tell the story if you hadn't been there.’

‘You were the one who landed the plane safely.’

‘Which wouldn’t have mattered if you didn’t do all the stuff after.’ He reminded you. ‘The thing I think about most, though, is that kiss.’

You froze slightly, head slowly turning to look at him. He was peering down at you now, brown eyes intently gazing at you, not unlike they had the first time you’d been in this position. Now, you weren’t both beyond exhausted, or stuck in the middle of the jungle. You were safe and sound, right here with one another.

‘It was a pretty good kiss.’ You edged slightly closer towards him.

‘A very good kiss.’

‘Maybe we should do it-’

Frankie cut you off, meeting your demand before you could even finish it. He was just as you remembered; chapped-but-soft lips with a hint of mint. No tobacco this time. He gently placed a hand on the back of your neck, pulling you further up towards him. It was like you were both reliving the memory of that night in a dream - something you’d done many times. Your memory of it had faded over time but this? This was vivid and giddy and entirely consuming all at once.

‘You know,’ Frankie pulled back for a moment, keeping his hand on the back of your neck and forehead pressed to yours. ‘I asked Santi about you a few years ago, pretty much the minute I realised I was ready to move on from...her.’

‘You did?’ You murmured.

‘That’s when he said you’d been seeing Simon for a few weeks.’ He admitted. ‘I was gutted. Kept wishing I’d got there first.’

‘I wish you had got to me first.’ You lightly chuckled. ‘It would have saved me a lot of pain.’

‘If I were to ask out now, what would you say?’

‘Fuck yes, obviously.’

‘Good.’ He pressed a brief peck to your lips. ‘I admire the enthusiasm.’

That night - well, actually it had probably been the night in Colombia, depending on who you asked - marked the start of a fresh start for you both. What had initially started out as an attempt to seek solace in one another during a difficult time had led you to something more: something whole, something fulfilling.

If someone had told you the first time you’d met Frankie Morales that the unfriendly pilot was going to become the best thing that ever happened to you, you probably would have slapped them. Or laughed, or cried, or all three. That night you met, you thought the emotions you were feeling were from the plane crash -- adrenaline and warmth and panic.

As it would turn out, it was simply the feeling of knowing -- knowing that Frankie Morales was it.

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales imagine #frankie morales fluff #frankie morales angst #triple frontier imagines #pedro pascal character headcanons

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amelialincoln · 4 years ago

Text

We're Still Standing

She hadn't realized she had fallen asleep until she was being shaken aggressively out of subconsciousness. Amelia opened her eyes drowsily and realized immediately how cold she was. It took her a minute to adjust to the dim light illuminating from the lantern that hung beside the swing on the porch.

“What the hell are you doing? I was worried sick.” Her boyfriend’s familiar voice rang from above her and she felt his warm, oversized jacket wrap around her shivering frame. Amelia blinked at him, trying to recall why she was on Meredith’s front deck. Oh shit.

“I’m so sorry,” she slurred, shaking her head out of its daze. “I drove to Mer’s out of habit and I must’ve passed out.”

“We’ve been living in the apartment for two weeks.” His tone was firm and he stretched out a hand to pull her off the uncomfortable wooden swing. “Did you--” She knew what he was going to say before he had the chance to finish.

“No, no, I’ve actually barely been thinking about it since I started working again. I think my body is just still adjusting to the long hours.” She accepted his hand and glanced at her dim phone screen. It read 2:50am. No wonder he seemed so shaken up. She bit her lip, trying to hide her guilt.

“Oh, really?” He paused, trying to find the right words, cautious as always. “You seemed like you were struggling with it a bit while we were living at Mer’s.”

“I haven’t taken that much time off work since I was an intern, other than when I was using,” she explained as he opened the car door for her. “My sobriety depends on being able to fill my time with things I’m passionate about. I’m just getting back to feeling like myself again.”

“Okay…” Link replied, shutting the door gently and climbing into the driver’s seat. He pulled out of Mer’s driveway and waited until they were on the freeway. “So this has nothing to do with the conversation we had last night?” She was almost taken aback by how well he knew her. After spending almost every second together, over the last couple of months, she could barely keep anything from him without Link somehow noticing when something was wrong.

“It's just kind of a lot to put on someone,” she muttered.

“What do you mean?” He asked, glancing at his girlfriend who was twisting pieces of her chocolate brown hair nervously.

“It’s just that the expectation of me to be popping out your babies all the time is a bit overwhelming,” she glanced out the window as Link merged into their usual exit. “I just got back to work, Link.”

“Hey, I’m sorry. I was just getting excited. I didn’t mean like now.” He placed a soft hand on her thigh and felt her relax slightly. “We talked about having other kids a lot while we were at Meredith’s. I’m sorry if I jumped into the future too quickly.”

“Meredith’s was a different time. I was really hormonal and barely had time to actually process what was happening.” She forced a grin which made him raise an eyebrow.

“Well, how many of our conversations and decisions were made when you were hormonal?” He turned to look at her and watched her gaze fall. “All that stuff about marriage and houses and massive backyards?” He was dancing around the four kids that she had specifically outlined to him as her preference.

“Link, you and Scout are enough for me. I don’t need anything else.”

“Don’t need or don’t want?” He asked as he pulled into his apartment’s parkade. “Those are two very different things, Amelia.”

“Can we talk about this in the morning? I’m not thinking straight right now,” she answered honestly.

“Yeah, whatever you want.”

[][][]

Amelia was awoken the next morning to Scout being placed on her bare chest. Sun streamed in through the shutters of their third story bedroom and the glittering light from the ocean reflected like shards of glass on the white walls of the room. Link’s apartment was utter perfection, with a perfect view of Elliott bay and situated on a central, but not too busy, street close to downtown. It made her question why he was itching to move out so fast and start building the house he’d been fantasizing about for the last couple of weeks.

“Hi baby,” she smiled as Scout’s blue eyes stared up at her sleepily. He was always the most cuddly in the morning and she shifted to a position where he was able to wrap his pudgy arm around her neck. “Where’s your Dadda?” As if on cue Link strolled into the bright room, his long hair was disheveled and his face wore a hint of exhaustion. Probably from being up all night searching for her, she realized. He held two steaming mugs of coffee and the scent hit her forcefully as he held it under her chin for her to take a small sip.

“He’s been missing you a lot lately.” He lowered himself onto their bed gently and placed both of the mugs on the side table. “Ma ma, ma ma, all day long.” She laughed at his decent impression of Scout’s latest attempts at talking. “You think with all the time he’s spent with Dadda,” he spoke the word loudly at his giggling son, “He’d start liking me at least half as much as you,” Link joked.

“Mama’s boy.” Amelia shrugged, pressing a kiss to the top of her baby boy’s head and suppressing a yawn.

“Bailey texted you not to come in because neuro is slow today but she put you on call. I turned off your alarm. Thought you might need the rest.” He explained, his voice free of judgment. “You also got a call from our health insurance place. Our plans are ending in a week and we’ve still got some credit so I called the pharmacy to renew your birth control prescription. I noticed your pack this month was almost finished.”

“Oh,” she turned to face him, suddenly reminded that she needed to take her pill. “Yeah...thank you.”

“No problem.” He shrugged. “I can probably pick it up sometime today.” He handed her the cup of coffee, reading her thoughts before she could even ask for it and watched as she swallowed the tiny pill down.

“Link, it’s--” “Fine,” he shrugged. “I don’t have any expectations of you, Amelia. I know you went through a lot with Owen,” he made a face she didn’t recognize before taking a large gulp out of his own mug and clearing his throat. “I don’t want to make you feel trapped or obligated to fulfill my own selfish desires. It’s your choice and I’m not going anywhere...unless you want me to,” he paused, allowing her space to speak if she wanted to before continuing. “I was an only child and it was tough. It would’ve helped to have a sibling to lean on during my parent’s divorce and I guess that’s my own stuff that I should probably work through instead of pushing you into a situation that you don’t want to be in. I’ve seen you go through hell with your sisters and I understand where you are coming from. Most of all, I’d never want to force you to quit the thing you love doing the most. I also think that would be doing a disservice to the world because my girlfriend is a freaking superhero and she’s got hundreds upon hundreds of people to still save. So can we just pretend that everything I selfishly said to you didn’t happen? Cause I usually don’t like to talk everything out but I was up all night trying to put how I was feeling into words and I still feel like I did a shitty job.” “Now you know how I feel all the time,” she laughed, slipping her hand into his and wishing she could erase the stress that was radiating from him. “Screwing up while trying to get my point across is my specialty.”

“That’s not true, you’re one of the most well spoken people I know.” Link rolled his eyes, taking another sip of his coffee and looking a little bit more relaxed.

“There’s a lot of people who would say otherwise,” Amelia joked, pulling their duvet up to Scout’s shoulders as he began to fall asleep on her chest. “You weren’t being selfish,” she finally sighed. ��If anyone’s not being fair it's me. I feel like my mind is switching up on me a hundred times a day. Since I’ve had the tumor I find myself constantly second guessing myself, trying to figure out what I want. Some days all I want is to be a mom. I feel like having Scout has made me become a better person and a better surgeon and I wouldn’t change that for the world. I don’t regret having him for even a second. Every single part of me loves him...and you. To the point where when I am at work, where I am usually at my happiest, I still find myself missing the both of you. Which scares me because there’s never been a doubt in my mind at work that I’m not exactly where I want to be. And I know for a fact that if we were to have another baby, or two or three, that I would find myself not being able to compromise between my love for operating and my love for my family. I know I would have to choose. And I don't think that I can. At least not right now.” Link nodded his head in understanding. “But when I can, you’ll be the first to know,” She laughed, causing him to grin.

“Well, I would hope so.” He rolled his eyes, pulling her closer to him gently, careful not to wake their sleeping son before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "I'm not going anywhere, Mia, and I'm not going to force you into anything. So for the love of god, stop running and just tell me how you feel because it's going to take a whole lot more than not wanting another baby right now to scare me off."

#amelia shepherd #amelink #atticus lincoln #amelink fanfiction #ameliashepherd #amelinkfanfiction #greysanatomy #atticus link #link

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cheeriecherry · 5 years ago

Text

Space Between [Aizawa Shouta x F!Reader x Yamada Hizashi} [6/9]

EraserMic x Reader

Part 6/9

Warnings: none, a little fluff, some suggestive themes but nothing explicit

The next few days pass both quickly and slowly. Every time you look at the clock, mere minutes have passed since the last time, but when you spend your afternoons planning alongside other pros, it’s so fast-paced you can barely keep up.

Shouta and Hizashi made true on their words, calling in personal favours and putting together a capable team of trusted heroes. You supply them with as much information as you can, about Oracle’s visions as well as how Akuma works. By the end of the week, you’ve got an ambush plan in place.

You’ll be the one luring the villain out into the open, since you’re her prime target. You also know that she won’t show herself unless she has a clear getaway, so unfortunately the street where she attacks you has to stay open to the public. But with Shouta on standby in the vicinity, there shouldn’t be any casualties.

Hizashi and a couple others will be nearby, ready to add some extra hands to the fight if necessary, but if everything goes accordingly then Akuma should be in quirk-nullifying handcuffs in under a minute. Then she’ll be brought into custody, and she’ll be out of your life for good.

Still, you’re on edge. Akuma was well known in the underground for being clever and wily. There was always the possibility that something could go awry, in any way, shape, or form. For instance, if one of your team mates got caught in her tar, the whole plan would go to shit.

You sigh deeply and lean back in your deck chair, staring up at the afternoon sky. The closer you got to your supposed death, the more you felt like you were going to fall prey to it, like Oracle said people did. It felt like fate was swallowing you up, ready to consume you whole.

You have to want to come out of this, they’d said, but you were tired. So tired. Exhausted after years and years of horrific sights and fears. You knew you didn’t want to die, but…

“Is that the same thing as wanting to live…?” you ask yourself, not expecting an answer. Would not wanting to die be enough to free you from Akuma, should she catch you? Or was everything for naught, simply because you were having a hard time? What if all you were doing was walking straight into your own death?

You pinch your eyes shut when the sun becomes too bright to bear. Maybe you should have listened to Hizashi while you’d still had the chance; turned tail and run far away from Akuma, and kept running, and running, and running, and never stopping, never living, never slowing down. Ever.

“What is life without experiences,” you mumble, “if not sadness, if not laughter, if not love…”

Running would mean you’d be alive, but not living. Death meant you would be neither. But which was the worse choice, and for whom?

You just wished you had more time-

You pause, blinking your eyes open in surprise. I’m talking as if I know I’m going to die. Have I seriously condemned myself to this fate?

You frown. There’s hope. There has to be. Even if Akuma catches me, there’s hope…

Until there isn’t.

“Shut up,” you tell yourself, in an attempt to quell your cynical inner voice.

How do I fight without hope? Keep moving forward without hope?

Tears bud behind your eyelashes, though not from the brightness of the sky. You sniffle a little, trying to blink them away, but it’s mere seconds before they’re rolling down your cheeks in tidy little streams. Your body trembles with silent sobs, and you curl yourself tighter into a ball. When was the last time you’d even felt hope?

Hell, when was the last time you’d felt happy?

You let yourself cry for a few minutes, allowing your feelings to run their course and dissipate naturally, like your therapist had suggested you do. When your breathing begins to even out, and your thoughts begin to form again, you wipe your eyes.

When did I last feel hope?

“Coming home,” you whisper, “Seeing Shouta and Hizashi in the airport. Seeing them smile. Feeling safe in their arms. Sleeping a full night beside them, without any nightmares. Having them support me, and stand by me, no matter what.”

And imagining the future the three of us could have. Teaching, loving, living. Maybe getting married? Having a family?

It dawns on you then, a blinding revelation. If you found it hard to have hope and fight for yourself, then maybe you could do it for other people. For their hopes, their lives, their families. Protect them, and stay strong for them, until you found the strength to do it for yourself.

You’d survive, you decide. You’d come out of this for Shouta and Hizashi, for their love and their light, because you knew that with them you’d find hope, and a future, and all three of you were willing to fight for it.

----

Your boyfriends arrive home on schedule, to find the dinner table set and you bringing food out to it. Both of them watch you for a moment, taking note of the skip in your step and the smile on your face.

You greet them happily when you see them in the doorway, coming over to give them both a kiss. Shouta returns his gently, which Hizashi captures you in a hug and peppers smooches all over your cheek.

“Now this is a nice treat to come home to,” the blond says, finding a seat at the table. He at least has the manners to wait until everyone else is sitting before piling food onto his plate. “What’s the occasion, sweetheart?”

You shrug and shake your head, scooping a few things onto your own dish. “No occasion. I’m just...feeling good. Better than I have in a while, actually.”

Shouta gives you one of his rare smiles. “That’s good to hear,” he says, “what changed?”

“Dunno,” you reply. “Well, sort of. Something Oracle had said got me to think.”

“Oh?”

“‘If people don’t want to live, then fate will eat them right up’.”

“They said that?” Hizashi asks around a mouthful of dinner.

“I’m paraphrasing,” you tell him. “My point is… I have a lot of shit I need to deal with, a lot of baggage I need to unpack, and two weeks isn’t enough time to do that. So until I can find the means to be strong and hopeful for me, I’ve decided that I’m going to do it for you. To protect your futures, your lives, your hearts, all of it. Even if I don’t have hope now, I know that it’ll come back. I just need to work at it, and be patient.”

By the time you finish your little tangent, Hizashi’s eyes have gotten misty, and Shouta’s have an ill-hidden glint of pride. You reach out slowly towards them, and take one of their hands in both of yours.

“I love you both so much, you know? So much. I always have. And no one is going to take that away from me.”

----

You’re staring at the ceiling, the dark, dark ceiling, as the clock ticks past two. Shouta and HIzashi are laid on either side of you, wedging you comfortably between them. They’re both fast asleep, if their even breaths and quiet snores are anything to go by. Oh, how you envied them.

Instead, though, you’re awake. Very awake, counting the tiles above you for the fourth time. Your earlier pleasant mood has all but vanished, leaving you riddled with your more common anxiety and restlessness.

Careful not to wake your boyfriends, you shimmy out of bed and sneak into the living room, where you then slip outside onto the back deck.

Your intention was to find a cozy spot and watch the city lights in the sky for a while, but instead you find a familiar hooded figure hunkered down on one of the chairs, curled up tightly and looking extremely small.

You take a seat beside them, keeping your eyes trained on them while they catch their breath. Their shoulders are stiff, and their nails are biting into their palms from being curled into such tight fists. You know they wouldn’t have sought you out if they didn’t want to talk, but you still decide not to push them into conversation.

It takes a few minutes for them to speak, breaking the comfortable silence amassed between you.

“I keep seeing people dying,” they mumble, tucking their knees closer to their chest.

“That’s how your quirk works, isn’t it?”

They nod. “Yeah, but I mean specifically next week. Every time I warn someone, it seems like there’s two more visions that need sorting.”

“It sounds tiring,” you admit. “It must be exhausting having other people’s fates in your hands.”

Oracle sighs. They push their hood off and let it flop around their shoulders, finally letting you see their mop of dark hair. They haven’t got their usual mask on tonight either, and you’re sure that you can count a couple freckles splattered across tawny cheeks.

“It is,” they tell you, “not just the mental and emotional toll, but the physical, too. I have seizures every time I have a vision, y’know? I have medication that stops them, but...it also stops the visions.”

Your eyebrows rise into your hairline. You’re genuinely shocked that a quirk could have such an expensive side effect on someone, especially a literal kid.

“Maybe you should take your medication-”

“Not until I have another way to help people!” Their tone is sharp, but they look abashed as soon as the words leave their mouth. “Sorry…”

“It’s fine, kid. I get it.” And you do. All throughout your life, you wanted nothing more than to do good and make a difference in people’s lives, no matter the personal cost. “But...it’s important to take care of yourself too, okay? Otherwise you’ll end up...well, like me.”

They pout at your words, and it looks like they want to make a sarcastic quip, but they decide against it and the two of you lull into silence. It lasts almost ten minutes this time, and for a minute you wonder if Oracle has fallen asleep.

But when you glance over at them, they’re staring at the dark cloudy sky.

“Is...is there any way you can move Akuma’s ambush to a more secluded area?” they ask, voice so quiet you can barely hear them. “Or close the street off?”

“I’m sorry, kid,” your shoulders fall and you cast your eyes downward. “If I could, I would. But this is the only time we know for certain where she’s gonna be. We can’t risk throwing that away. Not for my safety, not for the public’s safety.” Your voice is small and bitter when you utter your next words, “As much I hate to have that mentality, catching her now will save more people in the long run.”

You can feel Oracle’s annoyance bubbling off them, even from several feet away, and quite frankly you don’t blame them. It was an unfortunate way of thinking you’d had to adopt while you were undercover, to keep yourself from trying to save everyone. It was one of the most difficult things you’d ever had to learn, forcing yourself to put your mission and future lives ahead of the currently-suffering.

Every time you’d watched your superiors kill an innocent person, you’d silently promised them that they wouldn’t die for nothing. But it still drove you crazy.

“That’s a stupid way to think,” Oracle hisses.

“I know.”

“People matter. No matter how small their lives may seem, how insignificant, they matter.”

“I know.”

“So if you can’t change the ambush, then I want in on it. I know who I’m looking for. I can find them, and get them out of the area safely.”

You groan inwardly and let your head fall forward. “Kid, I can’t legally allow you to do that-”

“Y/N, please!”

“I said legally.”

They bite their tongue and quiet down, catching onto your plan quickly. You explain to them how the ambush is going to work, letting them know where everyone would be and what roles they’d all play. Oracle winces a little when they realize you’re basically the bait for the whole operation, but you assure them that you’re in good hands. You trust the people you’re working with, and you trust your boyfriends.

“Don’t wear your vigilante uniform either, you’ll be too easily spotted. But make sure you bring a mask in your pocket to protect your identity.”

They nod enthusiastically, hanging on your every word. You emphasize the fact that they need to stay out from underfoot, lest they interfere with the plan you’ve set in place. “And once all your visions are dealt with, you get out of there. You don’t stick around to try and help more people. Understood?”

“Yes ma’am!”

You roll your eyes at their childish demeanor, and silently wonder if you’ve made the right choice in letting them help, or if you’d just sentenced a kid to their demise.

A shiver wracks your body and draws you out of your thoughts, and you’re suddenly very aware that you’re only in thin shorts and a tank top.

“You should go inside,” Oracle says, standing up. “Wouldn’t want you getting sick. Besides, it’s almost three, and I have class at eight. I should go home before my dad scolds me.”

Your heart aches for them, for the stress they have bearing down on such young shoulders.

You stand up beside them, stretch, and shiver again. “What are you studying for?” you ask before they leave, hiding a smile when their face lights up.

“I’m gonna be an EMT!” they declare proudly. “I’ve always wanted to help people, even before I knew what to do with my quirk. I figured that since I work well under pressure, a high stress job would be suitable.”

You smile fondly at them, feeling some kind of almost-parental affection. “Keep working at it, then, and I’m sure you’ll get there. You’re a smart kid.”

They grin back at you with a cheeky expression. “The day that ‘Oracle’ disappears is the day you’d better watch out for me on the scene! I’ll be there, in the background.”

You bid your goodnights to each other after that, and you wait until they’re out of sight before walking back into the warmth of the house.

When you get in, you’re somehow unsurprised to find Shouta waiting for you on the couch. His expression and posture are both relaxed and neutral, but you can tell there’s something on his mind.

“How much did you hear?” you ask sheepishly.

“Enough,” he says. “You’re letting a vigilante help? Do you even know them?”

You take a seat beside him on the couch, falling sideways to cuddle up on his chest. He tosses an arm around your waist, pulling you closer and holding you safe.

“They’re the one who gave us this opportunity in the first place,” you chide, “without them, I’d be dead and you’d be getting a solemn phonecall about it. Besides, they would’ve shown up anyways. At least this way, they can stay out from under our feet.”

Shouta sighs deeply, a low rumble you feel against your body. His arm tightens around you ever so slightly, and you glance up at him.

“What’re you thinking about?” you wonder, reaching up to curl a few strands of his hair around your fingers.

“Oracle. They just...remind me a lot of my students, is all.”

“How so?”

“Young and naive, determined to the point of stupidity-”

You snicker quietly.

“-but hopeful, and filled with potential. Granted they have a good guiding hand.”

You stretch up and lay a couple soft kisses along his jaw. “You’re students are lucky to have you,” you tell him honestly. “As am I.”

You lay there for a few more minutes, sharing idle thoughts and sweet kisses, simply enjoying each other’s company. You know he’s worried about the fight to come, about your survival, as well as the people caught in the crossfire. You know he’d never say any of it out loud, but you can feel it in the tension he carries.

Hoping to ease him a little, you deepen your kisses, moving your lips slowly and sensually, teasing him with the tip of your tongue. He makes a noise low in his throat, and before you know it he’s flipped your positions, caging you in beneath him.

You whine as he mouths along your jaw and throat, squirming a little against the weight of his body as his hands slip under your shirt to knead at your chest. His lips trail further and further downwards, and you eagerly press up against him, moving around so his thigh comes to rest between your legs. But just as you’re ready to fully submit to him, he pauses.

“The things I’d love to do to you,” he mutters, and pulls back. You make a noise of protest, wriggling a little to try and reestablish the delicious attention he’d been giving you.

He shushes you with a kiss.”Behave,” he tells you firmly, a thinly veiled order that only serves to spark your arousal. “You’re exhausted, Y/N. As much as I’d love to have my way with you, you can barely keep your eyes open.”

You hate to admit it in such circumstances, but you know he’s right. You feel heavy and hazy, and not just from his earlier ministrations.

He gives one last kiss to the crown of your head, and rolls off you, pulling you to your feet alongside him. You wander back to bed together, smiling when you find Hizashi still out cold, and slip quietly back under the covers.

You fade into sleep to the sound of soft goodnights.

----

You’re alone the next morning when you wake, as per usual. You vaguely recall your boyfriends kiss you good morning and then goodbye, but you had still been mostly asleep then.

You’re pretty certain you’d had some unsettling dreams, no different than usual, but it shocked you how quickly you’d gotten used to not having them. A couple good days in a row, and you were left quaking by the return of your nightmares.

There was the familiar imagery of your past, of course, it was something you dreamt of often. But alongside those thoughts were worries and fears of your future. At this point, you had less than a week until Akuma’s attack, and your nerves were starting to get the better of you.

Despite your earlier enthusiasm about ‘staying strong for other people’, you’re once again finding it difficult to imagine a happy outcome. Your therapist had mentioned you’d have high points and low points in your recovery, and that you couldn’t force yourself to feel or not feel either of them. But what if you were in a low point during the attack? What if you got caught and you couldn’t find the strength that day to get out?

What if ‘being in a low spot’ meant you’d die?

You grumble and pinch your eyes shut, rolling over in bed, but it’s too bright and you’re too alert now to fall back asleep.

Maybe you’d feel better if you did something today. You knew your schedule was clear for the afternoon, not having a therapy session until tomorrow. Maybe you could try and brave the mall again…

You weren’t sure if you’d be able to cope, should you get anxious, but a little piece of you really really wanted to try. Plus, you were running out of clothes to wear, and you’d already done the laundry twice.

Maybe you could get something for your boys, too…

----

The mall is less busy than the last time you’d ventured out, which you’re grateful for. Fewer people overall, and a quieter atmosphere made it a little easier to handle, but you still had a pair of Hizashi’s fancy headphones tucked away in case you needed some quiet.

You wander in and out of several stores, perusing the clothes and trying a few things on. You end up putting most of it back on the shelves, but you manage to find two or three things in every store you visit. It’s a substantial haul when all is said and done, and your arms are loaded with bags.

In the past, you would have smacked yourself on the back of the head for spending so much money in one sitting, but with the paycheck you’d gotten for your time undercover, you could afford to go a little overboard.

At least the commission hadn’t been stingy on it’s compensation, for all the shit you had to deal with now.

You set your purchases down on an empty bench and sort your clothes into just a few bags, so it would be easier to carry home. Part of you cringes when you look at the receipts, but you quickly shove them away. Out of sight, out of mind.

Then, just when you’re about to pack up and leave, a blindingly pink store catches your eye. Oh.

Well, you had wanted to get something for Hizashi and Shouta...and thinking back to the previous night, when Shouta’d had his hands up your shirt, you know that both of them would appreciate something like that.

So you wander into the lingerie shop, growing shy as you wander around the racks and look at all the options. You didn’t want something too difficult to remove, even though all the strings and straps would be sexy, and you didn’t want something too plain, or innocent.

You think hard about it as you flip through clothes hangers and observe each set. Wrong colour, wrong shape, wrong size, too flashy, not flashy enough, itchy fabric...it feels like an impossible mission to find anything even remotely suitable.

You’re just about to give up and walk out, when your eyes land on one of the mannequins. It was unrealistically proportioned, but you were more interested in the lingerie it was displaying. Simple, classic, elegant, sexy...it was perfect.

You find your size on the shelf beside the display, and walk out of the store a few minutes later with another bag in hand, feeling remarkably pleased with yourself. You only hope your boyfriends wouldn’t tear the set to shreds when they finally got their hands on you.

#aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #eraserhead x reader #yamada hizashi x reader #present mic x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #Space Between

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veronica-rich · 5 years ago

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Holly wasn’t used to visitors; it had been rather a long time since he’d entertained any. For one, the radiation warning signal tended to send electroshock through the hull of any craft approaching with organics aboard. Carbon and cadmium didn’t mix well; or, they would, right into DNA soup.

“So what’s going to happen to this old boy here?” His visitor tapped at the small window.

“Dunno.” Well, that wasn’t true. Holly knew well enough he’d likely let the poor bastard out someday, to face God-knew-what was left behind in the lower decks of Catropolis. Come to think of it, there was no reason to be cagey. “Probably unseal it when the radiation levels have finished subsiding. Five years, give or take.”

The man shook his head at the crewman long frozen on the other side of the reinforced glass, an intergalactic Briar Rose. “Shame. He’s got no company to look forward to. Unless you’ve got a holosuite?”

“Yeah. But, for one person.” Truth was, Holly had spent the better part of the last 27 years trying to figure out who he’d reanimate. Red Dwarf was equipped to provide enough runtime to exactly one light bee running exactly one personality disc. Holly occasionally interrupted counting dust motes and erasing selected memory files to re-read the works of Agatha Christie to wonder how the entirety of human knowledge could once have been accessed on a square smaller than a rice cake, but 150 years later a ship the size of Paris couldn’t handle two floaty projections.

His visitor frowned in thoughtful manliness as he produced a cheroot and Zippoed the tip to life. Blowing a stream of smoke, he continued. “Rough go, that. So, who you planning to pick?”

“Trying to calculate that. There was a woman ... but that’s just tragic. Didn’t work once already.”

“Can’t have a sad sack sloping about missing what he can’t touch.”

Holly nodded. “Course, then there are the drinking buddies.”

“Ah, it’s to be a pair of inebriates roaming the ship, then?”

“Least it’d be entertainment. Gordon Bennett, it’s a bore around here.” The man blew out smoke and nodded in sympathy. “Technically, I’m obliged to resurrect the highest-ranking deceased.” The other regarded Holly’s viewscreen skeptically. “I know, I know,” the A.I. added. “Highest and lowest ranking hurtling through the void until death or murder by frustration - makes great sketch comedy, but not much for pathos.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a lot on your plate, friend.” Holly appreciated the empathy in his new friend’s tone. What a guy. “You know ... I could help, in exchange for those parts I need.”

“Help?”

“Sure. Point me to the disc library. I’ll shut my eyes and pull one at random from the lower-rankers in there. Even go on and lock- er, um, load it in the holosuite and set a timer so you don’t have to step-by-step with the skutters to get it done.”

Come to think of it, Holly considered, that would free up some of his runtime. He didn’t like it generally broadcast, but his IQ had slipped a bit lately. Just a skip down the scale. Probably nothing to worry about. Still, one less decision ... “You’d do that?”

“Think nothing of it.” The visitor flicked his strawberry brunet hair out of his face. “Just set me on the path, my rugged old chapperooney.”

*****

Five years later ...

“But RIMMER?”

“I did a probability study,” lied Holly. “And it turns out Rimmer is absolutely the best person to keep you sane.”

*****

Five years earlier ...***

The pilot shrugged out of his bronze jacket and settled back into his own cockpit seat, then took up his clipboard and crossed a neat, worryingly straight horizontal line through another set of his own copperplate printing. Fifteen down ... and what, a thousand to go? “Computer,” he intoned in a much more nasal tone than Holly had heard, “load the next dimension.”

***nonlinear storytelling is a totally valid way to add tension. write it your own way, you smeggers

#red dwarf #short ficlet #fanfic

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caught-in-a-seesaw-stigma · 4 years ago

Text

Map of the Soul Drabble #3

Drabble #3 - One Potato, Two Potato

Pairing: Seokjin x reader (platonic)

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 6.5K+

Warning: Death of a family member (cancer), cursing, bad jokes/puns, funerals, family drama

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

Even though the sky was clear and sunny, your body felt cold and cloudy. Warm rays of sunlight streamed through stained glass across the collection of potted plants and floral arrangements in the room, all of it surrounding the varnished black walnut casket which sat center stage at the front. After a long 7 years of fighting against an invisible enemy, your grandmother finally succumbed to cancer, taking part of your heart to the heavens with her. You gathered together with your family to say your final goodbyes, and not a soul in the funeral home could get your tears to stop falling.

“I’m worried about her,” you heard your father whisper behind you. “She hasn’t stopped crying since last night.”

“I know, honey,” your mother responded. “But you know how close they were. You can’t just expect her to be okay overnight. It will take some time for her to heal.”

“If only Seokjin would get here sooner,” your father grumbled. “He always knows how to cheer her up.”

There was truth behind your father’s grumbles. Your favorite cousin, Seokjin, never failed to bring a smile to your face with his clever quips and his never-ending assault of cheesy jokes. In the midst of your current despair, however, you doubted whether he would be able to pull you out of the pit of misery in which you were currently drowning.

You pulled yet another tissue from the box in your hands and swiped at the ceaseless drops spilling past your eyelashes. You frowned slightly at the darkened wet spots dappled across the fabric of your pink floral romper.

Ugh, I knew I shouldn’t have worn mascara.

“Oh, look, honey,” your mother whispered while tapping your shoulder. “I think the Kims just arrived.”

You sniffled and wiped at your nose before turning toward the entrance, and sure enough, the entire Kim clan was filtering into the funeral home. Your aunt waved in your direction, and your mother sent back an equally enthusiastic wave in response. In mere moments, the two of them were embracing and chattering away in hushed voices about incoming relatives, friends, and the big dinner taking place after the funeral. Your father patted your shoulder, encouraging you to keep out of their gossipy affairs.

You sighed heavily and scanned the room, looking for Seokjin’s broad shoulders and tousled chestnut locks, but he was nowhere to be seen. Discouraged, you turned back to gaze at the myriad floral arrangements landscaping the front of the room. As luck would have it, everyone knew your grandmother remarkably well. Every bouquet was in a shade of pink and the delightful rosy hues transformed the dreary box into a chest containing a precious treasure. It was soothing to look upon the roses, carnations, lilies, and other flowers all lending their delicate fragrance and beauty to the somber scene before you.

A side door creaked open to reveal two funeral home workers carrying in two more large floral arrangements. One was decked out in the signature pink motif, but the other was a ghastly collection of yellow and purple blooms with a hideous printed bow and gold foil wrapping around the bottom of the pot.

“Where did that monstrosity come from?” uttered a voice from your left. “It’s an eyesore.”

You turned just in time to raise your eyebrows as a newly bleached blonde Seokjin slid into the seat next to you with a scowl on his face. His rosy button up shirt was accented with a fuchsia pocket square and tie combo, and you smiled at his strict adherence to your grandmother’s signature color. Pink just accentuated Seokjin’s personality perfectly; it was light, comforting, and full of life. The horrid yellow and purple creation invading the flower arrangements was an affront to Seokjin’s very nature, and you could tell he was not having it.

“Help me hide that hideous thing in the back,” Seokjin requested with a pat to your knee. “Before anyone sees it.”

The urgency in his voice drew a small smile on your lips and you readily followed him to the front of the room. You both made a big show of rearranging the flowers and potted plants, and through a little misdirection, you hid the sore thumb behind a mountain of pink roses and lilies. With the funeral faux pas handled, you and Seokjin meandered back to your seats and sighed with relief.

“Glad that’s done,” Seokjin smirked. “High five for teamwork!”

With his large hand lifted just above your head, you grinned and gladly granted him the high five. Seokjin’s comforting presence seemed to have cleared some of the gloomy rain clouds which refused to dissipate in the wake of your grandmother’s death. More people began filing into the funeral home and Seokjin placed his arm around you and drew you close.

“I still can’t believe she’s gone,” he whispered. “It doesn’t feel real.”

“My heartbreak feels real,” you countered. “I was just talking to her the other day, Jinnie.”

“I know,” he pouted. “I called her a few days ago too. I was still missing a few of her recipes for the family cookbook. We’re going to have to dig through her stuff at the house to figure out the rest on our own.”

“Whatever you need, Jinnie,” you promised. “I’m just glad she was able to share some of those things with us. Don’t worry. We will find the rest. I don’t know what I would do if we could never taste those things again.”

“It’ll take some practice to get them just right,” Seokjin sighed. “But we really need to find the rest. Between you and me, I think we can handle it. Right, goguma?”

“Awwww, goguma,” you sniffled. “Grandma won’t ever be able to call me a sweet potato again.”

“I know,” Seokjin said comfortingly. “But I’m still here, and I will continue to call you goguma from now on.”

“Thank you, Jinnie,” you smiled. “Does that mean I get to call you gamja?”

“But of course,” Seokjin chuckled. “What good is a sweet potato without her savory counterpart? Together, we can find those last remaining secret recipes.”

“Typical Grandma,” you mused. “Never wanting to give away the best recipes. Not even the secret things she would do aside from the written recipe!”

“I know,” Seokjin huffed. “Remember what she would tell us instead?”

Seokjin rearranged his face to take on the look of an old lady with a smirk.

“And that’s all,” Seokjin creaked out in a faux granny voice. “Unless you want to get a little fancy.”

“And of course, she always got fancy,” you seethed. “Sneaky old lady.”

“The sneakiest,” Seokjin agreed. “I guess I have to take over that position now.”

“I’ll fight you for it,” you challenged with a smile and you both put up your dukes.

Your quiet giggles were interrupted by a grim faced man in a gray suit tapping the podium microphone. A cacophony of feedback and groans from the guests erupted across the room, culminating in a clearing of the throat and a somber “Pardon me.”

“Pardon me,” the somber man repeated. “Will everyone please take their seats? We will begin the service in a few minutes.”

Everyone crowded into the long pews, and soon, only standing room was available. The beloved matriarch of your family certainly touched an abundance of lives in her time on Earth, and that sentiment carried you forth as the service began. Family members and friends took turns reading words of comfort and praise, and you and Seokjin even contributed a reading of your grandmother’s favorite poem. When all was said and done, the service continued on to the cemetery where your grandmother was finally laid to rest beside your already departed grandfather.

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

“Kim Seokjin, I’m warning you!” you growled. “If you fuck up my hair, I will literally murder you.”

Seokjin’s barely contained guffaws spilled out as squeaks and squawks as he continued to apply pink dye to the bleached sections of your hair before folding them up with foil.

“Relax,” Seokjin chuckled as he continued working. “This isn’t my first time doing someone’s hair. You’re in good hands.”

You grumbled slightly as Seokjin continued to foil wrap more blonde sections of hair around your face, but you relaxed when you realized how focused Seokjin was. After questioning his new blonde look, he explained his clever scheme to pay tribute to your grandmother by dying his treasured brown tresses to a brilliant pink color. After expressing your desire to do the same, you were now sitting in her bathroom with foil sheets, bowls of bleach and dye on the counter and one of your grandmother’s favorite dressing gowns covering your clothes.

“That should do it,” Seokjin announced as he stepped back to admire his handiwork. “Now, we just wait for the dye to set.”

“How many foils did you use?” you questioned while lifting a few covered sections. “I look like an aluminum pinecone over here.”

“Not that many,” he admitted while adjusting the plastic shower cap on his head. “I think I bleached about 13 different sections. Maybe a bit more? You should’ve just done your whole head like me.”

“I don’t want to be twinsies, Seokjinnie,” you replied. “I just want a little pop of pink.”

“Hey,” Seokjin smirked. “What do you call a country with only pink cars?”

You perked up and grinned at your smug cousin, noting that he was desperately trying to hold the punchline in.

“What,” you relented.

“A Pink Car-nation!” Seokjin sputtered.

You both gave in to the absurdity of the cheesy joke and you wandered into your grandmother’s room to sit on her small pink loveseat.

“I always loved this little nook in her room,” you sighed wistfully. “Remember when we’d watch cooking shows with her in here?”

“Yup, every Thursday night,” Seokjin beamed. “I purposely avoided school activities that met on Thursdays so that I never missed an evening with her.”

“She loved those shows,” you reminisced. “Remember when we found all those old Iron Chef episodes on YouTube? She loved it!”

“Not as much as she loved watching Iron Chef America,” Seokjin reminded you. “She had a crush on both Alton Brown and the Chairman.”

“No way,” you argued. “She wanted Morimoto and Michael Symon! She always loved their dishes the best.”

“I think we can agree that she just loved food,” Seokjin chuckled. “The woman had a passion for feeding us delicious things.”

You both sighed and nodded your head, your thoughts replaying touching memories of your grandmother in an attempt to summon her spirit into the room.

“What are we gonna do without her, gamja?” you sniffled. “Things are never going to be the same around here.”

“I don’t know,” Jin huffed. “I’m sure we’ll think of something, goguma.”

A gentle knock pulled you both out of your reverie and your aunt appeared at the doorway with a pink plastic tote in her hands. Her eyebrows rose comically when she peeped the hair accessories you were both rocking, but she shook her head and decided that silence was best in this situation.

“I figured you two would be in here,” she smiled softly. “This was always your place with her.”

“Yeah, we just feel closer to her in here,” you replied.

“What’s that, eomma?” Seokjin gestured at the tote in his mother’s hands. “More of Grandma’s stuff for the closet?”

“Actually, it was on one of the chairs in the dining room,” she explained. “We saw it when we were clearing places for dinner. There’s a note inside. It’s addressed to the two of you...from her.”

Both you and Seokjin bolted off the couch, arms ready to receive this newfound treasure. The glossy opaque exterior did nothing to offer any explanation as to the contents of the container. Noting the intimate nature of this discovery, your aunt stepped forward and gingerly placed the container on the coffee table. After giving your hand a gentle squeeze and offering a kiss to Seokjin’s cheek, she offered a small smile and left without another word.

You and Seokjin sank back into the couch cushions and stared at the pink plastic taunting you from the coffee table. After a moment, you glanced at Seokjin and realized that he was too dumbstruck to do anything.

“I’m going to open it, Jinnie,” you announced. “Is that ok?”

Seokjin could only nod with furrowed brows and his breath caught as you lifted the lid to reveal a pile of multicolored pieces of paper stacked inside topped with a folded sheet of pink lined paper. The box released the scent of coriander, bergamot, lavender, and peppercorns and your eyes watered at the nostalgic scent of your grandmother. You took the folded note into your hand and began to unfold it as Seokjin sat forward to hear you read what was inside. Tears sprang to your eyes as you quickly scanned the page and began to read.

My Dearest Gamja & Sweetest Goguma,

I know that I will not be able to help you finish the cookbook that you’ve been working so hard on, and I apologize for that. I know that whatever you two “cook up” will be amazing, with or without my help. You two will always be my favorites, but don’t ever tell anyone that, not even your parents. They’ll just be jealous, or “jelly” as you kids like to say. I know this isn’t much of a gift, but it’s my most precious possession in the world besides my family. Inside this box, you’ll find the last of my secret recipes. (Yes, the ones you’ve been bugging me about for months now. I also threw in a few extra things just for you two.) Please take this knowledge and put it to good use. Remember that whenever you get stuck in a recipe that it’s ok to improvise. Always trust your instincts and believe in your skills (because I taught you most of them), and if all else fails, just know that I will be proud of you no matter what you do. I love you both more than you will ever know. Please take care of each other and don’t forget that it’s always a good idea to get a little fancy in the kitchen.

Always your little kitchen fairy,

Grandma

P.S. Don’t you dare get rid of my aprons! I worked very hard on those. They belong in the kitchen.

You sniffled as you took in the elegant swirls of her handwriting and the esoteric scribbles in the margins. You were about to comment about one particular doodle to Seokjin, but then you looked up and noticed his reddened ears, his tear streaked cheeks, and his trembling lips.

“Oh, gamja,” you cried out. “What’s wrong?”

“I just-,” Seokjin tried to speak, but failed. “I just miss her so much, goguma. She just got us, you know? No one else really gets us. She always did, and now, she’s gone.”

His last word died on his lips and he could no longer hold back the choking sob clawing at his throat. You quickly placed the letter back on the table and threw your arms around your cousin’s quaking shoulders. The two of you held onto each other, sobbing in your shared grief and comforting each other as best you could.

“We knew this was going to happen at some point, Jinnie,” you muttered into his shoulder. “She couldn’t keep fighting forever. At least we know that she’s not in pain anymore.”

“I know,” he pouted petulantly. “Doesn’t mean I wanted her to leave us.”

“She didn’t completely leave us,” you assured him. “She left us this. Now, we can finish putting together this cookbook. It will be her family legacy.”

That thought seemed to sit well with Seokjin because he released a shaky exhale and straightened up. He leaned over to pull a few tissues out of the crocheted tissue box on the coffee table and he handed you one while he dabbed at the wetness on his flushed cheeks. After you’d both composed yourselves, you began digging through the items in the pink container.

“Oh my God!” Seokjin exclaimed while lifting several pieces of paper. “She finally gave up those last few gems that we kept asking her about.”

“You got her cookie recipe?!” you gasped. “And what about that soup she always makes when we’re sick?”

“It’s all here!” Seokjin confirmed. “The cookies, the soup, and even that chicken dish she only made for special occasions. She even gave us some cooking tips. You know, the stuff she would always do that wasn’t in the recipes? She wrote it all down here in the margins. This is fantastic! You just need to help me put it together.”

You continued perusing the contents of the container and noticed some irregularities in the organization. Your grandmother was a culinary genius, but keeping things neat and in order was not one of her strong suits.

“I think we’re missing a page, Jinnie,” you pouted. “I can’t find the second half of this cookie recipe. I wanted to make some for dessert tonight. Help me find it.”

You both began digging through the dozens of pages of notes in the container, and it was proving to be quite the task. Seokjin frantically filtered through several sheets of paper seeking the page in question. With the copious collection of Post-it notes, sticky flags, and impromptu bookmarks, the coffee table was an absolute disaster area within minutes.

“I swear I just saw that page,” Seokjin grumbled. “It had a blue tab on it and it had a little whale scribbled in the corner of the page.”

“Is the one that you’re holding in your hand?” you quipped with a smile.

Seokjin examined the paper in his hand and his head fell back in defeat. You could barely control the giggle that was threatening to escape from your lips.

“Seriously?” Seokjin groaned. “We’ve been looking for this for like five minutes already.”

“It’s fine, gamja,” you assured him. “You know what they say, if you’re searching for something, take an apple with you.”

You gestured at yourself and Seokjin smiled.

“And why is that?” Seokjin mused.

“So that your search will be fruitful,” you grinned.

You both chuckled at your lame pun, and you could see Seokjin gearing up for one of his infamous cheesy jokes.

“We should’ve called you sagwa instead of goguma, y’know?” Seokjin suggested. “But grandma always said you were too soft and sweet to be an apple, even if your middle name is Eris.”

“I yam what I yam,” you gloated. “There’s no arguing with her logic.”

“Hey,” Seokjin chuckled. “Why do sweet potatoes make good detectives?”

“Why?” you smiled.

“Because they keep their eyes peeled,” Seokjin responded before exploding into a fit of squeaky laughter.

The two of you collected yourselves after the giggles calmed down and stacked the handwritten notes back into the pink container for safekeeping. Once you got the chance, you were going to begin typing everything up and creating a digital template for the cookbook. Your best friend/soulmate, Taehyung, was creating some dazzling layouts and original artwork that would be used to decorate the cookbook and commemorate your grandmother.

After rinsing the pink dye out of each other’s hair in the shower with your grandmother’s removable shower head, you and Seokjin dried your hair and styled it the best you could with your grandmother’s limited styling products. You wove your hair into a pair of French braid pigtails and the brilliant hues of pink peeking through your dark hair filled you with glee.

Perfect.

You turned to see Seokjin arranging his rosy bangs so that his forehead was still exposed when you had a brilliant idea.

“Want to help me make some of Grandma’s cookies, gamja?” you chirped. “We should make a double batch for everyone that’s coming.”

“I’m down,” Seokjin replied with a grin. “As long as we have this recipe, what could go wrong?”

30 MINUTES LATER

“This doesn’t look right, gamja,” you huffed while scanning the recipe ingredients on the page again. “The dough feels too wet. I think we did something wrong.”

Seokjin walked over and looked at the sticky mess coating your hands and then glanced back at the page you were still decoding.

“You’re right,” Seokjin agreed. “Something isn’t right.”

You wiped as much of the greasy dough back into the bowl as you could before walking over to the sink to wash your hands of the sticky substance. Whatever it was, it was definitely not cookies. You dried your hands on the flamingo print towel hanging from your pink ruffled apron and groaned at the unchanging list of ingredients on the page. You didn’t even notice when your cousin Sana wandered in and peeked over your shoulder.

“What is this?” she asked abruptly, nearly giving you a heart attack.

“Holy shit, Sana,” you gasped while clutching your chest. “Where the hell did you come from, you little ninja?”

“Your mom sent me inside to get tablecloths,” she griped. “Where are they, anyway?”

Seokjin opened a cabinet and pulled out a pile of folded pink patterned tablecloths and handed them to Sana. She gazed at his hair for a second too long and Seokjin took that as an invitation to strike a pose.

“You like it?” Seokjin prompted. “Looks good, huh?”

Sana’s sharp gaze cut across to your braids and she raised a judgmental eyebrow at the pink threaded in your dark hair.

“We did it for Grandma,” you explained. “Something to pay tribute to her memory.”

Sana’s countenance relaxed and she nodded with a smirk.

“Well, that’s ok then,” Sana murmured. “If you’re going to look ridiculous, at least it’s for a good cause.”

Both you and Seokjin gaped at her snarky remark and your eyes followed her as she made her way to the hallway. She paused for a moment and turned back with a huff.

“By the way,” Sana grumbled. “One of your friends is here.”

“Oh, is it Tae?” you hoped. “He’s supposed to be getting here today. His parents couldn’t drive him yesterday so he missed the funeral.”

“Ugh, no,” Sana snapped. “It’s not your idiot best friend. It’s some girl.”

“Soulmate, Sana, not idiot best friend,” you admonished playfully. “They may mean the same thing, but Tae is big on labels.”

“Whatever,” Sana rolled her eyes. “It’s not him. Just come outside and get your friend. I don’t know who she is, but she’s kinda annoying.”

“I’ll go out in a minute,” you replied while studying the recipe once again. “Jin-Jin and I are working on the cookies right now. We need to figure out what’s wrong with the recipe.”

Sana leaned in and looked at the dough in the mixing bowl and scowled.

“That dough looks like shit,” she growled. “What did you do to it?”

“Sana!” you exclaimed with a start. “Rude much?”

“What?” Sana argued. “It does! My dog’s shit looks like that if she eats too much fried food.”

“You know, she’s got a point, goguma,” Seokjin commented lightly. “Maybe we missed something in the recipe?”

“Just dry it out,” Sana suggested. “It looks too wet to be cookie dough.”

“Huh?” you recoiled. “How would you know that?”

“Trust me,” Sana smirked. “I’ve stolen a lot of cookie dough out of Grandma’s freezer. I know what it should look like.”

With the mischievous smirk still pulling her lips into a sneer, Sana turned and left the kitchen with a little hitch in her step.

“That little hellion,” Seokjin mused. “Should we tell her that Grandma knew about her thievery all along?”

“And ruin the illusion that she’s a sneaky little thief?” you giggled. “Nah, maybe later. I’m just surprised she paid so much attention to the texture of the dough. She’s one smart cookie after all.”

“I guess she’s a cookie dough expert,” Seokjin chuckled. “Do you know what they call a smart cookie?”

“What?” you smirked with anticipation.

“Academia nut,” Seokjin replied, then immediately fell into squeaky giggles.

You both enjoyed the lame pun and joke combo for a moment before looking back into the mixing bowl with frustration. You grabbed the ingredients page again and tried to puzzle out the mystery of the cookie recipe once again.

“Are you sure this is the right page to the cookie recipe, Jinnie?” you queried. “Maybe it was a different page.”

“Maybe?” Seokjin hummed. “Can you check the pink container again? Maybe we missed something.”

You took off your apron and placed it on a hook before walking back into the hall. You raced back to your grandmother’s room past the living room and shuffled through the box looking for the long lost cookie ingredient list. After flipping through a few pages, a loose piece of heavy cardstock fluttered to the ground. Upon further inspection, you immediately realized the problem with the recipe and you groaned loudly.

Grandma, you sneaky old lady!

You quickly headed back to the kitchen, but unfortunately, you didn’t get very far.

When you got back into the living room, a high pitched squeal assaulted your ears.

“HEY!” the voice bellowed. “THERE YOU ARE!”

Before you could trace the origin of the voice, a pair of arms enveloped you in a bear hug. You look past the wisps of caramel hair flapping in your eyes at your confused younger cousin Sana.

“She said she was here to see you,” Sana scowled. “I told her you were busy in the kitchen, but she wouldn’t listen. Friend of yours?”

“Well, of course she’s my friend,” the strange voice insisted. “We’ve been in the same class since second grade, haven’t we?”

As she pulled away to reveal her face, you nearly growled at the pair of pleading eyes belonging to the one and only Aeri. The same Aeri who once poured glitter glue into your pencil case, who was the sweetheart of your school, and who was infamous for going after all the popular, rich boys in town just to reap the benefits.

“I’m so sorry to hear about your grandmother,” Aeri squealed sadly. “I just wanted to come over and make sure you were doing ok.”

“I’m fine,” you said, suspicion etching little wrinkles around your eyes. “How did you know I was here?”

“Just a lucky guess,” she shrugged. “Your aunt said I could stay and help set up for the party as a sign of my condolences to your family. Isn’t that great?”

“Yeah, sure,” you commented, still unsure of her intentions. “Thank you.”

“Oh, you dyed your hair?” Aeri noted. “That’s an interesting color choice.”

“Grandma loved pink,” Sana explained. “Her and Seokjin decided to play salon together. It’s a tribute.”

You glared at the air quotes Sana was making when she said “tribute,” but you also noticed that Aeri’s eyes lit up with Sana said Seokjin’s name.

“Oh well, that’s wonderful,” Aeri cooed. “It looks great. I bet your cousin’s hair looks just as good. That’s so sweet that you guys did that for your grandmother.”

The air in the living room shifted uncomfortably with Aeri’s words and you cleared your throat before the moment got any more awkward.

“Well, I’d love to stay and chat,” you muttered. “But I’m a little busy right now getting the dessert ready for tonight. Have fun setting up.”

You turned towards the kitchen, but not before hearing the beginning of Aeri and Sana’s conversation.

“Oh, I wonder if I should go help her in the kitchen,” Aeri proclaimed sweetly. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

“No, she’s fine.” Sana grumbled. “She’s got Jin in there. We need your help outside setting up tables. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Aeri’s protests faded out the door and you scowled as you heard the screen door fall shut.

What is this bitch up to?

You didn’t have time to play detective, so you shelved those thoughts until after dessert was finished.

Seokjin was pulling out more ingredients from the cupboard as you entered and you noticed that the spices were piling up on the counter.

“What are you doing, gamja?” you asked. “What with the spices?”

“Just thinking of getting a little fancy,” he quipped playfully. “Grandma liked to play mad scientist in here. Why shouldn’t I?”

“If this is for the cookies, hold that thought,” you said while handing him the cardstock. “We need to fix the recipe before you do that.”

Seokjin took the card from your hand and tilted his head in confusion. After flipping the card over and then back, he looked at you with questions in his eyes.

“What am I supposed to be looking at, gamja?” Seokjin asked

“That is a label for a box of butter sticks,” you explained. “Actually, it’s for a box of half sticks.”

“Ok, but why am I looking at it?” Seokjin persisted. “What does this mean?”

“This is Grandma’s butter package,” you continued. “This is the only butter she buys. But they sell it in half sticks...they only sell it in half-sticks.”

Seokjin pondered that statement and then the light bulb flickered mockingly above his head.

“She only used half-sticks!” Seokjin exclaimed loudly. “We have to go in and adjust all her recipes now.”

“Yup,” you sighed. “Leave it to Grandma to write her recipes in code.”

“So, we just need to double all the ingredients and we should be good,” Seokjin concluded. “That’s why the dough feels so weird.”

“You grab the wet ingredients,” you commanded. “I’ll gather the dry and meet you at the mixer.”

You both high-fived and pounced into action. With a little teamwork, you managed to pull together a decent cookie dough out of the mess you’d made. Seokjin even took a little time to mix some freshly ground ginger to the mix for a little fresh and spicy kick.

“It will be like gingerbread,” Seokjin promised. “But without the dark flavor of the molasses.”

Once the cookies were done, you both filled a few platters and carried them out to the table that was set up in the backyard patio. People were just starting to arrive, and the two of you mingled around and welcomed everyone to the memorial dinner. Once or twice, you caught sight of Aeri mixed into the group talking to Seokjin, but you couldn’t get away to confront her. The way she was batting her eyelashes at him and touching his arm was making you bristle.

I don’t know what she’s playing at, but whatever it is, it can’t be good.

Once the dinner was over, the clean up crew was hustling and bustling inside to get your grandmother’s house cleaned before everyone left for the night.

You were just putting the vacuum back into the closet when a loud argument erupted from inside the kitchen. You and Seokjin rushed into the kitchen to see what all the fuss was about.

“That glassware set is mine and I’m taking it,” cried your aunt. “Mom always said that I was going to be the one to inherit it after she passed.”

“You can’t just start taking things out of the house,” cried your other aunt. “We should give everyone a chance to claim something of their own. You weren’t the only one who was promised something, you know. Give the kids a chance to get something as well. Don’t be so selfish.”

The word “selfish” triggered another round of yelling and you and Seokjin decided to step in before things got out of hand. In the end, a running tab of claimed items was created and everyone settled down once the matter was put into writing. The emotional aunts wandered back into the living room, while you, Seokjin, and your mother stayed behind to finalize the list.

“Did you two already pick out something?” your mother asked. “I know a lot has already been claimed, but I’m sure there must be something you would want.”

“Not really, mom,” you sighed. “Seokjin and I already have the best part of Grandma: her recipes. I don’t think there is anything else that would rival that.”

Your mother nodded and then abruptly perked up. She walked over to one of the drawers and began digging through the silverware inside, seemingly searching for something specific. She pulled out a spoon and a fork and smiled widely when she held them in her hands. You and Seokjin were puzzled over her actions and your confusion increased when she placed the utensils on the countertop between you.

“This design was from Grandma and Grandpa’s wedding set,” she explained. “They received a full place setting, but these are the only two items left from the original set. The others were either damaged or lost along the way. I think you two should have them. That way you can always be connected to your grandparents and to each other. You two were the roses of your grandmother’s garden. She always held a special affection for you two that was different from your other cousins.”

With tears brimming in your eyes, you looked up at Seokjin and saw he wasn’t faring much better. Your mom sensed that this needed to be a private moment, so she placed her hand on both your cheeks for a moment and then gracefully exited the kitchen, leaving the two of you staring at the elaborate spoon and fork on the counter.

“So how do we decide who gets what?” you probed with a sniffle. “I don’t want to fight like our crazy aunts did. We’re way more civilized than that.”

“There’s only one answer to that question,” Seokjin said while wiping a tear from his eye. “Why did the sweet potato cross the road?”

“I don’t know, Jinnie,” you hiccuped. “Why?”

Seokjin slid the fork over to you and placed his hand on your shoulder. This was a bittersweet moment for the two of you and you knew that his joke was the only thing keeping the two of you from breaking down into yet another round of tears.

“She saw a fork up ahead,” Seokjin croaked. “That’s why you should get the fork, goguma. I’ll take the spoon, yeah?”

“Makes sense, gamja,” you agreed. “You are always the one to scoop me up when I’m down. You’re always such a sweetheart, and I love you for that.”

“I love you too,” Seokjin mumbled while pulling you into a crushing hug. “Hey, speaking of sweetness, if you put sugar in tea, what do you put in sugar?”

“I don’t know,” you sighed into his shoulder. “What?”

“A spoon,” he chuckled while grabbing his spoon from the counter. “See, my jokes always make sense of everything.”

“I promise to keep this with me always,” you swore while holding your fork. “This random utensil will forever be my connection to you, gamja.”

“And this spoon is never leaving my sight, goguma,” Seokjin promised. “It will be a constant reminder that I have you and you have me.”

You embraced once again and a sharp throat clearing interrupted your heartfelt moment. You both turned to see your younger cousin Sana just inside the kitchen doorway, wearing her signature scowl and a bright blue Transformers T-shirt.

“Hey, Sana,” you called out while wiping away your tears yet again. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Sana sighed. “We just finished cleaning up. Your friend Aeri just left. It took a while to get rid of her.”

“Oh, is she your friend, goguma?” Seokjin probed. “She mentioned something like that earlier.”

“No, not really,” you scowled. “She’s just a girl from school.”

“I think she liked me,” Seokjin bragged. “She said my hair reminded her of her favorite bubblegum.”

“It looks more like Pepto Bismol, if you ask me,” Sana interjected.

You released a loud cackle as Seokjin’s ego deflated slightly at Sana’s words, but he shook it off quickly and smiled.

“So how did you like the cookies after all, Sana?” Seokjin asked. “As good as Grandma’s?”

“They were pretty good,” Sana admitted. “A little different, but still good.”

“It’s too bad we didn’t have any left,” you sighed. “I wanted to take some home, but they were gone before I could.”

“So no cookie dough left either?” Sana hoped. “Maybe in the freezer?”

“No, you rascal,” Seokjin chuckled while rumpling her hair. “Nothing left for you to steal this time.”

"What makes you think I don't already have cookie dough at home?" Sana challenged.

"What cookie dough?" you asked. “What are you talking about?”

"Grandma's last bag,” Sana stated with a grin of Cheshire proportions. “I found it in the freezer the other day and took it."

"Sana!” you reprimanded. “You should share that with the family."

"Nope,” Sana boasted. “Mine now. But I might be willing to share if you can do me a favor."

“What kind of favor?” Seokjin wondered aloud. “Whatever it is, we’ll do it. We need an original sample to make sure we get the next batch of dough right.”

Sana shuffled forward and glanced between you and Seokjin. She was one of your stranger cousins, always dabbling in odd hobbies and adopting a style that was all her own. Both you and Seokjin felt protective of her unconventional personality, and despite her surly demeanor, Sana gravitated to the two of you more than any of your other relatives.

“I was wondering,” Sana began softly. “If maybe you could teach me how to cook. I want to learn how to make cookies.”

“I think you mean bake,” Seokjin corrected her gently. “And we’d love to teach you how to make cookies. We have grandma’s cookie recipe now. Want to help us make some?”

“No,” Sana replied. “I want those peanut butter cookies that you guys made for Halloween. Those are my favorite.”

“We can do that,” you beamed. “Let’s get our aprons on and then we can show you how to make those cookies.”

Once you all had on aprons, with Sana opting for a plain white apron while you and Seokjin donned frilly pink ones, you all started pulling out ingredients for the cookies. As you waited for the butter to soften, you started regaling Sana with recipes from your grandmother’s cookbook.

“So there’s also candy recipes?” Sana asked. “Are you going to share those with everybody?”

“Absolutely,” you replied. “It’s a family cookbook. It wouldn’t be fair if we kept it all to ourselves.”

“I didn’t know you were so interested in cooking, Sana,” Seokjin commented while showing her how to mix the dry ingredients. “It’s a valuable skill to have, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” Sana smirked. “I’m sure I can put those recipes to good use.”

The three of you continued to work on the cookies while you and Seokjin gave Sana instructions on each step of the recipe. A comforting air settled in the kitchen and you couldn’t help but wonder if your grandmother’s spirit was sitting in the corner on her stool, fondly watching as her kitchen was brought to life once again.

Author's Note: I finally got around to finishing this drabble. Work is really putting me through the ringer. I hope you all enjoy this little slice of family time with the one and only Kim Seokjin. These potato heads are so lovable and it did make sad to put them through such an angsty memory, but it all worked out in the end. Thank you to my Beta @xxxille-girlxxx for being an amazing soulmate and reading my drafts. Your suggestions brought this whole drabble to a whole other level. I'm going to be working on my collab fic that is due next month, so I will return to these drabbles and my other fic Peripheral after I finish that. Stay safe, everyone!

MAP OF THE SOUL MASTERLIST

@caught-in-a-seesaw-stigma's MASTERLIST

#kim seokjin #map of the soul bts #bts fanfic #bts au fanfic #bts drabble #bts fluff #bangtan sonyeondan #goguma #gamja #pink hair seokjin

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almostkoo · 5 years ago

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Seas the Day | Kim Seokjin

pairings: kim seokjin x oc

summary: oc is a marine biologist on a small expedition along the outskirts of the lake to collect samples, when a storm comes and washes the boat further out to sea, they find out their captain is a ocean dweller

word count: 1.7k

warnings: unedited, language, mentions of drowning, fisherman overalls

author’s notes: story three! of spooktober 2020, I’m happy to get this out I hope you guys enjoy this one too! I really hope that everyone knows that’s a pun as the title I am once again making an attempt at humor

The cool ocean air blew your hair around your face, soft strands dusting against your forehead. You sat back against in the chair behind the captain, Seokjin. The small expedition he had brought you on led to some nice algae and plankton samples. Sadly having to leave way before the sun was due to set because of a storm, in a way you were still at peace. You could always come back out there another day. But the samples you had were more than enough for your research.

The dark, grey skies overhead seem like they got darker and darker right before your eyes. Seokjin, stood in front of you. Soft pink hair peeking out from under his bucket hat, you stood up joining him, his eyebrows creasing as he focused on the waves in front of you.

“We’ll make it back to shore okay, right?” you asked, speaking up over the loud waves that rocked the boat.

“Of course! What type of sailor would I be if I didn’t?” laughed Seokjin. He glanced over at you quickly. “I’m sorry about your samples.”

You scoffed. “It’s fine I got enough to do what I have to do. If not I can always come back. It's no biggie.”

“I know it’s just .. I feel at fault for it. I wish the weather report was more reliable.” He sighed.

The waves started picking up, instead of rocking the boat Seokjin started struggling to gain control of the helm. You rocked back and forth, side stepping one way and then side stepping the other way trying to remain firm.

“Hold on to something! Quick!” Seokjin yelled.

You started slipping around losing your footing, grabbing at anything to hold you steady. Grabbing at Seokjin, grabbing at the edge of the chair where you were sitting. Water from the waves came inside of the small bridge making it impossible to properly grasp at anything. The door to the bridge blew open, the boat rocked harshly as Seokjin tried to steer away from it. You slipped falling right on your rear end, sliding out onto the deck. Your wet hair clung right to your forehead, temporarily blinding you. You pushed it back out your face. The slam of the deck against your back had you disoriented. Looking at Seokjin you could see he was trying to tell you something but you couldn’t make it out.

Slowly you stood up, still teetering. Seokjin looked back from the waves to you, yelling more stuff you couldn’t make out. You squinted trying to read his lips. As soon as you opened your mouth to respond a huge wave came and rocked the ship, causing you to stumble and flip right over the railing.

The water was cold. Just as it was this morning when you first got in to gather samples. You flailed around trying to swim up. The waves bounced you, your head bobbed around back and forth above the waves and back under. Constantly getting in short breaths of air and then your lungs filling up with water. The boat drifted further away and the last thing you saw before your arms gave out was Seokjin jumping into the water.

You jumped awake whole body lurching forward. Taking in harsh breaths. Your head felt foggy, still dazed from going overboard. The boat was calm now. No longer rocking back and forth and no waves. The skies were still grey and ominous and you were expecting it to start pouring down again.

You don’t even know how you got back on board.

Your head whipped around the ship trying to find any signs of Seokjin. The boat didn’t feel like it was drifting, looking at the water you could tell you were moving in a certain direction. The constant stream of a jet coming from the back but yet you didn’t hear the motor. You stood up, walking to the back of the ship you were moving with caution. The closer you got you saw two hands gripping the side of the ship and what looked like a tail. A long pink tail that looked almost white in certain spots, the tail tapering off into skin. A small waist and broad shoulders. You didn’t recognize what you were seeing until your eyes reached the head of wet pink hair. You gasped loudly, stumbling backwards. When the head of pink hair looked up at you. Strong brows and round brown eyes looking at you, full lips parted in shock.

“Seokjin?” you asked, taking a step forward but jumping back when his head dipped back underwater. You were dumbfounded, looking around the ship as if someone else was there to witness this too.

“Seokjin, is that you?” you questioned. The pink head dipped back upwards. Seokjin sighed.

“This isn’t what it looks like.” he said. It coming off more of a question than a statement. You just looked at him speechless. Almost drowning must’ve really did it’s toll on you to have you hallucinating like this.

“I uh-. This must really be an odd hallucination. Unless I’m dead. Then this is just tragic.” you stated. Seokjin paused before speaking again.

“You-“ he started. “uh you’re alive.” he laughed, tail still whipping wildly behind him. Probably propelling the ship further the more you think about it.

“This is real? This is real. This can’t be. You have a tail!” you shouted.

“I know I have a tail! It was either risk you dying or outing myself. Would you rather have died?” Seokjin yelled.

“No but- How am I supposed to react to this?”

“I don’t know ? Thank you for saving my life? Something like that.”

You shook your head rubbing at your temples.

“Can I get some clarification? What’s going on? We’ve been on all these expeditions together and you mean to tell me I’ve been boating around with a mermaid and had no clue?” you said, hands sliding into the pocket of your overalls.

“In my defense I am busy trying to move the ship ya know since the engine died.” Seokjin moved one of his arms around gesturing to the ship. You looked at him stone faced waiting for him to respond.

“When you fell overboard naturally you would think I’d try to save you. But with the waves I couldn’t just swim to you.. I had to use my tail. I thought you weren’t going to wake back up until we got to the shore.” he stated. In a way you felt bad, for pressuring Seokjin to respond. But of course you’d have a million and one questions after seeing someone with a tail swimming in the water. You and Seokjin stared back and forth at each other for a moment, until the silence broke.

“So you’re not like a siren or anything are you?” you glanced down at Seokjin.

“No, I’m just a normal mermaid. Although I do know a few sirens and they’re not deviants or anything. If that’s what you are thinking.”

“So is this why you’re a sailor? To be closer to the water?” you say close to the railing where Seokjin was.

“Yeah. I left home a while ago. My parents passed and mermaids don’t really have big families like humans tend to. There wasn’t anything holding me to the ocean. I stay close for my friends they’re like brothers to me. They’re all I have now.” Seokjin said, a solemn tone overtaking his words.

“Well. Your secret's safe with me. I won’t go running around telling your secret. As much time as I spend near water they’d probably think I’ve hallucinated something.” you joked. Seokjin let out a soft laugh.

“You’d work out well on one of those Reddit forums. Talking about Bigfoot and the Lochness Monster.”

“Wait, is the Lochness Monster real?” you asked, peering at Seokjin. He looked at you, one eyebrow quirked up and lips turned.

“What do you think?” he asked. You gasped smacking your hands over your mouth.

“Are you serious?”

“Fuck no. I don’t even know where the Lochness Monster is from? Is that like Europe?”

“So you mean to tell me, you’re a sailor that doesn’t know about the Lochness Monster?”

“No, I mean to tell you I’m a mermaid who tries to stick to their side of the ocean and mind their business.” he winked at you, pushing the ship and swimming a little faster. You shook your head at him.

Can’t believe he doesn’t know if the Lochness Monster is real or fake.

As the boat got closer to shore. You found yourself looking back and forth from how closer the shore got and how Seokjin didn’t seem like he was gonna get back on it.

“Y/n, if you look at me like that one more time.” Seokjin stated, sternly.

“When are you gonna get back in? Aren’t you worried people are gonna see you?”

“I’m about to get back in right now. Do me a favor and cover your eyes.” You instantly got confused.

“Why?”

“Do you wanna see me naked then?” You felt your cheeks get warm. You shook your head before covering your eyes. You heard water splash and the slapping of Seokjin’s feet against the deck. After a few moments Seokjin told you, you were free to uncover your eyes.

Seokjin was back dressed in his rubber overalls, shirt and jacket.

“Here’s the story. Storm knocked the engine out. No nothing about you almost drowning and of course nothing about you know what.” Seokjin directed.

“Okay. Yeah of course. A secret for a secret.” you nodded.

“You might have to switch and find a new captain afterwards. I might not be able to man the ship after this I don’t want it to be awkward.” You scoffed, standing up to hit Seokjin’s arm.

“Don’t be silly. We’re in this until I retire now. I can’t go into these waters with another human. What if something like today happened again and the person I’m with can’t swim well or half as good as you. Oh no no, Kim Seokjin you’re my partner on the water now.” you smiled, holding up a pinky. Seokjin laughed, wrapping his pinky back around yours.

“If you say so. I never wanna get caught in a storm ever again. Worst experience since I had to grow legs.” Seokjin let out a sigh before fixing his hat. Your eyes threatened to bug out of your head.

“Wait since you what ?” Seokjin looked over at you, before cringing.

“Oh no you can’t say a sentence like that and then leave it at that. I need this story immediately.”

#kim seokjin #seokjin scenarios #seokjin fanfics #bts imagines #seokjin #seokjin x reader #bts x reader #bangtan x reader #seokjin smut #fic;seas the day #writer:almostkoo #spooktober 2020

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stardustkenobi · 5 years ago

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Only Lookin’ At You

Poe Dameron x Reader

Request: “HEY BITCH I N E E D 90 FROM THE PROMPT LIST WITH MY HUSBAND THANKS IN ADVANCE” @niffleurs she’s here

Warnings: fluffity fluff fluff

“To the women who will always be bridesmaids” Sophia said, her alcohol induced vibrato and grandeur hiding the fact that yes, she was very bitter that her boyfriend of ten years still had not popped the question.

Along with the other six bridesmaids, you rose your glass of champagne and clinked it with each one. Hannah, your best friend in the whole entire universe, was finally getting married — the third of your friends to get married in the past couple of years.

Undergrad was a long ways away as you took a hefty sip of your drink, eying the rest of the women that shared the same silk colored robes as you in the back room that you had been shooed off to to prepare to walk down the aisle. You picked at the monogram on the left side of your chest, letting out a subtle sigh. It was definitely difficult to understand Sophia’s frustration, considering the fact that your twenties had been plagued with bad hookups, one nasty relationship that was on again, off again for the better part of three years that ended in a crescendo of yelling, thrown insults, and tears of relief when you finally left the apartment, and disappointment.

Most of the movies and love songs and books that carried you to the oh so disappointing age of 32 had convinced you that you would find that one special person by now and you weren’t necessarily worried about it, but days like today punctuated the fact that it just hadn’t happened yet.

Shrugging your shoulders, you joined your friends as they began the mindless process of getting ready for wedding party pictures and the eventual arrival of the bride to be. Your hair was braided and twisted into the style that Hannah had meticulously picked out for you. Your lashes were plucked and your face was painted before Sophia was pulling you to the mirror. Between her and Hannah’s twin sister, you were finally placed into the gown that effectively made you a member of your sorry group of seven always a bridesmaids.

“You look amazing.” Sophia beamed as she flattened out the waistline of the gown.

Giving her a grimace in the mirror, you picked out little parts of the get up that irritated you. Were you complaining about your inclusion in the wedding party? Absolutely not — Hannah was practically a sister to you and her fiancé was one of the kindest souls that you had ever met. It wasn’t their fault that you had hoped you would have been the next of your girlfriends to be decked out in white and kissings the love of your life in front of what seemed to be the entire world to show that he was yours and you were his.

“Time for pictures!” A voice dragged you from your dreamlike trance in front of the mirror and with a push from Sophia and a bouquet slapped into your hands, you were off to the front lawn of the wedding venue to take pictures with the groomsmen.

The seven groomsmen were a mix of people you knew at varying degrees. Some were friends of the groom that you knew from college, others were childhood friends, a few were coworkers.

The groomsman that you were introduced to at the rehearsal as the man who would walk you to the altar less than twenty four hours ago was a man named Poe. He worked with Hannah’s fiancé — the two had climbed the corporate ladder of the marketing agency they had started out in fresh from senior year of college and, almost ten years later, they were practically running the place.

Poe had been mentioned time and time again by Hannah, who absolutely loved to play match maker. She was convinced that you would fall in love with him and be it your stubborn nature or the fact that you were becoming absolutely obsessed with the fact that you hadn’t found the one yet, you froze up the minute he introduced himself to you as you hung around the edges of the altar waiting for instructions.

He was indescribably handsome and from what you knew he was smart. However, the cynic in you questioned whether he would even be interested. Sure, he was single and just about your age, but for one thing, you certainly hadn’t had the best track record with relationships over the past fifteen years. What would make trying with him any different? And why would he even glance your way unless Hannah had put ideas in his head already?

You were unsure of what you wanted, both in life and in a partner and as much as you wanted to explore that, you were afraid to get hurt again.

So there you stood, chatting half heartedly with your girlfriends as thoughts of perpetual loneliness swirled around your brain. They most definitely were not welcomed thoughts, but you were having a significantly hard time quelling them, particularly as you glanced over at Poe who was somehow even more handsome in the standard tux all of the groomsmen wore. Your chest squeezed as you watched him goof around with his friends in front of the camera, becoming more and more attractive by the second.

“You think he’s cute, don’t you?” Hannah’s twin teased by your ear after the photographer had finished up with the guys. Of course Hannah had said something to her – this was Hannah for God’s sake.

“Shut up, Margo.” You hissed as the photographer approached your group to take pictures. “I don’t even know him.”

Marge smirked as the seven of you squeezed together, smushed up for a series of photos that ranged from serious to goofy. “He’s been watching you since you walked into rehearsal last night with every opportunity he has to.” She said plainly, turning to stand back to back with you as Sophia suggested some ridiculous pose that made some of the other girls laugh.

“Don’t put ideas in my head.” You said through a forced smile, voice an octave higher than normal.

She snorted, elbowing you teasingly. “Take a look yourself when you get a chance, why don’t you?” She said in a sing songy voice, then left to stand somewhere else at the direction of the photographer.

Your eyebrows furrowed together as the camera continued to snap away. Letting your eyes trail over to the group of guys standing a little ways off, sure enough, you met a pair of soft, brown irises that flickered away almost as quickly as you had made eye contact.

“Maid of honor and best man? Can I have you both over here for some photos, please?” The photographer said quickly, trying to adhere to the strict schedule of the day.

Margo shoved you forward to meet Poe — of course he was the best man because this was all a stupid, cliché little joke that fate was playing on you. Of course you’d have to be on his arm for the next two hours until you could finally break free at the reception, which would give you just enough time to formulate some dumb fantasy about how you’d catch Hannah’s bouquet and he’d catch her garter and your eyes would meet from across the room knowingly and he’d slip you his number on the back of his place card and it would all be just like the YA novels you used to read under your covers well past your bed time in high school and he’d —

“You good, Y/N?” Poe asked softly, hands in his pockets as he walked up to you and effectively pulled you out of your stream of consciousness.

Your knees were weak as you glanced up at him, nodding shyly. “I’m good.” You promised. “Just nerves, I think.”

He smiled, holding his arm out as the photographer directed. “You seemed a little nervous last night, too.” He said as he smiled, posing with you as the photographer began to take your pictures. Glancing down, he pushed a curl out of your eyes. “Hope it’s nothing I did.”

Your smile was soft as you chanced a quick little peek up at him. Yep, still gorgeous. “It’s not you at all.” You giggled as the flash and click of the camera caught the less than staged moment. “I think it’s just the heels, if I’m being honest. Hannah went with ones that are just way too high and I might face plant at some point if I’m not careful.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head as his eyes squeezed shut. Another snap of the camera. “She and Jack always said that you were funny, I’ll never get why they didn’t introduce us sooner.”

Your eyes rolled as you snorted, letting your bouquet hang at your side. “Of course she’s talked about me.” You said as you turned to the side a bit at the photographer’s request. “I’m sorry if she’s made you listen to stories about me at nauseum, she’s hell bent on setting all of her friends up and I totally get it if you’re, like, weirded out by being stuck with me today.”

Poe’s head tilted to the side as he studied you, taking your free hand at the photographer’s insistence. Snap — another sincere moment caught on camera, another piece of evidence for you to ruminate over when the photos finally came into your inbox months down the line when the fire in your belly had been doused and forgotten. Another photo to ignite that flame again and make you wonder if it ever could have worked. So many should’ve, could’ve, would’ves would more likely than not be plaguing your subconsciousness. “I actually asked about you when I saw that post of you and Hannah, Jack, and Margo at Governor’s Ball two summers ago. She never brought you up beforehand.”

Your mouth opened and closed as you searched for the words to respond, more likely than not looking like a fish. You willed your mind to say something, anything to counter this information as Margo yelled to you and your counterpart that it was time to get ready to process into the small chapel on the property the wedding was being held at.

“Guess that’s us.” Poe said with an almost shit eating grin, holding his arm out for you. “We can talk more about things later, if you’d like.”

You took his arm after a moment, not necessarily hesitating because you were afraid to touch him, but more so because you were afraid to mess up this delicate situation that mirrored so many action movies where the main protagonist debated whether or not to cut the red or blue wire to diffuse some sort of detonator. “I’d like that.” You finally said, choosing the lamest and subsequently safest response that you could muster.

The wedding went off without a hitch. Hannah and Jack were undeniably the cutest couple you had ever seen as they shakily exchanged vows they had written for each other in the dead of the over the past year, edits meticulously made and different word choices tested. Their kiss brought you to tears and the whole ceremony pulled you out of your own selfish thoughts for a little bit in the most relieving way possible.

You were sat on Hannah’s left, Poe was on Jack’s left, at the long table at the front of the ballroom the reception was being held in. Poe had finished his speech right after yours, receiving as many laughs as you had. When the bride and groom finally moved to the dance floor, Poe was immediately at your side, chatting your ear off eagerly as the two of you watched people spin around the dance floor for the better part of an hour.

“So,” Poe said after your fit of giggles from a joke he had cracked had died down. A slow song was just starting to play over the speakers. “You don’t have a date, I don’t have a date. They’re playing that cheesy ass Taylor Swift song that everyone’s been having their first dance to at their weddings and neither of us have had any excuse to get up and dance tonight…”

Your cheeks flushed and you hoped it would come across as being a result from the flute of champagne you had downed. “Are you asking me to dance?” “I’m not saying that we should go dance.”

“I think you’re asking me to dance.” You whispered teasingly, leaning forward with a knowing smile. “Lucky for you, if you weren’t asking me to dance, I’m going to have to pass. I don’t dance.”

He quirked an eyebrow, tilting his head. “You don’t like to dance?”

“No.” You backtracked. “I love dancing, just…Not in front of a ton of people.” Your grin was sheepish as you shrugged, picking at a piece of link on the skirt of your gown. “Too many opportunities to slip up and look — what are you doing?”

Poe’s hand was gripping yours and, as much as your mind screamed at you to not follow him out to what could be a potentially embarrassing situation caught on camera for generations of Hannah and Jack’s family to see, you allowed yourself to be pulled out to a quieter corner of the wooden dance floor and pulled to the chest of a man that, despite knowing him for just a day and really only talking to him for an hour, felt more familiar to you than any other man you had met before.

“Pretend that there is no one else here but us” He said softly, his hands finding your waist as Taylor crooned about a love that was three summers strong. “I won’t let you fall, promise. Eyes on me, okay?”

You nodded, totally dumbfounded as you started to sway with Poe and swallowed the lump threatening to rise in your throat. Your shaky hands rose to wrap around the back of his neck, subconsciously playing with the ends of his hair.

The conversation continued to flow quietly as the song reached the second chorus and by the bridge, his forehead was pressed to yours in the most tender of ways that erased any doubt in your mind that he had spent the first part of his night with you simply out of obligation to his friends.

You didn’t catch the glances shared between Margo, Hannah, and Jack a little ways off. You didn’t see how the whispered excitedly about how their plans were finally coming to fruition and how their stubborn friend was finally letting her guard down again for someone who wouldn’t take advantage of the vulnerability. Shit, you wouldn’t have cared if you saw or heard because of the way Poe was currently looking at you.

His words were filled with hope for the future and at the end of the night as you all trudged off to go your separate ways to get back to the hotel you all were staying at, the jacket of his tux was draped around your shoulders and your phone buzzed with text after text from him as you climbed into the car with Margo and Sophia.

You hadn’t caught Hannah’s bouquet or garter, Margo and Sophia both chided from the front of the car.

You smiled to yourself as your head hit the headrest on your seat. No you hadn’t — you had been too busy dancing with Poe in the gardens just outside the all glass doors to even notice it happening.

#Poe Dameron #Poe Dameron x reader #Poe x reader #star wars #Poe Dameron imagine #reader insert

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purplesurveys · 4 years ago

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1139

1 - What's your favourite TV show that was released before you were born? What is it that got you into that show in the first place? My parents introduced me to Perfect Strangers when I was 10 since they both grew up watching and enjoying the show - it came out in 1986 and ended in 1993. I love it mostly for the dynamic of Larry and Balki, which was really the whole point of the series. Then there’s also Friends, which first came out in 1994. It’s my comfort show for years to come and it’ll always be a series I’ll come back to whenever I need a pick-me-up.

2 - What is your preferred brand and flavour of ice-cream? I usually just stick to Selecta and I always get cookies and cream. Sometimes I’ll spoil myself and get Ben and Jerry’s and get whatever flavor that has cookie dough.

3 - When's the last time you got something in your eye? Can’t remember the last time I either cried or felt irritated with something in my eye.

4 - When was the last time someone got you flowers and what was the occasion? I’m not so sure. It was two or three years ago, I think. I don’t get to receive flowers or bouquets often, and especially not these days.

5 - What are your plans for tomorrow? Are these normal for that particular day of the week or are you doing something out of the ordinary? It was such a draining work week so I wanna use the free time this weekend to relax; but since I’m a bit of a workaholic I might also end up finding some time to do some work on the side just to feel productive hahah. I can’t go out either since we’re experiencing another spike in Covid cases - we’re reaching 7000 new cases a day - and stay-at-home orders and curfews are in place everywhere again, so I’ll just have to make the most of my time at home this weekend.

6 - What will you be eating for your next meal? Depends on what my mom is making for dinner, but I’m guessing another pasta dish...it’s Friday, though, and I usually allot this day to have food delivered in the evening as a reward to myself for finishing the week strong heheh. I got a spicy tuna salad and sushi again :)

7 - Who was the last person to pay you a compliment? How did you come to know that person? Andi, I think. We met at an anti-Marcos rally three years ago. They were carrying a big-ass guitar and I approached them because I liked their wrestling shirt.

8 - When is the last time the weather changed your plans? What were your plans and what did you end up doing instead? That would be last November, when we were in the middle of a bad typhoon and I had to file an emergency leave because we had a village-wide power outage and it kept me from being readily available for work. I made plans to a nearby mall to get wi-fi, but our village was seriously flooded so there was no way out. I had no choice but to begrudgingly file the leave even though I really wanted to attend work lol.

9 - What's your favourite kind of liquor? Do you prefer it "plain", flavoured or in a mixer? Tequila. Preferably as straight shots, because I like having a good time lmao.

10 - Who was the last person you spoke to via video call? Did you speak to this person via video before the pandemic hit? My workplace doesn’t really make it a norm to turn on our videos unless we’re pitching to or speaking with clients who prefer video calls. But I did just come from a Google Meet (albeit just using audio) this afternoon to present a deck and that call was with my co-workers and the clients we were presenting to. And no, I wasn’t even employed before the pandemic so other than Bea, I’ve never met any of the people in the call in person.

11 - Are you someone who prefers routine or spontaneity? I thrive on routine, but I also like it spiked with the occasional spontaneity.

12 - What streaming services (if any) are you subscribed to? Do you think they're good value for money? Just Netflix and Spotify. Yeah, I’d say both are good deals, especially Spotify.

13 - When was the last time you struggled to get to sleep? What did you do to help things? I’m not so sure, actually. I have no problem passing out these days lol. If I do have trouble falling asleep, I usually remedy it by watching YouTube videos or take a survey until my eyes feel tired.

14 - How often do you get your five a day? What was the last fruit or veggie that you ate? I’ve never heard of that concept...anyway, I looked it up and it has something to do with having a good amount of fruits and veggies per day. In any case, I had eggplants in my dinner tonight.

15 - How do you take your coffee? 3-in-1, so that it’s already made and blended well for me lmaaaaao. If I’m ordering at a coffee shop, I like sweeter flavors; I never take mine black.

16 - Is there anything that you're currently putting off? When do you think you'll finally get round to doing it? Getting new frames for my eyeglasses and an updated prescription along with it. Idk man, it just seems pointless to book an appointment for the meantime since I’m never out and I can manage during my workdays without glasses anyway. With another strict lockdown order in place, idk when I’ll ever get around to setting an appointment.

17 - When was the last time you watched a Disney film? Which one was it and is it one of your favourites? I have no idea, it’s definitely been a while.

18 - What was the last household chore you completed? Is this something you do regularly? Just cleaned out the tray underneath Cooper’s playpen since it had some food crumbs and some of his fur. Yeah, I do it every night.

19 - Who were you with the last time you went out for a meal? Angela, Hans, Pia, Kyelle, Al, Gab, and Sam.

20 - Have you had your COVID vaccine yet? If not, are you going to accept it when you're offered? No, not yet. My workplace booked a bulk order for one of the vaccines - though I can’t remember which one - and we should be getting it in a few months or so.

21 - Do you have any pets and how many? If not, would you like to have one someday? I have two dogs. I’ve always wanted dogs, so I’m okay for now.

22 - What's the most unusual meat you've ever eaten? Did you like it? Carabao meat. It was fine, not horrid-tasting or anything, but I wouldn’t have it again. The one I had felt very hastily made, apart from smelling and tasting very farm-y.

23 - Do you prefer still or sparkling water and why? Still. I don’t like carbonated stuff period, so I doubt I’d enjoy sparkling water.

24 - Do you own a car? If so, could you live your current lifestyle without one? If you don't have one, would having one change your life in any way? My parents technically own it because they bought it, but it was designated for me. I mean I’d obviously survive without a car, but I’d find it very inconvenient. Booking a Grab every time would be so costly, and I’m not willing to try out our public transport anyway because they’ve been constantly terrible with disinfection and sanitation protocols throughout the pandemic.

25 - Who was the last person you made plans with and what are you going to do? Andi; we made plans to have our thesis printed and bound so that we can finally put a close to our college life hahaha. We just have to figure out a date and I also have to remove Gabie from my acknowledgments.

26 - What's the worst kind of physical pain you've ever experienced? Is this a one-off or is it something you experience regularly? Accidentally ripping my earring off my piercing was a fucking thrill I’d never want to go through again.

27 - What's your favourite length for a survey to be? Do you get put off if surveys are longer or shorter than you like? Anywhere between 35-80 questions is fine. Anything else would be too short or long. I’ll occasionally give long surveys a pass since it’s easy to take breaks in between, but I ignore short ones altogether.

28 - What colours are you wearing at the moment? Are any of those colours your favourite? I have a multi-colored striped top on and a scarlet pair of shorts. And no, I’m not wearing any pink rn.

29 - Once you've found a TV show you like, do you tend to watch it over and over again? What was the last TV programme you watched for the second or third time? Not with all shows - like I haven’t revisited BoJack Horseman after completing it the first time. I’ve been like this with Friends and Brooklyn Nine-Nine, though.

30 - When was the last time you cried and what was the reason for it? Do you feel better now? No idea when but it was probably from a heartwarming video.

#survey #surveys

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star-trekkin-across-theuniverse · 5 years ago

Note

How about some pandemic shenanigans with Bones to blow off some of the steam? I'm halfway through a "porn with PPE" fic that I'm not sure will ever see the light of day, but hopefully you have better luck!!

Earth shattering kaboom, right? Lemme see if I can write this on my lunch break - I’m rusty!

XxX

The longer you lived in the hot isolation suits, masked and gloved and goggled and taped at the seams, the more you noticed his goddamn eyes. You thought it might just be dehydration and delusional thoughts as a result of that dehydration coupled with lack of sleep.

Or it could just be that his eyes were incredible. There was the green ring. And then the gold ring. And then the warm coffee brown ring. You’d never seen eyes like Leonard McCoy’s before, and you’d never really noticed his until they were all you could see.

“Doc,” you nodded over your patient as he approached the bed.

“Nurse.” The way his eyes crinkled, you knew he was smirking. At the very least, he was smiling. “Update?”

“He had a rough night. Temp spiked for about 6 hours and we finally got it down. Good old fashioned Acetaminophen. Given orally, if you can believe,” you started. “But the necrosis at the buboes is spreading faster than I’d expected, and the edema has spread up into his trunk so his breathing is quite laboured. We gave furosemide but he’s not really improving.”

“Geoff says the wounds are tunnelling and necrosing as fast as it spreads. Get a debridement tray, we’ll see if we can slow it down.”

Working beside Bones was always the favourite part of your day. He was always in teaching mode, determined that his team would be the best example of continued education and competent practice. So he spoke as he worked, his soft drawl tempering the occasional curse that slipped out in frustration. He always looked up, a little guilt flashing through his expression when he swore and you found yourself grinning and shaking your head.

He left you to check on another patient, and as you worked packing one of the wounds, you saw another start pouring more thick, purulent pus. And unlike the other wounds, you could smell it through all your PPE.

“Bones!” You called, trying to keep your voice calm. The drainage became thicker and starting coming faster. “Bones!” You yelled.

Doctor McCoy rounded the corner to you just as the wound started to erupt, covering your PPE with the foul smelling junk.

“Are you okay?” He asked as he dropped a thick absorbent pad across the wound, holding it down to prevent further spray. You nodded, meeting his eyes. Goddamn those eyes.

“Just wipe my face shield so I can keep working,” you asked. You took over covering the wound and allowed Doctor McCoy to wipe your mask clean. He turned back to the wound, irrigating it until it ran clear and then rummaging around in it until he found the source of the goo.

“Shit,” he breathed “that’s blood.” Again his gaze met yours and your gut tightened. Not the time to be feeling lust, but there it was. Lust and gore.

“Is that even possible?” You asked. “It’s more pus than anything.”

You both looked at the biobed at the same time, right as the ensign’s blood pressure dumped and he started convulsing. Everything dropped into slow motion as the two of you worked through the resuscitation. Ultimately, you lost him, the infection was just too far gone.

You were both dripping in sweat. You were still covered in the purulent blood that had blown out of the wound at you, and Bones wasn’t much better from working on the ensign.

“We need to clean up,” he decided. “Meet me in decontam.”

You started clearing away the debris from the code response until another nurse shooed you away, citing your stench.

Leonard was already stripped down to his scrubs and was waiting for you. You hadn’t seen him outside of his PPE in weeks, and he had grown lazy about shaving. The stubble on his cheeks made him sexier than you’d remembered, and you felt an awkward surge of lust for your superior. You’d always found him attractive. This was just more. He cocked an eyebrow in question.

“What are you standing there for?” He asked, gesturing for you to turn around. “I’m going to slit your suit up the back. Doff it into a pile in front of you. Hopefully that will keep you clean.

You nodded dumbly and felt your body heat in embarrassment. “Uh, Bones?”

“What?” He asked, placing a hand on the name of your neck to pull the PPE away from your body.

“I don’t have scrubs on,” you admitted, your voice just above a whisper.

“And?” He asked, not the least bit surprised. Nearly no one was wearing scrubs under their PPE. It was just too damn hot in this planet.

“I just thought I should warn you,” you responded, somewhat meekly. You looked over your shoulder and met his amused look with embarrassment and then felt annoyance prickle down your spine. Damn his pretty eyes, you weren’t going to be embarrassed about this. You turned back and dipped your head so he could cut away the PPE.

He carefully reached into the hood and flipped it forward off your head, gently untangling your hair from the zipper before tracing his hands across your shoulders and pushing the coverall sleeves down your arms. With your still-gloved hands, you pulled the sleeves loose as he ran the scissors down the back all the way to the top of your underwear. A wave of goose flesh traced up your back and you shrugged your shoulders involuntarily.

“Sorry,” he apologized, although there was no way he knew what he was sorry for. You paused, and caught your breath, before resuming pulling the soiled mess away from you. When you had it down to your waist, you paused again and waited for Leonard to finish cutting down the back of the legs so you could nearly step out of the mess entirely.

“Who helped you out of your stuff?” You asked, suddenly recognizing the intimacy of his assistance and feeling a surge of jealousy against whomever had been his assistant.

“I wasn’t the mess you are. I was able to get out on my own.” His words were hot against the skin at your waist and you had to close your eyes against the unbidden visual of his body so close to yours. Your breath was a little ragged on the exhale.

“Lift one foot at a time and I’ll pull it off,” he ordered. “Lean on my shoulder if you need help with balance.”

You placed your hand on his shoulder and lifted your left foot then your right, carefully balancing until the last moment when you started to wobble. And then, with a shriek, started to topple. In trying to avoid crushing Leonard, you didn’t turn quite far enough sideways and fell a little forward. Into your soiled PPE.

Leonard immediately jumped to his feet and pulled you back to your feet, showering you both with the contaminated muck from the ensign’s wound.

“Fuck,” you cursed. Before you could get your bearings, Leonard was pulling his scrubs off and dragging you into the chemical shower. He pulled the handle to start the chemical disinfectant over you both. You let the chemicals rest on the congealing blood until it made a thick paste and you were able to slough it off. You locked eyes with Leonard and froze as he moved toward you, reaching for your head. He turned you briskly, pulled the tie out of your hair and started massaging the chemical powder in, using his hands to pull thick globs of goop out again. It slapped wetly against the floor, with a noise that made you want to gag.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologized, turning to face him.

“Not like you did it on purpose, sweetheart.” His indifferent shrug relaxed you and he met your gaze again, and smiled softly. “I mean, unless you did do it on purpose?”

“To what end?” You couldn’t help but laugh.

“You think I haven’t seen how you look at me, all decked out in my PPE? You just wanted an excuse to get me down to my skivvies,” he teased. You felt the heat of embarrassment rush over you at the truth of his words and spun on your heel to avoid betraying yourself.

“You think you’re so funny,” you shot, trying to be pert but mostly sounding hurt. You opened the door to the wet shower stall and stepped in, determined to just get clean and head back to your temporary quarters. You hazarded a backward glance and saw Bones standing there, staring at you with a bewildered look on his face.

You turned the water on and let it pour over you, sluicing what was left of the muck off you and down the drain. You rubbed the special anti-infective shampoo in your hair and leaned your forehead against the shower stall, wondering why you were suddenly so aroused by everything to do with Leonard McCoy. You drew in a deep breath and leaned back under the spray, planning to rinse your hair and then take your bra and panties off and toss them in the incineration bin, but you leaned back into a warm body.

You spun into Leonard’s arms and let out a surprised squeak.

“What are you -“ he interrupted you with a soft kiss. It was tentative and gentle. You pulled away and look at him in confusion. His eyes were soft and more hazel than anything else.

“You are -“ he started, and then broke his gaze. “I mean, I think -“ he trailed off again.

“Yes, Doctor McCoy?” You raised an eyebrow and gave him a little smirk. He cringed and looked at you again.

“Please tell me I’m not a fool,” he pleaded. You shook your head.

“You’re an incredibly intelligent man and one helluva intuitive doctor,” you offered. He tipped his head back into the stream of water and groaned. You pulled him back toward you, taking his face in your hands. You tipped his head down to yours and pressed a kiss against his lips. “Incredibly intuitive, and yet, here we are, standing in a shower, not clean, when we could be heading back to quarters.”

“Let me finish washing your hair,” he demanded, pressing his lips against your shoulder.

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wonderlandmind4 · 5 years ago

Text

Delicate Stages of Life: 24

A Piece of Me

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC; Platonic Steve Rogers x OFC

Summary: Life in Wakanda is filled with love, laughs, some tears, all emotions, lazy days, goats, hot springs, a soul connection, and something dark that looms over Bucky’s and Ana’s domestic bliss…

Warnings: Language. Angst. Loss, Grief. Labor pains. Non-graphic child birth.

Words: 11,820

A/N: Again, sorry for taking so long to update. This was a monster for me to write and it’s just been hard to write lately, BUT, this chapter jump starts the last phase of the Drabbles... (Do not read unless you’ve read Delicate Stages first) beautiful moodboard by @afewmarvelousthoughts and thank you for all your help and tears and yelling at me. I’m sorry! <3 **I have never given birth, just going off experiences of mothers I know**

Holidays: 29 weeks Dec 13th:

One morning Ana wakes up to a solid kick from inside her stomach, rapidly blinking at the odd light streaming through her window. After she carefully sits up, soothing her hands over her round belly, she blinks again, startled.

Snow. It had snowed sometime during the night and with the sight comes the realization; it’s the middle of December. Time had ticked by in muted colors to Ana that when she finally came back to herself, five months had passed. Five months since the air filled with ashes. Five months since she last touched Bucky. Five months since the absence of his soul.

Now it’s nearly Christmas. Ana can’t even remember her birthday or Thanksgiving passing. Though by the tears escaping her eyes and the ache in her chest, it’s not going to be a good day. She continues to stare out the window, the snow-covered ground and trees in the distance offer a bittersweet illusion of a perfect world. Quiet. Tranquil.

A memory invades Ana’s mind from last year. Her and Bucky snuggled together in front of a fire at Tony’s cabin, talking about a future family. She shakes the memory from her head and finally gets out of bed, ignoring the very real feeling of Bucky’s arms around her. Ignores the phantom scent of his breath and the spiced apple toddy he drank that evening.

Waddling her way to the kitchen with her hand supporting an ache in her lower back, she spots a blessed pot of coffee freshly brewed. Ana hasn’t had such a desperate urge for the taste of coffee in so long, that she nearly drops the mug she pulls from the cabinet in haste. Once she’s poured herself a generous amount, she inhales deeply. The nutty aroma sending her mind straight back to the first day she met Bucky, and all the sessions that followed.

She revels in memory, when she was proud of herself for pulling a smirk out of the infamous Bucky Barnes after she told him she didn’t poison the coffee. How they starting to bond over silly conversation of coffee, how he used to tease her but ask how to make it properly. How Bucky would sometimes show up before her, waiting for her to arrive with coffee in hand. Ana is so lost in her mind, she doesn’t register the shift of air behind her.

“That’s caffeinated, and I know you are not about to drink it while seven months pregnant.”

Snapping back to reality, Ana shoots a glare over her shoulder at Steve. “Being seven months pregnant is the perfect reason to drink it.”

The sigh Steve emits makes her step back out of his reaching range, just in case. “Ana,” He draws out in mock disappointment.

“No! I need it need it, Steve,” She practically whines, clutching the hot mug to her chest. “Especially today. With the snow and these fucking memories, and Carol isn’t here to help regulate me, and my rings don’t fit right now. I just need caffeine, just this once.”

His eyes narrow. “Just this once?” He repeats incredulously. “Didn’t Rhodes catch you sneaking his coffee a week ago?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that,” Ana shrugs, lifting the mug to her lips.

Sounds of scuffling come from the front hallway then, Ana distracted enough for Steve to finally and carefully, snatch the mug away from her hands. She makes a noise of protest, before she sees the dark green branches of a pine tree. Natasha and Rhodes carry in a small tree, with Rocket following behind them, an axe propped over his shoulder.

“What the hell is that?” Ana demands quietly, her chest tightening.

“It’s a tree,” Nat snipes dryly. “What the hell does it look like?”

They set the tree down in the living room, adjusting the stand that’s already anchored to the trunk. An onslaught of rage and heartache overcome Ana for reasons she can’t quite comprehend. Abruptly it takes everything she has not to grab the axe from Rocket, chop the tree into little pieces and throw them into the fireplace.

Holidays are meant to be joyful. Holidays are meant to celebrate with families and loved ones. Holidays are meant to bring brightness. They’re meant for the rest of the world to fade away into warmth, sparkles, the smells of baked goods.

Not this time. Ana sees nothing joyous about that tree, just the inevitable death of its needles. She doesn’t feel the warmth of the season, just the continuous frigid void in her chest. Outside, the falling snow morphs into ashes.

“Get it out of here.” Ana nearly growls, her fists clenching; the lights flicker. She can no longer look at it without wanting to scream.

“Uh, why?” Rhodes demands, crossing his arms. “It’s nearly Christmas.”

“I don’t care, just get it out! I don’t want it in here! It doesn’t belong here!”

Rhodes serves Ana a look so stern, she abruptly feels like a scolded child.

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to dial that back,” He commands, gesturing to her. “This is misplaced anger, and you’re taking it out the wrong way. This might not be something you want, but don’t forget, you aren’t the only one suffering through depression. And maybe if you recognized that, you’d realize a damn Christmas tree just might make everyone else forget the shit that’s happened for once.”

His words are a punch to her heart. Immediately all her anger melts from her bones as she looks at the floor. Rhodey is one hundred percent correct, embarrassingly Ana is reminded of how much she truly missed when she shut her emotions off. She hasn’t been fair or considerate of anyone for months. Just because she can’t handle a fucking tree, doesn’t mean she can force anyone else to do the same.

Her throat burns with that wake-up call; the flicker stop flickering. Ana slowly gathers herself, breathes deeply while stroking her hands over her stomach to soothe herself. The baby moves and rolls in response. Finally, she nods.

“You’re absolutely right,” She concedes, meeting his eyes once more. “I’m sorry I snapped. I just…I’m just not in the mood to celebrate any holiday, but I shouldn’t expect anyone else to. I apologize.”

Rhodes stares her down a few moments before his expression breaks. “Accepted.”

The tense silence that follows is heavy and awkward, until Steve pushes the coffee mug back into Ana’s hand. “Just the one cup.”

She silently takes the mug, barely feeling the warmth of the coffee on her fingers. “I’m just going to go lay down now.”

As she makes her exit, Rhodey stops her. “Do you…need anything?” He offers kindly.

She gives him a grateful smile over her shoulder. “No, thank you.”

Steve has been distracting himself from checking up on Ana by pulling the dust covered box of decorations from storage and going through it. Oddly, a glass ornament is wrapped in newspaper, and with a delicate swipe of his fingers over the ink, he’s brought back to another lifetime eight decades ago.

Christmases during The Great Depression weren’t grand; far from it. Memories of Steve stuffing his shoes with old newspapers to keep his feet warm- and possibly give himself a few extra inches in height- fill his head. His mother carefully wrapping handmade ornaments in those same newspapers.

A slightly dirty Bucky just back from working odd jobs here and there, holding up a turkey he received as payment. He had dragged both Steve and his mother over to the Barnes household for a rare Christmas Eve dinner.

Giggles of four little girls huddled together as they watched Steve nail their brother in the face with a slush of a snowball. A quiet night of serving his mother tea as she laid sick in bed. Yet she still gifted him fresh parchment bound together to go with the charcoal pencils Bucky got him earlier.

The memories turn melancholy as Steve remembers that first Christmas without his mother. How Bucky selflessly spent the night away from his own family, taking care of a feverish Steve, even though all he wanted to do was stay huddled in bed and cry himself to sleep from grief. Instead, Bucky pulled out a bottle of whiskey from his tattered coat and dumped some into Steve’s tea.

“Nicked it from that banker's house on the other side of town,” Bucky had shrugged, looked proud of himself before he took a swig from the bottle.

“Buck,” Steve had reprimanded weakly. Until he remembered that banker is the one who cheated on his wife and bragged about it. He had taken too big of a gulp, nearly choked and spluttered.

Bucky waited, patted his back until his airways cleared. “Did that no good, two-timer notice you?”

“Hell no,” Bucky laughed. “Guys like him deserve to have his illegal booze stolen, he’s got enough money to smuggle more. Did you take your medicine?”

Steve held up his mug. Bucky rolled his eyes, then gently pushed him over to snuggle in next to him. Not once did he ever leave Steve’s side. Instead he chatted his ear off with stories of Rebecca attempting to make her own dolls, and that one brunette, brown-eyed dame he tried to save from a sleazy man before she decked the guy square in the jaw.

“I’m sweet on her now. Whatty’a think, Stevie? Think I’ve got a chance with a dame like that?”

(Steve huffs a laugh when he remembers that bit. Bucky always did have a type; it’s no wonder he fell for Ana so quickly.)

"Nah,” Steve said through a cough. “A girl like that wouldn’t give you the time of day.”

“Punk.” Bucky rubbed his knuckles atop his head.

“Jerk.” He weakly shoved him in retaliation.

Silence fell between them; sleep quickly took over Steve’s tired and sick body. He had slid further down the bed, pulling the thin blanket up to his chin.

“Thank you, Buck. For being here.”

Bucky took a minute to respond. “Didn’t want you to be alone during the holidays. With you til the end of the line, pal.”

The light pitters of something wet hitting the newspaper brings Steve back to the present. A few dark drops absorb into the paper before he realizes he’s crying. He hastily wipes the tear off his face, clears his throat and wills away the pain in his heart. Steve gets it. He understands why Ana reacted the way she did.

Shaking his head to clear his past, he rewraps the ornament and returns to his task. Once he’s done, Steve just sits in the closet by himself for a while; allows him himself to wallow. He’s absentmindedly scratching his growing beard, wondering if he should give it a shave when FRIDAY alerts him.

“Captain Rogers, the weather is a brisk 25 degrees outside, with steady snowfall.”

Frowning up at the ceiling as if the AI can see him, he replies, confused. “Thank you? Is there a reason you’re giving me a weather report?”

He swears FRIDAY sigh. “Mrs. Barnes has been sitting out for-“

“Got it, thanks.” Steve cuts her off, yanking the door open. He knows exactly where Ana is.

As he quickly makes his way through the compound, Steve apologizes to that younger Bucky during the all those winters. He recalls his exasperated best friend every time Steve hid out on rooftops and fire escapes after getting into fights. Every time, Bucky had been there with Steve’s coat, or just taken his own coat off to wrap around Steve’s scrawny little shoulders instead.

“Christ, Stevie, your lungs ain’t gonna work anymore the longer you stay out here, punk.”

When Steve climbs through her window, and finally opens the door to the roof, the irony isn’t lost on him. Ana is sitting on the furthest chair, staring out into the frosted woods, snow catching in her long hair. Only a thin blanket over her lap protects her from the cold and the biting wind from the height of the deck. Her hands are protectively cradling the bump of her stomach.

“Ana, what are you doing out here?” Steve questions, briskly walking to her. He places the jacket he found in her room over her shoulders; one of Bucky’s jackets. “You’ll freeze your toes off.”

“You’ll freeze your damn toes off, and I will not explain to your Ma why her son got frostbite.”

He wraps an arm around her, pulling her into his side to share his body heat with her. The old memories of Bucky practically yanking his asthmatic self into a slightly warmer building fade away.

“This is where we kissed the first time,” Ana reminisces, a quiet reserve to her voice. She points adjacent to them. “Right there, when I said those triggers words, he kissed me.”

Steve remembers when Bucky couldn’t stop pacing in his room after that night, panic stricken because he didn’t know how to process his feelings for her. He couldn’t understand how she put so much trust into him. Steve squeezes her shoulder, hoping to offer her some comfort.

“This is where Bucky told me he loved me for the first time. Up here, with pizza.”

His chest feels hollow realizing how many memories this rooftop holds for her. “C’mon honey, it’s not good for you to be out here, let’s go back inside. Warm you up.”

“Nothing is ever going to be the same,” Ana laments as if she didn’t hear him. “Holidays, birthdays, celebrations. Life.”

“Yeah.” Steve exhales wearily.

“I knew this. I knew all of this, but…for months I acted like I was the only one holding onto this grief so heavily. I’ve lost everyone, Steve. I’ve lost my whole family and I never thought I could feel more pain and grief than that. But I was wrong, this is so different. Because I could feel him leave me. I could feel Bucky’s soul rip from mine.”

“It’s incredible, Stevie. I can feel her all the time, like her life energy is this infinite sunlight around me.”

He sees that day clearly when Bucky had said those words to him. He remembers the look of pure awe and adoration on his friend’s face that day. Steve squeezes her closer, offering his comfort in the cold bitter air. Something wet falls onto his shirt, soaks in quicker than the snowflakes. He lifts his hand, gently wiping the tears off her cheeks before the cold can freeze them there.

“Hey now, Steve, c’mon. No tears, they’ll freeze on your face, pal.”

Steve swallows back yet another whispered memory, when he was frustrated the neighborhood bully just kicked his ass no matter how many times Steve got back up.

“Your pain isn’t invalid, Ana,” He tells her delicately, lifting the sleeve of the jacket to dry her face. “That is something none of us will ever begin to comprehend, that connection you both shared.”

“Maybe not,” Ana sniffs, “but that shouldn’t erase anyone else’s pain in my mind and that’s exactly what I was doing.”

“Watching you turn off your emotions was- fuck, it was haunting. It was scary because we couldn’t tell if doing that was just hurting you instead. I hated that you did that, but I also understand why you did. I think we just-“ Steve pauses to gather his words properly.

Ana speaks up before he does. “I’ll never be able to express how sorry I am for shutting everyone out, for acting like- well...like a cold hearted-“

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Steve chastises firmly. “I think we just wanted to have any ounce of your old self back. We were all concerned.”

“I’m still trying to find that myself,” Ana sighs, voice cracking; she sounds exhausted. She tilts her head to the side, leaning on his shoulder. “I got mad about the tree because the memories of last Christmas are perfect. It was our first one together, did you know that? Our first time celebrating the holiday season. I don’t want to celebrate anything.”

“So, keep the eggnog away from you then?” Steve quips lamely. Ana winces and gags.

“Fuck no,” She picks her head back up. “I don’t think the baby’s palate will tolerate that.”

“And I don’t think the baby can tolerate the cold much longer,” He counters. “Let’s get you inside.”

Steve drops his arm in favor of carefully helping up from the chair. Ana winces again, her hands covering her stomach. Pain flashes over her face for a moment, and panic shoots through Steve’s chest.

“Are you okay? What was that?” He asks worriedly, hand hovering along her back.

“It's fine,” She pants, waving him off with her hand. “Just some pressure is all. Little Bean’s running out of room I think.” Relief shags Steve’s shoulders. Until- “The baby is moving a lot. Do you want to feel-?”

“I’m good. That’s not, uh, it’s kind of intimate. Time to go inside.” Steve ignores her bewildered look and focuses on guiding Ana down the stairs safely. He keeps Bucky’s jacket wrapped tight around her.

The memory of last Christmas spent snuggling close with Bucky in front of a fire and talking about their future mocks Ana. It was one of those perfect moments in a lifetime, and she didn’t want to tarnish the memory with this Christmas being...widowed. Alone and 7 months pregnant.

Since Rhodey’s harsh truth, Ana has kept any bitter despair to herself. However, she did allow herself one moment of a Christmas song. It made her smile briefly, before a memory of both Bucky and Tony singing at the top of their lungs as they decorated the tree cut it short.

Ana does not want to decorate the tree. She stays in her room, until Rocket barges in, trailing a bunch of silver tinsel in his wake.

He demands to know, “Who was the asshole to make such a messy infuriating thing to put on a damn stupid tree!?”

Nebula stood at the doorway, a murderous expression on her face as she fights with several pieces of tinsel, static making it cling to her. Ana can’t help the surprised laugh that bubbles out of her at the both of them.

Vaguely, in the back of her mind as Rocket drags her out of her room demanding to untangle the tinsel, Ana thinks the two might have planned it all. She’s exhausted by the time she unknots the stuff, focusing more on the silver plastic and quietly refusing to put anything on the tree.

By the time she’s done, she waddles back to her room, Natasha close behind. All she does is hand Ana a hot mug of cider and snuggles in close. Nat talks to and gently pets her hands over her stomach and promises the baby to teach them her “death by thighs” move one day. Ana drifts off to sleep, head tucked under Natasha’s neck.

When Christmas does come around, it’s with stinging emptiness, of several people missing and the weight of the whole world grieving. At breakfast, as she’s slowly eating, Ana finds herself with a small pile of gifts next to her on the table. Her glare prompts a response from Steve who had given her one more.

“You stayed locked in your room for your birthday last month,” He shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. “You aren’t having a baby shower. Just accept them. Please?”

Most gifts end up being for the baby anyway, including a crib, so Ana lets it slide and quietly thanks them.

She ends up fighting back tears the longer she stays out in the living room, desperately wanting to escape. She’s exhausted, down to her bones, and the aching in her chest throbbing Bucky’s name hurts more and more. She closes her eyes and breathes, flexing her fingers and smoothing her hands over her stomach. The baby kicks and moves before it settles a few moments later.

Someone sits next to her, and she doesn’t have to open her eyes to tell that the stupidly large and warm bicep pressing against her own arm is Steve. He doesn’t say anything, just simply takes hold of her right hand, and squeezes.

He doesn’t let go, and despite the prickling of tears behind her eyelids and the trembling of her lips, Ana leans her head against his shoulder. The sense of comfort seeps into her own energy, and soon after she falls asleep.

30 Weeks Pregnant:

Just on the verge of her eighth month, Ana hears Natasha’s irritated sigh, as she munches on a slice of mango pizza.

"Ana, I swear if you don’t stop nesting in the office, I will throw away all the mangoes and you’ll be stuck with mushrooms for your pizza topping from now on.”

As Natasha Romanoff threats go, it’s rather mild. She shrugs as Nat holds up two files as proof.

“It was messy!” Ana defends, her feet propped up on the coffee table.

“Lucky you’re pregnant,” She grumbles.

“Enhanced hearing, remember?”

Natasha glares at her. “It took me an hour to find my notes. Why don’t you organize Steve’s shit? Or Rocket’s? I haven’t seen you in Nebula’s room, go nest in there.”

“Nebula would cut my hand off, pregnant or not.”

“It’s true.” Nebula speaks up with her husky low menacing voice, pizza slice in hand. Ana raises her eyebrows at her. She pauses. “Maybe.”

Ana beams. Natasha huffs, coming over to join them. She bends over to gently pat Ana’s belly. Which has grown even more in the past weeks, but dropped as well, the baby’s head sitting lower.

“Your mama better name you Natasha after I put up with her little tendencies huh little one?” Nat coos.

“That’ll go over well if Bean is a boy,” Ana jokes, also patting over where she thinks its little foot is. There’s a responding nudge, a rather firm one. Ana frowns. “Sassy.” Natasha chuckles, then steals Ana’s slice. “Hey!”

“Now someone’s hand will be chopped off,” Nebula inputs at the scene. Ana nods with a pout.

“What are you going to do? Waddle after me with your swollen ankles?” Nat teases.

“You’re being mean to me,” She whines, but can’t keep the smile off her face.

Neither can Nat. “Then keep your nesting habits away from my files, Barnes.”

Ana steals the slice back. “I also reorganized your knives.”

That earns another glare. “So, so lucky you’re pregnant.”

It’s rare, these little moments of teasing and humor. Five months have passed since The Snap, and Ana’s grief and pain are still as crushing as ever. Her dreams remain constant. Dealing with feeling her emotions again has become a little easier, but there are days where she feels shattered by them, and cries into her pillow, or the nearest pair of arms.

Lately, it’s been Natasha. But these moments are what helps get Ana and everyone else through the day. Hour by hour, day by day, week by week. She has also been keeping herself in check and trying to be attentive to everyone’s feelings around her.

“Has Steve woman upped yet and felt the baby kick?” Nat wonders. The red roots of her hair are growing back faster now.

“No…He’s still a little creeped out,” Ana yawns. “It’s kinda funny.”

Humming, Natasha suddenly stands up. “Time for your checkup, let’s go.” Groaning, Ana shoves the last bits of her pizza into her mouth. “Come on. It’s one of the last ones before your due date.”

Ana shimmies from her rather comfortable spot on the couch to the edge, taking a deep breath and readying her swollen ankles to stand. Both Natasha and Nebula carefully grab an arm and help Ana up, keeping her steady until she can stand on her own. An odd sort of pressure throb through her stomach, and she frowns, suddenly thankful she does have a checkup today.

Three days later has Ana gasping awake from her dream. This time she swears she feels ashes slip through her fingers. Brings her right back to that horrid day in Wakanda, when she couldn’t reach Bucky in time. The same constricting feeling settles in her chest, and the room begins to feel hot; a golden orange glow briefly emits from her clenched hands.

Before her powers can lash out, Ana moves the best she can, hurriedly grabbing one of the beads. It only takes a few moments to get a video up, but the second she hears his voice, her heart begins to settle. The glow fades, and the rattling in the room that had started ceases.

Bucky’s timbre soothes her, replaying his lullaby twice more. On the third time, Ana pauses the recording, the projected image frozen on Bucky’s sweet face. The gentle fondness in his blue eyes, the slightly crooked smile, his long hair pulled into a bun, his beard just a touch unruly.

She remembers this day precisely; one of the last days Bucky sang to her stomach, to their child. No matter how many times Ana reminded him that the baby couldn’t hear him yet, he never cared.

It never stopped Bucky from randomly moving from one spot -be it the couch, bed, another room, the hut- to wherever Ana was and kept singing. It never stopped him from dropping to his knees as she made another strange snack she was craving in the kitchen and nuzzling his face against her barely there bump. Never kept him from staying up as she fell asleep to his words whispering lovingly against her skin. Feeling his warm breath, his sweet lips, his soft beard, his gentle caress of his fingers over her stomach. Feeling his heart, his love, his soul.

“I can hear it. The heartbeat.” Bucky would tell her, voice thick with emotion.

She hasn’t felt Bucky for months.

Ana reaches out like she does in her dreams, fingers curving over his holographic jaw. She keeps her touch delicate, as to not distort the image. In this moment, only for a moment, she pretends she can feel him. Pretends that her husband is truly looking back at her.

“I’m sorry, Snowflake,” Ana murmurs, tears burning in her throat. “I haven’t been the same without you. I turned off my emotions. You wouldn’t have liked that at all, would you? I don’t even like myself right now.”

Ana swipes the tears off her chin with her left hand. “But I swear I’ll try to be better. I swear I will take care of our baby for both of us, and he, she- our child will grow up knowing exactly who you are and how much you loved them. I just…I miss you. God, I miss you so fucking much I can’t breathe most of the time, and it hurts.”

Inhaling a shuddering breath, tears overcome her, sobs hitching in her chest. Ana brushes her shaking fingers over his cheek, the image rippling from her touch.

“I love you.”

When she turns off the bead and the image vanishes, she weeps into her hands. Ana wipes her cheeks, attempting to calm herself. Taking deep breaths, she places the bead back into it’s safe place in the drawer. A rather sharp kick from within makes her wince, then chuckle.

“Sorry, baby. I know I’ve been crying a lot lately.” Ana says to her stomach, rubbing soothing circles over her belly. “That can’t feel too good for you either.”

Once Ana’s crying slows, she cleans her face with tissues, blows her nose, and throws the tissues away in the bin beside her bed. Just then her ears pick up a sound outside her room. Carefully standing up, she walks to the door, pulling it open.

“Steve,” Ana greets with a sigh. She shouldn’t be shocked at this point.

Steve smiles sheepishly. “You alright?”

“Yeah. How much did you hear?”

He leans against the door frame crossing his arms, his shoulders hunched. “Just the ending. Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Just came by to see if you want to-“

Another kick and more movement briefly make Ana miss what he’s saying. Blowing a slow breath out she presses her hands over the spot; things are starting to get more uncomfortable.

“Sorry, could you repeat?”

He flashes her an understanding look. “Asked if you wanted to go for a walk with us. Nat and I.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” Ana agrees, fighting a wince from the kicking. “Dr. Hammond suggests it now that I seem to be healthy enough. Said the walking could help calm the baby.”

He laughs under his breath. “I can kinda see why,” He says, eyes on her stomach.

“Yeah, this little bean has been more active lately,” She pauses “Steve, um, would you like to feel the baby kick?”

Steve’s eyes snap up to her. “Oh, um, isn’t that a bit personal? I mean-“ He stumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Ana rolls her eyes fondly. This is her husband’s best friend, he shouldn’t feel weird about it. She grabs his hand, placing the flat of his palm just to the right of her stomach. A few long seconds pass, Ana carefully watching Steve’s expression.

His brows are furrowed, his mouth curving down, as if he’s sad the baby isn’t moving for him. Then, the same rolling pushing movement comes once more and Steve’s blue eyes light up.

His mouth falls open slightly, a toothy smile across his lips. “Ana,” He gasps, meeting her eyes. “That’s…amazing.”

Ana can’t help but laugh, her heartache forgotten for the time being. “See, nothing to be nervous about. Kinda cool, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah. This, this is your baby. You and Buck’s…” His excitement fades into sorrow. Steve lifts his other hand to the opposite side, lightly scrunching his fingers as if he’s waving in a way.

“How about that walk now?” Ana cuts the melancholy short. She’s starting to feel the energy around them changing. Steve’s energy; the same kind he has been keeping from her. “Is it nice out?”

Pulling his hands off her stomach, Steve clears his throat and nods. “Bit warmer today, 56 right now.”

“Let me get dressed and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

“No rush.” Steve takes a step before he halts. “Are sure you’re okay, Ana?”

She gives him her most convincing smile, which is a good attempt on her part. “Yeah. Just, missing him a lot today. That’s everyday though,” She chuckles humorlessly. “I swear I’m good, Steve.”

Steve’s scrutiny lasted longer than Ana would have liked. Then he nods. “Take your time.”

The only entertaining thing about New Year’s passing was Ana sitting out on the patio, watching Rocket and Rhodey rig together a contraption to set off fireworks. Natasha sat next to her, Ana’s legs on her lap as she massaged her swollen ankles and feet under a warm cable knit blanket, sitting next to a heater. Nebula and Steve are locked in a card game, when the first firework goes off. Steve flinches then frowns. His eyes meet Ana’s for briefly, before he goes back to discarding.

As explosions go off in the sky, Bucky tightens his arms around Ana’s waist, his face hidden in her neck as he presses a kiss to her pulse. “I don’t think I’m fond of fireworks.”

Ana brushes her fingers through his soft hair, gently scratching his scalp. Slowly she uses her ability to calm his energy, soothe him deeper than a touch. “Makes sense. You are a war vet.”

“Used to hear them go off in Romania sometimes,” Bucky had confessed. “Always thought it was a sign Hydra found me. That they had bombs set around the building I lived in. It was something I could never shake.”

Another one goes off in the distance; Bucky inhales her scent, his hands clutching her skin. Ana catches Tony walking by. “Tony, I thought no one was allowed to set off fireworks up here.”

He catches on quickly, pointing his glass of whiskey towards Bucky. Ana nods, then with an annoyed flare, he says, “Those damn kids. Goodie! I felt like chewing someone’s ear off tonight. I’ll call them!”

Bucky snorts, then sighs in content as Ana continues to relax his nerves with her powers. “They’re pretty, but...too loud.”

“I got you, Snowflake,” Ana promised, pulling up the blanket to cover them both and hide them away.

“I know you do, Annie Doll,” He breathes sleepy. “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen though.”

Ana chuckles, kissing the tip of her husband’s head as he drifts off to sleep. She can’t think of a better way to bring in the new year than Bucky feeling safe enough in her embrace to fall asleep, even with the ghosts that still haunt his past.

POP!

Another firework glittering in the winter sky rips Ana out of her memories. She catches the small wince of broad shoulders.

“Hey guys,” Ana calls out to Rocket and Rhodey. “I don’t think the baby is fond of fireworks right now. Do you mind if you stop please?”

Rhodey acknowledges her meaningful look, beginning to replace the ones he took out. Rocket shrugs, turns off the machine they built with a wide grin.

“I just wanted to see if I could build it. I did, now I’m bored.” He states, then meets Ana’s eyes.

“How’s about we beat these losers at a game of poker?”

“Deal.”

Ana only lasts two rounds of poker, before Steve is helping her settle into bed. He insisted on following her and carrying her hot tea for her. She adjusts her body pillow and gets comfortable, tapping her hand over the lower part of her stomach where the baby settled with her.

“Thank you,” Steve says, pulling the comforter up for her. “For the fireworks. I know you did it for me.”

“Bucky and I,” Ana begins, pausing only to push past the lump in her throat. “We stayed at Tony’s cabin during the holidays. I don’t think he heard fireworks go off in a while, and out in the woods you aren’t allowed to bring them or set them off. Some neighbors did, and he was nervous about them. I calmed him as much as I could.”

“He never told me that,” Steve says, frowning. The look he gives Ana though, makes her feel bashful. His features soften, and he almost looks...happy. “He was always so in love with you, Ana, before he even knew it. Bucky wasn’t one to ever open up to anyone, even when we were kids. Watching him with you…I’m glad he found you.”

Ana sniffs, rubbing her eyes to stop the tears welling up from falling. The empty ache in her chest is a permanent feeling.

“Sorry, too much Bucky talk. You were having a better night, I shouldn’t ruin it.” Grabbing her hand, he gives it a firm squeeze.

“It’s alright. I just...didn’t want you to feel that same way.” She squeezes back.

“Get some sleep, Ana.”

As she relaxes, her body ready for said sleep, she says, “You too, Steve.”

It’s one of her better days; Ana sleeps through midnight, but the haunting call of her name still echoes through her mind. Her soul still screaming for its other half.

The week following the new year is slow, as if 2019 wants to remind them of half the universe gone. However, Ana’s panic slowly begins to build as she realizes there’s just over a month of the baby arriving.

She’s sitting in the room they decided to turn into a nursery -the room right next to hers- slowly stroking her hands over and over her round stomach. Looking around the room gives her mixed feelings.

A part of her seems to be happy, almost excited to be a mother. The other parts outweigh the joy, however. The bare walls, void of any decorations, makes her heart break. The dark wood of the crib and the changing table makes her seethe. The little animal mobile above the crib breaks her. The mobile hangs an orange fox, a gray owl, a brown bear, and a white wolf.

Pushing herself off the rocking chair, Ana grabs the wolf and tears it off. The whole mobile comes down, crashing into the crib, but the wolf is clutched in her palm. She stares at it, anger boiling in her blood for reasons she can’t explain.

The harder she squeezes, the brighter her hand becomes. Flickering lights throw the room into shadows, over and over. Smoke is beginning to emit from the little wolf, her chest tightening as the edges singe.

“I leave for, what, three weeks, and here you are literally starting fires in your hands.”

Ana snaps her head up. Carol Danvers is standing in front of her, amusement dancing in her eyes instead of any reprimandation. Carefully she places both of her hands over Ana’s fist, and all her raging energy subsides. She hadn’t been aware of anyone coming into the room, so focused on the white wolf.

Quickly pulling her hand out of Carol’s, Ana slowly uncurls her fingers. Sitting in the middle of her palm are the remains of the wolf, completely incinerated. Panicking, she drops it, the tiny ashes caught between her fingers.

“Oh my god,” Ana whispers, horrified at herself.

“Hey, Barnes, I’m sure it's fine,” Carol tells her gently. “They can get you another one.”

“You-you don’t understand,” Ana shakes her head frantically. Ash. Ashes on her hand, her fingers, ingrained in her skin. “I-I have to wash my hand. I have to wash my hand!”

“Come on.”

Carol guides her out of the room, a steady hand on her back, and into the bathroom. Ana proceeds to scrub her right hand at least four times, and once again until her skin feels raw. She feels out of breath afterward, reaching for Carol once more.

“Can you take some deep breaths for me?” Carol coaches, helping her sit on the edge of the tub.

Ana huffs. “I’m trying. I-I can’t. No! Don’t touch me! What if…what if I hurt you? Like I hurt Steve?”

“Look at me, Ana. You are fine, you’re okay right now. You just got worked up and that’s okay.” Carol keeps firm eye contact. She attempts to hold her hands again, this time Ana allows her. “I won’t let anything happen to you. You aren’t going to hurt me or anyone else.”

Finally, Ana gets a deep breath in. She regulates her breathing with help from Carol, until she feels like her senses and energy are no longer overstimulated. Once she’s calm, they leave the bathroom and head outside to the bac deck at Ana’s request. The chill of the air clears her head more as she sinks into a chair.

“It was a white wolf,” Ana tells Carol. Her silence is a cue to elaborate. “My husband...Bucky. He was given that moniker while he was recovering in Wakanda. He told me they sort of adopted, well, accepted him into their family, their culture. King T’Challa told me it also meant strong warrior.”

“That why you tore it off?” She guesses.

Ana shrugs, thinking it over. “I think I was already feeling too many emotions. I saw it, it reminded me of him and how- how everything in that room, we didn’t pick together. Hell, I barely picked anything in that room. I really appreciate Pepper and Nat setting it up, but we couldn’t do it together.”

Danvers remains quiet again, but Ana is grateful for it. She’s pretty good at reading how Ana is feeling, and her silent support is more appreciated than she knows. Ana’s energy always seems to stay dormant every time Carol is close. It’s something interesting to look into later.

“Where have you been?” Ana asks after some time.

During this time Steve found them after FRIDAY alerted him and gave her a thick blanket to keep warm. He stayed long enough to turn on the heaters, then left the women alone, but quietly thanked Carol in a nod Ana caught.

Carol sighs, slumping in her chair and propping her heels on the table. “Other planets. Some are worse from the repercussion of what that purple scrotum sack did. Been getting a lot of hits on my radar. I came back to bring you more elixir in case you needed it. And to check in on my favorite avenger.”

“M’not an avenger but Nat’s in the shooting range. Nebula is...I don’t know what she’s doing but I’m afraid to ask sometimes.”

She snorts. “So, should I not get you a stuffed wolf when the baby is born?”

Ana flicks her off, but Carol’s resounding laugh brings a smile to her face.

When Pepper calls two days later, Ana can’t help but feel something odd about their conversation. As they chat about pregnancy, (”It’s like every ten minutes, Pep, I have to pee every ten minutes!”) Ana asking for any advice her cousin may for her upcoming labor, something continues to feel off. Especially when Pepper drops Tony’s name three times. The mention of him causes her to remember something about FRIDAY.

“Oh!” Ana perks up. “Has FRIDAY informed you of anything about me? Or to-”

A little voice pops up in the background, begging for a snack. “One second, sweetie,” Pepper says to her daughter, then back to Ana. “She just tells me your vitals sometimes.”

“That’s it? She doesn’t ask you for permission to use a security protocol?”

“I- Morgan, be patient please, I’m making it now. Sorry, Ana.”

“It’s fine. I was just wondering why T- um...FRIDAY would feel the need to program an added feature.”

“What are you trying to ask?”

“I just...why would someone need to add an electric defense mechanism-”

“You know what?” Pepper cuts her off, exasperated. “I’m tired of being a go between. I have a toddler to raise who is currently trying to cut her own grapes, and I can’t deal with this right now. I love you, but if you want to know why, you need to ask him yourself.”

“Pep, what are you-”

“This riff between you two has gone on long enough. Talk to each other. I already have one child, I don’t need to raise two more. Speaking of which, you need to tell him. Here!”

“Wait, no!” Ana’s shout disturbs Rhodey from reading his book.

He casts a curious glance her way. She frantically shakes her head, though Pepper can’t see her. Rhodey has now put down his book, mouthing an over dramatic what? Before she can let him know what is about to happen, it happens. There’s a shuffling on the other side of the line, followed by a confused yelp.

Quickly pressing the phone to her chest, she looks over at Rhodey in panic. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms; a sign of him agreeing with Pepper after he caught on. Taking a few calming breaths, Ana puts the phone back to her ear.

“-think the line went dead,” Is what she hears on the other side. Tony’s voice.

Heartbeat kicking up several notches, Ana braces herself. “I’m- I’m here.”

“Oh.” There’s a brief pause. “Hello.”

He sounds like he’s meeting a CEO of a company he dislikes. As if he would rather be anywhere else than speak with her.

“Hey, uh, hi. H-how are your day?” Ana cringes, wishing the ground would cave from under her. How are your day? Why is she so nervous to just speak with him!

“Good, great. If that was a question.” Tony answers, his voice is carefully calculated. “How are your day?” He repeats.

If she wasn’t feeling so guilty, so anxious, she may have laughed. Instead, she decides to get right to it. The sooner she tells him, the sooner she can end this painful phone call. “I have something to tell you.”

“Pepper mentioned.”

Right. Fuck, if she didn’t answer her phone, this wouldn’t be happening. Maybe Ana would have been fine with never telling Tony, and he would just have found out some other way. She just knows, deep down, how hurt he might possibly be.

She has never kept anything from Tony for as long as she knew him. With the way they left each other five months ago, well, telling him something he hadn’t known for this long could just drive the wedge between them even deeper.

Ana opens her mouth but all that comes out are tiny sounds of words dying on her tongue. She closes her mouth, eyes shifting to Rhodey, who nods encouragingly. Ana gathers herself once more, swallows her hurt and any pride she may have.

“Tony,” She finally says.

“Yep?” His response is quick; a tone Ana knows all too well. It’s the tone he uses to mask his own hurt.

“I-I should have told you sooner, but-” Inhale. Exhale. It shouldn’t be that hard to tell him this. Tony had been with her through some of the hardest events in her life. Suddenly not telling him feels like she insulted him personally.

“I’m pregnant.”

The silence that stretches lasts so long, Ana has to check if the line went dead; it didn’t. “Tony?”

“How far? Five months?” Tony finally speaks up. He sounds distant.

“Eight.” The word comes out as a whisper. “I’m eight months along. 34 weeks.”

“Had an inkling. Do you want a congratulations?”

Ana feels like she was just slapped in the face. Tony doesn’t sound angry, just neutral, but even so, the words sting more than she ever thought they would. Her eyes prickle, her vision gets blurry. She clears her throat, turning her back on Rhodey so he doesn’t see her reaction.

“No, no, it’s fine. Just wanted you to know.”

“Girl, boy?” He asks.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Going old school, I see.”

“I just...I figured it was time to tell you,” Ana’s voice trembles. Her heart is aching, like she just ripped a band-aid from a gaping wound she forgot about. “I’ll let you-”

“Is it healthy?” Tony abruptly cuts her off. “Are…are you healthy?”

The question catches her off guard. “I- yeah. Um, there’s been some emotional stress and bed rest incidents, but otherwise, we’re healthy.”

“Good, good. That’s good. It’s late, you should go, rest.”

“Oh, okay.” Ana says weakly, feeling drained and disappointed. “Yeah. Um, have a good night.” She pulls the phone from her ear to hang up, then hears Tony call her name.

“Ana.”

She quickly holds the phone back up. “Yeah?”

“Will you let me- let us know? When it’s time?”

Ana can’t be too sure, but she thinks she picks up a hint of hopefulness in his voice. “Yeah, I will. I’ll tell you.”

Another beat of silence passes. “G’night, kid.”

The nickname feels bittersweet, but maybe it’s a step in rekindling what she ruined of their relationship. “Goodnight, Stark.”

After she hangs up, a firm yet comforting hand squeezes her shoulder. “You good?” Rhodes checks.

Nodding, Ana shoots him something close to a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I just...I think I miss him. I do miss him.”

“You should have told him that. I know he misses you too.”

“Maybe...next time.”

Just those few minutes of that conversation has left Ana exhausted. She decides to take a nap, hoping that maybe sleeping will ease the ache on her chest.

Annie

Pain abruptly pulls Ana out of her sleep, ripping away from that dream world. She stares at the ceiling in confusion, wondering what exactly hurt enough to wake her up. Minutes pass, her eyes closing as she’s on the verge of falling asleep yet again, when the second wave hits.

“Oh fuck!” Ana yelps, her hands flying to her stomach. “F-F-FRIDAY, am I having a contraction?”

“I cannot be 100% accurate,” FRIDAY responds quickly. “I have alerted Agent Romanoff. There is a possibility of Braxton Hicks Contractions. I suggest changing positions and counting the minutes between each one.”

Annie

A mixture of a sob and laugh escaped Ana’s lips, because of course she would hear his voice now as she hisses curses through her teeth. Oddly, the voice seems to calm her internal panic, through her pain. As she begins to sit up and shift, Natasha throws open the door.

She’s talking but Ana can’t focus on her words just yet, too busy trying to lay on her side and fight through the contracting pressure. Thankfully, Nat helps her move and settle into a new position. Too long goes by, but finally the pain stops.

“Breathe, remember those exercises,” Natasha is telling her, rubbing her back. Ana adjusts her pillows, feeling utterly exhausted. “Do you know how long that was?”

“Two minutes and 24 seconds,” FRIDAY informs them. “Twenty minutes apart from the first one.”

“FRIDAY get Dr. Hammond on the phone please.”

“Already contacted.”

Ana just shuts her eyes, listening to the slight commotion around her. The baby moves, an elbow or foot clearly unhappy about the lack of space inside her uterus. She rubs her hand around her stomach, ignoring her fear of not being ready quite yet; it’s too early to give birth. Ana begins to wonder how Bucky would have handled this.

Instead of feeling sad, a small smile spreads across her lips. Imagining someone like Bucky who was usually pretty calm and level-headed in most situations, his longtime soldier status the reason for that, would probably be panicking. Considering how he always acted any time Ana was in pain or discomfort.

“You look like a crazy person smiling like that.”

“Hasn’t anyone told you not to call a pregnant woman crazy?” Ana mumbles, cracking her eyes open to see Rocket smirking at her. “Are you so starved for entertainment you wanted to see what potential childbirth is like?”

Rocket shrugs, smirking. “Once I convinced some jerk the only way to smuggle his gun off Contraxia was to shove it up his ass. This isn’t as fun.”

A chuckle escapes her mouth, and suddenly the pressure she’s been feeling in her lower abdominal eases away. Ana heaves out a deep, long breath. Rocket’s smirk morphs into concern as he reaches out to gently pat the back of her hand.

“Can I confess something?” She whispers to him. He steps closer, tilting his head down. “I’m not ready yet.”

Rocket leans closer. “If you want to know my opinion. I think you got this.”

Then he winks as if they’re conspiring. Ana reaches out to gently stroke his ear. Rocket looks shocked at the affectionate gesture, then he relaxes, smiling like he’s proud to make her feel better.

Natasha interrupts their moment. “Ana, Dr. Hammond is on the phone. She’s on the way but wants to talk to you if you can.”

Taking the phone with her doctor relaxes Ana further. Though when she explains the severity of the pain, Dr. Hammond suggests she have a bag ready in case she does have to go to the hospital. The doctor also requests that the AI to monitor her closely and send FRIDAYs system readings be sent to her On-Call phone, just in case.

Through the night, two more odd contractions occur. Although being irregular and far apart though not any less painful, one more call to the doctor has Ana cursing Braxton Hicks contractions. Natasha stays with her the whole time, and Steve lingers by the closed door for far too long.

Sighing, Ana demands sleepily. “Rogers, just come in already, my god.”

Sheepishly, Steve enters the room, and hunkers down at the end of her bed. Ana drifts off into the same world where Bucky is always waiting for her, always barely able to touch her. When she wakes up from the clouds of ash, she slowly turns over. The sight she’s met with makes the tears in her eyes dry up.

Apparently, during the night, everyone made their way into her room. Nebula, Rocket, Carol and Rhodes all sleeping around the bed or propped up against the wall or chair. Smiling, Ana falls back to sleep.

35 Weeks: January 22nd

Over the last three days, Ana has become lethargic. She’s just so tired all the time, despite sleeping for a few solid hours. Maybe the constant trips into that dream world with the little girl and Bucky leave drain her energy more than she ever thought it would. Maybe waking up, never able to save Bucky is taking its toll, and her heart, her soul just aches. She is just so tired.

Though being eight months pregnant and having false contractions probably has something to do with how exhausted she’s been. Ana has yet to tell anyone about her dreams, or how they leave her feeling just as empty as the day it happened. Informing anyone would just lead to more worry, have them doting on her more than they already do.

Steve constantly eyes her, a twitch in his corded muscles as if he is ready to jump into action for her. He thinks he is being covert; he isn’t. Ana can still read and pick up on feelings and energies. Natasha is more inconspicuous about it, rather she just lingers in any room Ana shows up in. Nebula has taken to just drop next to her, pulling out the deck of playing cards, her dark eyes keen if Ana just shifts wrong.

Rocket chats her ear off with stories of him and the Guardians. Most adventures leave Ana clutching her big round stomach in laughter. It’s the most she has laughed in months, and she swears the little raccoon does this because she admitted she was scared to him.

Rhodes has been pulled away for more government and military business, although he calls to check in everyday. Carol keeps offering the last bottle of elixir but when Ana refuses, she just gives her a cup of tea instead. With sneaking suspicion, Ana thinks the tea is laced with the elixir anyway.

As the winter sun begins to set, its light casts an orange glow through the windows, makes the whole area look warm. To Ana, it bares too much a resemblance to her dreams. She turns to head to bed early, leaving the haunting sight of the sunset to paint the interior with its mockery. Ana grabs the mug of tea Danvers left seeping for her, turning her back on the light.

With the twist of her hips, a sharp stabbing pain shoots through her stomach. Ana shouts, dropping the mug, shattering on the floor as she doubles over in pain. This clenched pressure is more severe than the other night, Ana can’t even straighten up. She clutches the counter for balance, panting and gritting her teeth.

Annie.

“Ana!?” Someone calls in fear.

Trying to regulate her breathing, the pain slowly eases up. Ana cautiously straightens up, but the second she does, another pain zings through her lower stomach. Her fingers grip the counter so hard, the granite cracks, gives, then crumbles under her vice grip.

Strong arms wrap around her, balancing her the best they can. Ana is vaguely aware she’s being moved, but through the blinding pain, there’s an internal fear of something hurting her baby. The pain, the agony, the hurt; something isn’t right.

“Ba- the -ba-by,” Ana stammers, chest heaving, hands now clutching her stomach. Beneath her palms, she feels the baby writhe. “Fuck! It- it’s hurting.”

“What? What’s hurting the baby?” Someone demands urgently. “Call 911! Or get the jet ready! Anything! Ana. Ana, honey, look at me, can you hear me?”

All she hears is a panicked tone, firm callous hands squeezing her elbows. The baby shifts, curling and twisting in her stomach. Ana wants to reach in and protect her child, their child, from whatever is causing this white-hot agony.

She won’t release her arms from around her stomach, she can’t respond to anyone’s worried calls. She just shuts her eyes, tears stinging before they escape. She’s panting, trying to breathe but the darkness around the searing pain is almost too seductive to resist.

Suddenly, the pain stops. Ana can finally breathe in and out, in and out. Once she can inhale without any more contractions, she can finally speak.

“Something is wrong,” She breathes out, fear clenching around her heart. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“Just continue to breathe like you are,” Natasha urges, her voice shaky. “If you’re able to make it to the quinn jet we can fly you to the hospital.”

Bracing herself on whoever is holding her, Ana grabs at their shoulders slowly standing up. Concerned blue eyes gaze down at her, roaming over her face for any other signs of pain. Steve lifts his hand to her forehead, pressing his knuckles against her skin.

“Shit, you’re burning up. Let’s go, I’ll carry you if you can’t walk.” Steve offers, about ready to do just that.

“No,” She heaves, wincing as a lesser contraction wrecks her. She waits until it eases up. “But-but- these are too close together.” Ana gasps then, looking down at her legs, her pants soaked. “My water just broke.” She whispers, terrified. “Steve, it’s too early.”

The way those blue eyes shift from his own fear to determination soothes her terror just a little. Steve and Natasha volunteer to go with her, though Carol insists she help bring Ana up to the launch pad. As they leave, a concerned Rocket waves, wishing her good luck.

“Have fun,” Nebula pipes up after Ana is nearly out of ear shot.

“Have fun?” Rocket deadpans.

Nebula just shrugs, her hands balled into tight fists.

Arriving at the nearest hospital only takes fifteen minutes by jet. By some mercy, Ana doesn’t have another contraction or pain during the flight. Once they get her a wheelchair though, another occurs. People are talking around her as she fights and breaths through the pressured pain entering the hospital.

“Who’s your obstetrician?”

“Uh,” Ana pants, pushing her sweaty hair out of her face. “Dr. Hammond.”

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to continue talking after that, as Dr. Hammond rushes through the doors of the floor they’re on. Grateful for Natasha taking over for filling out the remaining information needed.

“Is anyone coming in with you, Ana?” Dr. Hammond inquires, after speaking with some nurses. She looks between Steve and Natasha.

The question catches her off guard. “No! No. I-” Ana chokes up, nearly breaking down with grief because Bucky isn’t here. She feels his absence, his death more than ever. “I can do it on my own.”

Those words seem to strike a chord with Steve. He abruptly moves in front of her, bending to her eye level. Fierce protectiveness shining in those blue eyes. Steve grips her hands hard enough for her to know.

“Ana,” He begins lowly, firmly. "You don't have-"

“I’m scared," She admits. Her bottom lip trembles as hot tears finally spill from her eyes. "I’m so scared. It’s too early. What if-“

Hushing her gently, Steve carefully pushes back her damp hair. “I know, I know you’re scared right now. You can do this. I know you can. You are not alone. I’m with you, Natasha’s with you. We’re right here for you. You don’t have to do this alone if you don’t want to.”

Ana squeezes his hands as another mild contraction rolls through her. She hunches over, listening to Steve instruct her to breathe deeply. When it subsides, she looks up at him through tears.

“How can you be so sure?” She asks breathlessly.

He blinks, taking a second to realize what she means. Then his face softens. “Because you’re you. Because you’re the most determined, stubborn, and strong woman I know. You can do this. Then you get to meet your child after, and that is going to be amazing.”

Ana nods, trying her best to believe him. “Yeah, yeah you're right. I-I wish Pepper were here though.”

“We called her, she’s one her way.” Natasha pipes in, handing back the clipboard to the nurse.

"Nat,” Ana shudders out another deep breath as the baby wiggles around. Suddenly Steve’s words strike her deeper. “Will you stay with me?”

“I won’t leave your side.” Natasha promises fiercely.

Dr. Hammond jumps in then, informing Ana of a drug they’re going to give her to slow the labor, then run some tests. She instructs Natasha of a nurse coming out to bring her sanitary and protective gear for the delivery room when it’s time.

They wheel her towards another set of double doors, and that’s as far as Steve can follow for now. Before they go through, he bends over, placing a kiss on top of Ana’s head.

“You’re strong. You can do this. Everything is going to be fine. I promise.” Steve reminds her fervently.

Annie

A newfound strength enters her body. Ana can’t be certain if it was Steve giving her one last encouragement through her powers, or the voice in her ears.

Administering the drug does help slow Ana’s labor down, and thankfully she’s able to get the epidural put in. Steve is allowed to visit once she’s checked into her room and bed. Pepper gets delayed by a mild snowstorm but promises to be there as soon as she can.

Usually giving a drug to delay preterm labor to a soon to be mother works better, if the mother didn’t have a form of super soldier serum in her DNA. The drug wears off just nine hours later, as Ana found out as she awoke with more intense pains. Before she knows it, it’s time.

“Ready?” Dr. Hammond questions as she settles between Ana’s legs.

Frantically Ana shakes her head, scrambling to find Natasha’s hand. Nat grabs her hand with both of hers, leaning close to her head. It’s still too soon. What if something goes wrong? What if her powers act out? Oh god, what if baby doesn’t survive?

Natasha’s soothing voice in her ear encourages Ana as she pats the back of her hand. Listening to her words as the doctor and nurses prepare behind her propped-up feet, begins to calm Ana just a little. She swears she feels Nat’s steady, relaxed energy seep into her.

Instructions to push when necessary are relayed to Ana, but as she screams and shouts through gritted teeth and crushes Natasha’s hand, she has to. When the pushing starts, the lights in the room glow brighter. They begin to flicker, the room fading in and out of darkness. A golden hue shines around Natasha’s hands clasps over Ana’s. Her friend calling her name is slowly fading away, as she begins to fall under water.

Annie

She hears the muffled concerned voice of the doctor; something is wrong with the baby. Ana fights to stay awake. Fights to give her baby a chance because if Ana fades away now, will she take her child with her?

No. She refused to let that happen. Pushing with all her might, she channels what she has of her own energy through her blood, her body, to her child.

Annie

The voice beckons to her again. Over and over; a haunting echo of a lullaby. Ana stops fighting, allows the darkness of a faded loving caress to pull her in. She hears cries fill the room just as her world goes black.

Stillness. Quiet. Serenity.

The absence of sound slowly pulls Ana up from the ground. As she stands there, her mind void of any thought, she stares ahead at the endless horizon. An invisible grip tugs from inside her chest, her feet moving of their own accord. She moves through the glassy sea, ripples spreading out with each step.

Blinking to awareness, Ana is face to face with a dark wooden door.

A small touch wraps around her left hand. Looking down, she sees that same little girl; her beautiful green skin, the markings on her cheeks, her red-brown hair. It’s her big eyes that gaze up at Ana that always reach into her heart. Ana closes her fingers around her little hand.

“Where am I?” Ana inquires, her voice quiet echo.

The child smiles. There’s something sad about it. “I think you know.”

Casting a glance around at the horizon of every way, she nods. “What is your name?”

The girl pauses, but only for a moment. “Gamora.” It’s then she releases her hand and steps back. “You aren’t here for me though. That’s okay. I can wait.”

Perplexed, Ana asks, “What do you mean?”

Without answering, Gamora holds her arm out to the door in front of them. Ana shifts her eyes to the door, and what awaits on the other side. When she looks to the little girl once more for guidance, Gamora is gone. She doesn’t ponder where she could have vanished to. Ana places her hands on the door, and pushes.

Warmth blooms from her chest, as if her soul ignites within. Her heart fills with hope, with love, and with terror. Ana has been met with this same sight before. Has felt these same feelings race through her veins every time she sleeps.

Bucky stands before her. Same ocean blue eyes, same soft expression, same little smile on his lips. He takes a step forward, lifting his right hand. Ana bites her lip, dreading for when they make contact, he will crumble into ash like always.

“Hi Annie,” Bucky speaks. His voice seeping into her bones.

Despite the inevitable pounding through her chest, Ana brings her own hand up. Slowly, she reaches for him, the warmth of his hand erases any fear. Bucky intertwines their fingers together, his smile widening. Ana moves closer, squeezing his knuckles. When Bucky remains solid and firm in front of her, tears fill her eyes.

“Bucky.” His name leaves her lips on a sob.

Her husband gently cups her cheek with his left hand, the cold of his metal palm sending goosebumps all over her skin. Ana presses her lips to his hand, holding onto to this moment for as long as she can. Bucky pulls his hand from hers, only to wrap his arm around her waist, tugging her to his chest. Ana grips him tight around his back, resting her ear directly over his heart that she can hear pounding in his chest.

“Are you real?” She murmurs, tears falling down her cheeks.

His soft chuckle rumbles through his chest. He leans back, delicately cups her cheek to pick her head up. Bucky connects their foreheads, eyes gazing affectionately into hers. His vibranium thumb sweeps along her cheekbone, wiping away her tears.

“I’ve always been real in your dreams, darling.”

Ana lifts her hand from his back to brush her fingers through his soft hair. “Is that what this is then? Just a dream?”

"Not exactly.” He laments with a sigh. Ana leans back, and the happiness in those beautiful eyes of his fade away. “I fear you may be here permanently if you don’t leave soon.”

“But I- I just got you back,” Ana frowns, shifting her hand from his thick hair to his cheek. The soft scruff of his beard tickles her palm. Bucky turns his head, kissing her palm. Her heat sinks then. “This isn’t real.”

Sadly, Bucky shakes his head. “This isn’t your world. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be selfish and just hold you a bit longer.”

Ana fully throws her arms around him in a vice grip, foolishly thinking if she can hold him tight enough, he can stay buried in her soul forever. His returning hug is just as hard, the pain from his grip just confusing her more. They move at the same time, finding each other’s mouth and placing a firm, desperate kiss to their lips.

“I need you to go back now, love,” Bucky gently urges, after he breaks their kiss.

“I don’t want to,” Ana cries, now clutching at his chest. “I need you.”

Bucky’s eyes suddenly fill with tears, falling over the edge and down his cheeks. For the first time Ana has ever entered this dream world, Bucky has never cried. She delicately wipes the wetness from his beautiful face. His smile breaks her heart.

“Someone else needs you now, Ana.” He tells her. Bucky kisses her forehead. “It’s time to go.”

Her chest tightens then, as if her soul is losing him all over again. Nodding as tears continue to fall, Ana wraps him up in her arms one last time, holding onto his warmth. She presses her right hand firmly over his chest, memorizing the rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I love you, Bucky. James, I-I love you so much,” Ana sobs.

Bucky runs his fingers through her hair, bringing the strands up to his mouth, before letting the hair fall back into place. “You’re my heart and soul, Ana. I love you.” He gently kisses her lips. When he pulls back once more, his blue eyes shine with pride. “She’s beautiful, by the way. Take care of her, Annie.”

“She?” Ana frowns, confused.

He places his hands on her chest. “Wake up.”

Then, Bucky fades into dust.

Ana gasps.

"We got a pulse!” Someone shouts.

Ana blinks up at too bright lights, dazed, confused, abruptly cold. The commotion around her fades into the background as she slowly becomes aware of her surroundings. Her fingers scratch against stiff cotton, her damp skin making them feel too sensitive against her hands.

A dull pressure releases from her lower half, from her stomach perhaps? Her back? Her hips? Nope, it’s definitely soreness between her legs. She’s cold and sweaty, can now feel her hair sticking to her face. Her chest is heaving, her arms lifting as to reach for something.

“I don’t understand, her vitals stabilized quickly. They’re all normal, doctor.”

The minute the words break through the muffled barrier of whatever ocean she was under, is the minute she hears the crying. In a rush of sensory overload, everything crashes back to her.

Her baby. Ana just gave birth.

“Mrs. Barnes? Ana, can you hear me?” Dr. Hammond’s voice is speaking to her right.

Nodding frantically, Ana answers her hoarsely. “Y-yes. I’m fine. I-where’s my baby?”

Still a little unfocused, she misses when the nurses double check her vitals, and then, the wails of an infant come closer. Someone questions if it’s a good idea, doubts the steady condition she seems to be in. Whoever it was is shot down though, as blonde and red hair come into Ana’s vision.

“Thank, god,” Natasha breathes, her shoulder sagging. “You scared us.” She shakes her head, then smiles. “Would you like to meet your daughter now?”

Carefully, Natasha hands over a little bundle of a blanket, laying Ana’s baby on her chest. Hands works to gently tug down her gown and unwrap the blanket. It’s that first skin to skin contact, that first feel of her baby girl’s beating heart against her mother’s, that breaks Ana.

Ana cries, sobs, as she delicately holds her daughter against her chest. For the first time in a long time, her soul pulses with warmth.

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

Drabbles: Twenty-Three Drabbles: Twenty-Five

(Note: Ana’s labor/birth is loosely based off of my sister-in-laws experience.)

Tags: @thecreatiivecorner @buckyland @stressedasalways @watchoutforfrostbite @justreadingfics @keldachick @eurynome827 @elatedmarvel @shesalatesh @paintedgreywriting @buckaroo-blue @afewmarvelousthoughts @crushedbyhyperbole @shesalatesh @jaxthebookworm

#bucky barnes x ofc #Bucky Barnes x Ana #bucky barnes x ana rios #steve rogers x platonic!ofc #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x original female character #delicate stages drabbles #delicate stages of life #bucky barnes angst #steve rogers angst #baby barnes

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alex51324 · 5 years ago

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Thomas and the Island of the Gays, excerpt #3

Thomas endeavors to understand the appeal of camping.

(Content note: Early-20th-century racial attitudes and language. There’s a whole running theme in this episode about Mr. Braceridge (the former Scoutmaster) being a huge woodcraft nerd, and his husband, Father Timothy, constantly having to rein him in. Unfortunately, Scouting/woodcraft culture of the time was infused what might best be described as “patronizing admiration” of Indigenous Americans. He means well, but it is, as they say on Tumblr, problematic. TL;DR, he talks a lot about “Red Indians,” and it should be understood that he is referring to the Indian of the white imagination.)

***

The room was even dimmer than the parlor-slash-dining-room, until Richard lit a candle that was stuck in a bracket by the door. Thomas was relieved to see the promised bunks, two sets stacked atop each other like the berths in a railway sleeping car. Each berth had a striped tick—stuffed with straw, as Thomas determined when he poked one—and a stack of folded blankets, most in Army khaki.

Thomas was undecided about whether he wanted an upper berth or a lower one, until Morrow put his pack on one of the lower berths, saying, “Wilberforce can’t climb.”

Thomas was as fond of dogs as the next person, but he didn’t wish to be joined in the night by a wet and smelly one. He claimed the berth above Morrow’s. “No sheets?” he asked Richard, unfolding the blankets.

“Apparently rugged backwoodsmen don’t need them,” said Richard, starting to make up one of the lower bunks for himself.

“Lovely.” It could have been much worse—a trench, for example—but Thomas didn’t think he’d ever understand why anyone would subject themselves to primitive living conditions when they didn’t have to.

When they returned to the main room, the fireplace boasted a candle-sized flame, into which Mr. Braceridge was feeding needled-sized twigs, and Father Timothy was saying, “Well, as you have that under control, I’ll just go and see to things in the cottage, shall I? Perhaps someone could put the kettle on,” he added.

Richard volunteered to do so, and Thomas, lacking any better ideas, went along to help him with the pump. Father Timothy had picked up his and Mr. Braceridge’s packs and was carrying them toward the ramshackle cottage. “They’re staying in there?” he asked. It barely looked habitable.

Richard, working the stiff pump handle, nodded. “I had a look inside last time I was here—it’s a bit cozier than it looks. Father Tim figures it was the gamekeeper’s cottage.”

Thomas wasn’t sure that was much to recommend it, but didn’t argue. The pump, at last, began to flow, and once the kettle was full, they went back inside and began the process of coaxing the Primus stove into life. Fortunately, Thomas had used something similar in the War, and this one, having been stored out of the damp, was less fiddly than some.

Over a late luncheon or early tea of cold meat and bread, the group discussed what they would do with the rest of the afternoon. Thomas was a bit alarmed to hear Miles and James express their hopes that the rain would slow down enough to allow a little shooting, and Henry declare that he was going fishing whether the rain slowed down or not.

“Didn’t you say we’d stay inside and play cards if it rained?” Thomas asked Richard, under his breath.

“This lot seems a little keener than the ones that came last time,” Richard whispered back.

“I’m going to stay here and read,” Morrow declared flatly, and remained firm in the face of Mr. Braceridge’s suggestions that he borrow a fishing rod, or at least walk along with the shooters.

“John,” said Father Timothy, “he is a grown man; I daresay he can make up his own mind.” Turning to Morrow, he added, “Only I do hope you won’t find it dull.”

“Thomas and I will stay as well, and keep him company,” Richard said brightly.

“There, that’s settled,” Father Timothy said. “What about you, Victor?”

“I think I’ll stick close to General Headquarters as well,” he said, stroking his beard. “There’s plenty I can sketch from the veranda, without risking spoiling my sketchbooks.”

“In that case,” the vicar said, “I’ll show Henry where the best fishing spots are. You’ll go with the others, won’t you?” he asked Mr. Braceridge.

“Yes, yes,” he said, then brightened. “I’ll take my bow and arrow. You chaps will be interested in this,” he informed Miles and James. “I learnt the art from an American Scoutmaster, who learnt it from a Red Indian….”

He went on talking about archery and Red Indians at some length, and insisted on Miles and James learning the rudiments of what he said was the sign language used by Red Indian hunters to communicate without alerting the prey to their presence.

As they got up from the table, Richard volunteered himself and Thomas to do the washing-up. Once the rugged outdoorsmen had left, he explained, “Mr. Braceridge is quite keen on everyone doing his share of the camp chores. Best to keep ahead of it—lowers your chances of being stuck with something nobody wants to do.”

“I see,” Thomas said, though he privately wondered if the gentlemen in the group would really end up doing any of it.

As they heated the washing up water, Richard also explained, “They went with the others and left us on our own because four is probably enough not to get up to any hanky-panky, but in an hour or so Father Tim will toddle back on some pretext or another to make sure we haven’t paired off.”

An hour would have been more than enough time with anyone Thomas had ever paired off with, but he only said, “Noted.”

“He isn’t terribly pleased by gambling, either,” Richard added. “Not there’s much that makes sense to play with only two. Last time, we had to play for matches.”

“Those might be valuable property out here,” Thomas noted, with a glance at the fireplace.

Richard nodded. “We’d best make sure not to let it go out.”

The washing-up finished, they went over to the parlor area, where Morrow was already ensconced in the most comfortable-looking chair, with his book. The mantelpiece held a small selection of indoor amusements—a worn deck of cards, a draughts board, a few books, and a fairly dire-looking jigsaw puzzle. After ascertaining that Morrow was not at all interested in playing cards, they opted for draughts, setting up the board on a camp stool.

As they started the first game—and as Thomas tried to remember what little draughts strategy he had ever bothered to know—Richard said, “Admit it—I was right, wasn’t I?”

“About what?” Thomas asked.

“That it’s rather pretty here.”

Thomas hadn’t really been paying much attention. “Oh, yes. It’s nice.”

“I’d never done this sort of thing before—unless you count going with my employer to his shooting lodge—but I think I rather like it.”

“As long as you don’t swear off matches and start wearing a pith helmet,” Thomas said, without thinking.

Fortunately, Richard took it in good spirit. “No, I won’t get that carried away.”

** And a bit later **

Their walk took them over to the stream, which ran down the hillside with some speed, tumbling over rocks and making a considerable racket, then slowed down and spread out below the camp-site. Wilberforce nosed along the bank for a bit, before suddenly scrambling down and entering the water with a sizeable splash. Thomas glanced at Morrow, who did not look alarmed. “Can he swim?”

“He’d better,” said Morrow.

Wilberforce paddled over to a rock that stuck out from the middle of the stream, climbed up on it, and assumed a heroic stance, forepaws on the highest bit of rock and water streaming from his fur. He barked, a single sharp yap, and a moment later the rest of them heard voices coming up the path from the other direction.

“—bit better up at the loch,” Mr. Braceridge was saying. “Have you got a fly-rod?”

Mr. Braceridge’s voice was the one that carried best, but Thomas made out a few other things, about fly-rods and deer, and another mention of the loch.

“We’ll have to see what the others think,” said Father Timothy. “They must be nearby, since we heard little Wilberforce.”

“Over here!” Richard called, and after a few moments of rustling, the rest of the party popped into view, on the other side of the stream. Wilberforce hopped down from his rock and clambered up the other bank, going from one person to the next and sniffing at their trousers.

“Ah, good,” said Mr. Braceridge. “There’s an expedition in the works—track the river to its source, what?”

Father Timothy translated, “If the weather’s fine tomorrow, we thought we’d walk up to the lake.”

“Good fishing up there,” Mr. Braceridge amplified. “And shooting.”

“All right by me,” said Richard, and glanced at Thomas and Morrow, who made noises of vague agreement.

Mr. Braceridge started talking about sorting out stores and oiling rifles, but Father Timothy spoke over him. “Perhaps you chaps wouldn’t mind popping the kettle on—we’ve got to go around the long way, to get to a place we can cross.”

Mr. Braceridge took a step closer to the bank, eying the rocks that dotted the stream. “Could make it here—hop from rock to rock.”

“You’ll fall in and catch your death,” said Father Timothy, tugging him back from the bank. Mr. Braceridge didn’t look particularly impressed by this argument, until the vicar added, “And if the others were foolish enough to follow you, they’d spoil their guns.”

With that, Mr. Braceridge assented. Morrow whistled for Wilberforce, who splashed back through the stream to them, and they started back for the bunkhouse.

“It’s only supposed to be about an hour’s walk up to the loch,” Richard told them as they walked. “I didn’t see it last time, since it rained the whole time.”

“I don’t mind going,” Thomas said, since it sounded as though Richard wanted to.

“Is anyone going to ask if I mind?” Morrow asked.

“You can read there just as well as anywhere else,” Richard pointed out. “The rest of them will be too busy shooting and fishing to bother you.”

“Oh, all right,” said Morrow, resignedly.

#thomas and the island of the gays #thomas barrow #my fic #excerpt #preview

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 5 years ago

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Scars That Heal || Eddie Kaspbrak x Reader Series

• Ch. 8: Somebody's Watching Me •

Since the day of the rock fight, the Losers had been inseparable. And not only had that day come to be known as the day their bond had been forged but the day they had found a place to call their own: the clubhouse. A small subterranean dugout that Ben had found while playing in the Barrens one day. After many a reinforcement, he had transformed it into a habitable space for him and his six, now seven best friends. After their defeat of the Bowers gang, Ben had taken them into the Barrens, and just across the Kenduskeag Stream to the aforementioned fort where their bonds were furthered forged.

And apart from their dark confessions at the park and the overcast of fear looming over their heads, Y/n had suggested another trip to the clubhouse as a morale booster. They each found themselves there with one another quite a bit, particularly when things were looking gloomy. It had quickly become a sanctuary for the children. And since their taking residency, the dingy little dugout had filled with trinkets and treasures of their own, slowly but surely growing far more homely with each visit.

This particular trip to the clubhouse was less than exciting, everyone was still fairly unsettled from their conversation at the park earlier that day. And the journey through the barrens and across the Kenduskeag was considerably silent apart from the trickling stream and the singing birds. And every so often they would hear the scuffle of Ben readjusting his backpack over his shoulder.

When they had left the park, he had suggested stopping by his house to pick something up and the others complied, curiously. Before they could debate on whether or not to follow him inside, he had returned from his house with a thick brown burlap cloth folded up under his arms. He was unzipping his backpack as he walked across his front lawn, tucking some more unseen things inside before storing the large piece of cloth and ropes in as well.

"What is that, Ben?" Y/n had asked, balancing herself on her bike as it stood still on the pavement, her toes reaching for the concrete.

He had closed his backpack and threw it over his shoulder before grabbing his bike.

"Oh, it's our old hammock." Everyone's face's lit up at his words, the first they had perked since the park. "We had it at our old house, but, we don't really have a good place to hang it here, so I figured we could find a spot in the clubhouse."

"That's a great idea," Mike beamed.

Ben smiled at the comment and turned a little pink. He had always found it odd his interest in architecture, the kids at his old school always gave him grief for it. And over time it became an instinct to bury his interest, to never bring it up. But when he showed the Losers the clubhouse, they were enthralled. With the structure and his abilities. Ben was still getting used to their fascination and support in his passions, but he sure did enjoy it.

And soon enough, the eight Losers found themselves descending the ladder into the place each and every one of them could call home. From the moment they entered, their noses were filled with the overwhelming and concentrated aroma of dust, and fresh layers of earth still damp from previous rains.

It was intoxicating to the Loser's as it became the smell they associated with the clubhouse, their hideaway. Their hideaway from the Bowers gang, their hideaway from the world, and if they believed hard enough, a hideaway from It. A place where they could be stronger than the world told them they were, a place that reminded them that they were stronger than the world told them they were.

But even this trip didn't seem to quite do the trick for each of them.

"I don't see why we're here," Richie snorted, waltzing over to the crooked beam and slapped it gently - learning from Ben's mistakes. "Unless this fucker is demon proof or whatever the fuck that thing is I don't see how this is gonna help."

"Doesn't mean we can't try and have fun while we can," Y/n argued. "Or at least try and clear our heads, calm down a little bit and collect ourselves. We can work something out some other day if we want, but not today. I mean, look at us,"

Y/n gestured around the small circle the Losers had formed at the center of the clubhouse. Apart from Y/n, everyone was quiet and closed off, arms either tucked at their sides or they were wringing their hands. It was not the same seven misfits that stood together against Bowers, but the seven lonely children that were isolated and afraid when It had found them.

"Look, I'm scared too. But somethings telling me we need to enjoy this while we can."

Y/n sighed, her waving arms falling to rest at her sides in exasperation and her eyes fell to the dirt floor. For some unfathomable reason, she would never be able to explain, the turtle from that day at the quarry popped into her mind, and a faint ghost of a smile dusted her cheeks. She looked around at her friends with a reassuring sense of confidence and some of them seemed to take to her words.

A similar thought crossed Beverly's mind and she smirked at her best friend and nodded, hands now tucked into her back pockets.

"Y/n's right, let's just enjoy the rest of the day while we can. It's summer!"

Bill fought the urge to roll his eyes at the familiar argument, but even he couldn't deny the whole idea of forgetting sounded tempting to him.

Poor Eddie - who had been clutching his inhaler tightly to his chest in between puffs of the device - looked around the circle, then up at Richie. Richie looked down at his best friend and shrugged, slapping the kids back and the inhaler nearly flew out of his tiny grasp.

"Whatdya' say, Eddie Spaghetti, you up for some good ol' fashioned repression and denial? Shouldn't be too hard for ya pal, that's what - every Wednesday night for you huh?"

If Eddie wasn't still holding the albuterol captive in his swollen lungs, he would've snapped at Richie for saying such things, and above all that God-awful nickname again! But instead, he rolled his eyes and looked to Y/n, ignoring that his heart was beating just a twinge faster, and hesitantly nodded.

"Great" Y/n smiled, relieved Eddie agreed.

She less than gracefully twirled around - her ankle ached in reply - to look for the boombox Bill had brought last time. Swallowing a wince, Y/n reached the boombox and turned the radio on, giving the room a lighter ambiance already. They soon quickly recognized the song New York Groove, by Kiss as it was fading out.

Y/n turned to Ben and gestured to his backpack.

"So, should we hang up the hammock?"

"Oh! Uh, yeah sure."

Ben took the faded backpack from his shoulder and unzipped it, retrieving the thick burlap cloth as the radio station announced the next song of the previous decade.

The Losers dispersed, making room for Y/n and Ben as they unfolded the hammock, the ends of the ropes trailing in the dirt after them. From the boombox in the corner, came the gentle tune of a piano, and a soft voice spilled into the atmosphere as the last rays of the sun shone through the entrance to the clubhouse.

Ben gestured between two beams structured across the room and the pair made their way over as the song, Our House by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young swelled, giving the rest of the Losers the sense of home and comfort.

"I'll light the fire

You put the flowers in the vase that you bought today"

"Come to me now and rest your head for just five minutes, everything is good"

Ben began instructing Y/n on how to hang the hammock, and the two set to work. Stan and Bev had begun gathering stray leaves that made their way into the clubhouse while they had been gone and set to tidying up. Between the two, it wasn't long before a competition formed to see who could get the most leaves and twigs out.

Meanwhile, Eddie, Richie, and Mike had begun playing a game of cards with a deck that Richie had left last time. Of course, a game hadn't been decided yet. The three boys - mainly Richie and Eddie - had begun arguing over what to play. It was between Bullshit, Sevens and Mike just wanted to play Palace.

"Such a cozy room, the windows are illuminated by the

Sunshine through them, fiery gems for you, only for you"

Ben, Y/n, Bev and Stan had finished with their respective tasks before the trio could decide on a game. Everyone's attention was drawn back to Y/n and Ben when they put the finishing touches on the hammock.

"Our house is a very, very, very fine house with two cats in the yard,

Life used to be so hard,

Now everything is easy 'cause of you and our—"

"Alright," Y/n said, dusting off her hands after pushing herself off the dirt floor. "The hammock's all-"

Before she could finish her sentence Richie had leaped to his feet - cursing profusely under his breath when he bumped his head on a low beam - and ran for the hammock. Making sure to go out of his way to shove Eddie to ground for no particular reason and his small frame hit the dirt with a rather loud 'umph'. Protests were thrown across the room but Richie merely stretched out his long lanky legs and rested his head under his folded arms, sighing in content.

"Welp," Richie sighed, popping the 'p'. "You were right, toots. Coming down here wasn't so bad after all. And good thinking with the hammock, haystack. You got a good nugget in there."

Richie winked at Y/n and nodded firmly at Ben. The Losers rolled their eyes in near-perfect sync - a feat easier around one another than one might think - and Richie closed his eyes, ignoring their glares. Eddie was extra furious given he was still feverishly dusting several spots of dirt off himself.

"Alright, wake me when It's dead."

"Enough, Richie." Y/n warned, before turning to Ben. "Ben, what I tell ya? Within the minute."

Ben chuckled and Stan stepped forward.

"Richie, we're sharing the hammock, you have to get up one way or another" He warned.

"Yeah, yeah, sure thing, Stanley the Manley." Richie retorted, still never opening his eyes.

Stan rolled his eyes and stepped around the hammock. Catching Y/n's eye, he gestured silently to the hammock and an unsuspecting Richie. Smirking, she made her way around the hammock and gestured for the others to continue talking. About what, she didn't care. They caught on almost immediately, but Eddie choked. Mike was quick to cover.

"Eddie, if you really want we can play-"

THUMP

"THE FUCK?!"

Stan and Y/n had flipped the hammock and Richie was pulling his dirtied face from the ground with a wince.

"The fuck was that?"

"We all know you weren't m-moving otherwise, Richie." Bill shot.

"Hey, don't throw a fit just cause you guys were too slow."

Richie turned to see Stan sat in the hammock, smirking at him.

"You were saying?"

"Oh, come on! That's not fair!" Richie gestured widely at Stan, looking desperately around the room for scraps of sympathy.

Ignoring Richie's protests, Y/n turned to the others and raised a brow.

"How about we each have ten minutes? That way it's fair."

The Losers looked at one another and a chorus of agreement rang out.

"S-s-sounds good."

"Okay." Mike nodded.

"Yeah, alright."

"I call next!" Bev called.

"Oh, for fuck sake! Don't I get a say in this? Wasn't I the one just violently thrown from the hammock? Eds, come on! Back me up!"

Eddie wore a deadpan look as he met his best friend's eyes, bits of twig that Beverly and Stan had missed unknowingly caught in tufts of his hair.

"Oh, don't try that with me, dickhead!" Eddie shot back. "You're the one who threw me in the dirt, why the fuck would I help you, and for fuck's sake stop calling me Eds!"

Eddie took a deep breath after his small rant and glared at Richie. Scattered chuckles bounced across the Losers, Y/n's loudest of all.

"Good for you, shrimp" Y/n giggled.

"So just fuck me then, right?" Richie grumbled from the ground.

Richie was not quite expecting a chorus of agreements echo off the Losers though he couldn't say he was surprised.

"Pretty much."

"Yeah,"

"Uh-huh,"

"Yep,"

Huffing, he sat near the hammock and began finding ways to make Stan's turn in the hammock unpleasant. Stan didn't take this, of course, having many years under his belt of dealing with the loudmouth. Y/n looked at the pouting Tozier boy and felt a smile creep up and a twinge of guilt. She maneuvered around the hammock, and knelt down next to her friend, resting her ankle on the dirt floor where it wasn't strained.

"Oh, don't look so glum, Tozier. It's not a good look on you," She rested her elbow on the boy's shoulder and he quickly scoffed, brushing off her words.

"Oh please, everything looks good on me, toots, and you know it." Richie shot back, turning to meet her eye. "And I wouldn't be surprised if you wanted a piece of this either."

Y/n guffawed, grabbing the attention of the Kaspbrak boy across the room, who was now watching them curiously. Her laughter bubbled into a small chuckle that would be bouncing around Eddie's head for the rest of the day like a catchy song. He watched fondly as the two engaged with one another and he noted how well they always got along.

Y/n shook her head, trying at no avail to shake the smile from her lips. "You wish, Tozier."

Richie held a smile of his own as he looked to her, that was until he glanced past her head and across the room to see the captivating gaze Eddie was held in. His big brown eyes focused on the girl beside him and that familiar pang that always returned when he caught Eddie staring at her like that. Richie swallowed thickly, his quick wit and sharp tongue taking over and he returned his attention to Y/n as if nothing happened.

Richie shrugged, clicking his tongue. "No need to be shy, babe. Everybody wants a slice, and there's plenty for you."

He puckered his lips and exaggeratedly smacked his lips at her and it was enough to do the trick. Her smile was gone, quickly replaced by her lips pressing into a firm line as she shoved his head away playfully. The Losers chimed in almost immediately. Various disgusted and disgruntled 'Beep beep, Richies' rang out after that comment and Y/n finally rose to her feet with a simple grunt.

"Ech, I told you not to call me that, you dick." She grumbled, though she bit back a defeated smile, as she walked away.

"That's my name, don't wear it out-" They said in sync, Y/n joining Bev on the bench on the far wall. "Yeah, yeah, I walked right into that one."

Richie sniggered triumphantly, and with his new burst of confidence, he returned to his attempts to aggravate Stan. Ben meanwhile, had begun making plans for another seating arrangement in his head, to divert some attention away from the hammock. He remembered he had some spare rope he kept with him in his backpack for such occasions - spur of the moment projects - and there were some sturdy enough boards laying around the place. By the end of the day - hopefully, with help - he could fashion a small swing seat for him and his friends. Not to swing, of course, there wasn't enough stability for that, but for sitting.

He shared his plan with Bill and the two got to work. Bill thought it was a terrific idea, given how much fuss was being made over the hammock. Occupying the far corner of the room, was Mike and Eddie sat at the low coffee table the Losers had found last Wednesday. Mike had made the discovery, passing through one of the smaller neighborhoods in Derry when he saw someone had left it out on the street for the taking. The Losers gathered that morning and hauled it to the clubhouse, took all day to get it there but at least they had a surface for cards and such. Between Mike and Eddie, it was a bit easier to decide on a card game. They landed on Palace, and Eddie was finding he was having loads more fun than he did with Sevens.

In between turns, he would find his eyes wandering past Mike at the bench on the wall. Y/n was thoroughly invested in Beverly's story, she was nodding along eagerly with a smile creeping up on her face. Eddie hadn't realized one was creeping up on his own, but he jumped slightly when she burst out laughing. Perhaps he was startled by the noise or he was just on guard from staring. Eddie looked away but he cursed himself when he realized she was looking at him.

She had seen it.

As for Y/n, she felt her stomach do a small flip when she felt a certain pair of brown eyes on her. Still smiling, she looked past Beverly, and on the ground, sitting curled up on a mat at the coffee table, blushing profusely and attempting desperately to avoid eye contact was Eddie.

A small hum of a laugh vibrated through Beverly's chest, and without looking at him, she knew.

"Is he looking at you again?" A smirk painted her face.

Y/n hummed a response she knew Eddie wouldn't notice. With a fleeting burst of confidence, Y/n looked at the small boy, meeting his eye, and winked. She returned her attention to Bev, smirking yet she couldn't help but keep an eye on him. The poor boy blushed instantaneously, his neck and face grew hot and when Mike returned his attention to his friend - he had been too caught up in what cards to play - became very concerned. Eddie was now completely red. But this time he didn't look away, and despite his racing heart and raging blush, he allowed himself to meet her eye once more and much to his surprise, the ends of his lips even twitched into a smile.

Y/n was attempting to hide blushes of her own, but not much time passed until the topic had changed along with the music. Each of them was swept back up in their own conversations in no time, though their minds replayed the small moment over and over. By now, several songs had come and gone, filling up the minutes of the time that wasted away in the company of the Losers.

The eight misfits were not fully immersed in their own activities, but still very much engaged with another. And it wasn't long until the looming threat of their previous subject at the park was briefly forgotten. For now, they were safe, tucked away in their own private corner of the world, lost in the blissful moments of childhood.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Bill inserts the last tack into the wall, the large map reading 'DERRY SEWER SYSTEM' now hangs in the garage. As usual, the Losers had arrived at slightly different intervals. Mike and Stan arrived first, and Mike helped set up the projector while Stan was hanging blankets over the windows to prevent as much light as possible from entering. Ben had arrived shortly after, be had brought the slides that Bill had requested, and the last to show was Bev and Y/n who had left their complex together and ran into Richie and Eddie on the way.

He could hear their conversation coming up the driveway, and the sounds of Bev eagerly greeting Ben and the others - seemingly happy to get a break from being the fourth wheel.

"What's the matter, Eddie? Don't tell me you're afraid of the shape-shifting clown, are ya?" Richie spoke, as the three came to a stop near the garage where they discarded their bikes.

"Oh, fuck off, Richie!" Eddie huffed.

Y/n laughed, but it was very weak and sounded almost forced. "Don't worry Eddie. Richie and I have your back. Right, Richie?"

Instinctively, her hand found Eddie's back and she pats him gently. Y/n smiled weakly, and it was clear she was just as nervous. Her hand fell from his back and immediately, Eddie missed it being there. Eddie didn't know how to respond, all he could muster was a shaky smile in thanks. It wasn't much, but he knew she had gotten the message.

In turn, Richie began ruffling Eddie's hair and the boy flinched trying to escape his friend's grasp.

"Hey! Hey, what the hell are-?"

"Why, of course, we got to protect ol' Eddie Spaghetti! In fact," A light bulb went off over Richie's head and he looked to Y/n who was listening amused. "Y/n and I, are the proud co-founders of... P.E.K.S"

Eddie finally manages to escape from Richie's torment and he huffed, attempting to adjust his hair. Eddie looks up at Richie, giving him an odd look, unknowingly Y/n was just as taken aback.

"The what? What the hell are you talking about?"

Richie swung his arm around Eddie and the three continued their journeys into the garage, finally joining the others. The rest of the Losers were just finishing laying out chairs and pillows for them to sit on.

"You don't know? It's P.E.K.S, that is 'p', 'e', 'k', 's' my friend, P.E.K.S. Protect Eddie Kaspbrak Squad and we take our job very seriously, don't we toots?"

An honest laugh escaped Y/n and for once she was relieved she had stayed quiet and went along with Richie's antics to find out, cause she agreed wholeheartedly. Swallowing her surprise, a smile found it's way onto her face and she looked to Eddie.

"Damn straight, shrimp."

Mike reached the garage door and reached for the handle, he paused taking one look around the room at his friends.

"Everyone set?"

Mike was met with scattered confirmations and with one swift tug of his arm, he pulled the door shut. All remaining sunlight - apart from a few weak rays peaking through the roof slats and the edges of the blankets - had vanished. All that illuminated the garage was the pale white light of the projector where Bill had just put in the slide Ben had brought of Old Derry. The same slide he had found in Ben's room the day they had gone to the quarry.

The group dispersed, getting situated around the projector. Unfortunately, they weren't able to find many seats so that left Mike and Bill standing near the back and Y/n opted for a floor pillow in front of the projector where she could see.

It also didn't hurt that she was near Eddie. But she did feel a bit exposed, she was front and center and the others were tucked in with one another in a way. However, it did give her the benefit of stretching out her bad leg. And yet, Y/n could not quite shake the feeling rooted deep inside her. To her it felt eerily similar to a common phenomenon experienced by millions of people around the globe, to her it felt as if she - and her friends, in their anxious huddle - were gathering around preparing themselves in front of their screen. Accompanied by the sickly feeling of dread and anxiety, mere butterflies - the special kind of butterflies - in her stomach that migrated only when a scary movie was about to start.

And decades in the future her brain would tell her it was nothing more than that. That that awful, nauseating feeling that had bubbled in the pits of her stomach that day was nothing more than a product of special effects and a cheesy plotline. And anytime coworkers would talk about movie nights they had as kids, and engage with her about such things, her mind would show her nothing more than a hazy ersatz memory it had painted for her.

Of her, under blankets and pillows, surrounded by kids - she would never stop to realize the faces were fuzzy, people she didn't know, she always felt alone in these memories. Her at the front of the pack, all crowded around a white television screen, her and the blurry kids, jumping back in fright at the blank white picture of static. This is all she would come to remember. A scary movie, with some blurry faces, five or six at least - one of the faces always stuck out stronger than the others, just a little bit clearer and wildly familiar but the thought would never linger long enough for her to recognize them. Y/n wouldn't remember that she was in fact with Stan Uris and Beverly Marsh, or even Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon, and Ben Hanscom all stuffed in Bill Denbrough's garage on a hot summer day in July, investigating the darkest mystery of their small hometown.

But at the moment, all Y/n knew was that they were simply looking at Bill's projector, and he was sharing his theory and where It lives. Truthfully, Y/n did not know what to expect beyond that, but she could not shake that pit in her stomach. The pit that reminded her of the sickly feeling one gets when they are about to watch a horror movie. When the harsh violin plays, and the thunder strikes and one can feel the adrenaline coursing through their veins and they're trembling in all the excitement.

Y/n didn't like that she felt this way, but she tried to dismiss it. Even if there was credit it to it - she didn't want to admit there was but if she did at least she was surrounded by her friends. The slide came into the focus, and the words 'MAP of the city of DERRY' appeared in the corner. Suddenly, all the details of Derry were splayed out perfectly in line with the Derry Public Works system Bill had hung up. The children could now see the entire town of Derry, including the interconnecting pathways and tunnels below, represented by a strangely ominous bright red line. It branched out from the far left corner of the map, skewing off into many different branches, touching every corner of Derry.

"Look," Bill said, gesturing to something he had scribbled on his map. "T-T-That's where G-G-Georgie disappeared."

Everyone's eyes fell on the small 'x' marked on a red line on Jackson street. Scratched in black ink next to it were the words, 'Storm Drain'. Bill gestured to another familiar location that overlapped a red line.

"There's the Ironworks. And The Black Spot."

Sure enough, sprinkled across the map of Derry were the mentioned locations of Derry's biggest disasters. Each of them bordering the sewers.

"Everywhere it happens, it-it's all connected by the sewers," Bill said.

Every red branch, every red line, all came from one spot, one source on the map where everything overlapped. The pits in everyone's stomachs bloomed and they all knew.

"And they all meet up at the-"

"The well house." Ben realized aloud.

Eddie looked back slowly and tentatively towards the screen. Much like his friends his heart was pounding faster and faster. But Eddie could feel the familiar grasp around his lungs, and it only tightened at Stan's words.

"It's in the house on Neibolt Street," Stan said, in a similar realization.

Eddie remembered all too well the last time he had been there. But part of him had hoped it was all a nightmare. Some sick and cruel elaborate scene his mind had conjured up.

"You mean that creepy-ass house where all the junkies and hobos like to sleep?" Richie asked.

Shakily, Eddie pulled out his inhaler and gave it a good shake before bringing it to his lips. He tried his best to keep the medicine in his lungs long enough for it to take effect but he choked down a gasp, as he hunched over. Y/n moved closer to Eddie and her eyes fell to his free hand. Cautiously, she took it, looking to him for silent confirmation, he seemed too involved with steadying his breathing to notice it seemed.

"I hate that place," Beverly mumbled nervously, unaware of the pair in front.

Y/n assumed he was too frightened to notice her acts of comfort. That was until she felt the muscles in his hand relax, only slightly, and gave her palm a gentle squeeze in thanks.

"It always feels like it's watching me." Bev continued.

Letting out a shaky breath, and slowly but surely regaining his composure, Eddie sat up. Though he neglected to release Y/n's hand, and he was sure in any other moment he would be a blushing mess but this felt stable to Eddie. It felt like a lifeline, a reminder he wasn't alone. Not like Neibolt.

"That's where I saw It." He gulped. "That's where I saw the clown."

Y/n hadn't realized immediately that she had been tracing circles into the back of his hand with the pad of her thumb. It was a habit she had developed since that first night of summer, anytime she was nervous she would tuck in her legs against her chest, and her fingers would absentmindedly find their way to her bandages. The pads of her fingers fidgeting with the frayed ends just to satisfy the creeping feeling of restlessness.

"Tha-That's where It lives," Bill said.

Eddie took another sharp breath of his inhaler, and this time around had better luck holding his breath. Y/n continued to stare at the big red dot on the map, it almost felt as if she were to look away it would disappear. Like finding a spider and leaving the room to find something to kill it with, only to return to find it had crawled away.

"I can't imagine anything ever wanting to live there," Mike said shakily.

Eddie jumped from his seat suddenly, his hand leaving Y/n's and they all watch as he scrambles to front, the projector illuminating his small frame.

"Can we stop talking about this?" Eddie yells, gasping for air his arms waiving desperately as panic overwhelms him. "I-I-I can barely breathe. Th-This is summer. We're kids. I can barely breathe, I'm up here having a fucking asthma attack. I'm not doing this."

Eddie whirls around and grabs the map of Derry's Sewer System and rips it off the wall.

"What the hell? Put the map back." Bill snaps.

Eddie shakes his head firmly. "Mm-mm."

A loud click grabs their attention, and the screen over Eddie darkens briefly before it changes to another slide.

Y/n turns around to look between Bill and the device.

"Bill, what are you doing?"

"N-nothing, that w-wasn't me."

Another click.

And another.

The projector began clicking forward on its own, and it had now reached the beginning of the reel. Photos of the Denbrough family on vacation began to play, the photos changing at a regular pace.

"What's going on?" Stan asked impatiently.

Eddie backed away slowly, his eyes never leaving the projector. Y/n cautiously shifted back on the pillow, farther away from the wall.

"I got it. Hold on." Mike offered gently.

He fiddled with the projector, he pressed every button several times but it was no use. It must have been jammed. At the very least, he hopes it was.

"Guys," he mumbled nervously, words dying on his tongue.

Several photos had come and gone, and the projector now focused on a shot of the four Denbroughs in their Sunday best. They were all holding hands and Mrs. Denbrough's red hair was being whipped around in the wind, blocking her face.

The projector clicked again, but the scene did not change. The shot was brought closer to Georgie, and Ben was instantly reminded of his trip to the library before he met the rest of the Losers.

"Georgie," Bill croaked, as the image zoomed closer and closer to boy's toothy grin.

"Bill?"

By, now Y/n had risen from the pillow and scrambled back into the stool Eddie had previously occupied.

The speed picked up and the pictures grew faster and faster as the projector flew through the slides. The picture moved more like that of a stop motion animation than a movie, every other movement caught on film. The camera angles itself up and changes focus to what is supposed to be Mrs. Denbrough. The red tendrils of hair begin to move, rapidly increasing until it isn't every other fragment but more like a regular picture movie.

And to their horror, the hair is cast aside and underneath is the painted white face of the clown. It's unnaturally buck teeth sinking into the flesh of It's own bottom lip. A wicked smirk drawn all the way up to past It's yellow eyes.

Y/n jumped back, her arms outstretched behind her and she began herding Stan, Eddie and herself away from the wall.

"What the fuck is that? What the fuck is that?" Richie hollered, pulling Eddie and Y/n toward him.

Eddie nearly tripped over Richie's chair as he was pulled into his grasp and Y/n still had her arms out herding them backward. She could hear Eddie's shrieks clearly from behind her.

"I DON'T FUCKING KNOW!"

"Stan!" Y/n cried.

Stan had somewhat frozen in place, much like Ben, Bev and Bill had but even they were backing away slightly. He didn't seem to hear her and looked around frantically at her friends. Beverly, Stan, and Richie had not seen the clown before even though they had each encountered it. It had never appeared to them before as a clown and if she wasn't in immediate danger Beverly would have stopped to think about how this thing was in the living room with Y/n while she was asleep.

"Turn it off!" She shouted quickly. "TURN IT OFF!"

Y/n's top priority was ensuring Stan's safety, so she lurched forward and grabbed Stan by the back of the shirt, and yanked him back. He crashed into Mike and Eddie she glanced at the projector, trying desperately to bury the overwhelming thoughts and possibilities. Her eyes landed on the cord and she ripped the plug from the socket but the picture kept moving and she could feel the clown's eyes smiling at her, smugly. Her now in It's direct sights, It began to mimic that night, the clown blinked and the white's of It's eyes had disappeared. Nothing but dark chasms and two glowing yellow irises floating in the center.

It all became infinitely more real to Y/n. And It pissed her off. She raised her good leg, and with a forceful grunt, she kicked the crate and the projector toppled onto the ground. Light from the machine had bounced all around the room on its journey to the floor and it landed upside down, picture crookedly aimed at the wall behind her and to the right of the four boys.

Everyone froze, too fearful to move. Y/n most of all. She had gotten Stan to safety - she could only hope - but now she was in his place when another click echoed throughout the silent room. Frozen on the screen was the clown. It was blurry and It almost looked stuck but all Y/n could do was try and catch her breath, and calm her racing heart. Another click. She felt as if she was stuck, her body not her own and just like a nightmare no matter how much she was begging her legs to move they wouldn't budge. Another click. The image went blank, and several shaky breaths were released.

Another slow click and the gigantic clown popped out of the picture, barely missing Y/n. She shrieked, and only then did her limbs catch up with her brain's signals. She cursed herself and her dumb fucking luck when she felt her footing slip out from underneath her. One of the dozens of slides had scattered the garage floor around her and caused her fall. She landed squarely on her backside and she scrambled back as far and fast as she could as the clown crawled forward after her. It's unnaturally giant size took up the entire garage.

There wasn't a Loser who didn't scream after her. Richie snapped into action and while Y/n had made it pretty far on her own for It's speed and her aching leg, Richie quickly hooked his arms under hers and dragged her across the garage, not bothering to waste time by stopping to drag her to her feet. The others were tumbling across the garage to get the door tripping over one another as they ran and Y/n watched in horror as the clown reached out it's long and thinning twig-like arm after her. It's sharp talon-like claws soaked with her blood - as it had been that night - reached for her and as her legs were scrambling across the pavement. Trying desperately to retract them from his grasp and the last thing she saw before a flood of light engulfed her vision was the clown's black eyes glaring at her as it reached for her legs.

Y/n felt as if her lungs might explode from how fast she had been inhaling air. Before she could process what had happened she found herself looking up at the ceiling of Bill's garage, several faces looking down at her. Sunlight was flooding into the room and she could barely register that the garage door was now open.

"Y/n!"

"Oh, my God"

"What the fuck was that?"

"Y/n? Y/n!"

"I don't know, man!"

Y/n could feel herself shaking horribly, and she suddenly noticed several hands on her shoulder and back and she realized she was sitting up. She flinched at their touch and she looked around the room quickly, afraid she would find It lurking somewhere.

"Y/n, are you okay?"

"Jesus, fuck!"

"Y/n?"

Blinking several times she looked around and saw the scattered faces of her friends. Everyone was panting heavily. Her face collapsed in the palm of her hands and she was breathing frantically, reminding herself to at least try and slow her lungs and heart. Her body rocked back and forth slightly, her adrenaline still pumping, needing an outlet. Needing to move. Finally, her breath began to slow and she looked up, nodding at her friends to ease their minds.

"Thanks... Richie," she managed between breaths.

"No problem," he panted, just as jarred. "Just for fuck sake, run next time, will ya?"

Beverly and Eddie came into view and extended their hands for her and she gladly accepted both. Y/n hissed slightly at her aggravated leg and when she looked down she was relieved to see no further damage had been done. Shakily, Stan spoke up.

"T-thanks, Y/n," His eyes held relief, but also a hint of guilt.

A weak and broken smile was all Y/n could manage. Eddie had finally gathered enough air in his lungs to speak and he did just that, albeit quite shaken.

"It saw us." He panted. "It saw us, and it knows where we are!"

"It always did," Bill said, striding out towards the pile of bikes in the driveway. "So, let's go."

"Go?" Ben asked, dumbfounded.

Bill turned to see his friends still in the garage, rooted in place and looking at him incredulously.

"Go where?" Ben asked again, this time his voice wavering.

Bill couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Neibolt." He shot. "That's where G-G-Georgie is."

Stan angrily threw his arm back, gesturing to the remains of their previous encounter.

"After that?"

"Yeah, it's summer. We should be outside." Richie said timidly, a tone they had scarcely heard him use if at all.

Bill felt anger boil up in his chest at the words, his stutter flaring up with it as it usually did.

"I-If you say it's s-summer one more f-f-fucking time..." He snapped, and he felt the anger redirect itself.

Neibolt. He was going to Neibolt with or without his friends. He was going to get his brother. Bill shook his head, dismissing the conversation. He picked up his trusty bike and hopped on. He took off down the long driveway, leaving his friends behind.

"Bill!" Beverly called. "Wait!"

The seven friends look around at one another in disbelief, as Bill disappears around the corner on the back of Silver. He was going to face it alone, and in turn, he gave the Losers no choice less they surely lose their friend.

They had to follow him.

+++

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