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theyoutubedork · 4 years ago

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“I’m always gonna worry about you, I love you too much not too,”

Masterlist

The one where you get the vaccine, and boyfriend!Harry comforts you when you get really bad side effects.

Trigger warning: COVID times, pain, mentions of needles, and LOTS AND LOTS OF FLUFF

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

A/N: ok, so I haven’t written anything for tumblr in a while, I’ve been writing on wattpad a little, but I’m lacking inspiration on that front, so I’ve been flocking to Tumblr once again. Instead of finding inspiration for the story I’m writing on wattpad, I’m gonna just completely procrastinate and write something entirely new instead. Obviously my brain has the best ideas so here we are.

WARNING: (PLEASE READ BEFORE CONTINUING)

this is based off of my personal experience with getting the jenssen (Johnson and Johnson) vaccine, which is what inspired me to write this story. I had a very tough go with the side effects of the vaccine. I’m fine now and I am not saying that you shouldn’t get this vaccine. Obviously this is a slightly dramatized version so that it is easier for you guys to understand. These side effects only lasted for a few hours within the first 24 hour period of getting this vaccine, which is very common and likely to happen. It just knocked me for a bit of a loop, that’s all. The amount of pain I experienced was something that I was willing to go through so I can get vaccinated. It is was very much worth it. Please get vaccinated, and please be safe.

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As soon as you walk through the door, you see Harry’s head spring up from behind the couch. His hair is slightly messy, evidence of one of his random, mid-day naps. His eyes immediately soften, looking at your face, which is twisted from the small discomfort you felt in your arm. You had to go alone because the vaccination site had told you so, and you didn’t want Harry to wait for you in the heat for god knows how long. Harry immediately gets up and gives you a tight embrace as soon as you put your belongings onto the kitchen counter. He lets out a quick sigh of content, being a bit more touch-starved lately, which he doesn’t really know the reason for. He finally brings his head from the crook of your neck, and melts at the sight of your adorable puppy-eyed stare.

“How did it go? I was so worried about you love, wish I could’ve been there to hold your hand,” he coos. His hand pets your head, trying to soothe you from any remaining nervousness, which admittedly, you still were. He knew that you severely disliked needles, especially when getting shots. Doesn’t matter whether it’s a flu shot or blood work, you always had to have your head turned away. Thankfully you aren’t nearly as bad as you used to be. When your were younger, you would scream and cry. There was even one time when you were super young, that an extra nurse had to hold you down like a stereotypical psycho-medical horror film. Screaming bloody murder just for protection against measles. Eventually you grew out of that phase, only having to have your mother rub her hand on your back to try and distract you.

Your mother did that a lot actually. Whenever you were upset, she would always give some sort of physical contact to remind you that she was there. Her most common ways of this type of affection was either rubbing your back or circling her thumb on the back of your palm. However, if you would get hysterical, she would even put her hand on your head and scratch your scalp or even run her finger along the bridge of your nose. She learned this from one of you day-care teachers, who used this tactic to make you finally fall sleep during nap time. Upon reflection, it definitely could seem strange to others, but for some reason your mother always calmed you down with these methods, even when you became an adult. Obviously she doesn’t do this nearly as often, given that you can control your emotions better than you could when you were a kid, and the fact you didn’t live with her anymore.

You are pulled out of your thoughts when Harry wraps his arm around your side to bring you closer. You immediately wince as his arm wrapped around your left arm, squeezing it tightly, making the arm already more sore.

“Harry, my arm,” you mutter, and he quickly lets go, scanning over your features quickly to make sure you weren’t in pain. After you give him a goofy smile, he chuckles and gives you a small peck on the lips.

“Sorry love, didn’t mean to hurt you.” He murmurs, pinching your cheek before grabbing your hand.

“Well now that you’re home, we can finally start that show you wanted to watch. I already went to the store and got you some stuff, just in case you get any side effects.” He rambles excitedly, plopping onto the couch before dragging you down towards him, your limbs already entangled with his. He adjusts slowly, making sure your left arm isn’t pressing up against anything too harshly. He pulls a blanket hanging on the backside of the couch over the two of you. You don’t let this distract you from giving him a narrow-eyed look due to his last statement. He sighs, noticing this,

“I know-“ he starts but you interrupt him,

“It’s very sweet that you went out and got stuff for me, but you know I don’t like if when you go out by yourself.” You say, tracing your fingers over his anchor tattoo as you continue, “But, you are an independent young man, who can do whatever he wants, so just text me before you go out and do that stuff ok? Don’t want anything bad happening to you,” you say softly, looking up at him with a worried look. He lets out a small “aww” as he grabs your hand, bringing it up to his lips, peppering small kisses on your knuckles before he looks at you with loving eyes.

“I know, you’re right, but you don’t have to worry about me love,” he says, wrapping his hand lightly around your neck, pulling your head closer so he could give you a small kiss on the forehead. You rest your head on his chest, facing towards the tv. You pick up the remote off the coffee table, turning on the TV to start scrolling though Netflix.

“I’m always gonna worry about you, I love you too much not to,” you say somewhat absentmindedly, since this was something you say to Harry all the time. He constantly begged you not to worry about him, and you always say there is no possible way you could not worry about him. Not just because he’s your celebrity boyfriend, but because obviously you will always worry about the people you love. People may see that as a bad thing, but it just means that you always want the best for the people you care about, and that you wouldn’t let anything bad happen to them.

You feel Harry’s ring-less hand, (he must’ve taken them off when he went out so he wouldn’t face any more risk of recognition; people are way too observant for their own good) find it’s way into your hair, lightly sifting through it.

‘Harry’s hands are surprisingly soft for someone who plays instruments as often as he does,’ you thought.

Ever since he found out about your mom playing with your hair, and other types of physical affection whenever you got upset, which he found adorable by the way, he had started to do the same, except at any given moment, not just when you got upset. You didn’t comment on it, but you secretly revel in it. He always was touchy-feely, but this was much more personal and intimate, and the way he pays extra attention to you makes you feel like nothing in the world could hurt you.

“You still shouldn’t worry about me so much,” he says, knowing full well that he will never be able to stop you. He knows that you worry about him for the obvious reasons, and that you would honestly be a bad girlfriend if you didn’t. He is one of the most famous people in the world, at least according to famousbirthdays.com.

After a few minutes of silence you hear Harry speak again,

“You know you’re the best girlfriend in the world right?” Harry says cutely, curling a strand of your hair around his fingers.

You let out a small laugh. He asked you this all the time, as if he never asked you the question before. You always brush off this comment, and this time is no different.

“No I am not,” you scoff, selecting play on the screen, the Netflix logo filling the screen. You feel Harry tug on your hair enough so he could make you look at him. This action makes your face heat up like the surface of the sun, making you try to look away from him.

“Look at me, love,” he whispers and you reluctantly comply. You see him with a tight lipped smile that rested below the apples in his cheeks. His eyes were slightly closed from how much he was smiling.

“I mean it, I know I tell you all the time, but you really are the best girlfriend in the world, you’re always so worried about me, making sure I’m ok,” he firmly states, scooping your stray baby hairs out of your face, “you’re like my bodyguard,” he chuckles. You raise a teasing eyebrow and he begins to laugh a little harder at your expression.

“Hey! You are like, the cutest bodyguard I’ve ever had,” you let out a small giggle at this, making Harry smile even wider.

“Damn right, I’ll kick everybody’s ass just for you babe,” you chuckle, air-punching the air aimlessly. Harry laughs loudly at this, giving you a peck on the head.

“I know you will, lovie,”

Later on in the evening, Harry had finished making dinner, and you were sprawled out on the couch. You usually would be in the kitchen with him, but for some reason you just didn’t want to move. Harry didn’t pay any mind, knowing that the vaccine you got was a single shot, meaning it was going to be a more potent dose. This also meant that you would probably be experiencing more severe symptoms than he did when he had gotten his two shot vaccine. He wanted you to get the same one as him, but he knew that the place you were setting up your appointment only had the single shot doses, and that you didn’t want to have to go through two rounds of needles.

He was only away for 25 minutes, so when he rounded the corner to enter the living room, to say that he was concerned was an understatement. He saw you, sprawled on the couch, your face scrunched together in pain as you tried to get comfortable. Your chest was heaving up and down at a not so steady pace. He set the plates in his hands on the coffee table before crouching down to make his face level with yours.

“You ok lovie? Dinner’s ready,” he said in a hushed tone, placing his hand on your forehead to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. However, when his hand reached your forehead, he noticed that the hair was glued to it, your forehead slightly slick with sweat. You let out a small groan of pain as your response. He immediately placed the back of his palm against your skin, not caring about your sweat. Not a fever, but not too far from one.

“Baby why didn’t you change into something a bit lighter?”

“I was going to but then I just didn’t want to get up. Or...move.” You whined. Harry’s face softened when he saw your cute little pout that you do whenever you get lazy or tired. Or both.

“Okay well do you wanna have dinner then get changed, or get changed and then have dinner?” He says.

“I wanna move as little as possible, so let’s eat dinner and then I’ll change.”

“Ok lovie...now eat before it gets cold.”

You were barely able to keep yourself up by the time you finished eating, and Harry immediately sprung into action. He quickly cleaned up the kitchen and put everything somewhat away before he rushed back to you. He had to catch you slightly since you were trying to make it to the bedroom before he came back.

He gingerly helped you out of your clothes and tucked you into your bed. Quickly shedding his clothes, and slowly getting into bed, trying not to dip the bed drastically. You immediately curled into his arms after he turn out the lights, and you let out small groans every once and a while.

“It’s alright angel, you probably won’t sleep super well tonight but I’ll be right next to you if you need anything. Okay lovie?” He murmurs, bringing his left arm around your waist to slowly trace circles at the bottom of your spine, soothing you greatly. You let out a small hum of understanding before nuzzling into his chest more, letting out a small sigh.

“You know you’re the best boyfriend in the world right?”

#harry #harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #Harry styles x reader fluff #fluff #one direction #styles

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tefilovesreading · 4 years ago

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It’s a match! Part. 2

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x Fem!Reader

Word count: 2k

Warnings: None, language but that’s it.

A/N: LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANNA BE TAGGED.

Edited by: @theamazingtomholland

MASTERLIST // PART 1 // PART 3

“What do you mean he sent you a good morning text?” Jo asked, almost choking on her toast.

“He asked for my number last night,” Y/N explained, her hands shaking while she tried to unlock her phone, “and when I woke up, I had a text from him saying good morning and wishing me a good day.”

“Damn the boy is a keeper,” her friend whistled and winked at her after she read the message.

“He told me he wanted to FaceTime.”

She sat on the stool next to where her best friend was sitting and rested her chin on her hand. The butterflies in her stomach felt more like hundreds of bees buzzing fiercely in there.

“And you?” Jo questioned with an intrigued look on her face, “do you wanna do it?”

“I think so,” Y/N answered, biting the inside of her cheek, “he’s really cute, and I had fun texting last night.”

“Well that’s a new one,” the ginger girl joked. All their friends knew how much Y/N hated texting, leaving messages on read for days, or taking absolutely forever to respond. She always felt weird texting, not knowing very well how to keep the conversation going over text.

“Tell him you have thirty minutes, and then you have to go do something else,” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows in confusion and Jo rolled her eyes, “that way if you don’t feel comfortable you have an easy exit.”

“And what if I’m enjoying it?” Jo looked at her as if she was trying to explain how the water cycle worked to a kid, “Jo I’m being serious!”

“In that case, my love, you hang up and call him again after you tell me everything.”

“Who said I was gonna tell you anything, uh?” Y/N smirked and blew her a kiss after her friend gave her an offended look.

“Whatever, Y/N,” Jo flipped her off, “just tell him your professor was sick or something like that.”

“You��re a lifesaver, did I tell you that?” Y/N kissed her friend’s cheek and then jumped off, “I’m gonna go take a shower, see you later.”

“See you later, babe,” Jo said, “don’t forget to eat!”

“I won’t!” Y/N yelled, on her way to the bathroom they shared.

Y/N: Good morning! Hope you have a great day too

She smiled satisfied at her reply and hit the send button.

Y/N couldn’t remember the last time she felt so giddy about a guy, it was exciting, to say the least. Charlie seemed like an easygoing person and really easy to talk to. Sure she was nervous talking to him, but who wouldn’t? The guy was super cute and so nice to her, she already knew she’d be crushing hard.

Thirty minutes later, she was on her way to class with time to go to her favorite coffee shop and have a quick breakfast.

Charlie: Didn’t think you’d answer me so early hahaha Y/N: I have a class in like 20 minutes, wouldn’t have woken up this early if i didn’t have class lol Charlie: So you’re not a morning person Y/N: Oh no, absolutely not!!

She smiled at the boy in the cashier and laughed softly when he asked her if she was ordering the same thing she always did.

“Oh, can you add a brownie please?” Y/N asked politely, while she looked for her card on her bag. After paying for her food, she went to one of the tables in the back.

Charlie: Noted! I swear i try to not wake up early but i can’t Y/N: I bet you’re the kind of friend that wakes everyone up with a lot of noise Charlie: How did ya know that hahahaha Y/N: I was just guessing, but you do seem like a loud person Charlie: I am, i won’t try to deny it Charlie: What about you?? Y/N: Mmm Y/N: It depends Y/N: But my laugh is extra loud, so I can’t say I’m a quiet girl

“Vanilla latte!” Y/N put away her phone and stood up to get her order.

“Thanks, Dylan,” she thanked the boy and grabbed a few napkins before making her way back to her table.

Charlie: I bet your laugh is really cute

Her cheeks were burning after that message, and it took her a couple of minutes to tame the butterflies in her stomach before she was able to type a response. Because as much as she wanted to laugh it off and change the topic, she knew he was flirting with her and if she didn’t flirt back, their conversation was basically dead.

Y/N: Guess you’ll have to find out yourself ;).

That was a nice reply, right? She screenshotted their chat and sent it to Jo. If anyone knew how to flirt while texting, it was her best friend.

Y/N: How does it look? Is it too much?? Too little?? Y/N: H E L P

Jo’s response was quick as always. One of the many reasons she loved her.

Jo: Girl it’s fine Jo: Stop worrying about it Jo: It’s mysterious and a good way to tell him you wanna FaceTime Y/N: Ok ok thank you love ya Jo: Love you more

Checking the hour on her phone, Y/N finished her bagel and gathered her stuff. She waved Dylan goodbye and left the coffee shop. She spent more time than she expected to in there and if she didn’t hurry she’d be late for class.

It was times like this one that made her regret not knowing how to drive because even if all her classmates liked the Lyft program they had for free, she still felt unsafe getting in the car without a friend.

Back in the day, when she was still dating Lance, he’d made sure to call her and talk to her during the whole ride to wherever Y/N needed to go just to make her feel safe. After all, he was never a bad boyfriend, their paths just went in different ways and they both wanted different things in life.

Charlie: Yeah i guess Charlie: What if i call you later when you’re done with your classes??Charlie: No pressure

She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks for the second time in less than an hour and had to bite her lip to stop herself from smiling.

Y/N: Sure, i’ll let you know once i’m done Y/N: But i have to say bye for now Y/N: Gotta pay attention haha Charlie: Get that degree! Charlie: Talk to you later!

Focusing on whatever her professor was saying was a hard task, she just wanted to pull her phone out and text Charlie, see what he was up to and get home as soon as possible, so they could FaceTime.

Sitting on the edge of her seat, she couldn’t help but bounce her leg to relieve the eagerness rushing through her veins. She still had fifteen minutes left, and then she’d be sprinting out of the classroom and going back to her apartment.

“Dude, do you gotta use the bathroom or what?” Sadie, the girl she always sat with during class, whispered through gritted teeth.

“Sorry,” she apologized, crossing her legs to stop herself from bouncing her leg. Although the new position didn’t stop her from moving her foot.

“What’s up with you?” Sadie snorted once she realized Y/N couldn’t sit still.

“Nothing,” she replied quickly, scribbling on her notebook the pages she needed to read for the next class, “I just wanna go home.”

“But you have never been this eager to leave this class,” the girl commented without looking at her, too focused on taking notes, “you love this class.”

“I don’t know,” Y/N let out a sigh and checked the hour on her watch, “I just don’t feel like sitting here right now.”

Her classmate didn’t make another comment about her eagerness to leave the classroom, she just nodded her head as if she was telling her she understood.

“I think that’s all for today, guys,” the professor mentioned, leaning on the desk, “have a good day, and don’t forget to read the articles I mentioned.”

Y/N hurried to gather her things and waved Sadie goodbye before walking as fast as she could to the door. She needed to leave before the halls flooded with students. Y/N considered taking the stairs instead of the elevator but knowing how clumsy she could be, she opted for the latter. Falling down the stairs wasn’t on her plans.

Twenty minutes and a mile later, she dropped her keys on the bowl next to the door of her apartment and kicked off her shoes. She checked her out in the full-length mirror Jo had in their living room and shrugged. Charlie knew she was a college student, and it wouldn’t be weird to see her wearing a hoodie with her college’s logo, also, she was comfy and didn’t want to change into something else.

She fixed her hair and made sure she didn’t have smudged mascara under her eyes and then made herself comfortable on the couch.

Y/N: Just made it home

Y/N: That was one hell of a long class haha

She bit her nails, the nervousness kicking in while she waited for a response from Charlie. Maybe he was busy now that she wasn’t. God if their schedules didn’t let them at least FaceTime, she felt like she’d start crying and delete the app. It wasn’t like she was talking to other guys though.

Charlie: Finally!! Charlie: Wanna FaceTime?? Or are you tired?

“Fuck no,” she whispered to herself before she started writing her reply.

Y/N: Nah! Let's FaceTime

Her heart started pounding on her chest when the video call entered and the phone started vibrating in her hand.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she cursed before putting a smile on her face and answering the call. “Hey!”

Holy shit. His pictures didn’t make him justice.

“How you doin’?” Charlie said and her cheeks blushed.

“It’s that a Friends reference?” she asked trying to hide her smile.

“I swear I don’t mean it in that way,” he laughed, and the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled made her heart flutter. “But seriously, how was your day?”

“It was good even though I hate waking up early,” the way Charlie was looking at her with so much attention, even if it was through a screen it made her feel so confident, “I had breakfast at this little coffee shop near my apartment and then went to class.”

“But that sounds like a nice morning,” Charlie mentioned, his sweet smile never leaving his face.

“What were you up to anyway?”

“Not much actually,” he shrugged and the gesture made him look young, “I went for a run, then I had to film some tapes for a few auditions, and now I’m chilling.”

“You’re an actor,” Y/N pointed out, not even surprised about the new information he just revealed. It was Los Angeles after all.

“I am,” he smiled, and she swore she could see a pink tint on his cheeks, “I started back in Canada when I was about fourteen or fifteen.”

“Any chances I’ve watched it?” Charlie scrunched his nose and shook his head.

“Maybe, if you are into foreign films,” Y/N tilted her head confused at his answer, “It’s in French.”

“You learned how to speak in French for the movie?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows together when Charlie started laughing.

“I grew up speaking French and English,” he explained with a soft smile, “I’m French Canadian.”

“That makes a lot more sense now,” she laughed off her embarrassment, “I’m gonna blame the fact that I woke up early today. I’m not this dumb, I swear.”

“Don’t worry,” he said and the smile faded just enough for her to notice his intense stare, “I thought it was cute.”

She bit her lip at his words and tried to look away from the screen, but Charlie’s eye contact felt as if he was looking right into her soul and she couldn’t break that connection even if she wanted to. And she definitely didn’t want to do that.

tagged: @chevyimpala00067 @samanthawilliamspring @searchingunderthestars @luke-patt @moneybagmgk @angisbr @happinessinthedarkesttimes @knitsessed @cordeliascrown @crybabyddl @phantompogues @the-romanian-is-bae @doaspeggy-says

#charlie gillespie x reader #charlie gillespie x y/n #charlie gillespie one shot #charlie gillespie fanfic #charlie gillespie imagine #charlie gillespie fanfiction #charlie gillespie fluff #jatp cast imagine #charlie gillespie

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kookicrumbs · 4 years ago

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╰ pink love

pairing: jungwon x fem!reader genre: fluff word count: 2985 warnings; like one super minor curse word (hell)! just some cutesy stuff for ya today! summary: jungwon and y/n go on a build-a-bear date! a/n: i really wanted to do something sweet beacuse i love fluff a whole lot, so please enjoy c:

“Are we there yet?” I pout, tugging on Jungwon’s sweater. I attempt to sway him with my best puppy eyes, but he continues walking, pulling me along with him.

“This honestly reminds me of a movie,” He laughs out, “Since when did asking a million times get us there faster?”

I’m not actually that annoyed, but it’s fun to tease him. “What if this is all a movie? Ya think we can break the fourth wall?”

“I don’t know, I’d consider us powerful enough to. If this is a movie, I’m obviously the main character. Since you’re my girlfriend, you can be my sidekick!”

“Ohh, ha, ha, ha. If I’m the sidekick, pigs can fly.”

He puts on a shocked expression, pointing up into the air. “Did I just hear an oink all the way up there?”

“Shut up!” We giggle, shoving each other with our shoulders. Our footsteps match each other as we pad through the open-air mall. Warm sunlight drifts down, encasing us in a soft bubble of relaxation.

“Hey look, I think that’s it!” Jungwon tightens his grip on my hand and we take off towards the familiar shop. As we run, the eyes of other passerbys follow us, but I don’t take the time to feel embarrassed; life’s too short for that.

My legs are shorter than his, so I nearly trip several times. The universe is totally watching out for me today though, because we manage to arrive at the store’s entrance without suffering from a single scratch or bruise.

The Build-A-Bear logo passes overhead as we make our way inside. We are still glued together, buzzing from the excitement of our date. We’re going to make bears for each other! With any other guy I might have found it cheesy, but when Jungwon suggested we do it, my heart fluttered in a strange way.

“Hello! Welcome to Build-A-Bear Workshop! My name is Kiana,” A sunny looking lady welcomes us with a large smile on her face. The cute bobble headband perched on her hair seems to wave at us as well. “Will you two be needing any help today?”

Jungwon throws one arm over my shoulder and presses me tight to his side. His dimples peek out playfully as he responds. “I think we’re okay right now, we’re gonna make some bears for each other. This is my girlfriend!” He looks so proud as our eyes meet, and my stomach twists. Even though we’ve been dating for one and a half years now, whenever he looks at me like that, it feels like the day I first met him.

We’d been at the movie theatre, not together, but coincidentally there on the same day. Jungwon was sitting in the seat in front of me with a couple of his friends, while I was there with my own. His buddies were being idiots and throwing popcorn and other snacks at each other, when a whole bucket came flying at me. Being my easily scared self, I screamed and jumped backwards, simultaneously kicking my legs out and up. It took a few seconds to realize that my feet hadn’t collided with Jungwon’s seat, but instead his head.

I’d been absolutely mortified, and my friends’ muffled laughter didn’t help with that. I’d expected a huge tantrum from him, considering his friends seemed the type to start a huge fight over it, but his reaction was the complete opposite. In fact, he was apologetic and blamed it all on the buffoon who launched the snack at me.

I immediately caught feelings when he laughed and complimented my kick; apparently he knew taekwondo, and he thought I’d be good at it. He got that from a poorly done, unaimed kick to his own skull. To this day, I think I knocked something out of place there, but what can ya do.

Regardless, we ended up exchanging numbers, which is something that confused the hell out my friends and I. A month later, we started going out. I’ve dated some questionable people, so getting the chance to be with someone like Jungwon is a dream come true for me. Another plus, I finally get to check “Build A Bear date” off of my date idea list!

“You guys look adorable together!” Kiana gushed. My cheeks heat up, but not in an awkward way. “We have all our plushes over there. You can take a look and pick one, and then we’ll get that all filled up for you.”

“Thank you!” Jungwon and I say at the same time before strutting towards the plushies.

“We should split up so our bears, or whatever we pick for each other, stays a surprise! Okay?” I’m already looking at each option, and I begin to wonder how I’m ever going to pick just one.

“Since it looks like the queen has already laid claim to this particular piece of territory, I’ll go browse the accessories so I can get your plush decked out in a gorgeous outfit.” He winks and makes his way to the rows of plushie-sized clothing.

The variety of options is amazing. There’s the classic bears, but there’s also other cute things, like lobsters, giraffes, and seals. I’m a sucker for the classics, so I want to pick out a bear for Jungwon.

Two specific bears are in a fight for my love. One is a simple vanilla color with rainbow sprinkle accents, and the other is a pink bear with heart shaped ruffles. Oh god, do I just… buy both? No, that’s be stupid. Eeny meeny miney moe, a classic just like the bear.

I’m not disappointed when my finger lands on the pink bear, meaning I made the right choice and won’t have to switch to the vanilla bear out of a previously hidden lust for it. Awesome.

I peek my head around the aisle and still see Jungwon sorting through racks of outfits. In the time I’d spent picking a plush for him, he grabbed a basket and began filling it with stuff I couldn’t make out. Comfortable with the fact that he isn’t looking, I sneak over to the filling station, the pink bear clutched tightly in my hands.

“Hi! I’d love to get this guy filled, please!” The man working at this station has a name tag that reads, “Jordan”, and he looks equally nice as Kiana.

“Good choice,” He leads me to a filling spot. “Are they for you or for someone else?”

My chuckle causes the worker to smile. I reply while he gathers a few items. “My boyfriend and I came here for a cute date, so it’s for him! This one is super cute so I had to get it for him.”

“Aww, I’ll have to write that down. I'm sure my partner would find it a great idea too!” Jordan sweeps his arm across in a grand gesture, showcasing the variety of hearts and other button-looking objects that sit before him.

“Would you be interested in adding a sound to your bear? You can pick from any of these or you can record your own.”

I pick quickly, sure of what I want to do. “Mm, I’d like to do a recording, if possible. Make it extra special, right?”

“Of course, let me grab that for you and you can record your message!” He gets the heart and let’s me know what to do. Once again making sure Jungwon is not nearby, I record my message and hand it back to Jordan. He puts it in the bear, a small smile playing on his lips. Did he hear me?

“Alright, perfect. Any scents or are you ready to stuff?”

I choose a sweet raspberry scent and get the bear stuffed. It’s fun to push the pedal and see the stuffed animal become plumper, until I finally fill them all the way up. Hugging it feels like hugging a cloud.

I thank Jordan and hide the bear behind my back as I go to the dressing area. Jungwon seems to have moved on, as I spot him at the plushie picking station. I wonder what he’ll get me. Knowing him, it’s going to be adorable.

His eyes meet mine and I suppress a squeal, making sure the bear is out of sight. My strange salute makes him smile and he turns back to picking a plush for me, but not before making sure I won’t look while he gets one.

“So, what would you wear…” I whisper to the pink bear. He seems fashionable and needs something that fits his personality.

Each outfit makes me want to curl up and scream. They’re all so cute and tiny, and I can’t help but want to grab a whole bunch. I create outfits in my head, imagining each on the plushie. Letting the bear try them on seems like a step too far. Instead, I pick up a white button down shirt, pressed pants, little shoes, and a pair of heart shaped sunglasses from my pile and get to dressing.

Putting everything on the pink bear proves to be a struggle. “Come on… tuck in your tummy!” The bear’s legs don’t want to squeeze into the pants I picked. Looks like Build-A-Bear needs more size options. After a somewhat graphic commotion involving lots of pulling, pushing, and whispered yelling, he is finally clothed.

“Jungwon better like what I picked because I don’t think that’s ever coming off.” I brush off my shirt and hope that no one was watching my heated argument with an inanimate object.

I swiftly finish up the washing part of the process, which consisted of pressured air being blown at my plush. I enjoyed seeing the bear’s fur waving around luxuriously. It really fit his vibe. I end up having to consult an employee about what to do next since my amnesiac brain likes to forget simple things: it’s naming time.

After I scan the pink bear’s tag, a naming screen is brought up. I’m given suggestions like Mr. Cuddles, Tiny, and Snuggles, but I choose to make his own name. What do I name you?

Maybe Love? Too plain. Bear? Way too basic. Pink? Pinky? I clearly don’t get around to naming things very often. If it hadn’t been for my siblings, I would have named our dog Cat.

I rack my brain for anything. At this point, the next thing that pops into my head is gonna be his name. No turning back. And my brain provides. Sir Loves-a-lot is inexplicably forged in the depths of my mind, and it shall be the name of this honorable bear.

I imagine a knighting ceremony for Sir Loves-a-lot and enter his name into the computer. It goes through and I get a printed certificate with his name on it. I’m extremely excited to give him to Jungwon and see his reaction.

Jungwon seems to be finishing up at the washing station, so I pay and wait near the entrance of Build-A-Bear. I swing around my finished bear, which is tucked neatly into a bag so Jungwon can’t see it yet. Our date is soon to reach its peak: when we get to see our finished products.

“Hey! Look what I have!” Jungwon skips over to me in a playful manner. His joy envelops me as he gets nearer. His eyes are alight with what looks to be the same thing I’m currently feeling. Is it love?

I show off my bag, my competitive side instantly coming out. “I’ve got yours right here too! If you want to see it… you’ll have to catch me!”

Adrenaline shoots through me as I take off running, Jungwon quickly shifting into a quick runner. My laughs impair my speed as I hiccup and yell, Jungwon’s voice matching my own. We both giggle like idiots while our shoes run thin on the hard ground and our bags crinkle with the whip of the wind.

“Got you!” Jungwon takes care not to throw me onto the ground, instead grabbing my shirt and pulling me to his chest. He lets out an umph as I knock into him full force, still reeling from the sudden shift in direction.

“Jungwon!” A shriek of laughter explodes out of me as we tumble to the concrete with a soft thump. No one is around as we breath off our fit of giggles, still in a heap.

“Looks like my bear made it.” He lifts up his unscatched bag. “Can I say the same of yours?”

A strike of fear hits me, but quickly dissolves when I see my bag looks fine. “I am pleased to report that Combat Bear Number 2 has survived.”

“Combat Bear Number 2? Don’t tell me that’s his name. What a mouthful!” He puts a hand to his chest and sighs dramatically.

“Don’t be stupid, I named him Sir— wait! Don’t try and cheat!” I softly whack him on the shoulder, earning a look of faux-sadness.

“Ouch. But you named him Sir… something. What a noble name! Of course, nothing but the best can come from you.” He holds out the Build-A-Bear bag. “But I’m actually dying to exchange these, so swap?”

“If that isn’t the most relatable thing ever.” I hand him my bag and he gives me his. “You can open mine first!”

“Ooh, don’t mind if I do.” He eagerly opens the bag and pulls out the tissue-paper wrapped bear. The material easily comes off and he holds it up. His eyes seem to glow with delight.

“Oh my gosh.” Jungwon swipes at Sir Loves-a-lot’s fur, fascinated by the heart-shaped ruffles. “He’s so cute! His clothes are... so tight,” His face betrays his confusion, and I snicker as he speaks, “but he looks hella fashionable! I really hope mine will live up to these standards.” He seems to get nervous so I hold his hands to try and calm him down.

“What do you think I named him?”

His mouth shapes into an “O” and he pulls out the certificate. His previously timid face transforms immediately as he reads it.

“Sir Loves-a-lot? Why?! So cheesy but so good!” He crumples onto himself, his head coming to a rest between his knees. I’m overjoyed by his reaction and I press forward to hug his side.

“I love him so much. I’ll cherish him forever.” He looks at me pointedly, almost like he’s trying to tell me something. He switches course though, gesturing to the bag that lies at my feet. “Now open yours!”

I cross my legs to get more comfortable, and I open the bag, wondering what he made for me. My heart dances when I see what he chose. It’s a blue bear with stars in her fur and white wings protruding from her back. I didn’t even see it when I was picking my bear for him.

“Woah…” I hold her up, noticing a soft scent coming from her fur. When I lift the bear up to my nose, I can detect citrus. “Jungwon, you made her smell like lemons! I love lemon… and—and look how pretty! All the stars, and the color… she’s perfect.”

I look at the certificate, all bright and new, and see her name: Mrs. Lovey. Mrs., not Ms.

Jungwon looks at me innocently. “What do you think, am I making my point clear? The future is never far away and I—”

I can’t help but turn away as I feel a prickle in my eyes. Never will I ever cry on a date.

“Awww! Don’t cry, you’ll make me cry!” Jungwon leaps towards me, catching me off-guard. I end up falling backwards with a yelp, but he throws his hand under my head and catches me before I can slam into the concrete.

We stare at each other for what seems like hours but is in actuality only seconds. The silence is loud, but Jungwon slices right through it when he whispers to me, “Is this a kdrama?”

“And… off!” I sit up, hugging my bear closer to me. I’m overwhelmed by Jungwon’s confession. He wants us to really stay together. As in, I’d be his “one”.

“Is—is that what you want too? It’s okay if not, I’ll understand if you wouldn’t be ready, even in the months it would take to get there, unless sooner is better, and I—” He rambles, more emotional than I am, before I put a finger to his lips.

“Yeah, it’s what I want too. I think we should go with your plan, um, wait a little longer since we’re so young and I don’t want to scare my parents.” That earns a laugh out of us both. “But the answer to “would I want it?” is definitely yes!”

Jungwon hugs me tightly, squealing in my ear. I squeal right back, suddenly lighter than ever.

“Dude, I want to say something. Yep, here I go. I— I love you!” Jungwon yells out to me, loud enough to wake up everyone half-way across the world. My heart expands when he says it. I want to scream it back and kiss him under the blue sky, but he continues speaking.

“Okay, look, even though I would have totally respected you for saying you wouldn’t want what I want, I’m feeling so relieved right now. Like whooh! I could jump off a plane! Ride the biggest wave! Sir Loves-a-lot here would come with me, wouldn’t you?” He high fives his bear.

I’m confused when his eyebrow raises. “Did you put a sound in him? Why didn’t you tell me?” Truthfully, I’d forgotten too. However, I smirk as I remember what I recorded.

“Press it.” I urge him to push on the bear’s paw, and he does, putting it near his ear so he can hear it better. The clear sound of my voice comes through, bringing waves of pink, soft love to both Jungwon and I.

“I really, really love you.”

#jungwon #yang jungwon #enhypen #enhypen fic #jungwon fluff #jungwon fic #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fluff #jungwon scenarios #fluff fic #kpop fic #kpop imagines #kpop fluff #enhypen writers

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cotncandyboifics · 4 years ago

Text

Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High?

AO3 Link

My Main Masterpost

Pairing(s): Romantic Dukexiety

Word count: 6.9k (Remus would be proud)

Story summary: A pseudo-songfic; 5 times Remus called Virgil high, and one time Virgil called Remus high.

Content Warning: Marijuana, Characters high on Marijuana, Description of the experience of being high on marijuana, Food, descriptions of eating, descriptions of preparing food, vague anxiety descriptions, insomnia, cursing, Remus Being Remus,(let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: this is just. dorky fluff stuff. Idek lol. Enjoy

...

Virgil grimaced vaguely at his phone, which had begun to buzz periodically. More specifically; Virgil was glaring at the displayed name at the top of the screen, communicating who was currently calling him.

TrashMan 42069 is calling...

Remus never called Virgil. As in... never never. And even if he did, it was 7 am; Virgil sincerely doubted that Remus I-wake-up-at-2-pm-every-day Prince had ever been awake at this time of morning in his life.

The call didn't stop after 5 buzzes, and so Virgil picked his phone up, hurriedly accepting the call and pressing the phone to his face.

"uuum, hiiii...." Remus drawled from the other end of the line. Virgil scoffed under his breath. "I'll have a.... extra large cheese pizza, and another extra large with... extra anchovies...." Remus continued. Virgil genuinely couldn't tell whether Remus thought he was actually talking to a Pizza parlor employee or not, but more pertinently, he was very much disconcerted by the way Remus was acting. He had half a mind to ask if he'd hit his head on something, but... Virgil was gradually growing used to Remus' antics, and every time he'd asked out of his own anxieties in the past, Remus had been More Than Fine. He pushed his nerviness aside with a heavy sigh.

"Re, what are you doing?" his voice came out a bit husky, and Virgil realized this was the first time he'd spoken that day.

Remus didn't reply for a few long moments. Of course, this had exactly nothing to do with the fact that he was having a gay panic over the sound of Virgil's morning voice, which - again - was decidedly not happening.

"Haay Virge," Remus scarcely strung his words together, and they fell on top of each other as they rolled off his tongue in a quite klutzy fashion. It was almost soothing, in its way. "I thought if I pretended that you... that I was... that I thought you were a pizza man, then I'd forget to do... why I called you." Remus scrunched his nose to himself, taking his time to find his words, but eventually he got there. Virgil had been struck with realization part way through Remus' rambling, and was now scowling as if Remus could hear his facial expression through the phone.

"Remus, are you seriously high right now?" Virgil hissed.

"I mean... I think so... I definitely remember..." he pointedly enunciated each syllable of 'definitely remember,' before seemingly getting distracted by his thoughts. Virgil cleared his throat to prompt him. "...uhhhh... I don't wanna call you. Why did I... think that was...good." Virgil couldn't tell if Remus was talking to himself or not.

"Dude, go take a shower and... like, drink some water or something. I'll see you at work later. Please come in a better mental state than you're in now." Virgil hung up, setting his phone back down on his desk face-down, resuming his script read-through of the next production being put on at the theater he worked for.

Several hours later, Virgil was adjusting a few bolts on a light fixture, one of many all lined up on the long bar that he'd lowered from the fly deck earlier. He and Remus were stage technicians, and had both worked at this theater together for nearly two years now.

Remus burst through the set of doors off stage left, arms wide and his custom green tool belt slung over one shoulder like a sash. He bowed a bit dramatically to the stage and everyone on it (which, at the moment, was only Virgil; they were the only two in the theater, since Virgil regularly showed up early and Remus was here early too for once for... some reason) before stepping in long strides toward a burnt out light fixture, a few feet away from Virgil.

"You good?" Virgil murmured, feigning intense focus on a particular few wires. Remus had learned by now that Virgil was a man of few words and many thoughts; there was always a lot more to what he was saying than the small string of words he poured out.

"Heh. Sorry about that. I woke up in a funk, and though a wake and bake might... help. Didn't anticipate calling... you, though." he rubbed the back of his neck a bit sheepishly, focusing his line of sight on the company logo branded into the lighting fixture. "Can't say it won't happen again though! If I call you when I'm that stoned it means I really, really like you," Remus waggled his eyebrows, winking (specifically to highlight his sarcasm - a wink was a telltale sign that Remus' words were entirely a joke) at an utterly deadpan Virgil.

"Sure." Virgil paused for a moment. "Why're you here so early though?"

"Huh?" Remus replied, finishing twisting the bulb out of the fixture before looking up at Virgil, who was now presenting his phone screen to Remus, showing him the time. "Damn! High me can get punctuality! I thought it was three, not two... I was wondering why you were the only one here!" Remus had resumed his adjusting of the light fixture, hunkered over and partially upside down in a way that made Virgil's stomach churn. He only grunted in reply.

...

A recent sound design project had Virgil and Remus talking a lot more than usual - nearly every day. Virgil thought Remus would be a massive pain in the ass to work with, but he was a surprisingly diligent project partner. His ideas were often... eccentric, and at times too far-fetched, but they served as an excellent foundation. They clashed well with Virgil's taste and general groundedness (by extension, a minuscule helping of insecurity) that he brought to the table. They'd worked together over discord for the last few days, voice chatting and messaging through brainstorming sessions and developing their project.

It was 5pm, and Virgil was just beginning chopping some potatoes for a mash dinner when a message notification popped up on his phone.

TrashMan 42069 im tiiiired. gotta get up early to head into the theater, can we work tmrw mornin instead of tn ? wanna have an early night

Virgil smirked to himself, typing out a response.

since when do you sleep before 1am

but like, go off ig

see ya in the ams

Remus never responded, and Virgil resumed his chopping, and soon was plopping the potato portions into a pre-simmering pot.

Night arrived and fell entirely, leaving Virgil alone with his thoughts in bed, staring at the ceiling desperately as if it would put him to sleep. His bouts of insomnia made for horrible company, and yet another reminder of just how awfully lonely he truly was. He rolled onto his side, facing his bedside table just as his phone lit up and started buzzing.

Remus. Again. Odd. And it was... 11pm, according to the bleary text in the top corner of Virgil's phone screen. Not too bad, I might get to sleep by 2, Virgil noted to himself. He accepted the call before his drowsy brain could think through the decision.

"Shit, hi," Remus breathed. The usual sharp edge of his brash voice was gone, leaving soft, rolling words in its wake. Virgil sighed to himself.

"Hi."

"Did I awaken you from the sleep? I didn't think you'd answer..." Virgil recognized the drawl in Remus' voice then, but he didn't mind it so much. He was too tired to be grumpy about this.

"No, I couldn't sleep. I thought you were having an early night?" Virgil ran his fingers through his hair, rolling back onto his back.

"Ah... right... I told you that..." Remus spoke slowly, as if carrying each word, each syllable the way a mother carries her child. Virgil smiled softly into the darkness. "I was feeling like shit, so... I was just gonna, toke up. Knew I... wouldn't be able to... do any of the project... like this."

"Gotcha," Virgil mumbled. He had closed his eyes, letting himself ease into the sound of Remus' uncharacteristically gentle voice.

Remus started humming on the other end of the line, and that only proved to relax Virgil more. He felt himself grow heavy in the bed, limbs going slack and muscles and tendons untensing.

"Are you still alive?" Remus spoke suddenly. Virgil hummed.

"Yeah, I think so," Virgil said. "Your humming is putting me to sleep," he laughed lightly. Remus grew silent. "Uh, that's not a bad thing," Virgil resolved, "I have a hard time... sleeping, sometimes. Nothing usually helps. That's... uh, helping. If you wanna keep... humming, or talking..." As he spoke, Virgil realized just how weird what he was saying - what he was asking for - truly was. He cleared his throat. "Nevermind."

"I have nothing better to do right now, I can hum you to sleep, Virge," Remus' careful voice replied, ever so slowly. "If that's... what... you meant."

"Um," Virgil chewed on his hoodie sleeve absent-mindedly. "Yeah," he finally huffed, "I'd... like that."

Virgil anticipated a lot more awkwardness at this entire situation from Remus. But Remus was a generally oblivious person to awkwardness, seemingly especially so when he was stoned. He almost immediately resumed his humming, and Virgil was out like a light less than ten minutes later.

"Virgie? Did you go... fall into the sleep?" Remus asked after a while. When he was met with silence other than subtle, even breaths, he smiled to himself. He'd helped someone, even while he was like this. He truly didn't want to be doing anything else right now, so he just kept humming into the phone for a while. Maybe it'll help Virgil sleep even better.

The thoughts that an intoxicated mind produces truly are an enigma.

...

Remus and Virgil's sound design project was one of three being proposed to the directors and head technicians for the next production. The three were created as presentations, just the general idea of the design put together so that the one chosen of the three could be put into proper production by the entire sound team.

Virgil's and Remus' won.

They celebrated by indulging in a pizza lunch together before they were to head into work. A large, half pepperoni and half anchovies.

"Are those things actually good, or do you just eat them because everyone else thinks they're gross?" Virgil asked, chasing the floppy end of his next slice with his mouth. Remus grinned with a glint in his eye that Virgil knew all too well; it meant one thing, and one thing only. Mischief.

"Whah if ih's bof?" Remus spoke through his mouthful of anchovy pizza. Virgil scrunched his nose, punching Remus in the shoulder.

"Chew your food and don't talk with your mouth full, that's hecka nasty dude," Virgil laughed. Remus rolled his eyes in a very unconvincing manner, considering he was still smiling.

"Yef, mom," Remus spoke again through his unfinished mouthful. Virgil shoulder bumped him, and finally took the first bite of his next slice.

Not a week later, Virgil woke up rather late. Well, late for him; around 7am. He slapped a hand to his forehead, sitting up a little too fast. He set his hands on the bed beside himself to try and fight the onset of dizziness. After a few deep breaths and shaking his head and hair out, he reached for his phone.

No notifications, other than 2 missed calls from Remus, at 3:12am. Virgil sighed, laughing to himself slightly. He opened his messaging app.

why do u only call me when ur high lmao

...

Virgil was at the grocery store, milling through the dairy aisle, when his phone started buzzing in his pocket. He was surprised to see Remus' contact as the displayed caller ID, although not that surprised. Remus had called Virgil a few times while he wasn't high since Virgil had sent that message, usually to discuss theater-related things. Though, it wasn't like him to call at 8 in the morning. Virgil pressed the answer button, bringing the phone to his ear.

"Hey Re, what's up?" Virgil said as he started checking the expiration dates on a few cartons of heavy whipping cream.

"Virgieee... Are you walking around with no shoes on?" Remus' voice was calm and subdued.

"Uh-" Virgil was so caught off guard by the question -and the petname- that he literally looked down at his feet to check. Nope, he'd definitely put on his black high tops that morning. "No? I'm at the grocery store. Wh... what?"

"I saw someone," Remus blurted, speaking slowly. Oh, right. Virgil's lips tightened into a annoyed-and-disappointed expression. Of course he's just baked again. "They looked like you, kinda... no purple hair... but jacket- or, i mean, sweater... uhhhm, no... what's it called?"

"My hoodie?" Virgil offered, glancing down at his purple patchwork hoodie.

"Yeah, yeah, that," Remus drew in a long heavy breath. "they had a hoodie." Remus stopped then, as if awaiting Virgil's explanation expectantly. Virgil scoffed.

"So. You saw someone walking around with no shoes on, who looked kind of like me only based on the fact that they were wearing a hoodie?" Virgil recited.

"Well, yeah!" Remus said as if offended that Virgil needed to ask. "They were black shoes, and... and the hoodie was... just like your black plaid one."

"The one that I like... never wear? How do you even... have you even seen me wear that?" Virgil didn't know why he was asking; he must have if he knew of it.

"You did," Remus started slowly, "one time. The pizza time. Said your other one was dirty." Remus spoke like a small child who was being scolded and felt really bad for what they'd done. "And I thought... maybe you'd... dyed your hair back. I don't know why." Virgil sighed.

"Okay? Well, I promise I have my shoes on, and my hair is still purple, and I'm not wearing that hoodie today. I'm at the grocery store right now." Virgil's voice was harsh and quick, and he immediately felt guilt drop into his stomach like a brick. He had no real reason to be this cross with Remus... he was just a bit cranky that morning. "Can I... pick you up anything while I'm here?" Virgil immediately cringed at his attempt at amendment. What a weird thing to say-

"Ooh! Are you at Trader Joe's?" Remus' voice had a newfound excitement. Virgil smiled to himself, glad that his fumbled recovery wasn't really very fumbled, thanks to Remus'... Remus-y-ness. "They have these chocolate truffles that are soooo good..."

Remus gave moderately incoherent directions to where the truffles were shelved, though Virgil knew his way around the store enough that it didn't matter. After a few minutes, he came upon a small red carboard box with cursive gold lettering and a picture of a chocolate truffle on the front.

"Found them. I... text me your address? I can be over in... well, soon. I guess I don't know where you live." Virgil invited himself over extremely awkwardly.

"You got it, sunshine! See you soon," Remus' tone was a lot lighter and he spoke more quickly and sharply, as he did when he wasn't stoned out of his mind. Perhaps the prospect of having his favorite chocolate truffles had granted him some mental clarity.

The call ended, and moments later, two texts came through from Remus. The first was an address, as promised. The second left Virgil with a familiar sense of blind confusion.

ill start heating the milk

Virgil slid his phone back into his pocket, humming to himself. He'd gotten all the items on his grocery list already, so he headed to checkout. Soon after, he was loading a couple bags into the back seat of his car, setting the two boxes of truffles for Remus on the passenger seat as he strapped in.

The drive was surprisingly short to Remus'; less than ten minutes. He triple checked the address when he pulled up to a three story Victorian house, three doors lined up at the top of a set of marble steps.

He took a breath or two, staring down at the boxes of truffles in his hands and reassessing his situation. You're standing in front of Remus' house like a massive dork because you felt bad for getting annoyed at him on the phone. You decided completely on a whim to bring him some chocolate - of all things, but at least he's the one who specifically asked for it - and show up to his house???? his house. Yeah, this totally isn't weird at all.

Virgil took the steps two at a time, ringing the doorbell at the door farthest to the right. He heard the chime from inside, followed shortly by a shrill screech. A few moments later, there was stomping sounds, and Remus came into view through the window on the door, trampling down the stairs like an eight year old rushing to an ice cream truck. He made it to the door, unlocking it and flinging it open.

"VIRGIE!" Remus yelped, looking ready to bear hug Virgil, but was quickly distracted into marveling over the boxes of truffles Virgil was clinging to his chest. "You bought two!? Gods, this is better than Christmas! Get in here," Remus stepped behind the door, allowing Virgil to step inside.

"Did you... screech, a minute ago?" Virgil asked, looking around. He and Remus were standing in what served as a tiny, tiny foyer, a small rectangle of flooring that gave direct way to a rather large flight of wooden stairs. Virgil could see a shoe cubby and coat rack at the top of the steps, and started stepping up them cautiously as Remus closed the door behind him.

"Yeah. People usually can't hear if I say words, like 'COMING!', so I just kinda... scream. It works!" Remus was tromping up the steps a few stairs below him, and Virgil quickened his pace.

"Got it..."

Virgil slipped his shoes off at the top, stuffing them in the cubby. "See? Shoes," he gestured to the shoes now fit snug in one of the cubbies. Remus smiled a bit too wide, nodding his head harshly. "I also don't have that hoodie on today," Virgil spread his arms, displaying his usual patchwork hoodie.

"I'm mainly glad your hair is still purple. It looks h- I mean, I like it." Remus coughed slightly to himself before stepping around Virgil, starting to sock-slide down the hardwood floor hall. "Kitchen's through here! The milk should be ready!"

Virgil laughed to himself, stepping into the hall to follow Remus' trail. He came upon a slightly ajar door, and seeing a glimpse of a stovetop, he slid into the room.

"I also made some whipped cream!" Remus gestured behind himself at a bowl of whipped cream on the counter as he stirred at a simmering pot of milk.

"What's... what's it for?" Virgil asked slowly, feeling like he missed something entirely.

"Oh! Right," Remus seemed to realize he hadn't filled Virgil in. "The truffles are so frickin good by themselves, but I discovered - sort of by accident, don't worry about it - that they make the best hot chocolate. And I... well, I figured we could have some!" Remus spun around at the last part, saucer of milk in hand and smiling a bit maniacally at Virgil. He stepped over to the counter where there were two mugs beside the bowl of whipped cream. "Bring them things on over here. This show can't go on without the starring role."

Virgil shuffled over to Remus, setting the truffles down beside the whipped cream bowls. He felt the need to speak, but couldn't think of any suitable words.

"one or two? I usually do two, I like mine real rich," Remus said, tearing open one of the boxes of truffles.

"Two," Virgil coughed. Remus smiled brightly at him again.

Virgil observed Remus' process. He plopped two truffles into the bottom of each mug - in the process, popping one into his mouth and offering another to Virgil, who accepted - before pouring the steaming milk over them, nearly to the brim of both mugs. Virgil hadn't expected the truffles to float, but there were two bobbing brown balls rolling around on the surface of the steaming milk in each mug. Remus retrieved a small spoon, stirring gingerly as the truffles rapidly shrunk and dissipated into the darkening milk.

"Will you grab the chocolate syrup? It's in the door of the fridge," Remus commented, beginning to spoon whipped cream onto the surface of the hot chocolate. "Oh, and- nevermind, I got it." Remus reached into a drawer beside him, pulling out a small cheese grater.

Virgil returned with the chocolate syrup, setting it beside Remus' arm.

"Check this out," Remus said, pulling another truffle from the box. He started grating it over the whipped cream dollops, and it gently snowed chocolate shavings. "Isn't it pretty?" Remus glanced at Virgil as he switched mugs.

"Yeah," Virgil breathed, watching the little flakes fall and settle on the surface of the whipped cream.

Virgil felt himself becoming infinitely more relaxed and less anxious the longer he basked in Remus' presence. It had always been this way with him, although maybe it was slightly amplified now that they were alone. He leaned himself on Remus, chin on his shoulder. Remus didn't react, other than softening his movements significantly, as though he were afraid he'd scare Virgil away.

"Yes, yes, yes! Man, this is the good stuff!" Remus exclaimed as he squirted a trail of chocolate syrup over the flakey rain on the whipped cream mountains. Virgil chuckled, reaching for the mug nearest him. "Hey! Not yet!" Remus batted his hand away lightly.

"What else could you possibly want on hot chocolate? Come on, it's getting cold," Virgil whined. Remus only smirked.

"Pantry, top shelf, you'll know it when you see it," He spoke, glancing at the cupboard door a few paces away. Virgil stepped toward the pantry cautiously, opening the door slowly. There, presented proudly on the top shelf, was a bag of mini marshmallows.

"Oh fuck yeah," Virgil reached up, realizing he was far too short to reach the bag. "Uh, one sec," he said, stepping entirely into the pantry, reaching up with all his might. Even stretching as far as he could, he barely reached the base of the top shelf. Remus chuckled from over by the mugs.

"Here, let me help." Remus came up behind him, making to reach over Virgil's head just as Virgil tried to step out of the pantry and out of Remus' way. Virgil essentially walked right into Remus' chest, face to face with his stubbled Adam's apple as he reached for the mallows easily.

Virgil was frozen in place, feeling his face grow hot. Remus looked down at him, suddenly realizing their physical predicament.

"Shit! Sorry!" Remus stepped back, mallows in hand, giving Virgil more than enough room to step out.

"s'fine, don't worry," Virgil mumbled, cheeks red and staring wide-eyed at the floor. Remus laughed a bit nervously, stepping back over to the mugs and beckoning for Virgil to follow.

Once their mugs were properly marshmallow'd (although not s'more'd; neither wanted to go full Ned Flanders on this rainy Saturday afternoon) Remus led Virgil out of the kitchen and further down the hall, to the door at the end which opened up into Remus' bedroom.

Virgil didn't know what he was expecting Remus' personal living space to look like, but whatever it was it wasn't this. There was a very cozy-looking bed that took up most of the floorspace, and a very soft patterned rug at the foot. Against the far wall, beside a wide windowsill, sat an equally cozy-looking loveseat. There were blankets and pillows absolutely everywhere, crowding the loveseat, covering the bed and turning the windowsill into a cozy sitting nook. There was no other furniture, aside from a rustic-looking wooden bedside table that matched a small, overstuffed bookshelf. The walls were entirely covered from floor to ceiling with posters, art pieces, the like; but more than anything, sketches. Scores upon scores of sketches covered every wall, pinned up with colorful tacks and a certain few of them connected to others with small segments of colored string. As well, strung up on some of the hardier tacks were a few strings of fairy lights. Those, plus the salt lamp set on the bedside table made for some extremely lovely mood lighting.

"Woah," was all Virgil could say as he looked around in wonder.

"This is where the magic happens," Remus shoulder shimmied, sidling around Virgil to sit cross-legged on his bed, beginning to nurse his cocoa as he set down the boxes of truffles. Apparently they were far too precious to keep in the kitchen, where Remus' brother could very well steal them.

"Yeah..." Virgil stepped up to a particularly large sketch, one whose tack was connected with string to several others. Something occurred to him. "Are these..." He gestured vaguely at the walls, "are these all yours?"

"All the sketches, yeah," Remus breathed, hiding behind his mug as he took a large sip. He watched Virgil over the brim as the man stared in complete awe.

"That's..." Virgil couldn't think of the right words, and so drew a large sip of his own cocoa. Remus was right, the truffles made for an incredible hot chocolate. He sighed slightly, smiling to himself.

Remus finished his cocoa, tilting his head back to slurp at the residue and remaining whipped cream as he leaned back on his bed slightly. Virgil smirked behind his own mug, licking at his whipped cream.

Remus set his mug beside the salt lamp on his bedside table, beckoning for Virgil to sit with him on the bed. Virgil did, cross-legged an leaning against a pillow that was propped against the wall. He glanced to the windowsill nook.

"You got something of a view," He murmured, craning his neck slightly to see out the window. Remus giggled.

"Yeah! That's where I saw mx. no-shoes earlier." He smiled at Virgil giddily.

"Oh, I see." Virgil smiled back. "Well, I'm here now, purple hair and truffles in the complete package," he spread his arms slightly, and Remus' smile turned into a full grin. He retrieved a truffle from the open box and popped it into his mouth, then throwing a second one at Virgil. It hit him in the chest, and he picked it up, starting to gnaw at it. "You were right, these are super fricking good," Virgil mentioned, taking another large gulp of his cocoa.

"I know right!? Where have you been all my life, beloved truffles," he picked up the unopened box and held it high in one hand, beginning to serenade it. Virgil laughed at him, slapping him on the arm.

"You're a massive dork."

Remus' eyes glinted. "Well I-" He stopped short, the glint disappearing as soon as it returned. Virgil watched his face. No, no dick jokes right now. He gulped and cleared his throat, retracting his arm and pulling out another two truffles from the other box. He held one of them out to Virgil on the palm of his hand. Virgil took it carefully, holding it between his fingers as he took the final sip of his own cocoa.

"Here," Remus reached his empty hand out to take Virgil's mug, setting it beside his own behind them on the bedside table. Remus resumed chewing his truffle, watching the comforter shift with his weight as he leaned back and forth slightly.

"Can I?" Virgil pointed to a few more sketches over the head of the bed. Remus nodded. Virgil got up onto his knees, nearly pressing his chest into the wall as he looked at the many sketches.

Remus got up onto his knees too, sort of knee-waddling over to Virgil's side. Virgil's eyes continued scanning the sketches before they fell onto a particularly familiar looking one. His breath caught in his chest. He reached up to it, tracing the familiar purple plaid of his very own patchwork hoodie. Remus cleared his throat from beside him.

They both spoke at the same time.

"Um, you should probably know that-"

"Remus, I wanted to tell you-"

Virgil turned to look at Remus then, and belatedly realized just how close together they were. Remus' lips were pursed, and Virgil could see that he was chewing at the inside corner of his mouth.

Virgil drew in a breath to speak as Remus moved slightly closer. Pursing his lips shut, he changed his mind, deciding to take a risk.

He surged forward suddenly, shutting his eyes. Remus met him in the middle, and just like that, they were kissing.

It was soft and still at first, lips pressed firmly into each other's. Remus reached one hand up, gently cupping Virgil's cheek.

Virgil pulled back suddenly, but Remus' hand didn't leave his cheek. "I-I'm sorry, I really should've- asked- I meant to say things, i mean, before-" He stopped as Remus set his other hand on Virgil's waist. His face looked incredibly soft and gentle, lips parted slightly as he looked at Virgil like he'd hung the moon.

Virgil intertwined his fingers on the back of Remus' neck, and Remus pulled Virgil back into the kiss.

...

two days later, Virgil was up late again, unable to push himself into unconsciousness. His body was restless even if his mind was exhausted - or perhaps it was the other way around, his mind restless and his body exhausted? He really couldn't tell.

It was nearing 3am, and he was sitting curled in on himself, hugging his knees as he watched the stars out his window. His phone, face-down on the bed beside him, began buzzing.

He tilted his head, sighing as he fought an oncoming wave of exhaustion. He picked up the phone, flipping it to see the caller ID, although part of him hoped knew who it would be.

He pressed the answer button, bringing the phone to his ear.

"Hey, Remus."

He heard Remus gasp on the other end of the line, before murmuring a small "hi."

"I... are you not sleeping good tonight?" Remus' curious and confounded expression was almost palpable through the phone. Virgil smiled lazily, recognizing Remus' demeanor immediately.

"No, I'm not, but that's okay. The stars are pretty tonight." Virgil paused, scratching at his chin a bit. "Are you stoned again?"

A long pause. "Yeah," Remus blurted. "Sorry I... I nodded, but then, I realized... you can't see me."

Virgil smiled to himself again. "It's okay."

A long, comfortable silence followed. Virgil was too tired to feel the obligatory need to make conversation, especially with Remus. He'd be a fool to expect any awkwardness after a make out session with the spontaneous blob that is Remus, but he'd still been nervous to see or speak with him again. That all melted away now though, exhaustion and vague contentment taking its place.

"Virgie - uh, Virgil?" Remus piped up after a while, rousing Virgil from his trance.

"Yeah?"

"Do you, remember..." Remus trailed off, and didn't speak for long enough that Virgil almost responded to prompt him. "Did you come to my house, and also, kiss me, or was that a dream?" Even through his stoned lilt, Remus spoke a bit quickly, like he was trying to shove the words out of his mouth before he could change his mind.

Virgil chuckled. "That wasn't a dream, Remus. Yes, I remember." I don't think I could forget it if i wanted to tried.

"Oh." Virgil could hear the smile in Remus' voice. "Can we- I mean, do you want to, uh, do it again? Some time?" he didn't sound hesitant, no; just hopeful, and perhaps as though he felt like he needed to be excessively gentle. It was the sweetest tone Virgil had ever heard.

"I'd like that," Virgil smiled.

Remus sigh-laughed on the other end of the line, and Virgil's smile grew. "Cool," Remus said almost under his breath.

Virgil didn't do it consciously, but a big, loud yawn decided to worm its way out of him at that moment.

"Are you sleepy Virgie?" Remus asked in a strange partial baby voice. Virgil snorted at him.

"I'm literally always tired, so if the answer was no, that would be more concerning," Virgil quipped, but his voice sounded spent. Remus giggled a little.

"Can I hum to you?" Remus asked, smile still discernable in his tone. Virgil felt something warm spark in his chest, like a lighter being flicked and lit.

"I'd like that a lot, too," Virgil murmured, curling up beneath his covers as Remus started to hum.

He was out like a light in less than 5 minutes.

And if Remus stayed on the line for another half hour or so, humming to him and listening to his even breaths, who was to know?

...

Virgil felt like an idiot.

That wasn't an entirely rare feeling to him, but this particular time was different.

Despite his general edginess and rebel-against-society vibe, Virgil had never touched a drop of alcohol or gone near any intoxicating substance in his life. Until today.

He'd been Remus' boyfriend for almost three months now, and it was everything he could have hoped; haphazard night trips to convenience stores that ended in oddly romantic motorcycle rides, the odd gestures Remus's... eccentric mind came up with, and Virgil was in dire need of more hoodies he could let Remus steal. All this, but Virgil was still Virgil. He still had his anxiety disorder, he still dealt with insomnia. Though, sleeping in Remus' arms was proving an impressively effective remedy to the latter.

So, when Remus suggested Virgil look into the medical benefits of marijuana in regards to both anxiety and insomnia, Virgil was... intrigued, to say the least.

He did find a lot of supporting evidence through his research, and... well, he thought, what the hell, right? If Remus smokes it pretty much every day, and if this many articles are claiming its reliability... what harm would it do to try?

So here he was, sitting on his couch, having taken a couple of edibles, waiting for the high to hit him. His hand ghosted over his jean pocket, assuring himself that his phone was there in case he needed to call 911 or something. He was trying to do breathing exercises to maintain some sort of calm, but sitting still wasn't his strong suit.

He'd chosen edibles since he didn't want to have to deal with the whole... smoke and coughing side of things. And he really didn't like the sound of vaping. He figured this would be fine as an introductory experience, but he realized that he had no clue when the edibles would kick in.

He pulled out his phone, typing into google.

Marijuana edibles generally take 30 minutes to an hour to induce any psychological effects on the consumer.

Oh.

Well, he figured, there was no way he could sit still for that long.

He stood, deciding he'd make himself some dinner. Something to busy his hands with, and the leftovers he'd planned on heating up would last another day or two anyways.

He settled on some fettuccine alfredo, fairly simple but one of his childhood favorites. He had a feeling he'd appreciate the comfort food while he was... in an altered state of mind.

Virgil, however, hadn't accounted for the fact that he had an almost unnaturally high metabolism, and before he'd even gotten the pasta in the boiling water, things started to get a little funky.

The first thing Virgil noticed, before he'd even registered that the edibles were kicking in, was how he could hear his thoughts. Not literally, but it felt as though his stream-of-consciousness thoughts were more slow and clear to him, as though he was speaking directly to himself.

As he thought this, his vision suddenly came into alarming focus, and felt oddly like an unstable skyscraper. He stared down at his feet, and they seemed so far away, the floor looked far too far away... He gripped the counter nearest to him, trying to steady himself even if he wasn't actually falling. He didn't feel like he had any control over his center of balance, and even if he was mostly stock-still as a pencil, he thought he might fall down at any moment, down the many stories of building beneath him. But there was no stories beneath him... it was only his legs, which he didn't remember being so long. He stared a little harder at his feet. They weren't abnormally far away, were they?

Virgil vaguely registered the sound of over-boiling water as the realization hit him.

Oh. So this is what it's like.

He turned so that his lower back was stable against the counter, sliding slowly down onto his butt. Standing didn't feel safe right now, even if that made no sense.

He didn't really like this. He felt so isolated, so alone in this moment. He was too out of it to focus hard enough on those thoughts for them to really take root, but he was generally aware of them. So, he did the first thing he could think to do.

He pulled his phone very slowly and carefully out of his pocket, as if he thought it was a brittle sugar cookie. He stared at the dark screen for a solid minute, wondering why it wasn't turning on. Then he realized he had to actually touch the screen for that to happen, and so he did.

From there, it was relatively easy; he unlocked his phone, found the calling app, scrolled around a little haphazardly up and down the contact list before finding Remus' contact.

If anyone could help him feel less alone, if anyone knew what he was experiencing... it would be him.

He took a deep breath and held it as he pressed the call button, bringing the phone to his face as it rang.

It only rang twice before Remus answered. "Hello, Jack Skellington! What can I do for you this evening?" Remus' voice sounded a little extra mischievous, and Virgil couldn't even begin to place why.

He was quiet for a little too long, vaguely trying to decide what to say. "Hi." Not the most eloquent, but it worked for a start.

"Hi," Remus replied, the troublemaking lilt of his voice dissipating slightly. "Is everything okay, Surly Temple?"

Virgil giggled a bit. Your brother is funny. You keep stealing his nicknames for me. "I'm, yeah. Sorry, talking. it's hard. Right now." Virgil spoke haltingly, each word firm but isolated from the last.

"Hmmm..." Remus stroked his mustache from the other end of the line. Virgil giggled again, realizing he couldn't actually see Remus stroking his mustache, but could imagine it vividly all the same. There was no doubt in his mind that he was doing exactly that.

"Oh, 'm high," Virgil added quite belatedly.

"Oh! Well that makes a lot more sense!" Remus laughed, but quickly composed himself again. "What are you doing? Are you feeling okay? Is this your first time? What's happening?"

"Skyscraper," Virgil replied matter-of-factly, as if that cleared the air entirely.

"...right..." Remus replied slowly. "Stormcloud, is it okay if I come over? I don't... I want you to be- uh, to feel safe right now."

"Yes, please," Virgil clung to the phone like it was Remus' arm. "I miss you I'm kinda scared," his words slurred together, but at least he managed to say something slightly coherent. Remus grunted in acknowledgement.

"Okay. I'll be there in ten. Want me to stay on the line?" Virgil could hear shuffling around in the background.

"What're you doin?" He asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at the refrigerator door, since he couldn't actually look at Remus.

"Putting on my shoes, silly! What room are you in right now?" Remus replied, a sense of protectiveness twinged in his voice.

"Kitchen. floor." Virgil swirled his fingers on the wooden floor.

"Okay. Do you want me to stay- oh, fuck it. I'm staying on the line till I get there, okay Virgie?" Virgil heard the sound of a door slamming, followed by vague trafficky noises.

"You're coming," Virgil spoke, registering it in his mind finally.

"Yeah, I'm coming," Remus repeated, and the sound of Remus' car starting sounded shortly after.

Virgil smiled at nothing. "I love you."

The words were a bit slurred together, but he heard them out of his own mouth loud and clear. He almost clapped a hand over his mouth, a little horrified that he'd just said that.

Sure, he'd known he loved Remus for a while now, but they hadn't said it before. He'd almost said it, once, earlier that week while he was laying in Remus' arms on a drowsy Sunday morning, watching the lines of his face shift and harden as he slowly woke up. But he didn't. And now he'd just gone and said it, while he was stoned out of his mind for the first time, sitting on his kitchen floor about to break into tears-

Remus' voice, a little bit strained, interrupted Virgil's thoughts.

"I love you too."

A pause. "I'm almost there, okay? Everything's gonna be fine."

Virgil snuggled down further into his hoodie.

"I know, cus you'll be here."

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #remus sanders #dukexiety #sanders sides fanfiction #ts virgil #ts remus #human au #5 + 1 fic #5 + 1 things #songfic

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unholyhelbig · 4 years ago

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Title: Centerfold [Pt.2]

Ship: Beca Mitchell/ Chloe Beale

(Read Part one here)

Beca Mitchell’s phone was a box of constant communication. She had her emails redirected so that she could feel every single time she needed to address something at the office, even if she was there and the soft pinging culminated in the very screen she stared at. She had a multitude of contacts and would video chat with the team in Italy, and sometimes L.A.

So, what she knew deep down, was that it was impossible for her not to look at her phone all day. Physically she had to check the notifications to keep her world running. Emily intercepted most of them, keeping her deep stare on her own screen before glancing up at her boss every couple of minutes. They were both on edge and Beca didn’t much appreciate the tension that sparked between them.

She held her breathe each time a new ping sounded off until eventually that lull of anxiety was hushed to a dull ache in the pit of her chest. She went through her morning meets and a new presentation to her team about how their coding for a new watch wasn’t up to parr- they had a few days to fix it before it dropped, and the CEO made sure she knew that.

When the notification from Chloe did finally come through, Beca almost didn’t’ notice. She registered the pink of the logo that slowly shifted to a deep purple. But the name? Oh, the name she hadn’t clocked for a few seconds after that. And even then, Chloe Beale? Her Chloe, actually responded.

Beca lilted the computer screen and frantically looked up at Emily, who was already at her door. She didn’t bother to knock. Instead, she situated the office and closed the blinds and very coolly, but not so coolly, pressed her back against the wood and breathed.

“Dude,” Beca said.

“I know,” Emily said “Did you read it?”

She hadn’t read it. She hadn’t even thought to read it because her mind got stuck behind the massive roadblock that was Chloe Beale and her stupid pun username. She opened the application and hesitated over the message icon. She was supposed to be playing it hard to get like she didn’t’ care if she even got a response. But she did care and apparently so did her assistant because she was right behind her, blindly gawking like her halo fell into her eyes and blinded her from right and wrong.

“If I click this she’ll see that I read it and then there’s no going back.”

“You don’t want to go back, do you?”

“You told me to keep her guessing,”

“Truthfully, I didn’t think you’d even get a response.” Emily shrugged sheepishly “Figured you would forget about it in a few days and… open it.”

Beca frowned but hovered the mouse over the message. She wanted to close her eyes but felt like she was watching a car accident, complete with the red and blue flashing lights and the metallic crunch of metal. Either way, she couldn't avert her stare. She didn’t want to.

Chloe: Hey stranger. I must admit that I was never expecting to hear from you again, big shot manager. I’ve kept my tabs on you… New York is my home, so if you’re serious about coffee, so am I.

Her breath caught in her throat. Chloe Fucking Beale had said yes. Her childhood love had agreed to coffee that neither of them could probably stomach. Chloe Fucking Beale who was a playboy model with more than a million Instagram followers, and Chloe Fucking Beale who she was pretty sure she still loved.

There had been other people, men, and women that she had thought she fell for. She folded into soft touches and stronger commands. She was happy for months at a time and on one rare occasion a full year with a man who ran his own tours of the city. But none of those relationships had ever been like the one she had with Chloe.

Beca pulled in a long breath that filled her lungs with stale coffee and copy paper. She tilted her lid and looked to Emily because she was the expert. And Beca was frozen. That same cold excitement filled her and it also rocked her ever-loving shit. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t think.

Emily looked at the darkened screen, then at her boss, then back at the screen before lunging forward and typing back a reply. Perfect. Are you free this Saturday?

It turns out that Chloe was free that Saturday and if she wasn’t, she didn’t’ say a word and quietly cleared her schedule. The day was quickly approaching and Beca really wanted to know why the New York Branch put her in charge of everything when she could barely figure out what to wear to a simple cup of coffee.

This felt more like a simple cup of coffee.

Emily eventually got tired of the barrage of pictures she was getting and took a cab to Beca’s apartment an hour before the actual date. They settled on black jeans and a blue button-down that Emily pulled closer to her chest for extra measure because according to her “You look good in anything and Chloe won’t be able to make eye contact with you.”

Then she was on a subway that smelled like stale snow and hot morning breath. They picked a small shop downtown that not many people knew about. It was a feat in the city to find a place that wasn’t packed like a sardine can and Beca trusted Chloe’s judgment tenfold.

Beca got there first, and her palms were sweating despite the cool atmosphere that swept through the little shop each time the door opened. It was a meta cross between a thrifted bookstore and a café. People sat and ate and read and the scent of what Beca imagined old magic to be, mingled well with coffee grinds and fresh pastries.

She ordered a simple black americano and settled by the front window, the glass fogged from a warm contrast with the cold of the busy street and curved lettering faced the patrons. There was a simple logo and one barista behind the counter. She chose a random book and pretended to read, but only skimmed the same paragraph over and over again.

Her main focus was on the door and the bell that chimed each time it was opened. One of those times, after a businessman and a hipster kid hugging his laptop close to his chest, it was Chloe. Soft and vibrant compared to the rest of the dim academic setting.

Her hair was pulled behind her ears and a pair of golden framed glasses rested on her nose. She had aged like wine and the wind that blew in behind her carried the sweet scent of southern peaches through the front door. She wore a white sweater with a plaid peacoat and high wasted jeans, and Beca knew she was staring.

Everyone was, they couldn’t’ help it. She overtook the room with a warm and sparked presence. If anyone recognized her they didn’t’ say a thing, out of saving their own face or because the girl in the centerfold of the latest playboy was wildly different than the one standing in front of her. This… this was her Chloe.

She didn’t’ know if she could hug Chloe, if touching was okay, but as she stood to greet her, she was pulled into the warmth of the woman. She was wrapped in overwhelming touch and emotion and she buried her nose into Chloe’s hair as they held onto each other, not quite willing to let go of the familiarity before realizing that it was inappropriate not to.

“Wow,” Chloe ran her hands down Beca’s arms, stopping at her elbows “You haven’t aged a day, have you?”

“It’s the lighting in here, I think it’s one step up from basement overhead.”

Chloe laughed and it was a magical sound. The only thing more intoxicating was her smile, which never seemed to leave her lips as she ordered her own drink, something loaded with sugar and caramel, and leaned forward across the table to get a better look at her date.

Beca sipped her coffee and quirked an eyebrow “What?”

“I haven’t seen you in ten years, I think it’s perfectly acceptable for me to study you.”

“There’ll be plenty of time for that,” She tested “What have you been up to all these years?”

Chloe leaned back in her seat and cupped her mug. It was a russet red and steam rose from the pale liquid that soaked inside. There was a sickeningly sweet odor to it and part of Beca regretted ordering nothing but a black coffee. It seemed like a disservice to the atmosphere of the shop.

“Oh, a bunch of stuff here and there. I used to be based out of LA, I did a lot of acting there. Little stuff like soap operas and a couple of commercials. It wasn’t for me, though so I moved here to pursue modeling and it’s been going well. Really well.”

Beca didn’t’ want to mention the playboy magazine or the curve of Chloe’s legs and the way her skin shown under the bright summer sun. She never returned it to Jason because he never asked for it back. It was an unspoken solidarity between the two.

“That’s amazing,” Beca smiled, feeling excitement in her chest “Anything I would recognize?”

Chloe hummed into her drink “Mm, maybe a few things. It depends on how you feel about Playboy. I never thought you were much of a reader.”

Beca looked down dejectedly at the old spined book to her right. It was true, she hadn’t read the Catcher in the Rye and she barely got through the introduction paragraph because of the nerves and the heartbeat that beat so strongly against the inside of her wrist right now.

“I’m not usually. But I do enjoy looking at the pictures.” Beca flicked her stare back towards the woman across from her “Though, that’s not the reason I reached out to you.”

“Truth is, I’ve always wanted to message you, but you looked like you were doing so well. Like you were so happy. I didn’t want to throw you off or seem like I was chasing something that we used to have.” She said, “So I waited.”

It was Beca’s turn to laugh, “I felt the same exact way. We’re both pretty stupid, then huh? Waiting like this for something we knew… for something we knew we wanted.”

Chloe smiled wider and clinked her mug against Beca’s yellow one, not spilling any of the mostly full drink. “To being stupid. And getting to know each other all over again.”

And that’s exactly what they did. They sat and talked until they were the only two in the coffee shop and Beca even dared to kiss Chloe when they got to the subway platform. She tasted like caramel and sunshine if such a thing was even possible.

But it was because she had found Chloe. Centerfold Chloe. High school Chloe, and most importantly, her Chloe.

#Beca Mitchell #chloe beale #bechloe #bechloe fic rec #pitch perfect #pitch perfect fandom #pitch perfect fanfiction #Bechloe Fanfic #Bechloe fanfiction #Request #au

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coffeecakefanfics · 4 years ago

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The 1,001 Clichés of A Teenage Romance (Peter Parker x Fem!Reader)

Studying with Ned was nothing new to Peter, but actually stopping by ‘Kay’s Coffee and bakery’ for coffee was. The coffee shop sat two buildings down from his apartment and Aunt May would stop in before work every morning. With her day off she asked Peter and Ned to run and get her a coffee and whatever they’d like.

It was a typical coffee shop, the walls were painted a muted cream and the tables were a beautiful sturdy oak. There were pictures of New York plastered on the wall along with a big picture of the “Kay” family. Behind the counter was a menue board along with a black board with the desserts of the day scribbled in pink and yellow chalk.

“Good morning, welcome to Kay’s Coffee and Bakery where every cup is brewed fresh and every baked good is homemade how can I help yo- Oh hey I know you two from school,” The girl stood behind the counter. She had a smile on her face. She wore a plain black long sleeve with a small Kay’s logo on the left breast. The half apron she wore was black and the name tag was pinned to the top ‘Y/N’

“We have Calc, bio, and english together and im pretty sure we share a lunch break too,” she beamed.

“Oh yeah you’re in drama and on the volleyball team right?” Ned kind of lit up.

“Yup, and i’m in knowledge bowl, student council, and they’re trying to get me to join prom planning,” she kind of laughed. Peter recognized her alright, she was the top hitter on the volleyball team, he remembers watching her last season with MJ.

“You stay busy then?” Peter piped up this time.

“Well I mean between school, clubs, and work i’m surprised I have time for anything else,” She took a deep breath at that. “So, what can I get you guys?”

“I need an,” Peter looked at the text May had sent him, “Iced French Vanilla with Extra Extra Cream and white chocolate syrup and a coffee cake muffin” he finished and peeked up at the girl who was already brewing the drink.

“So you’re the famous nephew huh?” she teased as she poured the creamer into the cup. Peters face went flush and he started to stutter

“I-well I uh”

“It’s fine, I think it’s sweet. She tells me how good you take care of her and the trouble you get in to. It’s honestly one of my favorite parts of my morning. Everyone else is suuuch a drag,” She laughed and slid the drink and muffin across the counter. “Anything else?”

“We don’t really drink coffee,” Peter turned to Ned. “do you want anything?”

“Yeah can I have a hot chocolate?” He asked.

“Of course, plain or with extras, extras are free of charge except espresso shots”

“However you like it is fine”

“alright that’ll be $8.27 thank you,” she took the cash, gave them change and went to making the drink.

“May We’re back” Peter called into the apartment. May came almost running from the couch to grab her coffee.

“You are a life saver,” she kissed the top of his head.

“Come oonn” he gently pushed her back.

“Where’s Ned?”

“He had to go home, something about a new episode of a show, I don’t know” He flopped onto the chair cockeyed to the couch.

“She’s cute right?” May smirked and set her drink down.

“I mean yeah, She’s pretty, but she’s also popular,” he shrugged.

“Peter, baby, she has a job and a full ride to MIT, not to mention she likes a lot of the same dorky stuff you do,” she shifted and looked at him. “You haven’t been on a date in years Pete, why not go now?” she poked.

“She probably already has someone, I mean she is popular, remember?”

“I think you should go for it, get out of the house,” The conversation ended there. Peter laid in bed that night thinking about how he’d spot her in class or in the halls. She was pretty, but she was also busy, he didn’t want to mess with her schedule.

Lunch rooms are the devil, they’re clique filled and loud, but the only time he can actually talk to his friends.

“Come on you KNOW that padme just lost the will to live,” How the topic started none of them new all they new was Peter and Ned were going at it again and MJ wanted out. “Dude she just gave up, her husband joined the darkside, face the facts”

“Actually, Palpatine took her life force for Anakin, Padme was a strong woman who fought for what was right, she wouldn’t just leave her babies alone,” Y/n jumped in and sat next to MJ. Ned and Peter looked at each other and back at the girl.

“What i’m popular not uncultured,” she laughed. “Okay MJ I need some serious help with knowledge bowl studying”

“Y/n, I love you, I do, but I’m busy this week, I have a ton of homework because Mr. Braun decided to be a dick, I’m sorry,” MJ spoke remorsefully.

“My meet is monday, it’s going to decide who goes to state, is there no way you can help,” Y/n pleaded with her friend.

“I’m sorry, I am, but I can’t fail this class”

“You’re right I’m sorry, if you need help studying or doing homework i’ll help you” She smiled and went to stand.

“Peter can help,” Ned blurted

“I can?” Peter turned his head sharply.

“He can, he has a stark internship until 6 but after that he’s free,” Ned motioned with his eyes from Peter to the Girl.

“I-uh-I, yeah I can help,” he stuttered and flushed.

“Peter you really don’t have to,” she gave him a sympathetic look.

“Yeah no, it’s uh, no problem,” he smiled awkwardly.

“You just saved my life, I owe you. I’ll meet you at the coffee shop and we can go to my place after okay?” she beamed. Peter liked her smile, it was bright.

“Of course” he grinned.

“Y/N, Game plan!” One of the other girls called.

“Sorry, I have to go but tonight at 6,” she lit up as she grabbed her tray and jogged over to her friends.

“What the fuck?” peter turned to Ned.

“I saw how you looked at her at the coffee shop, and you haven’t been on a date in years. it’s my job as a wing man to help you get dates,” Ned shrugged and took a bite of the sandwich in front of him. Peter sighed and pulled his phone out.

P:Hey May, I’m helping a friend study I won’t be home till late

M:You’re not patrolling are you?

P:No, I’m seriously helping a friend study

M:Stay safe, I sent you $10 for dinner <3

The streets were dim when Peter walked up to the shop. She stood locking the door.

“Hey” He called.

“Peter Hi,” she grinned and waved.

“So um, y-your place?” he tugged at his straps.

“Yeah, I live in those apartments right there,” she nodded at the building two doors down.

“Wait, what? so do I, how come I never see you?” he turns to her.

“I usually take the fire escape home, I hate walking through the lobby, and I can sneak in without having to talk to my family,” she laughed. “Not that they’re bad people, I just get over worked and don’t want to take it out on them” they walked into the lobby and got in the elevator.

“Don’t worry about them being home, I live with my dad and he’s on a business trip,” she unlocked the door and let Peter walk in. It was cleanly decorated with neutral greys, whites and blacks.

“This is nice,” he lets his eyes wander the apartment.

“Yeah, it’s how my mom liked it,” she smiled sadly. Peter remembers it happening, it was one of the attacks on New York, The avengers couldn’t get everyone out in time, 3 people had died that day.

“I’m sorry for your loss”

“I’m not, she’s why I do what I do” The girl smiles and kicks her shoes off, “my room is back here, it’s way cooler than this,” she laughs and drags him to her room. Warm LED lights illuminate the room. Peter spins and looks at all the posters and figurines scattered around the room. The walls are decorated with posters of various animes and shows. He turns to the tv stand and sees shelves full of games.

“Told you I’m cultured,” she teases and sits on the bed. Peter sits next to her. She pulls out her laptop and plugs a flash drive into it.

“So this will give you questions and the answer, I get a point if I get it right,” she smiles and spins the screen to him. “thanks for doing this, by the way,” she adjusts and holds a decorative pillow to her chest.

They had been at this for nearly two hours she was growing frustrated and uneasy.

“Who wrote A farewell to Arms?”

“Hemmingway” she looed pleadingly

“Yes,” he beamed and went to click next.

“I can’t anymore, I’m done,” she flopped back on the bed. “This sucks” she yells muffled by her pillow.

“Then why keep doing it?” he closes the laptop. She sits up and pushes her hair out of her face.

“That is a topic for a different level of friendship,” she smirks and looks him over. She had had a crush on him forever, and by forever she means since last year. She admired how his eyes kind of drifted around the room.

“Do you need to go home yet?” she asked. His eyes jumped back to her and locked.

“No, I live two floors down so it’ll only take a minute to get home”

“Do you want to play a game or watch a movie?” she asked, getting up and grabbing the controller. His face kind of flushed. “A-a movie is fine”

“What? scared I’ll kicked your ass or something?” she smirked.

“No way I just don’t want to make you cry when I beat you,” he joked cockily with her.

“Oh you’re on Parker, Injustice 2?” she looked back at him and he nodded.

“Black Canary is way to OP this is bullshit,” Peter throws his hands up. Y/N laid laughing at him. His phone cut the laughter short.

“it’s May sorry,” he picked up the phone. “Peter it’s 10 pm where are you?!” she called into the line.

“there’s no way it’s-” he looked at his watch. “Oh shit, May I’m sorry i’m coming down now,” he hung up.

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize how late it is,” he scrambled to grab his stuff.

“Fire escape is faster than the lobby, there’s a window to the hallway if you go to the right” she grabbed his phone and bag for him.

“i had fun,” he smiled at her.

“I did too, especially since I kicked your ass at injustice,” she smirked.

“I’ll see you at school monday?” he asked.

“Um, I’m free saturday if you want to come over, we can play games or watch a movie or something? I’ll get us pizza or-” she trailed off.

“I’d love to,” he blushed.

“It’s a date,” she smiled and opened her window. Peter stepped out onto the landing.

“Hey peter?” she called and he turned to her. She leaned out and kissed his cheek. “A little something for the road,” she held something wrapped in white paper to him. He shut the door to his apartment.

“There you are, I was worried sick,” May scolded.

“I was upstairs with a friend, I’m sorry we lost track of time. He set the paper on the counter and opened it. A fresh coffee cake was sitting in a small box with a note

‘For May and Peter’

#peter parker #peter x read #spiderman x reader #peter parker x reader

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hawkbucks · 5 years ago

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Prompt: I always see you in the library and I think you’re really cute so I leave you little post it notes on your work whenever you go and get a book just to see you blush AU.

Note: Originally sent in by an anon on my now-deleted older blog (as is usual with these reposted ficlets jgkfld)

It starts, like every good this-is-how-I-met-my-boyfriend story does, with Bucky dragging himself to the library after barely getting 2 hours of sleep last night.

With his trusty can of Red Bull and an ancient laptop that might as well have had dust spluttering out of its vents, he sits down in silent isolation from the other groups of students who take the library as a place to socialize and listen to music without earphones on as opposed to actually studying or writing their 3 essays that are due the next day. (He does, however, realize the hypocrisy in his way of thinking considering the obscene amount of time that he spends shooting the shit with Steve, Sam, and Nat in their group chat whilst his physics homework lies ignored.)

He takes a generous gulp of his Red Bull and turns on his laptop, ready to wait the 34 years it takes to boot up. The chair creaks disconcertingly underneath him as he leans back, but he’s had too many sleepless nights and too many mental breakdowns to care. If it snaps, it snaps. A trip to the hospital for a bashed-in head would at least give him an excuse to take time off from the hell that is university.

His laptop groans like it wants him to put it out of its misery, preferably with a BB pellet to the motherboard. He watches as the screen flashes white and the Baintronics logo pops up and swirls on the screen. A black loading bar appears under the logo. He waits, tapping his fingers on the table.

30%

Somehow unloads to 19%

5–hold on. There’s movement in his peripheral vision. People sometimes come and intrude in his little corner when they’re tired of everyone else like he is, and it’s been long enough since the last person that he curiously looks up–

–and promptly lays his eyes on the cutest guy he’s ever seen. His black hair sits in a mess of soft-looking curls on his head, he’s wearing an oversized t-shirt with the Jurassic Park logo on it (Bucky thinks he’s in love already), and a pair of glasses perches on the bridge of his nose. Glasses. Bucky chokes on his spit and almost tips his chair over. It’s not creepy, he tells himself as his eyes follow the cute guy who ends up sitting two tables over and, thankfully, ends up sitting in a way so that Bucky can see his face. He watches as he take out a sleek laptop, a binder, and dumps out a bunch of pencils and pens. No, I’m just… admiring his looks. And it’s not like Steve doesn’t openly ogle Thor every time they pass each other… fuck, Barnes, get it together.

Bucky shakes his head and turns his attention back to his laptop screen.

As it turns out, concentrating on his stupid study guide for this stupid quiz that’s coming up is near impossible when the adorable (yeah, because cute just isn’t enough) guy keeps shifting in his seat and giving Bucky excuses to look over. Bucky’s trying to remember all these formulas but the only thing that he’s committing to memory is the way that the guy sticks the tip of his tongue out when he’s, presumably, deep in thought, or the way that he has to blow his bangs out of his face when they come down to cover his eyes. The study guide, Barnes! Bucky’s mind yells. You don’t even know this guy! Stop mooning over him!

He goes back to writing down practice problems in his notebook and gets maybe 4 problems in when he hears wood screeching against linoleum and realizes that Adorable Guy has gotten up, leaving behind pretty much everything. Bit trusting, isn’t he?

Then, a light bulb flickers on in Bucky’s head. He rummages around in his backpack for some post-it notes.

He pulls out a stack of post-its–the pastel blue ones that he was supposed to be using for his history class but never actually got around to doing so. They’ll do. Just wanted to say that you’re cute, he scratches out on one post-it. His stomach twists and turns as he peels it off and tiptoes over to Adorable Guy’s seat, looking around to make sure he isn’t seen. Before his mind can catch up and tell him that this is a terrible idea, he flattens the post-it on the binder and slinks back to his own table.

He doesn’t know when Adorable Guy will be back, but he works on making himself look as busy as possible. There aren’t many other people around, but there are other people, so hopefully the guy won’t assume it was Bucky if he looked like he was elbow-deep in physics. He taps his foot, impatient.

1 thunk of Bucky’s head against the table later, and Adorable Guy comes back with a veritable stack of books in his arms. Bucky watches over the top of his laptop as Adorable Guy lays the books down and looks at his binder in confusion, sliding into his seat.

He picks the note up, reads it, and a pretty pink starts to rise up on his cheeks and dust itself across the bridge of their nose. He look around with wide eyes, seeming to take in everyone surrounding him and calculating who’s most likely to have written him that note. “Excuse me.” He reaches out towards Bucky, the note in his hand and sounding as sweet as Bucky thought he would. “Did you see anyone leave this here?”

Bucky puts on his best confused face and shrugs. “No, sorry.” He tries to not stare into the other’s eyes, even if, as cliche as it is, he feels like he could get lost in them.

Adorable Guy nods. “It’s fine.” And he turns away, just like that, probably pondering on whether it’s worth it to bother others and solve this mystery.

Bucky goes back to looking busy, but continues to watch over his laptop as Adorable Guy smiles softly, folds the note, and puts it into their pencil bag.

Oh, Bucky’s so screwed.

If anyone notices that Bucky starts frequenting the library even more than he usually does in the following weeks, they don’t say anything. Well, okay, they don’t say anything, but Natasha does throw him questioning looks and Sam wiggles his eyebrows at him. He might just have a tiny, slight addiction to passing on some anonymous notes to Adorable Guy. It’s just small. Miniscule. It’s not like his day feels a tad bit worse whenever he sees that Adorable Guy aren’t in his seat, and it’s not like his day brightens up whenever he sees him blush after reading one of his newest notes.

Nuh-uh. None of that.

None of Bucky waiting impatiently for Adorable Guy to get up and get some new books before he writes, Your hair is looking especially good today, when Adorable Guy comes in with his hair looking extra fluffy, or before Bucky writes, You’re smart. Just keep studying, I know you can do it, when he notices that Adorable Guy is huffing and puffing and running his hands though his hair more than usual.

None of Bucky barely able to hold in his own smiles, feeling his heart flutter when Adorable Guy positively beams.

All of this and it’s without Bucky actually knowing the other’s name. He realizes that he should remedy that sooner rather than later, but for now… he supposes he can keep anonymous for a little while longer.

As if on cue, Adorable Guy gets out of his seat again. Part of Bucky wonders if Adorable Guy has grown as excited as he is about the notes; he’s been getting up more and more, and he comes back empty handed or with a bag of chips from the vending machine more often than with another stack of books.

Quickly, Bucky takes out another stack of post-its–this time in a light pink–and writes, I’m not sure if you’ll still be coming here after this quarter is over, but I just wanted to say that you really are beautiful. Thanks for hanging around. He signs it with a smiley face and begins that familiar walk to the other’s table.

“You!” Adorable Guy whispers as he pops out from behind a bookcase, looking entirely too delighted and proud of himself, when Bucky’s about to stick the note onto the table.

Bucky freezes like a deer caught in headlights. He’s maybe 0.5 seconds away from bolting and never stepping foot in that library ever again, even if it is the one that’s closest to his classes. “Me?”

“You’re the one that’s been leaving the notes–” Adorable Guy licks his lips, and Bucky wonders if he picked up on his nervousness– “I’m not angry or disappointed or anything, if you think that’s the case. Now that I think about it, it’s actually, uh, kind of obvious that it was you, but… I’ve been wondering for a while, and… yeah.”

“Yeah,” Bucky repeats. He moves to cram the note into his pocket.

“No!” Adorable Guy blurts out, which earns them quite a few dirty looks. He bows his head in apology towards the disgruntled students and turns back to Bucky. “Don’t. I wanna read it.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“I was sure about reading all of the notes you gave me before I knew who you were,” Adorable Guy retorts and sticks his hand out. “Now let me read it. Please?” He actually pouts, and that’s incredibly unfair.

Hesitantly, Bucky places the note in Adorable Guy’s outstretched hand (because he’s pretty sure if he tried to go against that pout, he’d get sent straight to hell immediately) and stuffs his own hands into his pockets. He can feel a thin layer of sweat start to form on his brow, which is ridiculous because usually he isn’t this nervous around people he finds attractive. Although, to be fair, none of them have ever looked like the guy in front of him.

Perhaps it’s because he’s a masochist, but he doesn’t look away and prevent himself from seeing Adorable Guy’s reaction. So, when his eyes light up and he smiles and that blush is back and Bucky realizes that he’s seeing this face to face, he smiles right back.

“God, you’re sweet, aren’t you?” Adorable Guy laughs, holding up the note. “I swear this just gave me cavities.”

Bucky rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry. I’ll pay the dentist’s bill.”

“You better,” Adorable Guy teases. “I”m gonna need a name so I know who to make it out to.” He steps just the slightest bit closer and Bucky tries not to choke on his own spit again.

“James,” Bucky replies, “but my friends call me Bucky.”

“I’m Tony.” Tony. Tony, Tony, Tony. It’s nice to be able to put a name to the face, and Bucky suspects he’s not gonna tire of saying Tony’s name any time soon.

“So, Tony…” Bucky looks at the table and quickly snatches up a notepad and a pencil. Tony doesn’t seem to mind, or he at least doesn’t protest. Bucky quickly writes something out, then turns it around and hands it to Tony.

Would you like to go out for lunch?

#old posts #filled

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maggyoutthere · 4 years ago

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It's funny how I'm actually putting effort on this. I'm putting actual effort on a shitpost.

Anyways I said I'd write a bad sonic creepypasta so here it is. Here's the catch: I like how its turning out so imma make it a 2-pary story. This is the first part. It doesn't have any scary shit but it has the basics for a shitty creepypasta: someone gets a old pirated/unreleased/defective game and tries them out despite getting warned that bad shit might happen.

Again I'm not a fluent English speaker so expect some grammar error and stuff like that ._.,

So ladies, gentlemen and non-bis, I present to you-

Sonic: Battle of Metal and Blood (Part 1)

Synopsis: Teen gets nostalgic mid-quarentine and starts playing old Sonic games. She asks for some cheat codes and shit happens.

So for context; I'm a 17 year old girl stuck home because of quarantine.

It had been 4 or 5 months since the virus sent everyone home. Students were playing Animal Crossing and DOOM all day to fill in the summer hours since no one could go outside. I never liked going to the beach so I was never really bothered by it.

Like many people, I found myself going back in time to easier phases of my life. I was rewatching old cartoon shows from my childhood, getting into MCR and P!ATD and just living in pure nostalgia. I also started getting into gaming again, even going to the point of setting up my Wii again just to play Epic Mickey, but I didn't exactly grow up with the Wii. I was more of a Playstation kid, so much that me and my bro got a Playstation 2 from our cousin when he eventually bought the 3rd one for himself.

My cousin was older than us; I remember him being 16 or 17 when I was like 12, so he was kind of our gaming hero. If there was a level in Crash Bandicoot we couldn't beat, we'd call my cousin and he'd do it in 15 minutes. He knew all the cheat codes, all the secret levels and extra content for the games he had; he was like a genius to me and my lil bro, so when he gave us his old Playstation 2 and games me and my sibling knew we were in for a treat.

We got this Sonic Gems Collection for the Playstation 2 from him. It's like a port of various older Sonic games like Sonic CD, Sonic The Fighters, Sonic R and so on. I grew up playing that game, especially Sonic The Fighters since I wasn't very good at the racing games.

I still had a working controller and a lot of free time so I asked my bro for help setting up the console. The thing was so dusty I was actually scared it wasn't going to work. We clicked the power button and the light on the console turned on. Me and my brother held our breaths as we put the DVD in the console and crossed our fingers. As the screen lit up with the SEGA logo and music started playing, I just hugged him and cheered. He set up the console in my room so I could play without having to go to his room (he was the one keeping all the electronic stuff) and told me to have fun.

I didn't even know where to start. There was so much I wanted to play now that I actually knew what I was doing. I thought about starting with my favourite one out of the bunch: Sonic CD. I'm a sucker for the retro 2D pixel games so that was a must. It was better than what I remembered; the music was so catchy and the art style was vibrant and it stood out from a lot of games nowadays that go for a washed out "hyper realistic" look.

As I kept playing, I eventually reached the level where Amy tags along with Sonic for a while before Metal Sonic bursts through a wall and kidnaps her. Oh yeah, Metal Sonic was a thing. I remembered him from Sonic R and Sonic The Fighters - and the fact he was in the fucking cover art of the DVD case. I absolutely loved the fucker in the games though. He had a cool design, and the idea of the villain being a copy of the hero gone wrong was so interesting to me at the time.

I ended up passing the level and even making it to Stardust Speedway. I was sweating since I'd never come this far at any game. My bro was there cheering me as I tried not falling on spikes or getting hit by Metal Sonic's attacks. I ended up making it till the end on top, but it was kinda sad seeing Metal crash face-first against the door like that.

I was done with that for a while, so I went ahead and played Sonic R and Sonic The Fighters for nostalgia. Again, the fucker was there, either as a boss or as an unlockable character. I ended up noticing how there were a bunch of games missing. There were empty grayed slots with question marks instead of the game titles. I couldn't understand if the game was broken or if there was something I was supposed to do, so I called my cousin in hope he would somewhat tell me what to do. He ended up explaining how the game made you complete all the other games to unlock new ones. I thought that was kinda stupid so I asked him if he had any cheat codes or something to make the whole thing available. He told me he was going to dig up his old stuff and ring me again if he found anything.

A few hours later, he sent me a message telling me he'd found something that should work. He told me he did have a cheat code but he thought it was best if I didn't do it. Here's the transcript from his message.

"There's something that might work but it's kinda weird. I got this memory card from a friend of mine and he said this should unlock all the hidden contents within the disc, but when I tried it some weird shit started happening. Most of the sonic games were unplayable no matter how many times I restarted the console or cleaned the disc. There should be an extra game slot but that's just a glitch. Something about the system trying to make up storage for the extra code. Just don't click on anything that looks like a glitch and you should be golden"

Well that was a bit discouraging, but we agreed to meet that afternoon so he could give me the memory card.

When I got home and plugged the cartridge into the slot on the console, I was kinda scared. What if the thing exploded or something? I gave it a try and the thing actually worked! As I clicked on the games section, everything was there! There were some vectorman games but I didn't know who that was at the time so I didn't really care about them. What I was more interested in was the museum. There were a bunch of unlockable promotional art and illustrations there that I never got to see as a kid, so you could imagine how joyful I was when I saw the museum section filled with pages upon pages of illustrations and renderings of the games. Some of them weren't even on the Gems Collection like some screenshots of Sonic Heroes.

I went back on the game menu and was surprised to see another game entry below all the vectorman ones. It was called "Sonic: Battle of Metal and Blood". What the hell was this? It surely wasn't in the cover art and a quick google search turned up nothing. Was it a glitch? It couldn't be; it looked too clean and intentionally made to be a glitch, not to mention that whole game titles don't just appear out of thin air. Game or not, something was programmed in there. I concluded it was probably someone's fan project that was in the memory card my cousin gave me. Why hadn't he mentioned it though?

I was too curious to turn down a mystery like this one, so I got up first to make a cup of coffee since it was already getting late. As I returned from the kitchen, I remembered to look at the synopsis of the game. I can't remember exactly what it said but it was something along the lines of:

"In this sequel to the famous Sonic CD, step in the shoes of Sonic's friends as they face their biggest challenge yet. Control Amy Rose and Miles "Tails" Prower and fight against the metallic faker himself, Metal Sonic, and stop him before he puts his plan to become the only Sonic in action"

Woah, that sounded exciting; I wasted no time. I got all cozy, kept my cup of coffee next to me

And pressed START.

To be continued in part 2

#sth #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #creepypasta #creepy story #short story #sonic gems collection #sonic: battle of metal and blood #battle of metal and blood #maggy moment #shhh i actually like how its turning out #i'm not that good at writing but this is the best i've written in a while

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the-hidden-writer · 5 years ago

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In The Land That Our Grandchildren Knew

An Agents Of SHIELD oneshot.

Summary: To say Daniel was confused when he woke up would be an understatement, so Deke decides to try and help him come to terms with his new situation.

Or: The out-of-time bros have a chat.

Comments make my day! :D

~-.-~

The Zephyr was in a hurry, and everyone was busy with various tasks as they prepared for their venture out into the 1970s. Mack and Coulson were pacing around as if they would devise a plan just by walking. Yo-Yo and May were trying to get a clear idea of their surroundings. Simmons was analysing the latest time jump to the best of her ability- which was genius-level, of course. Though it was painfully obvious that she was missing Fitz, she was doing very well managing everything on her own.

And since Daisy was on clothes shopping duty, Deke was left standing around aimlessly with nothing to do. As usual.

Sometimes he wondered if the others forgot he was a part of the team. Maybe they actually did, or maybe they just thought he’d be better off with no actual tasks to do. Not that he was complaining, he got some time off, but he’d feel a lot better if he felt like he was contributing to the team, rather than just essentially being their paperboy.

But that day the Zephyr held an extra passenger. It hadn’t escaped Deke that Daniel Sousa had slunk away whilst everyone was scurrying around.

“Deke, can you go and check on Sousa?” Asked Simmons, without looking away from the screen of the tablet in her hand.

“Oh, uh, sure.” He called back. Finally, a proper task that he could actually do some good with! After his run-in with Freddy, he desperately needed some validation for his actions. And it wasn’t like his Nana was just trying to get rid of him, right?

Right?

But as he walked towards the room where he caught a glimpse of Sousa sitting on the table with his back to the door, cane at his side, he suddenly felt a pang of fear. What was he supposed to say? He wasn’t sure exactly how many of Sousa’s questions Coulson had answered, and he definitely didn’t want to be the one to do all the messy explaining. The guy had just been told he’s supposed to be dead and was taken aboard a time-traveling plane from the future. That wasn't an easy thing to brush over.

At least he had the experience with time travel, he could always lead with that.

No turning back now, he thought, as he knocked rapidly on the doorframe.

“Knock knock!” He said as positively as he could.

Sousa twisted himself to face him, brows furrowed.

“I just wanted to check on how you’re doing, sir,” Deke continued, “since I, uh, didn’t get to say hi before.” He hesitantly walked further into the room. “I’m Deke by the way.”

After taking him in for a moment, Sousa outstretched his hand. “Daniel,” he said, “but you probably already knew that.” he added with a tired, humourless laugh.

“Yeah.” Deke answered apologetically, taking a seat beside the weary-but-still-kinda-intimidating man. “So, how are you doing?”

“Honestly?” Said Daniel. “I’m absolutely exhausted. It’s a lot to take in… I think I’m gonna need a bit of time to process all this.”

He gestured around the room, but Deke noticed that his eyes had settled on the modern SHIELD logo.

“Hey, at least you’re not dead, right?” Laughed Deke.

Sousa didn’t seem to find it that funny.

“Are you sure that’s a good thing?”

This caught Deke off-guard. “What-What do you mean? Of course it is! You’d rather be dead than alive and going on adventures and saving the world?!”

“Apparently I’m supposed to be dead,” Sousa countered, “what difference would it make? I know nothing of the future, what exactly am I expected to do here? Hobble around and pretend I know what’s going on?”

Deke couldn’t help but scoff. “I know the feeling.”

Now this caught Daniel’s attention, and he shifted his position to face Deke directly, raising an eyebrow. “What, you get kidnapped to the future after being told you’re dead too?”

“Something like that.”

Deke grinned when Sousa’s jaw dropped open. “Wait, seriously?”

He nodded, and Daniel leaned back with a long exhale.

“But, uh, I’m from the future.” Deke corrected after a few seconds of awkward silence. “Further in the future. A future that probably doesn’t even exist anymore.”

“Huh.”

He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t want to put poor Agent Sousa through anything else, especially not the dystopian future that SHIELD stopped from coming to fruition. He would thank him someday.

Daniel cleared his throat. “So, did you… did you get to say goodbye to the people you cared about?”

No, Deke never got to say goodbye. He didn’t have many friends in the Lighthouse (he survived by thinking it was every man for himself) but the few he did have meant a lot to him. He never said goodbye to Tess. He never said goodbye to Flint. Hell, he never even got to say goodbye to Virgil. For all they knew, he’d been blown up by the monolith or something.

He missed them. The rest of the team seemingly kept on forgetting that he’s not from their time and that he’d lived a whole other life. You don’t forget that in a year.

“Not really, but you forget about that after a while.” He lied.

Daniel didn’t look satisfied with that answer, and he looked down at his hands in his lap, deep in thought. “God,” he muttered under his breath, “I don’t- why’s all the weird stuff gotta happen to me?”

Slightly awkwardly, Deke put one of his hands over Daniel’s and squeezed it comfortingly. Or at least he thought it would be comforting. Personally, he wasn't great at contact. “I get that you’re probably super disorientated right now, and I totally get that, but I promise that you’ll get used to it. The others… they’ve never experienced what we have. Never been torn from their world and then dumped into a different time. They tend to prioritize the mission over many things-”

“As SHIELD agents should.” Sousa interrupted sternly.

“Yeah,” continued Deke, “but I’m just saying that I’m not like that.”

He sighed, pulled his hand back, and stood up. “I guess what I’m trying to say is if you need any help with the whole future thing, I’m your guy.” His grin spread. “And hey, hopefully, once we beat the chronicoms, I can show you some awesome stuff I found in their time. Like, have you ever tried an ice cream sundae?”

“Yes.”

“Uh, okay, bad example, but I promise you there’s so much cool stuff to see.”

He paused and noticed Sousa’s expression. He suddenly looked a hundred more times exhausted than before, his forehead was crinkled in thought, and Deke felt slightly guilty for disturbing him.

“I’ll uh, go now. Give me a shout if you need anything, and I totally get if you don’t wanna go on the next mission.”

Daniel turned his head to look directly at him.

“Thank you, Deke.” He said.

Deke smiled. “My pleasure, sir.”

“Daniel, please.”

Leaning on the doorframe, Deke nodded. “Daniel.”

He should have walked away. He should have left him alone. It was his cue to leave, and for once in his life he should have listened to it.

But he didn’t.

“Hey, Daniel?”

“Hm?” Replied Sousa wearily, unable to hide the surprise at Deke still lurking there.

“You wanna exchange stories sometime? I’m lucky enough to have my grandparents on the team, but unless any of them are your secret descendant it’ll help to talk to someone about it. Get it all off your chest.”

What he didn’t tell him was that nobody had been willing to listen when he’d been dragged back in time, nobody had really given him the time of day. The last thing he wanted was for someone to go through the same treatment as he had.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Daniel replied with a forced smile, not-so-subtly asking for some time to himself.

This time, Deke obliged. And, with a last little wave, he left feeling a lot more whole inside.

He’d made a friend, someone who would actually listen to him hopefully, and someone that didn’t think he was beneath them. Talk about validation!

Coulson caught him as he was making his way to tell Simmons about his conversation with Sousa.

“How’s he doing?” He asked.

“He’s tired and disoriented,” Deke answered honestly, “I’d leave him alone for a bit.”

“I see.” Said Coulson, with that weird glimmer in his LMD eyes. “Good work, Agent Shaw.”

And with that, Coulson walked away. Leaving Deke utterly gobsmacked. Had he been listening in to that entire conversation with his super robot hearing or something?

Or maybe his teammates did care after all.

#can u tell i'm salty about the way the team treats deke #title from '39 by queen #agents of shield #agents of s.h.i.e.l.d.#deke shaw #daniel sousa #agent carter #phil coulson #aos #fanfic #out-of-time bros #marvel

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 5 years ago

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Wicked Child | Feeding Habits #2

Hey People of Earth!

I’m back with another writing update for Feeding Habits (Moth Work #2) at last!

A few things since the last update: this project is 100% going to be a novel and also has a title (Feeding Habits)!

Chapter two has been sort of strange to write as I actually had written a majority of it before starting over after realizing the events I’d written needed to happen later. This is why it’s taken me a while to update on this book, but I’ve finally completed the chapter and am now here to share it with y’all!

Here’s a scene breakdown of this chapter, which is probably the longest chapter I’ve written in years (6300 words). Buckle up, this update is THICC. TW: lots of religious content in this one.

Scene A:

We go through Lonan’s lonely morning routine (lol) that’s interrupted by Anya, a neighbour he vaguely recognizes. She’s there to take him up to her apartment to paint her kitchen as her husband is away and can’t do it, a plan he was not aware of! (Eliza’s voluntold him to hopefully distract him from wanting to help his friend which is outlined in update #1).

Scene B:

Anya dips before the scene starts to grab some extra supplies to make Lonan some sourdough so Lonan is tasked with watching her young son Joey while he tapes up the baseboards. This is where the “wicked child” aspect of this chapter comes in as he compares the wickedness he feels he and others in his life possess to the full innocence of Joey.

Scene C:

Anya gets back from running errands and at first, seems to be a *chill mom* but as she and Lonan interact more, we get to see that something isn’t fully right with her. From some observation, Lonan finally figures out Anya’s husband is actually dead and she’s struggling with grief.

Scene D:

Lonan is back in his apartment, filling up his bathroom sink. We know from Moth Work that one of Lonan’s hobbies is holding his breath underwater, and he does this in this scene to think. In the middle of this ritual, Eliza gets home and speaks to him as she unwinds, reading rather cryptic notes from fortune cookies she’s brought home with takeout.

Scene E:

Unbeknownst to her, Lonan’s not staying for dinner as Anya invited him to her place as a thank you! However this news doesn't break well and the two bicker until they’re both successfully upset.

Scene F:

Instead of going to Anya’s for dinner, Lonan finds himself at a church confessional. He stumbles through reconciliation in a bit of a haze and eventually heads outside where a concerned mother and her two kids ask if something’s wrong. His thoughts from scene D overwhelm him and he eventually sort of gives himself up to the moment in a bit of a chokehold with the sun.

Though this chapter took a while, I’m happy with the threads I introduced and really got to see Lonan’s mind at this point in time--a sort of lonely state of living. There’s also a lot of religion related stuff in this chapter which is always interesting to write as someone who grew up Catholic, and I was surprised at how pertinent these themes are in this book.

Excerpts:

Here’s the opening bit:

The next morning, Eliza leaves two energy shots on the counter for him, along with a slice of sourdough she bought from the bakery across the street. Both sit on a breakfast tray, room temperature from sitting out too long, icebergs of ginger floating along the glass’s surface, butter on the bread gone pallid and spongy. Next to it, she’s left a note, as she usually does: green casserole in the fridge, running low on OJ.

Lonan retrieves the television remote from the nook between the knife block and flicks the TV to life as he drinks the first shot. Gingerroot—and this morning, a new addition, carrot stems—mush against his incisors, and he swallows just as the TV brightens to an image of some amphibian, a leafy looking treefrog. The crank of their calls bulge like each red eye, the familiar husk of narration outlining the workings of mating. Lonan scoops up the second shot with his pinky and the saucer of sourdough with his index finger and thumb, takes both to the couch where he sits.

Classic Lonan (TM) interaction:

He’s mid chewing the stale crust when he opens the door, expecting a package delivery, an unaddressed sympathy card. Instead, a woman stands in the door, her hair damp and smelling like the coconut salve Eliza rubs onto her kneecaps. He recognizes her face in a fleeting, neighbour-like way, someone he might’ve held the door open for, or let step off the elevator first.

“Breakfast?” She points to the crumb stuck to the corner of his mouth.

Lonan swallows the remainder of the sourdough quickly, combing off the crumb with a shallow smile.

“Sourdough.”

“Did you make it yourself?”

“It’s probably from the back of our medicine cabinet.”

The woman laughs at this, though he’s not fully meant for it to be a joke.

Apparently a new motif in this book is the word stunning that both serves as a descriptor for something magnificent/dazzling and the process of subduing an animal (love being heavy handed about this lmao):

She peers at their half-bloody kitchen wall. “You’re doing red?”

“Eliza’s vegetarian.” At the woman’s blank stare, he turns to look at the wall, examining each plane of his throat as hot embarrassment makes him red like the paint. “Her favourite colour. We’re trying something new. Avant garde.” All things he’s heard Eliza say.

“That’s unique. Very. So unique,” she says, adding, “It’s so kind of you to offer some help while you’re in the middle of painting your own kitchen. When Eliza told me about your offer, I danced in my living room. Is that weird? I danced because I’m going to have a green kitchen—a green one.”

Lonan nods, and steps farther back into the apartment, toward the stack of paint rollers, one of many rolls of tape. “Of course,” he says.

“It makes you feel alive,” the woman says. He forgets what she’s referring to, doesn’t know her name, only vague details like the jeweled bangles she wears on one wrist, the shiny cast of hair gel stirruped around her curls, her teeth, white, like the canines of a wolf. But she doesn’t seem to notice, a starriness in her gaze as she says, “The paint. The green. It’s stunning. Isn’t it?”

Anya’s initial dialogue is some of my favourite I’ve written. Probably because of the moon mention lol. Also Joey’s just chillin and I love him for that!!

The woman’s name is Anya, and she lives three floors up. He finds this out at the same time he finds out Eliza offered to paint her kitchen on his behalf, though what Anya says sounds more like “When Eliza told me you’d paint the wall, I could’ve—what is that saying? I could’ve jumped over the moon. I would’ve. The entire thing. All its phases.”

Anya’s got a toddler named Joey. He’s turning two next month, a little boy with a curly halo for hair, two dimples Lonan sees whenever he glances up from his tape-job of the baseboards. Joey eats apple slices dipped in almond butter and watches cartoons with both feet propped onto the couch cushion, too short to dangle down. Ever so often, he laughs, a shimmery sound, like the inside of a snow globe. Lonan half-watches him, as Anya’s asked—He’s good, don’t stress—if he cries, he wants you to turn up the TV—because she’s out of bread flour and insists on making Lonan two loaves of sourdough.

Some Joey:

“Joey’s good, isn’t he?” she asks, her fingers curving around the tape company’s logo. Lonan inhales. Anya smells like Eliza sometimes does, vaguely floral, like jasmine, or cherry blossoms. “Children are little blessings. Powerful little blessings.”

Of course, he should say. There’s no other way to describe a child—he’s a blissful little thing, his only purpose to keep his feet in his two-inch socks, to stare wistfully at a television like it’s telling his fortune in a language of pictures. Of course a child is a blessing—soft cheeks like the belly of bread dough, pinchable, kissable, thumbable, hands dipped into glittery tempera paint and fingers that make chicken scratches that will never be anything but art. Of course, he should say. He knows that, he should say. But Lonan’s vision fuzzes. He sees little of the TV colours projected on the walls like a hypnotic, technicolour exorcism; he doesn’t remember what it’s like to be that small, what it’s like to have his hands expand right in front of him, like seedlings.

Here’s the title drop ft. a rewritten Bible verse (Revelation 21:8):

He wants to believe children are always powerful little blessings that stay good. He doesn’t know why he doubts her. Joey is just this—a blessing on her couch, smiling at a screen because it’s all he needs to do. But he knows better, knows the cowardly, the faithless, the detestable exist, where they all live, and how they all start—as little blessings. He’s met murderers, liars, sorcerers in the shape of his father, sisters, mothers, all the wicked things that emerge from their second deaths unscathed. He doesn’t know what makes a child wicked. If he is one. If he’s been one. How many wicked children he knows.

Eliza hasn’t returned any of Lonan’s phone calls since he tried dialling somewhere between the first and last half of the wall. It’s obvious Anya knows he wasn’t aware of the plan, which is why every few minutes, she states new reasons for her forgetfulness with the time. “Eliza ran into me in the hallway, and I’m so bad at hallways,” she said, while rolling the dough between her knuckles. “So many turns.” Brushing her benchtop with more flour: “Time as a mother is such a commodity. It’s like, what’s the down payment for five minutes alone? But Joey’s worth it. Joey’s always worth it. He’s just magnificent. Can’t stay away from magnificence.”

More interactions I adore:

“You want some OJ?”

Lonan looks up from the paint blankly, focusing on Anya in an embarrassingly slow haze. “What?”

Anya reaches over to the fridge and tugs on its stainless-steel handle. It gives with a haunted sound, a subtle sort of groaning, and emerges with a glass bottle of orange juice.

“OJ,” she says, and shakes the bottle so the liquid froths.

“Oh,” he says. Green casserole in the fridge. Running low on OJ. “We’re low on that.”

Okay sorry but I’m so in love with Anya and Lonan’s interactions lol:

“Where are you from again?” She undoes her apron from the back with one hand. It falls, a lilac clump, onto the tile, and she leaves it there, only nudging it slightly with her toe.

Her eyes are golden too. Everything in her apartment. Even the silver parts are somehow gold. How much she could pawn off for eyes like those, like individual buttons of solid gold. Anya squints, and there the gold goes, focusing on him until she leans forward and plucks a strand of hair from his jaw. It sags with green paint, and before he blinks, she’s clipped it with a pair of kitchen shears.

“You got some paint on you.”

“Oregon,” he says. “Boston. New York.”

“What?”

“You asked where I’m from.”

Anya pockets his hair. He’s sure it’s a subconscious tick—she hasn’t even realized—but still, he wonders what she’ll do with it. If she’ll send it somewhere to get scanned, bagged, tested. How much you can find out about someone with just a nib of hair.

“That’s a lot of places,” she says. “You’re basically transcontinental.”

From her pocket, Anya’s hand twitches. He wonders what she’s doing, if she’s touching the hair, or flaking off its paint, or simply flattening out her pocket.

“Are you going to clone me?” He gestures to her pocket.

Anya doesn’t look.

“I could.”

“Why?”

“You paint walls fast. You’ve got nice hair.”

“Do you collect hair?”

“Just from the people I like.”

We get to see Anya unravel a little here as she and Lonan share a drink:

He’s always been good at watching. This is what he does as Anya pulls a miniature bottle of a deep amber liquid from her fridge along with the orange juice, mixing them together so what he pushes toward him smells like ammonia. She drinks half, an easiness as she swallows, and then slides the glass to him.

He leaves it there for a while. He watches Joey, how he claps when more animals show up on screen and gets quiet during the wrangle of commercials. He’s gold just like his mother, with a gap tooth that matches the man’s who grins in every photo hung neatly on the walls. A face he doesn’t remember, not even in the hazy slots he reserves for what he remembers working the hardware store. No evidence of him anywhere else, the shoes on the front mat only women’s heels or child-sized sneakers. One hook that holds one set of keys. Only the photographs.

“Where is your husband right now?” he asks. One wine glass in the sink. One coffee mug. One saucer.

“Businessman. Very busy.”

“I don’t remember him coming into the store.”

Anya takes another sip of the orange juice even though it’s Lonan’s turn to drink. Anya looks at Joey, a desperate fondness that answers Lonan’s question for him. She looks at him like she’s searching for the face of the man in the pictures, searching because she hasn’t seen it in years.

Anya really unravelling:

Anya’s face is bloated and red, a soreness in her eyes like she needs to blink but can’t. Lonan instinctually reaches for her hand, and it’s then that he notices it—two wedding bands on her ring finger. Her fingertips jolt him, but her palms are warm, the skin there taut, like she’s been clutching it for years.

“I thought the wall would help. Green means new life. Doesn’t it? I read that in a magazine. That it brings new life, I mean. New beginnings. New, new, new.”

Lonan getting existential ft. the first Harrison mention so far tho I’ll probably cut it because I want it to be a little more impactful and also half of this makes no sense oops:

His father is a dead man. Just like Anya’s husband is a dead man. Lonan knows so many dead men. Some that matter more than others, some names he revisits sometimes at the graveyard when Eliza thinks he’s out to run an errand as innocent as replacing a bad container of cottage cheese. He knows of men who are dead but still living, like Harrison’s father who no longer exists as a person in his dimension, but a corpse, hanging around in unnecessary things like a last name, an eye colour. Beyond men, he knows of many other dead things: dead pets, dead street names, dead countries, dead houseplants, dead first ladies.

He knows what a dead father does, what a dead heart does, that these things are meant to die—an inevitable thing; a sort of giving up of flesh, burying, toiling into new soil.

This is basically a monologue:

Lonan is in love with Eliza. He always has been. He always will be. There is nothing better than being in love with Eliza. There is nothing wrong with being in love with Eliza. There is no reason to not be in love with Eliza. Eliza is intelligent. Eliza is driven. Eliza is sensitive. Eliza tries to listen. Eliza knows how to take care of him. Eliza knows how to spell words like zolpidem, wears lipstick in the shade Very Vermillion and is delighted when it rubs onto her teeth. Eliza is lucky. Eliza is hypnotic. Eliza is a holy woman, a sacred woman, a careful woman, a wicked woman.

Lonan gulps water. Too much to keep himself controlled; he sputters, splatters the mirror. He hooks his fingers over his waterline, tugging until water falls out. He paces, chews his palms like Anya did, and steadies himself slowly from the counter to the tile. He is a wicked child. Eliza is a wicked child. Everyone he knows—all wicked children.

“Accept what comes to you each day,” Eliza says, which means she’s opened three of four of the cookies. “That’s truthful. That’s raw. That’s all you need to do.”

Some Eliza dialogue I like in reply to Lonan’s statement that he can’t do things since she bars him from driving:

“You don’t need a car to do things, Lonan.” She stirs her bowl of congee, the plastic spoon scraping against the Styrofoam. “You need hobbies. Like cross stitch. Pickling. Painting neighbours’ walls.”

Lonan and Eliza being Lonan and Eliza:

Lonan secures his fingers around the tin of madeleines and shifts once more, only for her to mimic his movement. They dance like this for a moment—his shuffle left matched by her shuffle left, his step up matched by her own. More of her mascara has smudged from where she unclumped her lashes, a lazy slash of colour like a samurai belt. Even their stares match each other—as he bores through her with a nimble focus like it’ll move her somehow, she does the same.

Here’s a line I like:

As she reddens, he adds this to his list of synonyms for baptism: to tame.

Here’s an excerpt featuring self indulgence and proof I miss Harrison:

The confessional smells rank, like rotting paper and expired cologne, all of its corners seedy with overuse. Scratches mar the fabric he rests his elbows on, like someone clawed into it while reliving their sins, track marks on the floor from a rainy day. He can’t imagine anyone else but him in this small box, caged in by the lattice, mumbling incoherent sins to the priest he hasn’t even committed. Stealing a set of glass eyeballs from a garage sale. Forgetting his wedding anniversary. Missing Easter Sunday mass to go whale watching. He doesn’t sign himself at the right times or speak at the right times or thank the priest at the right times. He lies when he’s asked if he’s lied since his last confession. He mentions nothing of drinking with Anya, of not saving the sheep or the bunnies even though he knew the outcome of their lives without finishing the program. Of being a wicked child, of knowing wicked children, of not knowing the difference between wickedness and innocence, and which one he learned first. He says his name is Luka. He works at a law firm. He’s married to a Harriet, a seamstress or a stock broker or an antiques trader—he doesn’t know. He likes golfing, parcheesi, drinking martinis on yachts. He’s never overindulged, he’s loyal to his woman, he wants three kids and a house with finished floors and no neighbours. He’s a good father, a gentle father, a careful father, no wickedness, just an empty shell of goodness, like a father should be. His father is retired, and visits him on weekends—they play checkers, paint birdhouses, keep a distance but toast with spirits he can’t pronounce. Everything is good—it’s all good, all good. That’s not a sin, the priest should say but they laugh—it’s good to be good. Children are good, marriage is good, fathers are good, everything an iteration of good. By the time his confession is over and he’s well on his way out of the church mumbling I am heartily sorry, he believes his lies are true—he’s absolved into someone new, Luka married to Harriet, three kids, an empty shell, dreamily stumbling through a house with finished floors that’s actually just the sidewalk until a woman passing by with a two small children has to help him sit on the curb.

This image gives me Forever & Ever More by Nothing But Thieves vibes (music video was def inspo):

She asks if he needs something to drink, if he needs someone to call, and emerges with a half-empty bottle of sparkling water and a cell phone. She asks what’s wrong with his eye, and he doesn’t know what’s wrong with anything—with eyes, with children, with sins, with confessions, with baptisms, with orange juice, with madeleines, with wickedness, with practicing how long he can breathe underwater because he knows it’s possible just like walking on it.

One of the children, hair pulled into two plaits secured with pearlescent butterfly bobbles, pokes at her mother and asks if he’s crazy. Her mother shushes her at the same time her older sister shows him a cool trick she learned with a toy convertible. Its wheels whir. Lonan gasps. The girl says, “Even crazy people think I’m gifted,” and wheels the car again. People stop to watch. Church bells gong an elegy he’s sure he’s heard before. The woman’s sparkling water dribbles from his mouth and dampens his dress shirt. Sun eclipses his face and eats at his throat like a parasite, like it knows all the unclean things about him, a watcher, an eyeball, a scorching little thing that bullets through his neck like the tooth of a wolf. The woman shushes her children and asks if he’s got a health problem, a drug problem, any problem, and he could say yes to all three but instead keeps repeating I am heartily sorry, I am heartily sorry. And when she does call someone, no one he knows, he leans against the cool pavement, cranes his neck to the sky, and parts his lips so the sunlight fills his mouth.

So that’s it for this update! I haven’t really been drafting lately, but I hope I can get more of this written because I love sharing!

--Rachel

#writing #amwriting #writeblr #writerblr #writingupdates #mothwork #feedinghabits #fostered

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bilgisticallykosher · 5 years ago

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Selfishness vs. Selfishness Redux

Pre-episode thoughts. I don't think they're going to address the dark side Everybody-already-knew-that thing right away. I'm still thinking Deceit's gonna be Virgil, but I'm also not so certain that's going to wind up going down. Because there's a lot of other stuff to get into. We know from the first Asides that stuff between Virgil and Patton is growing, and simmering. It's coming, and while that's in the future, there's probably going to be more build-up here. Is it that Patton knew about Virgil's past? Is it something else entirely? This is going to be a two hour episode, geez.

Also, I can't believe he's actually going to the wedding. Idk. All those people saying he got the date wrong, though? First of all, Logan is in charge of the schedule, he'd never let that happen, how dare? And also, I always double check dates and invitations for stuff. I really doubt Virgil wouldn't have looked at the invitation and checked the information again. Watch me be totally wrong now.

I don't know who I think the cloaked figure is. Could be Deceit ("like a freaking Scooby Doo villain"), could be Thomas himself. Probably not Organization XIII, but I'm not completely eliminating the option, let me have this.

Things I'd like, but am 99% certain won't happen; Deceit's name (which I'm both hoping and expecting to not start with D), a new side, Remus and Deceit interacting on camera, or really Remus at all. Except for that green score of BOOBS, I maintain that's Remus's contribution.

ALRIGHT, LET'S GO, I'M NOT READY!!!!

First impression of the thumbnail. You vs. Yourself???? Oh my gosh. Ohhhh, I'm freaking out. Patton looks so apprehensive, and I don't know if that's on general, or because of Roman or in response to Roman, because Roman looks so annoyed at Patton! He's so angry oh my gosh. I mentioned I wasn't ready, right? Okay. Okay. So their sprites are different styles, which is cool. Patton's looks risk-based stroll around town type of RPG, Roman's looks fighting style.

The options for the character select???? Oh my gosh, that's. Hi, Remus. Anyway, uh, I don't know what this means, but there's three character options on top and- DARK SIDES ARE SEPARATE FROM LIGHT SIDES! Oh gosh, I was thinking maybe it was something to do with specifically Logan. Ooh, Deceit's in his lawyer outfit, nice touch. THERE'S AN EXTRA BLANK PLAYER OPTION. I don't know if that means he'll be revealed this episode, or just that he exists. I mean, we just had Deceit's logo, Remus's reveal and name reveal… here goes.

IT STARTS WITH THE VIDEO GAME??? THIS IS THE INTRO????? THE WEDDING??????!!!!!!! Oh hey word crush. Oh hey, it's the couple! Starting to think this is a dream or fantasy, btw. Also, Lee and Mary Lee sound like...Esteban and Valerie? Maybe? Idk. Omg, Life is pain.

This is awkward, beautiful. Pfft, hence the marriage. Photographer is great, no idea who he or the emcee are. Ooh. Crushed.

INTRO??? EXCUSE ME??? Oh was SvS originally on 3/31? Yeah, good, play a review like all of us haven't been obsessing over what happened last time. "APRIL 13" I'm just going thi pause forever now. Oh this is going to be the angry walk in that was previewed in the bloopers, I can tell. Oh no. OH NO! And it is at night and he seriously freaking actually went to the wedding????

Oh my gosh he's so angry. Ohhh, Patton rethinking his phrasing, nice. You should never→I'm surprised that you etc. Oh Roman! Oh, maybe we should… not review. Oh boy.

Oh there's Patton's avatar. In then guitar hero thing. Oh, Thomas is associated with the color white, confirmed??? I like how they did the notes there. So much detail. The talk sprites are great, but the expressions on the dancing sprites are worth paying attention to. Okay, Patton's still very, um, defensive, I guess is the word? Thomas is angry and bereft and confused and full of doubt, and Roman's heavily on the confused side (ha) about him aligning with Deceit. This is why he stole his hat. Great animation work, everyone, that was fantastic, artists!

"Why didn't I just talk to them before the wedding?" THOMAS. Also, because Deceit specifically prevented Logan from being too close to the courtroom scene by benching him and not asking him what his idea of a compromise was. "I brought that up," well, you did, but Deceit kinda made it seem like you were suggesting lying to them, so you got shut down. Sorry, Ro. Listen, I love Deceit, but the boy's a manipulator.

We learn to predict the future!!! Roman, no. Woah, Patton's just being completely dismissive. I mean he's been through some hard times the last few episodes, minus LNTAO, but damn. Oh. Roman's very much defending Patton. This forebodes very badly. This is going to explode terribly. Oh no.

Okay, so, the thing with the feral cats. Is Roman okay? Did someone do this to him? More importantly, did he do this to me? Also, on a serious note, I'm super shocked Deceit hasn't come in yet, because he (and Thomas, and arguably Patton) is obviously regretting going to the wedding. I mean, Virgil's not coming in right away because of the reveal at the end of DWIT, but- hey where's Logan?! Logan and Deceit should both totally be here! *gasp* Except in the one on one episodes (Heart vs. Mind, My Negative Thinking, Logince; the argument) it's always primarily been the two sides that are featured with the others either not there or off-screen or making small cameos. But Deceit was and is an important part of this decision past, present, and going forward!

Oooh, I like the Lee and Mary Lee backstory. Hm. Patton does bring good points, but. I still agree with- oh, Thomas just solidly saying no made me snort. Okay, so speaking of the coin bleeping, why the video games? I know there's more to come with it, how do they come into play? Oh okay metaphor.

That was clearly not the good ending, Roman. Bringing up Is Thomas A Good Person again. OOH xylophone, is he a-comin'? Oh he's directly blaming Patton. Wow, Roman.

A BAGEL?! Oh, game sssssssstore. Really? Frogger, Pat? 16 graphics. Oh there's the hotdogs. OH and there's the cloaked guy! Smashing our theories. That does not seem like Sondheim.

The puns, oh my gosh, brilliant. Getting to the meat of them here. Gosh these graphics are fantastic. 6AM dull.

Oh. Hm. Technically, he does not have to give him the 'dog. The building tension is fascinating.

HI, LOGAN! Patton looking real uncomfortable at "regret." I mean, they all know they regret it now, right? Roman making fun of behoove, that's so funny, I have no idea why. Seriously, whoever's doing the art, I'm dying at Logan's expressions. Woah good thing viewers have the pause button. I'm all for not buying X-mas decorations. I'm doing my part, goyim.

I'm counting "it's not like Kingdom Hearts" in lieu of that having been Organization XIII. Oh boy, Patton. Right thing vs. Feeling good vs. Feeling good about doing the right thing. This is falling apart. Patton's noise.

BOOBS omg Deceit is Bowser. I love that painting in the background! Scutes! Time went from limited to being lost to poorly spent to wasted! I'm standing by the purple being Virgil. Fyi, in Judaism, doing a good thing for the wrong reasons doesn't matter, because you're still doing the good thing, even if it's just for the reward. There's a thing about it with Avraham and a King.

Roman's getting close to breaking. Reptilian rapscallian guy. And who's to say he can't be doing it for the reward and to help people?

"... an individual's happiness and the amount of selfless acts…" that should be number, not amount, Logan! Can't judge good deeds only by how good you feel when you do them.

Okay, here we go. How do we know what's Right? Killing and stealing is illegal everywhere, yes, Thomas, what are you doing, Thomas???

Oh my gosh, not the trolley problem. They're referring to Deceit as Denial and Roman as Passion! Oh gosh, that looks like Joan, Talyn, Dot, Valerie, and Terrence, and Leo by himself, maybe? Oh geez, I jolted. Logan index carding for trolley problem.

Unus Annus is right, the trolley problem is stupid. Oh my gosh, Logan's giant wall of text physically pushing Patton back, I spit all over my screen. Skip All.

Roman's… blaming himself? Oh!!! Are we getting Roman's insecure arc???!!! This is a complex issue, and Patton's having a hard time backing down, and everyone's feeling bad.

Scared?! I hear music! NO. Why is he scared, oh my gosh?????? That's not a tired metaphor. Oh! I've heard of hypoxia! It was hypothesized (and disproven) to be the reason for a specific Bermuda Triangle incident.

Good point, Logan. Regarding theory and in the moment instincts. Remus mention with intrusive thoughts! Shocked that Logan is arguing for leisure time. Logan's self satisfied smirk at the self-sacrifice. GLITCHY! Oh he's a frog. Lilypadton.

Oh my gosh I'm getting so stressed. Yes, thank you, Logan for the scream. I… don't. The conscientious comment. No, it's not. This seems… Deceit-y. IT IS! SHARP SIDE OH MY GOSH! Oh, he didn't rise up, he popped out in the freaking dialogue box, NO, FRICK IT WAS RIGHT THERE! And the Nietzsche and the specific examples that he used!!! I'm so angry! I DIDN'T THINK HE'D TAKE LOGAN'S PLACE AGAIN! I MISSED THE SIGNS!

Hey guys, look, it's Deceit. Bull… frog. Lord of the lies. Oh! 8-bit Deceit theme. Okay, the first thing Deceit said about him not doing it on purpose was nice, but yeah, those words striking him is accurate. Yeesh, harsh.

Is Patton eating his own words? Oh, uh, is anyone going to acknowledge he hit Thomas? Is that telling of the situation instead of just being a funny background event?

The crick in Thomas's neck is so funny. SNAKES ON THE PLANE!!! ...Hm. Happy that he brought that up. Oh my gosh, Deceit's spluttering, he's like so bad at things sometimes, I love it.

Logan! No, don’t do that, everybody appreciates you! Double curse? Pffffft, Logan. Deceit…definitely smiling at Logan's logic. Deceit is interesting here. Oh wow, yikes. He's really fascinating here. Legitimately complimentary? Oh, no, kind of not, maybe. Roman looks distressed.

"...Trees?" Roman's super pumped up. Good for him! Ha, his imitation. Deceit looking confused? Patton looking all sorts of things, I really think that Deceit is being genuine here- NAME?! I'D THIS HAPPENING? Why is he stripping? His, no, what does his glove have to do with his name?

………. Janice? Did he say Jenus or Janice. It sounded like Janice. Deceit. No. Oh, burn, Roman. Damn, he almost got me. His name is not Janice. No. It's not. Don't even. Deceit was being so straight(ha)forward for the past couple of minutes. Awww, Roman. Insecurity addressing time? Wait, why is Deceit nodding at the hero thing? His lip is trembling, his voice is cracking and oh no! Roman just sank out.

Don't call him Janice, that's not his name. Oh he's being genuine again. Patton's talking about himself. WAIT WHAT. He had a five second cameo, omg.

Yeah, those are the easier questions. No, Deceit, bad Deceit. Man, his facial expressions in this episode. Fractionally fiendish fibber. Oh, I like the reasons for Deceit being a part of him! That's… cute? Oddly cute, maybe. So, freaking how far in the future is the Asides?

Stop calling him Janice, that's not his name. Oh, Deceit and Thomas bonding. That snort, oh my gosh. Oh, serious Deceit again! That reaction to "you're right" is oddly similar to that fake laugh at the end of Embarrassing Phases.

………. Virgil's not here yet. His reveal isn't being addressed. Accepting Deceit. That's why he's so pissed at Patton in Asides. The next episode proper they're going to reveal that Deceit's accepted, more or less, and Patton was a big part of that, hugely changing his mind, that's why he's so pissed at him!!!

April 30th? Oh is this Lee and Mary Lee? I was wrong on the voices. Door-yelling! Hm. I mean. It's nice that they're acknowledging him, but I really don't think that sways the situation one way or another. Cute more background, and Thomas being awkward. They. This could have been instead of the wedding. Kingdom Hearts again!

Oh hi, Patton and Deceit. He seems annoyed at the situation. Patton and Deceit bonding. Hi again, Leslie. Wild.

This video really didn't go at all how I thought it would. Roman was barely miffed at Patton. Oh man, this was intense. I. Oh man. I need to process a lot. But I think we're on the right path, here. Janice is not his name!

Okay, I went on tumblr and two seconds in, I saw Janus, which I looked up and that makes way more sense. Another, more condensed post to follow. And several thousand reblogs.

#roman sanders #ts spoilers #janus sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #remus sanders #svs redux #character!thomas #sanders sides #new video reaction

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fandom-necromancer · 5 years ago

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404. This doesn’t feel safe.

This one has been prompted by the lovely @chicago-reeed and I read over it again to make it extra fluffy for you. I hope it helps you cheer up a bit after those anons and you (I cannot stress this enough) are awesome!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900

‘Come on, Nines, don’t just stand there!’ ‘Detective, I don’t think we should do this. I don’t know what you want to show me, but I doubt it is worth taking this risk.’ ‘It is worth it, believe me. And what are we risking?’ He let the newly acquired key dangle from his index finger and smirked. ‘If anyone asks, we are just maintenance workers doing their jobs.’ ‘Gavin, first of all, we don’t look like maintenance, we don’t have the uniform. Second of all, the only persons up here that could spot us, would be maintenance workers themselves and I believe they would know their colleagues.’ ‘Aw, come on Nines, since when are you so keen on following rules?’ A deep sigh from the android was his answer: ‘Detective, I never break laws deliberately. Your actions just force me to do it constantly, because you happen to get your ass into danger over and over again and I just want to keep you safe.’ ‘Exactly. And this is me making up for it, believe me.’

‘I still don’t get how breaking into a building will achieve that.’ ‘Come on, tin-can, we are not breaking in. We have the key. We are merely in a place we shouldn’t necessarily be.’ ‘That’s like… the definition of trespassing. And we have been doing that ever since we boarded that elevator. I still don’t know why the head of security let you through. I mean, this is a television broadcasting office after all, we could be spying on their work for all he knows.’ ‘Remember the android revolution? It started here at Stratford tower. Connor was the hero again, of course, but I was responsible for checking in with the security as on how the androids managed to infiltrate the tower in the first place. I could have talked shit on the guy, but he needs this damn job. I mean with all the stuff going on in that time… It didn’t feel right shitting on someone who had not managed to know all the android’s faces by heart. I wrote the report stating that the androids managed to evade cameras and security staff.’ ‘A lie.’ ‘Nah, just preventing unnecessary bloodshed. What would I or the case gain punishing someone for slacking a bit on their job? Besides no one got seriously injured, no harm done except for a phcking revolution. And that couldn’t be stopped by making someone lose their job.’ ‘So he owed you one?’ ‘Yep. Promised me to have a blind eye on the cameras again as long as we are gone before the crew arrives. And not to cause any trouble, of course.’

‘Well, you still haven’t told me why you are bringing me here.’ ‘Have a little patience, Nines. It’s not far now, just through this door and up a few stairs.’ The human unlocked a door baring a big sign informing them that this was an emergency exit only. After that came a few stairs made from meshed steel that creaked under their steps. ‘This doesn’t feel safe, Detective. We are clearly not supposed to be here and I start to doubt whatever you are planning just isn’t worth it.’ Gavin stood at the final door, at his wits end on how to tell the android it really was worth it and at the same time not spoil everything. So, he just opened the door knowing that he would follow him regardless of his complaints.

Strong winds greeted them, as they walked out onto the rooftop of the building, only caught in the big screens that emitted a light hue of blue. Nines looked around, taking in the new environment. ‘Gavin, this really isn’t safe, we shouldn’t be up here. Just… let’s go home, okay?’ ‘Would you shut up, toaster? I put effort into this, so just follow me!’ They walked up to one of the screens, the wiring and scaffolding that held the LED-fabric in place now clearly visible, and the wind wasn’t that strong anymore, now that they were protected by the wall. Gavin took Nines by the hand and led him to the edge of the roof, sitting down on two prepared plastic chairs to look over Detroit.

‘Isn’t this worth all of this?’, Gavin asked and pointed at the city before them. It was dark, night had long fallen, but still there was noise in the street canyon: Sirens, sounds of cars and bikes, the occasional honk… But it was dulled here – silent as if but an echo of another world. Peaceful even. Then there were the lights everywhere. Office buildings were illuminated either with ads, the company’s logo or just some aesthetically pleasing stripes in all shades of blue. The stars above, hidden by the lights below, but fighting to get through. A helicopter came their way but veered away in a big loop, before it would come too near. It was relaxing, sitting here, looking over a not asleep but calm city, thinking about all these people and what they were doing on their Friday evening all the while still being alone together. He had to admit, it was worth it.

Gavin took his silence as an answer and took his eyes from the sparkling buildings before them to tenderly smile at the android who returned it by holding his hand a little tighter, brushing his thumb over the others knuckle. ‘It is beautiful’, Nines whispered, momentarily being confused why he had decided to be quieter when no one could hear them. ‘I’m sorry I tried to make you leave.’ ‘Hey, you didn’t know I’ve planned this.’ ‘Why?’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Why did you plan this?’

It was dark, but Nines could always switch to infrared to make out a blush creeping up the human’s cheeks. ‘I… I wanted to do something nice with you for once. We are always working and well, despite the few lunchbreaks you accompanied me to, we never do something outside our jobs together. I thought, we might enjoy this. Also you…’ ‘Also I what?’, Nines dug deeper. ‘You seemed lonely.’ Gavin made it sound more like a question than a statement. ‘I’m sorry, please don’t be offended by that, but you are always alone. Connor has a bunch of friends, Sixty is establishing dominance over in the SWAT-team, all the Jerichos are off somewhere liberating more androids and you… You are stuck with me.’ ‘And you think that’s something bad?’, Nines inquired openly curious. ‘Well, it might not seem like it, because one would expect change from knowledge, but I know how I am sometimes. Actually, I haven’t even noticed you idling when alone without a task until Tina made me aware of it. And I thought if you are stuck with me, I can at least offer you something for keeping up with me. I… enjoy silence and silent places like this. I thought with you not actively searching for company, you would appreciate it too.’

‘That’s… very kind. I haven’t expected that from you. I honestly had given up on you finally showing your other side.’ ‘My what?’ ‘Tina told me you had a hard shell but would show your true self to someone once you trusted them. I hoped to see that day, because I don’t seem to be very good at making friends. I hoped we could become friends, already being partners…’ ‘I’m not what people would like to be friends with, tin-can’, Gavin objected laughing drily. ‘That would already make two of us, Detective. I know what my purpose pre-deviation had been and other androids know, too. You handled me without prejudice. You just hated androids in general. That was a generous gift for me, not being hated for what my purpose had been but for what I am. A simple change in behaviour to me was all it took to make you special. And as you started accommodating to me it started getting to neutral grounds. That is already more than anything I ever had. This’, he looked out over the glowing city-lights and a small smile graced his lips. ‘This is already a consideration I would have never expected to be gifted.’ ‘Come on, this is just the bare minimum. I had no one sticking around this long. And honestly, I still expect you to one day simply be gone like everyone else.’

‘Oh no.’ Nines looked from the city back to Gavin and his LED changed from yellow to blue. ‘You won’t get rid of me. After this, I plan on sticking with you for much longer.’

#detrot become human #dbh #Reed900 #RK900 #Gavin Reed #Oh this human does not hat me specifically but hates me generally #I guess I'm in love now #I really really really tried to write angst #But after what happened I'm happy to have written fluff #seriously fuck anon hate I'm so happy I haven't received any yet #If anyone here has some leftover love to give please check chicago out they are funny as hell and mean a lot to this blog #I love you all so much #detroit become human #had a typo

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witchymarvelspacecase · 6 years ago

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Spread Your Wings: Pt. 11: What Happened in Russia

Summary: Reader is a HYDRA experiment (like the Maximoffs, but not voluntary) who grows wings (like Angel from X-Men). She escapes, and is now trying to rescue and prevent further kidnappings and experiments.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Nightmares, mentions of torture, mentions of needles, mentions of restraints (lots of bad shit)

A/N: Sorry this has been a long time coming. I have a plan for the rest of the story now (we’ll see how well I stick to it) so it should be more like a once a week posting schedule 🤞

Spread Your Wings Masterlist

The snow crunched under your boots as you landed. You scowled at the small noise. “Damn snow. That would have been silent if it were dry,” you didn’t dare say anything out loud, but in your head, you were berating yourself for not thinking further ahead. HYDRA didn’t give a shit if the weather was crappy, you had a job to do, and if it got fucked up, it was on you.

You shook your head to clear it of the images of HYDRA’s past punishments; you couldn’t afford to be afraid of something that may not happen, not when a much more likely danger was ahead of you. Of all the ridiculous shit you’d been sent to find, of all the insane targets you’d been given, this was a different level.

Break into a palace. Not a big deal. Break into an old imperial Russian palace? One that had constant guards? Not to mention the constant tourist activity in the general area. Well, you wouldn’t be flying in the window, that was sure.

Why anyone would think to store any sort of weaponry in what was basically a tourist attraction you didn’t truly understand, but then, HYDRA didn’t want you to. All you needed to do was to get in, and out, undetected, with their package. A package that was just described to you a metal briefcase.

A somewhat odd size, and supposedly much heavier than it appeared. Brushed chrome all around with a blue shield logo on the front. You had no idea what the case held, but given that your handler seemed more harried than usual, you were left to assume that he was under pressure from someone. Whoever was in charge was practically salivating at the thought of whatever was in that case. It couldn't be good.

You tried not to think about all the possibilities. There was not a lot you could do to prevent HYDRA from obtaining whatever was in that case. Next to nothing really. All they had to do was flip a switch, activate the chip in your head, and you’d be toast. They’d use someone else.

You’d been down that road before, many times. So many that HYDRA had begun wiping your mind. Realizing what they were doing, or what they intended to do, you guarded yourself. You created a different version of yourself, one that mimicked HYDRA’s Angel. You showed no emotion, no fear, and you followed orders, but behind the mask, your mind was working.

This was the first mission you’d been sent on without your mind being wiped. Your mask must have been good enough to make your handler believe you were broken. This was the first time you were clear headed, could think for yourself. It would be your last too if you weren’t careful.

Heading into the palace was difficult, but you managed to sneak between two guard shifts and into the foyer. You knew there were cameras, but with a quiet command to your chip, they were rendered inert; a non-issue. Physical guards spotting you was the only threat you were likely to face, and you were prepared for that eventuality as well. A pair of silenced handguns strapped to your thighs, throwing knives on your belt, and a dagger on your upper arm.

That was the only thing that troubled you. If a guard spotted you, you had to put them down. It didn’t matter that they were just doing their job, it didn’t matter that they may or may not have a family. HYDRA would kill them.

If you failed to take the case, HYDRA would find another way in, up to and including burning the whole structure to the ground. They didn’t care about people’s lives. If you hoped to save anyone, least of all yourself, you needed to be as stealthy as possible.

“Wait. I-” Tony laughed through his nose, “I know you’re not describing what I think you’re describing.”

“I probably am,” you groaned, dropping your forehead to the table in front of you.

Steve was looking at Tony, a look that could only be described as righteous indignation on his face. Oh they knew what was in that case alright.

“You said it went ‘really badly’,” Natasha prompted, staying on target. “What did you mean?”

You looked up, meeting her eyes while resting your chin on the table. “I mean, I got the fucking case. I got it, and HYDRA had their fucking hands on it.”

“Couldn’t have been for long. SHEILD had it soon after,” Clint mused.

“They had it long enough,” you said, looking down again.

“What did they do with it?” Tony asked.

“Same shit they were trying to do before I imagine,” Steve ground out. HIs jaw was clenched so tightly you were surprised that his super-teeth didn’t crack.

“I am not sure. I think I disabled whatever it was, but like I said, I’m not sure what they were trying to do,” you took a deep breath. “For all I know, I made it worse.”

When you looked up again, everyone was staring at you. Clearly, you were not out of storytime.

“After I escaped, I spent some time going over the information I’d stolen. It wasn’t much, but there were just enough links to the chain that I was able to quietly hack into the facility I’d been kept in. After that, I could find almost anything. I found the machine the cube was running, and I added some extra lines to the code.”

Tony was gaping at you, and Bruce looked green, you couldn’t tell if that was sick-green, or angry-green though.

“Ok, no, I didn’t know what the lines would do, or if I hid them well enough, but I had to do something. That was all I could think of.”

Bucky, who was sitting next to you, gripped your shoulder gently; a show of support.

“Alright, but this doesn’t help us much now,” Natasha said.

“That’s not necessarily true,” Sam cut in. All eyes turned to him, and he shrugged. “Kid got into HYDRA with the files before, she can do it again right?”

Your eyes widened, and you felt like hitting yourself in the head.

“Ought to be easier now actually, since there are more files than she had originally,” Clint added with a smirk.

“What do ya think? You up to a little hacking?” Natasha asked, cocking her head, a smirk on her lips too.

You looked at her, a smile curling the edges of your lips as you said, “all I need is a secure terminal.”

…

Silly request really; Tony Stark did not have any unsecured terminals. Which found you on a computer in his lab, with the entire team standing around you, staring at the large computer screen in front of you.

Occasionally, you would pause, like you were waiting for a signal or something, but then, with no visible change, you would begin to type rapidly. Your chip was capable of assisting you, sure, but you didn’t use it. No verbal commands were given, and though no one in the room could tell (aside from Wanda), you didn’t issue any telepathic commands either. You just knew the pattern. Or at least you had at one point. Hacking the HYDRA systems wasn’t just knowing the code, but also the timing.

Enter a code too quickly, and you trip a system alert. Sometimes that would wipe the system, but sometimes, an alert would alter the files. You could be getting corrupted data without knowing it, and if you were relying on that data? That could be worse than losing the information in the first place.

So you counted in your head. There was a weird almost rhythm to the code sequences. No song you knew, or could remember, but it wasn’t completely random. As soon as you cleared the last levels of security, you set a timer. You had, at maximum, ten minutes before you would have to enter an authentication code. You didn’t have an authentication code, and you had no goddamn clue what it could be, so you had ten minutes.

“I’m not 100% sure they haven’t changed the codes around. These files aren’t new, and the ones I had before sure weren’t. Don’t believe everything in here.” You couldn’t be sure the files you accessed hadn’t been altered.

You scooted back from the computer, letting Tony and Natasha in to do their thing. The plan was to download as much information off of the server as possible, leave the reviewing until after the timer went off. You saw flashes of some of the files being downloaded. Video files. Audio files. Schematics. Tony clearly had great bandwidth; even the giant video files were downloading at lightning speeds.

“No telling what we’re gonna find in there,” Steve murmured. He was standing behind you, and just off to the side, in what you had come to recognize as his “captain” pose.

You shook your head. “No, could be anything, could be nothing at all.”

“What are the chances there’s information about Bucky in there?” he asked, not meeting your gaze.

“Considering it’s HYDRA? Probably gonna at least have some mentions of him,” you shrugged. “I know the agent code they gave him, so I can point out the files that involve him.”

Steve nodded, stepping forward and resting a hand on your shoulder. “Thank you,” he said quietly before walking forward to stand behind Tony.

“That’s gonna mean a lot to him,” Sam said. He’d been standing in the doorway, watching his plan in action.

“I can only imagine. I know what it’s like to not know anything about yourself, but I don’t know what it feels like to have someone you care about go through what Bucky did.”

“There may be stuff about you in there too,” Sam added. You looked at him, a question on your face. “Doesn’t take a genius to realize you have some unresolved shit too. We’re gonna help you out as much as we can, you know that right?”

Smiling, you nodded. “I do now. Thanks Sam.”

“Anytime,” he said. To the rest of the room he said, “I’m going out. Anyone need anything?”

“Nah, I think we’re good,” Steve responded after glancing round the room and seeing no one reacting. “But could you find Bucky and Wanda? Some of this stuff may be important to them.” Bucky and Wanda had opted to stay out of the lab during the hacking. They didn’t explain why, but you guessed they wanted to avoid most of the information that may have popped up. They probably wouldn’t come in unless absolutely necessary.

Sam waved over his shoulder as he stepped out of the lab. You, Clint, Natasha, Bruce, Tony, and Steve were left hovering over the computer, hoping something, anything came out of the ten minutes you’d bought.

The timer ticked over, and Tony typed the exit sequence just in time. The last download you had been attempting was only half completed, but you would have to work with what had come through.

“Alight boys and girls, time to read over what will likely be an incredibly dull series of files,” Tony cheered, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. You chuckled. He was probably right. HYDRA documented everything, most of the files you’d pulled were likely to be useless.

“Hey guys, listen to this. I’ve got some weird audio recording, but it’s under Y/N’s agent code,” Steve said before a tinny sounding audio recording began to play.

It was in an odd language. Not in russian or german as you were used to with HYDRA communications. As you were unused to it, you took a moment to realize what the person in the recording was saying. A moment too long.

“Ahoj anděli. Vidím, že jste nás znovu našli. Tentokrát si myslím, že zůstaneš déle, ano? Touha, Rozpadat, Osmnáct, Soumrak, Chladič, Devatenáct, Maligní, Odjezd, Nula, Motor.”

(Hello, Angel. I see you've found us again. This time, I think you'll be staying longer, yes? Desire, Crumble, Eighteen, Twilight, Cooler, Nineteen, Malignant, Departure, Zero, Engine)

A pause, then the voice again, “Dokončete své poslání. Zabij mstitele.” (Complete your mission. Kill the Avengers).

“I think that’s Czech but I can’t be sure. Play it again,” Tony said.

“Guys,” Natasha’s voice was low, and she was backing towards the door as she got the men’s attention. “We’ve got a situation.

...

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#syw #Spread Your Wings #part 10 #bucky x mutant!reader #bucky barnes #avengers fic

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theprinceandagcd · 6 years ago

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I like my coffee the way I like you

I actually did a long fic and not a random blurb? trust me im just as shocked as you are!!

Summary: basically 8000 words of tooth rotting fluff in a “falling in love at a coffee shop” AU. Words: 8078 also on ao3

“Can I have another one of those pumpkin scones?”

Bellamy glances up at Octavia from his place behind the counter, narrowing his eyes. “I’ll be off soon, and we can get actual dinner, if you want.”

His sister huffs. “That’s another half hour. I’ll never make it.”

She’s being dramatic, and usually, Bellamy would ignore her. But, seeing as how it’s a later afternoon and her soccer practice was cancelled, he knows she’s pretty much stranded here with him and has been for two hours already. Plus, it’s been a slow afternoon. So, rolling his eyes, he slips another pumpkin pastry from the case to his left and puts it on a plate before handing it to her.

“Last one. I can’t just keep taking food, O.” She smiles at him, immediately breaking off a piece of the sweet and plopping into her mouth.

“Mmm,” she hums appreciatively. “I really don’t understand why pumpkin stuff isn’t a thing year-round. It’s a crime against humanity, honestly.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes, but before he can respond, the door opens and a blonde woman enters, head low. She drops off a bookbag with the Arcadia Southern logo sewn onto it into one of their booths in a corner while Octavia turns to him, grinning. “Bet she gets a…” She glances back for a moment and then meets his eyes again. “Medium, iced, nonfat, pumpkin spice latte.”

Bellamy really shouldn’t encourage her. “Whip?”

Octavia considers. “Light whip, extra sprinkles.”

“Very stereotypical, O.”

She shrugs, propping her elbows up on the counter as the girl approaches the register. While she’s looking at the menu, Bellamy takes a moment to look at her. She’s definitely pretty—blue eyes, just past her shoulders wavy blonde hair, short, nice figure. He smiles at her when her eyes meet his, and he recognizes the face of someone who isn’t sure what to get.

“Need help deciding?” he asks, and she purses her lips, glancing back at the menu.

“Maybe,” she murmurs, glancing at him with an eyebrow raised.

“Hot or iced?”

She smiles. “Iced.”

‘You like your coffee extra strong or sweet?”

“On the sweeter side today, I think.”

“Salty sweet your thing?”

Her eyes widen. “Yes, definitely.”

“Sounds like you should do chestnut praline. It’s seasonal, so you should definitely try it while we have it. It’s salty and sweet, and if you get it in a latte it’s really good.”

“You’re good,” she tells him, nodding. “Okay, I’ll get a large of that, please.”

“Want whipped cream?”

Her eyes widen on a grin, and it’s fucking adorable. “Yes, please.”

“What’s the name?”

“Clarke.”

He rings her up and she leans against the counter next to Octavia while he makes the drink.

“I really like your necklace.”

He senses Octavia’s hesitation without being able to see her, but when he glances over his shoulder, Octavia has let Clarke reach out and touch the pendant resting between her collarbones.

“Thank you.” Octavia’s voice is quiet. “It was my mom’s. She, uh, died two years ago.”

“Well, it’s beautiful. It really looks like it was meant to be worn by you.” Clarke’s own tone is soft, and when Bellamy turns back toward the counter, Octavia is smiling widely.

“That’s really sweet of you to say.”

Bellamy finishes up the drink with some whipped cream and the appropriate sprinkles, still trying to decipher the look on Octavia’s face.

When he hands Clarke her drink, she bites down on her lip for just a moment. It’s stupid adorable and kind of hot, somehow at the same time. “Could I see your pen?”

Confused, but curious, he hands it to her. Grinning, she writes an “e” at the end of where he’s written “Clark”, her neat penmanship standing out next to his scrawl. She hands the pen back to him, and his face is suddenly warmer than it really should be.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbles, taking his pen. He hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels.

“It’s no big deal, Bellamy. Now you know for next time.”

“Do you come here a lot?” Octavia pipes up, her eyes bright. He can see the meddling in her expression and mentally wills her not to say anything too crazy.

Clarke glances between them, and he can see the recognition in her eyes of their similarity. She takes a long sip of her drink, humming appreciatively. When she answers, though, she’s looking at him, a small smirk twitching up the corners of her lips. “No, but I might start.”

------

“That girl was cute.” Octavia tosses her bookbag into the back seat of their car, falling almost aggressively into the passenger seat before propping her knees up on the dashboard. Seventeen has been a particularly sassy and aggressive year for her, he thinks. “Plus, she’s your age. I asked before she left.”

“O.” His voice is a warning, but the girl was cute.

“She was cute!” Octavia’s giggle echoes, and he can’t help but smile.

He gives. “She was. Did you manage any other information?”

“Other than the fact that she was staring really hard at a sketchbook the entire time she was there, nope.” She shrugs, already losing interest in the conversation as she pulls out her phone. “Maybe she’ll come back, though. She seemed to like you.”

Now, Bellamy shrugs as he pulls out of the parking lot. “Maybe, but that was probably just because I was giving her caffeine.”

Octavia grins, patting him on the shoulder. “Everyone’s favorite drug dealer.”

------

The next time he sees Clarke, she’s already settled at a table when he clocks in. Her coffee is hot today, probably because there’s still snow on the ground outside from a storm two days ago. She smiles when she sees him, a polite greeting from afar, but then her attention returns to her laptop.

A person in line leaves as soon as they have their order, and within fifteen minutes of him coming in, the couple of girls at a table by the door have left, too.

His coworker, Maya, leaves twenty minutes later.

And then it’s just them.

He shoots a quick text to Octavia, making sure she made it home okay, switches out the coffees, wipes down the countertops, and then glances up at Clarke, who is furrowing her brow at her computer screen. She doesn’t seem to notice him watching her, so he glances around for something else to do.

“That girl was cute” keeps replaying over in his head, and she is, but he really shouldn’t care this much, right?

There’s a nervous pit in his stomach, and it starts to drive him crazy enough that he starts wiping off tables just to have something to do. He keeps looking at the door, almost praying that someone will come in and end his stupid misery, but no one does. Wiping down already clean tables isn’t nearly distracting enough, and he’s hyperaware of her presence just a few feet away.

Get it together, sheesh, he tries to reprimand himself. She’s just a girl, sitting in a coffee shop, probably just working on a school assignment.

It’s not nearly distracting enough, but then he’s cleaning off a table two over from hers when she finally breaks the silence.

“Can I get your opinion on something?”

He’s so grateful that her voice has dispelled some of the tension in his body that he’s probably a bit too chipper when he replies. “Sure, what’s up?”

She turns her computer just enough that he can see the screen, and he squats down beside her to get a better look at it. On the screen, there’s a gorgeous graphic design of a forest, complete with trees and shrubbery, plus a single deer. Somehow, it looks like a watercolor painting, or like a picture of one, but he can still tell that it’s animation.

“That looks awesome,” he says honestly, and when she doesn’t respond, he turns his head to look at her. He regrets it when he sees she’s chewing on her bottom lip with her eyebrows furrowed, staring intently at this graphic like it’s going to spontaneously burst into flames. It’s an adorable expression, and he kind of wants to kiss it off of her, too.

“It just feels like it’s missing something,” she finally murmurs, tilting her head as if that’s all she needs to discover the answer she’s looking for. Her brow furrows even deeper, however.

He turns his head back to it to focus on something else, because the stirring in his chest is scaring him. Still, he wants to help, so he considers the lush forest, the bright leaves, the stark colors of the entire piece. “Maybe… Maybe not everything should be alive. Forests aren’t usually so… perfect?”

“So, it’s not quite realistic enough.”

“Maybe?” He shrugs. “I’m not an art person, though, so I’m not sure if I would listen to me.”

She turns her head to smirk at him. “Yeah? What kind of person are you?”

It takes him a little by surprise, her interest in him completely unexpected.

“I like history,” he replies, and he really expects her to scrunch up her nose at it like most girls do, but she raises an eyebrow.

“That’s pretty broad, Bellamy. What history in particular gets you all excited?”

“Uh.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Like… ancient Rome, Greece. Classics.”

“Nice. So have you ever been to Rome or Greece?”

“Uh, no. I want to, someday, for sure. Both are on my bucket list.”

She nods, considering. “I hope you get to, someday. I do mostly graphic design, by the way, but I like to draw, too.”

His knees are starting to get stiff, so he stands and moves to sit in the chair on the other side of the table. “I saw your sketchpad the other day when you came in. Do you usually turn your drawings into graphics, or are they different?”

“It depends.” She considers her computer for a moment, and then turns back to him, lips pursed. “Do you wanna see my sketchpad?”

He nods, and she gets it out, handing it too him with her eyes downcast. It takes him a moment to flip through it, seeing mostly nature scenes, forests and various bodies of water. Eventually, he comes across some of people.

There’s one of a boy with a big smile and dark hair. “Boyfriend?” he asks, trying to sound casual.

Clarke laughs. “No, that’s Wells. He’s like… my best friend, I guess. We’re basically siblings. There is a few of my exes on the next page, though.”

He flips to the next drawing, seeing a girl with long hair. On the opposite page, there’s a boy with long dark hair, smirking.

“Who are they?”

She glances down at the pictures. “Finn, my first boyfriend from high school. Absolutely a terrible boyfriend, but he wasn’t so bad overall, I guess. And then Lexa, my first girlfriend, who I dated my first semester in college. She was… somehow one of the best things and worst things that ever happened to me.”

He nods, handing the sketchpad back to her. She slides it into her bookbag.

“Where is your sister today?”

“Octavia?” he asks, immediately feeling stupid. Duh, Octavia. “She’s home. She’s seventeen, so she’s old enough to be home by herself. Sometimes she just chooses to come here when I’m working if she doesn’t have anything else to do.”

“Just the two of you, then?”

He knows the question underlying this one, but with her, it doesn’t make him want to grimace. Instead, he smiles. “Yeah, just us against the world.”

“It’s sweet, she clearly loves you a lot.” Clarke focuses her eyes back on her computer, as if she knows that the statement makes Bellamy’s throat close up just a bit, his eyes stinging for a moment. He blinks quickly, taking a slow breath.

“When our mom first died and I decided that I’d take on the responsibility for Octavia, it felt like a punishment. But… I don’t think I would have done anything differently, if I had the chance.” He shrugs, unsure of why he’s even saying so much. “It’s how we were meant to be, I think.”

“Does it still feel like a punishment?” she asks, her eyes finding his again.

He considers, but only briefly. “No, not anymore.”

Clarke smiles, her expression soft. “I don’t have any siblings. I think Wells is the closest I’ve ever had, but I’ve always thought having one would be nice.”

Bellamy gives her a half shrug. “Even with my lack of regrets for the last few years, O can be pretty annoying sometimes. You can borrow her any time you want.”

He isn’t sure what possesses him to say something like that, but then Clarke laughs, her eyes bright and the sound echoing in his head, and he doesn’t really care.

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks,” she says when she’s composed herself, glancing again at her computer. She clicks a few things, then turns it back toward him. “Is this better?”

She’s added a single dead tree, lying flat on the ground in front of the original image. While he’s looking, she clicks a few more buttons and the colors seem to adjust slightly.

“I think add a few more touches like that, and you’ll have a winner.” He smirks at her, and she grins back. “Is this for a project?”

“Yes. I draw a lot of nature scenes, so you think I would be good at it. I still second guess myself a lot though and I can always get better, so I appreciate your help.”

“Couldn’t you just… walk outside and draw what you see?” he asks, and she pauses, considering.

“I guess I could. It just… wouldn’t feel as authentic?” She shrugs. “I like coming up with my own images.”

“It looks like you’re doing a great job,” he tells her honestly, watching as she continues to add changes. She smiles, still focused on her computer for the moment.

“Thank you, Bellamy.” Her brow suddenly furrows, and she looks around the coffee shop. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to keep you from you work.”

He doesn’t tell her that she’s the best distraction from work he’s ever had, that she’s the first girl that’s made him feel like this in more than six months and he would spend hours talking to her if he could. He doesn’t tell her that talking to her is as easy as breathing, and that it amazes him as much as it scares him. Instead, he just smiles. “There isn’t anything to do, trust me. So, what other changes are we making?”

And that’s what they do, until the sun has long gone down. A few people filter in for coffee, but none of them stay, so he always puts himself right back in front of her, asking for what changes she’s made and letting her bounce ideas off of him. It isn’t until thirty minutes before closing that he finally stands and stretches, shooting her an apologetic smile. “I have to start closing up, but you’re still welcome to stay until I’m done. I don’t want to interrupt your genius.”

She shoots him a playful glare, but her smile breaks it after only a moment. “I’ll find a stopping point soon and be out of your hair.”

He’s just throwing out the last of the brewed coffee when she walks up to the counter, bag slung over her shoulder. “Thanks for your help, again. Is it usually this slow on Mondays?”

“After about four? Yeah. It’s the slowest night of the week, usually.”

She nods, tilting her head at him. “Cool. Maybe I’ll have to make this a weekly thing, then. I got a lot of work done.”

He returns her grin, walking around the counter to start putting chairs on top of tables. Suddenly, a thought occurs to him. “Did you drive here? It’s pretty dark, and I’m not sure how far away you live. I could… uh, take you home, if you want.”

Her grip on her bag tightens just a bit. “I… I took the bus this morning, to campus.”

Sensing her hesitation, he puts up his hands for a moment, moving to put up the last two chairs. “I don’t want to intrude or do any of the terrible things you’re probably thinking about. I just figured I could make sure you get home safe.”

She meets his eyes and seems to scrutinize him for a long moment. He waits until she sighs, nodding. A little bit of color touches her cheeks. “It’s not that I think you’ll do anything. I just… I just live at home still and… my mom can be… I’m not sure if I want to go home.”

His chest squeezes when tears start pooling in her eyes. He takes a step toward her almost automatically, pausing only when he remembers that he doesn’t really know her at all. But right now, she’s a girl crying in his coffee shop about merely the idea of going home, and ultimately, he can’t help himself. His heart reaches out to her regardless. He closes the distance between them, slow enough that she could stop him if she wanted to. Wrapping his arms around her, he gently pulls her into his chest.

A choked sob escapes her throat, and then she’s holding him back, palms resting on his shoulder blades. He waits, lets her take comfort from his embrace, moving his thumb back and forth on the small of her back. He has the sudden urge to tell her that she can stay with him, that he’ll take her wherever she wants, do whatever she needs to ease the pain he can sense radiating off of her.

“You wanna tell me about it?” he whispers after a moment, giving her a little smile when she looks up at him.

“I feel like you’ll judge me if I do. My mom is Abigail Griffin.”

There’s a brief and immediate reaction to the name of their city’s biggest politician, if he’s being honest. He wonders, for a moment, what her daughter would be doing hanging out at a cheap coffee shop when she could probably go anywhere she wanted to. He also has enough time to kick himself for not realizing that sooner, considering he knew Senator Griffin had a daughter named Clarke.

But the girl crying in his arms seems so far removed from anything he would expect from that type of family.

She speaks again before his thoughts can go any further. “For what it’s worth, though, I never see her, and when I do, she’s usually judging me for pursuing an art degree and threatening to not pay for my school anymore.”

He nods, still rubbing small circles into her back, beginning to wonder if he should let her go. She takes care of that for him, taking a step back so that she can look at him better. His arms fall uselessly to his sides, and he tucks his hands into his pockets. She wipes at her eyes, clearing the tears there and looking at him.

She isn’t wrong. It would be easy to write her off as a spoiled rich kid complaining about how her home is the worst, but his heart is tugging almost painfully in his chest for this girl he hardly knows. Her eyes are still shining a bit with unshed tears. “My offer still stands, Clarke, regardless of who your family is. I can take you to a friend’s or something.”

It takes her a moment, but she eventually nods her head. “Okay.”

Once they’re in his car, she puts her hands in her lap, fiddling with her fingers. She gives him an address in a quiet voice, which he puts into his phone and then sets in his lap. He focuses behind him as he backs out, glancing over at her once they’re on the road.

“The radio doesn’t really work most of the time, so if you want to talk or rant, I’m pretty good at listening.”

She nods once, taking a shaky breath.

And she does. She tells him about her dad, who died a when she was ten, in a car accident. She tells him how her mom has been somehow overbearing and absent at the same time ever since. She tells him about how her dad always encouraged her to draw and create things, but her mom never understood why she loved it so much. She tells him how she’s pretty sure her mom is waiting for her to give up the art pathway and pursue something more “worthy”. She tells him that she’s afraid if she doesn’t change paths soon, her mom will stop paying for her to go to school.

She talks until he pulls up beside a small house, and he immediately knows it isn’t hers. He wants to ask, but she answers without him having to.

“This is Wells’ place.” He thinks she’s looking right through him. “I have a key.”

He gets out when she does, walking around to the passenger side of the car and standing in front of her. She glances at the dark windows of the house in front of them, lips pursed, before turning back to him.

“Thanks for the ride, Bellamy. For everything else, too.” She sounds so sad, so defeated, and before he even realizes it, he’s hugging her again, wrapping his arms around her and holding tight. She clings to him almost immediately, her face pressed into his chest.

“I don’t know much about you, but… “ He hesitates, knowing how crazy he probably sounds. “You don’t deserve to be ridiculed for pursuing what you’re passionate about, and I’m sorry you have to deal with that. Anyway, I work every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday night. You’re welcome any time, if you need someone to talk to, or rant to, or critique your work, whatever you need.”

She leans back just enough to look up at him, her eyes a little brighter as she smirks. Relief settles in his stomach at the sight, undoing the knots that had taken residence there. “It’s a public place, I’m pretty sure I’m welcome without your permission.”

He chuckles, reaching up to wipe away a stray tear from her jaw before he can stop himself. “You know what I mean, princess.”

Her eyes narrow, but she’s smiling for the first time in a while, so he takes it as a win. “I resent that nickname.”

“I think for that reason alone, I have to keep using it,” he tells her, suddenly aware that his hands are still wrapped around her back, hers still on his chest. She’s so close, so warm, he suddenly finds himself unable to say anything, too caught up in how she feels pressed into him. She seems to sense his shift, her eyes boring into his own with an understanding that scares him.

A smile tugs up one corner of her mouth, but she steps back, releasing him. “Thank you again, for everything. I’ll, uh, see you soon?”

He smiles. “I hope so, princess.”

She rolls her eyes, turning to walk toward the house. He watches from in front of his car as she unlocks the door, waits until she’s given him one more smile and is safely inside before getting back in his car and starting the drive home.

When he gets there, he sits in his car for a moment, trying to calm his racing heart. Even so, Octavia raises her eyebrows at him as soon as he walks in the door.

“Did you get laid?”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Inappropriate, O.”

“Answer the question, B.” She sits up, expectant.

“No,” he answers simply, shooting her a glare. He feels a little bad when that makes her frown.

“You just… seem really happy. I haven’t seen you look like this in a while.” She shrugs, sulking into the couch cushions. “It’s nice,” she adds quietly, almost as an afterthought.

Guilt rushes through him, and he sits down beside her. She stays silent, her hands in her lap. “I don’t want you to… overthink this, got it?”

When he looks over, a little bit of light has returned to her eyes as she nods. “Okay.”

“The girl from the coffee shop last week, Clarke? She spent all night at the coffee shop, we talked a lot, and I drove her… home.” He pauses, considering his words. “I think I like her, a lot.”

Octavia puts her hand over her mouth, but it does little to hide her grin. Bellamy rolls his eyes, shoving lightly at her shoulder. “I said don’t make a big deal about it.”

“I’m not,” she says, her voice muffled by her hand. Taking a deep breath, she moves it from her face. “I think that’s great. Liking someone again is a very important step in moving on from an ex.”

His stomach twists at the thought of Gina, but he knows Octavia is right. This is a good thing, no matter what happens. Pushing any negative ideations aside, he smirks at his sister. “I told her she could borrow you if she wanted an annoying sibling.”

Octavia’s mouth pops open in mock insult, but he can still tell she’s thrilled. She gives up the façade quickly, grinning. “I wouldn’t mind that, she seemed nice.”

He smiles, pressing his lips together in an attempt to contain it. “She is.”

------

Bellamy spends the next two days thinking of her, wanting desperately to see her again. Still, he’s almost surprised when she comes in on Wednesday afternoon, smiling widely at him. He can’t help grinning back, watching as she saunters up to the counter, her eyes on the menu.

“You seem chipper today,” he observes, and her smile widens.

“I had a good day,” she tells him. “Let me get a cold brew today, light on the cream.”

“Got a big project due?” he asks as he rings her up and starts pouring her drink.

“Kind of. I need to do some animation stuff. I know how, but it can be tedious, so I definitely need the caffeine.”

He smiles, handing her drink to her. She doesn’t immediately take it and go back to her seat, so he leans against the counter. “I’m glad to see you in a good mood, Clarke.”

A little bit of color touches her cheeks as she picks up her cup, but the corners of her mouth tug up regardless. “I might have been looking forward to seeing you again.”

Bellamy pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, but he knows it does little to hide his grin. “I’ll come over when I get chances, in case you need company or someone to run ideas by.”

She nods. “I think I’d really like that, thanks.”

He does go sit with her every once in a while, sitting down right beside her and trying not to feel like a high school kid every time their knees brush under the table.

“So what do you want to do with art, once you’re done with school?” he asks around 7:30, when the crowd has tapered off to nothing. Everything is as clean as he can get it before closing, so he has the time to talk to her.

She purses her lips as she clicks a button and watches her few frames of animation play out. Then, she glances at him. “Last summer, I helped paint the walls of a library. The library had seen some rough times, and no one ever visited it really. The owners were friends of my dad’s before he died, and they asked if I’d help them, so of course I agreed. They let me attend the grand reveal, and I got to see all these little kids faces light up at the images I’d created and…”

“That’s amazing,” he tells her, purposefully moving his leg to bump against hers. “So is that kind of what you want to do?”

“If I can, yeah.” Clarke smiles, the expression a little shy. “It was just so rewarding, doing something like that. The library has more traffic now, too. I don’t want to be some famous artist, I don’t think. I just want to create art that makes people happy. And still make a living, I guess.”

“I think you’re already doing a pretty good job of the first part,” he says after a moment, shifting just a little closer to look at the cartoon characters that she’s animated and brought to life within the last hour and a half. “I think passion for things like that is half the battle.”

She smiles. “So what about you?”

“I always wanted to teach, probably history, like I mentioned before. But… our mom died at the end of my sophomore year, so I dropped out. I figured I’d at least get Octavia through high school first, and then maybe go back and finish things up.”

“I can definitely see you being a teacher,” Clarke tells him, steadily clicking away on her laptop.

“Is that a good thing?”

She looks at him, nodding, though a little color touches her cheeks. “Yeah, just your… I don’t know. Your gentleness and charisma would make a good teacher.”

They’re sitting shoulder to shoulder now, the shop quiet other than the soft music playing from the speakers. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

That night, he takes her to Wells’ place again, and she smiles widely at him before she gets out of the car, thanking him for his help.

He just smiles, unable to tell her, in the moment, that maybe she’s helping him, too.

------

When she comes in on Friday, she sits at the booth that is quickly becoming hers, orders an iced tea, and waits until the five o’clock rush has died down before gesturing at him to come to her.

He glances at the two customers in the corner, who have empty drinks but also seem well invested in whatever they’re talking about. So, he strolls over and sits on the edge of the seat next to her. “What’s up, princess?”

She smiles a little shyly, reaching into her bookbag for a large piece of paper, slightly bigger than computer paper. She holds it to herself for a moment, where he can’t see the image on the other side. “I, uh, I did something for you.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

When she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, he almost gets too distracted to notice when she starts to turn the paper around. But then he’s staring at a sketch with minimal coloring, that clearly depicts himself standing in front of the Colosseum, in Rome. His jaw drops as he reaches forward to take the paper from her, amazed at the details that she’s included.

“It’s my way of saying thanks, I guess. For listening to me, and for all of your help.” She shrugs a little. “I figured you could keep this one, until you can get a real one, at least.”

“I…” He struggles for a moment to find words, eyes flying back and forth between the page and her eyes. “Thank you, I love it.”

Holding the paper with one hand, he wraps the other around her shoulder to pull her against him. “You’re welcome,” she murmurs into his neck, her own arm winding around his waist. It takes him a minute to let her go, still shocked that she would do something so sweet for him.

They spend the rest of his free time for the night talking about the places in Rome he would want to see, with her sitting sideways in the booth, her back against the wall and her feet pressed against his thigh. She listens the entire time, never once seeming bored or exasperated.

And then he takes her to Wells again once he’s closed, and she reaches across the center console of the car to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. It takes him by surprise, warmth filling him immediately, but by the time he’s recovered, she’s already out of the car, waving at him from the porch before slipping inside. He has his hand against his cheek the entire drive home, trying to remember what that all too brief contact felt like. Octavia grins at him when he walks in, but otherwise, she doesn’t react to what he’s sure is a dumbfounded look on his face.

That’s good, though. He isn’t even sure what he would say if she asked.

------

Bellamy spends the next week wishing he had gotten Clarke’s phone number, because that’s how long it is before the bell above the door dings and it’s her walking in. She smiles when she sees him, and he can’t help grinning, too.

He almost forgets about Octavia sitting across the counter from him, but then she slaps at his shoulder unnecessarily, her grin too big for her face. He shoots her a look that begs her to behave, but she just smiles, twining her fingers together on the countertop.

Clarke plops her bag down in her booth, and then strides up to the counter, smiling at Octavia before pursing her lips at the menu. He waits, watching as her eyes travel over it and different expressions color her features. It shouldn’t be this fascinating, watching someone decide what to order, but he can’t look away.

Even when she catches him, raising her eyebrows when her gaze meets his, a stroke of bravery hits him and he continues to stare back, giving her a smirk. She certainly doesn’t seem to mind, if the smile and blush creeping up her neck is any indication.

“Anything look good?” he asks after another moment, and she skims her eyes over him, slow enough that he knows he was meant to notice.

“Maybe,” she muses, glancing back at the menu one more time. Octavia makes a noise that almost sounds like a scoff, but she covers it up by pretending she accidentally inhaled some of her hot chocolate. Clarke doesn’t seem to notice. “But for now, I’ll just do a hot coffee, maybe with some of your pumpkin flavor in it?”

“If you’re getting the pumpkin,” he says, already grabbing a cup to write on for her. “You have to get some cinnamon, too. It’s an unspoken rule.”

“I wouldn’t want to break any rules.” Clarke rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning at him. Besides, when she takes the first sip of the drink, her eyes widen. “Wow.”

“What did I tell you?”

“I’m just going to start letting you pick all of my drinks,” she tells him, but she narrows her eyes at the cup where he’s written her name. “Princess” is written on the cup in big block letters. She meets his gaze, purposefully rolling her eyes. She turns her attention to Octavia, her smile softening. “I was told I could possibly borrow you?”

Octavia lights up, nodding. “Sure, I need a break from Bell sometimes, too.”

“Thanks, O.”

Clarke looks between them, smiling. “In that case, you wanna come sit with me? I might could use your opinion on some of my art projects.”

Octavia winds up sitting next to Clarke in the booth for the rest of the evening. He isn’t sure how much his sister is actually helping, but Clarke seems to enjoy her company. He joins them when he can, sitting across from Clarke at the table and realizing with aching clarity how much affection he already feels for her.

She’s being so incredibly patient with his sister while she asks a million questions about college, life, Clarke’s art, without ever brushing her off. She simply bumps her foot against his playfully once as he sits across from her, and it makes him grin like an idiot for a solid thirty minutes. And still, for whatever reason, he finds himself drawn to her, listening intently while they trade stories—her about her dad and them about their mom. It’s therapeutic, almost, and he’s sure Octavia feels the same way. He finds it endearing, to hear her talk about how her dad was her hero, to understand that his loss must have been tragic for her, as losing their mom was for them. Yet, she still has such a passion, which he can see any time Octavia asks her questions about her designs. The difficulties she’s faced have fueled her instead of discouraging her.

The more the three of them sit there together, the more it feels like it’s where she’s meant to be.

At about 8:45, fifteen minutes before the shop closes, Octavia curls up on the bench opposite of Clarke, using a jacket as a pillow, and falls asleep. Bellamy cleans everything except one last pot of coffee, and then sits down next to Clarke. There is a full, rolling landscape on the screen, and she’s working on the details of a cow with a picture on her phone as a reference when he sits down.

“How’s it coming?”

“Good.” She smiles at him, clicking save and closing the laptop.

“Thanks for putting up with my sister.”

She bumps her knee against his, and he mentally curses his traitorous heart, that nearly jumps out of his chest at the touch. “She’s great, Bellamy. Her enthusiasm is endearing, and she’s extremely smart.”

“Still.” He isn’t sure why he can suddenly feel heat in his neck. “It’s nice for her to have someone… older to talk to, I guess. Someone that isn’t me.”

“I hope you stick around” is what he doesn’t say, what gets stuck in his throat. He wants that, so much that it scares him, both for himself and Octavia. Still, Clarke tilts her head at him, and he feels like she can see right through him.

“Has she not had anyone?”

He sighs, staring at Octavia’s hand where it dangles off the edge of the bench in front of them. “She had Gina, for a little while.”

In the pause, he expects Clarke to say something, ask something. Yet, she stays silent. When he turns to look at her, she’s regarding him carefully, but her expression is open, ready to listen.

“We dated for over a year. At first, she was great. She really felt like everything that O and I needed at the time. I had even…” He hesitates, looking back at Octavia’s hand. “I had even started looking at rings.”

“What happened?” Clarke’s voice is quiet.

“She wasn’t happy, in the end. We broke up six months ago.”

He can feel Clarke contemplating, and in the end, she moves just enough to rest her head on his shoulder, turning toward him just a little and reaching across her body to put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”

At the same time that tears sting his eyes, her touch is like a lifeline. The pain doesn’t spiral, or wreck him like it normally would. So, he reaches over, puts his hand over hers on his arm and leans his head against hers.

“It’s okay,” he says, brushing his thumb across her knuckles.

“My first boyfriend cheated with me. He had a girlfriend.”

A flash of anger rises in his chest. “What a dick.”

She giggles. “Definitely. I only keep his picture because I really don’t want to tear out pages of my sketchbook and, to be fair, that’s one of my best portraits.”

Bellamy smiles, still stroking her hand. “You need me to take you somewhere? Home? Or Wells’ place?”

“Home is okay, today. Thank you.”

He needs to dump that last pot of coffee, wash the dishes, and put chairs on tables, but still, they sit there for another long moment before he’s able to pull himself away. “I gotta finish closing up, you think you can handle her?” He points at Octavia.

“I think I got it,” she says, shooting him a grin.

While he closes up, she puts the rest of her stuff up. They’re able to get Octavia up long enough to go to the car, but she quickly falls back asleep in the back seat. When they pull up outside of Clarke’s house, Clarke hesitates. After a moment, she reaches into her backpack and pulls out a small folded piece of paper, handing it to him.

“This… Um, it’s for both of you. Octavia, if she ever needs someone to talk to that isn’t you, and for you… just… if you want it.”

He glances down at the piece of paper, smiling when he realizes it’s her phone number. Surprised at her uncertainty, he makes a show of pulling out his phone to save her number immediately. “I definitely wanted this,” he says, hitting save and then tucking the piece of paper in his pocket. “And I’m sure O will appreciate it, too. I know I do.”

She grins, the cutest amount of color touching her cheeks. “Good, I, uh, I wanted you to have it.”

After another moment of consideration, she slides a little closer, stretching across the console to put her hand around his neck and press a kiss to his cheek. He moves before he’s even processed what’s happened, reaching up to wrap his hand around her wrist. She makes no moves to pull away, and when she turns her head to look at him, he can’t really help it.

He kisses her, the briefest press of his lips against hers. And Clarke smiles, the biggest grin he thinks he’s ever seen on her features. “I guess I should have given you my number a while ago.”

“Maybe,” he murmurs, capturing her mouth again, more firmly this time. She kisses him back, tugging lightly at his hair. It’s only when he remembers that Octavia is in the back seat that he lets her go, pressing his forehead to hers for a moment.

“What are you doing to me?” he asks in a whisper, eyes still closed. She brushes her thumb against his jaw, and even that simple touch has his heart beating even faster.

“I don’t know,” she answers, and when he opens his eyes, she’s pursing her lips at him. “Is it okay?”

“Definitely,” he answers easily, giving her lips one more quick peck. “Definitely okay.”

“Okay.” She smiles, and as soon as she’s pulled away, he misses her touch. She grabs her bag, looking back at him with her hand on the door handle. “I’ll see you Monday?”

“Wouldn’t miss it, princess.”

She narrows her eyes, but her grin gives her away as she gets out and heads up the sidewalk to her front door. Once she’s safely inside, he pulls away from the curb, glancing in his rearview mirror to see Octavia sitting up. Her eyes meet his, and she smiles.

“I didn’t hear anything.”

He knows she’s lying, but he can’t find it in himself to be even slightly upset. “Whatever, O. Here.” He pulls Clarke’s number out of his pocket and hands it to her.

She works on entering the number into her phone, and then she crawls up into the front seat while Bellamy stops at the end of the street. “So she’s sticking around, I guess?”

He swallows, glancing both ways for something else to focus on other than Octavia’s gaze. “I really hope so.”

Octavia doesn’t respond for a moment, probably still half asleep. “Good, I really like her. She seems good for you.”

Her words surprise him a little, and by the time he’s thought of something to say in return, Octavia has laid back down, her eyes closed. Tears prick his vision for reasons he can’t explain, and he takes a deep breath to try to reign them in.

“Yeah,” he muses, swallowing. “I think so, too.”

------

It’s a week later when Clarke comes in looking extremely pensive, and he can tell she’s got something on her mind. She’s distracted when she orders, goes to her booth without saying much else. The lines of her face go back and forth between sad and angry, and she winds up taking it out on a sketchpad for the majority of the evening.

So, when he’s closing up, he finishes up quickly and then goes to sit in front of her. She starts a little, glancing around. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. I’ll go.”

“Hey.” She stops, meeting his eyes. On an impulse, he reaches over to put his hand on top of hers, squeezing gently. “What’s up?”

Tears shine in her eyes, and her mouth opens as if she’ll respond a few times, but she never does. It aches deep in his chest, and he wants to know what’s wrong so he can fix it. Still, he can sense that she’s panicking, so he stands, reaching out a hand. “Come here, dance with me.”

The shock of his request seems to dry her eyes for the moment, and she takes his hand so that he can pull her to the middle of the coffee shop and press their bodies close. The music over the speakers is quiet, and more elevator music than anything, but it works. They sway back and forth, and after a moment, she relaxes, pressing her face against his chest. Her grip on his hand is tight, and he waits, holding her close and resting his head on top of hers.

“My mom kicked me out.”

“Ah,” he says, understanding immediately. His next question is easy. “Do you need somewhere to stay?”

She hesitates. “I could stay with Wells. I mean, my mom can find me there pretty easy and his place is kind of small, but it’s an option.”

He smiles, knowing the question that she doesn’t want to ask, that she’s afraid to ask. “Or you could come stay with me and O.”

She lifts her head to look at him. “Yeah?”

How can she not know how deep he already is?

“Clarke.” He reaches up with the hand that was holding hers, cupping her cheek in his palm. “Look, I spent more than six months alone because I couldn’t get over my ex. Then, you happened. Honestly, it scares me a little how easy it was to fall for you, but I’m not going to question it. You’re just… good. For me, for Octavia. She’s just as smitten with you as I am, trust me. Whatever you need, we’re here for you.”

A few tears slip down her cheeks as she reaches up to kiss him, pressing close. He can taste the saltiness of her tears on her lips, and he just holds tighter, tangling his fingers in her hair and willing the broken pieces of her back together.

She’s already done it for him, after all.

“Thank you,” she whispers against his mouth, and he smiles, pressing his forehead against hers.

“Anything for you, princess,” he says, and he means it with everything inside him. With a sudden, aching clarity, he feels as if he’s holding his entire world, like this girl standing in front of him is it for him. Overwhelmed, he just kisses her again, until his smile breaks it.

She grins up at him, fingers still playing with his hair. “I love this coffee shop.”

He can’t help himself—he laughs, sure that he looks and sounds foolish, but he doesn’t really care. Not when she’s looking at him like that. “I think it loves you, too.”

------

It’s a week later, curled up next to her in his bed on a Saturday morning, that he tells her he loves her, pressing the words into her hair. He doesn’t freak out about how it’s too soon, or worry that she’ll run at the words.

She doesn’t. She just smiles, shifting even closer to him so that she can kiss him, whisper the words back to him as easily as if she were saying her own name.

“I love you, too.”

That afternoon, she picks up the sketch of him in front of the Colosseum and spends an hour penciling herself beside him. When she presents it to him, she shrugs a little. “I figure we could maybe go together.”

And he grins, reaching forward to kiss her until his body begs for air. Pulling away, he whispers against her lips, “As if I’d ever go without you, princess.”

#the 100 #bellarke #bellarke ff #bellarke fanfiction #my writing #ao3 #fanfiction

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