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ballorawan740 · 3 years ago

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SCP Scenarios: SCP x Reader - McDonald's Sprite (REQUESTED)

Requested by: @katnotmore123

Bro y'all be simping for Sprite and I'm here simping for 7Up...

I mean I like them both but I just prefer 7up over Sprite... It's like comparing Pepsi and Coke ngl but with a more subtle difference

SCP 073 (Cain)

You came back to the foundation one day with a cup of iced drink and Cain had asked what you were drinking and you showed him

He was mildly confused but soon understood the beverage since he had seen them somewhere on the web (no, not the hub, an advert from McDonald's)

You asked if he wanted to try some and he did, so you gave him a sip

You were slightly annoyed and surprised since you drove over an hour and hadn't had anything to drink and the last thing you wanted was someone taking your drink

But since it was 073, you made it an exception since you hadn't expected him to have any food or beverages outside of site 17

You figured that he had enjoyed it as he reminisced his past about being able to eat plant-based food but no longer could

You felt bad and agreed to get more when you next go back

The researchers had wondered if the drink had ever rotted in his mouth but realise moments later that it's mainly made out of artificial ingredients aside from the natural flavourings

SCP 076-2 (Abel)

I have high doubts that you would be able to persuade Abel to drink such a plain beverage, so you had devised a plan to get him to try

You made a bet with Abel in which the loser has to finish off the drink, not that you'd complain (you unhealthy mf), but you really wanted him to give it a try

Abel accepted and had very much lost the bet

He had taken a sip and you noticed that he's enjoying the drink and teased him

He spat it out and flat out denied it (like the tsundere he is) but continued drinking it anyways

Some of the researchers monitoring Abel's cell found it rather amusing that he enjoyed such a "plain beverage" and did try to tease him about it

Let's just say it didn't end very well as it resulted in somebody's head being chopped off

You both had agreed that if Abel stops trying to breach his containment and be more cooperative, you or somebody else in your team would buy him more Sprite from McDonald's (and by 'buy', I mean kidnapping the whole chain's Sprite dispenser)

SCP 999 (Tickle Monster)

999 would most definitely take the drink out of your hand since his little tingles tell him that whatever you were drinking was sweet

And he was very much right

You were slightly shocked but wasn't surprised since he does have quite a sweet tooth

Every now and again, SCP 999 would ask if you had any more of those drinks and would even ask what they were

You had explained to him that it's a lemon and line flavoured soft drink created by the Coca-Cola company (the more you know right?)

He was intrigued and sweetly requested if you could buy him more and you obliged

You would use your time off to buy a dozen of Sprites from McDonald's and would sometimes buy other soft drinks like Coke and Fanta for 999

Needless to say, you had an orange blob as your personal pet who would give you unlimited hugs since you spoiled him with so many drinks

SCP 682 (Hard to Destroy Reptile)

This mf of a lizard right here is just as stubborn, if not even more than Abel, and would reject trying that beverage at all for the whole entire week

You had to bribe him and the researchers were laughing their socks off from this interaction you both got going

He did give in but was rather hesitant at first

Once you poured some into his mouth, he seemed slightly disgusted from the taste

He would just sit still for a moment as to contemplate then stuck his tongue out as a sign of disgust

But bring the cheeky person you were, you spilt more into his mouth which led to him farting for the next few hours to which everyone laughed

Dr Bright heard the commotion and came to see what was happening

Let's just say he encouraged you to carry on if you want your head cut off but found it amusing regardless

In short, don't ever give him Sprite unless you want to torture him

SCP 049 (Plague Doctor)

Does this bird doctor even drink?!

You mention multiple times about human food and how delicious they are

Mainly McDonald's Sprite and their food since its rather popular

ESPECIALLY THEIR CHEESE BITES/STICKS!!! HAVE YALL EVEN TRIED THEM!? THEY'RE DELICIOUS AF!!!

OMG they've released the garlic ones but I preferred the normal Mozzarella sticks and cheesy bites though

Anyways, back to Sprite, our side chick

049 would be intrigued about this 'Sprite' since you spoke so passionately about it like your life depended on it and requested you to get him one for a try and so you did

When he drank it he was surprised at the foreign taste

He asked if there were more beverages like it and you answered honestly, carrying on with your love for McDonald's and offered to buy him some for a try

Basically, 049 would give it a try since you spoke so passionately for them

He wouldn't necessarily hate it, but he wouldn't love the drink as much

I'd say he would be intrigued to try something new outside of his role in curing the pestilence

SCP 035 (Possessive Mask)

I am so sorry guys, I'll have to make 035 hella short since I can't think of anything interesting for him

DO YALL THINK THIS BOI CAN EVEN TRY?! JUST LOOK AT HIM!!! HE'S A BLOODY MASK!!!

The closest thing for him to try the drink is if you gave his now possessed body some beforehand so 035 could telepathically understand the taste

Like if you just straight up gave him the drink I don't think he would be able to drink it even if he wanted to

If the now dead body never had Sprite, then you ould just describe the tase to him in form of arts (I like to imagine 035 would be into arts, especially performing arts since he's basically a theatre mask)

SCP 105 (Iris)

Our girl here has a high chance that she might have tried McDonald's Sprite

But she just prefers healthier foods (this healthy mf knows that y'all can't keep healthy, that's why she's here to start your New Year's Resolution which is to stay healthy)

You both would recommend food which is healthy or unhealthy and would try them

Iris is more than capable of controlling her diet, but you, on the other hand, have a hard time doing so (don't lie, we all know y'all like junk food)

So, you both compromised in which you can have junk food as a reward, namely your favourite beverage, Sprite

You just love the citrus flavoured, colourless beverage so much that Iris would have to hide the drink from you (ah yes great promotion from me XD)

What would you do without our girl, Iris, eh? (Die from overeating unhealthy food which causes heart attacks and strokes, of course, fun!)

Anyways, sometimes when you're the one going out, you would be the one to buy a few dozen bottles of Sprite from McDonald's (bro do they even sell bottled drinks? Ik they do in KFC from where I live OwO)

Iris would drop dead from the sight of you bringing in so many Sprites into the foundation

She would most likely drink some with you, not because she likes them, god no

It's because there's no more room to store them and she's just a little bit thirsty

SCP 106 (Old Man)

This old man would be so confused by all this food and drinks from the outside world

His first impression of McDonald's was that of a circus since you've shown him the older advertisement for McDonald's since it fits his age (love you 106!!! Not)

And then you gave him a menu, and god did he not have any glasses (boi he do be needing to go to Specsavers fr)

He read Mozzarella Sticks as mosasaurs pricks, the Spicy Veggie One as spicy vag- and what's worse is that he read Double Quater Pounder as double quantum pounding (he even read Coke wrong!)

You and the foundation staff burst out of laughter at his 20/20 eyesight

So one day, you returned to the foundation with some Sprite in your hands in hopes that 106 would give it a go and so he did

He found the flavour somewhat new and strange but still enjoyed it nevertheless (this boi here do be a man of culture, am I right?)

Anyways, 106 loved it so much to the point that during one of the breaches, he disappeared from the foundation and reappeared with 10 boxes of Sprite

The researchers then realised afterwards that 106 had used his pocket dimension to teleport to the nearest McDonald's and stole the boxes of Sprite without even paying

They were even more surprised to find that the workers there were ordinary humans and weren't even fazed about 106 teleporting to their business (Sames here bro! If anyone stole my food/drinks I'd be pissed too regardless of who it is!!! Food is food!!!)

You basically made him addicted to Sprite

SCP 096 (Shy Guy)

(Imma be honest here, idk if this guy eats since he's facing the wall and covering his face like 99% of the time unless some guy saw his face)

You were sat in 096's cell and was debating on what food to get from McDonald's

096 was curious about what you're talking about since he heard you mumbling bout food from this so-called "McDonald's"

So you explained to him the concept of food and that generally speaking, unhealthy foods are tastier and typically served quicker in at places like McDonald's

Imma be real here, I like Burger King's chilli cheese bites a tiny bit more since the McDonald's at my place is stuck with garlic cheese bites atm

It's not like I hate them, but I just prefer the old ones, but it's nice that McDonald's changes up their food every now and then

Anyways, back onto our side chick

You bought your favourite Sprite along with the double quantum pou- quarter pounder

096 was upon curious and so you let him have a bite of your quarter pounder and your Sprite

Let's just say that 096 found it weird and didn't ask about human food again

Dr Jack bright

Jack Bright is very much aware of McDonald's and other fast-food chains since he does have a fair share of memories of eating them with his family and because the bodies he possesses do be unhealthy af (just like you)

You were talking about food with one of your co-workers and Bright just so happened to be nearby and butted his head into the conversation

Your co-worker also just happened to leave for a meeting so you're both stuck together talking about McDonald's

Sometime later, you bought to the foundation some food, including Jack's favourites as he had mentioned not long ago

You both tried each other's food and he was mesmerised by the Sprite since it's been a while since he had it

So whenever you went back, you would buy a larger bottle of Sprite for Jack since he wouldn't have much free time and needed to drink more anyways

Sometimes, when you're both talking about food, you'd make up puns for them or just laugh at your misinterpretations since you're just as blind as a bat (btw I've read somewhere that bats have good vision, they just use echolocation a lot)

Some of the things you both would say would be "Did you hear that McDonald's gave all their employees large laptops for Christmas? They were Big Macs" and "Hey, Ronald McDonald - been watching any good clown movies? Ronald: I'm loving it"

One time, he smacked your bum and casually said to you "Girl, this quarter-pounder will take you to a whole different level of experience" and then left

Dr Simon Glass

Another doctor who has knowledge of fast foods

He's similar to Bright in a way as he doesn't leave the facility as often as he likes since he's constantly busy

Also, he would make terrible jokes and puns using wordplay

When you told him about your favourite drink, Sprite, Glass immediately said "I went to the store to get eight cans of Sprite. When I got home, I realized I’d only picked seven up"

You just looked dumbfounded at his puns and laughed as he continued

He did manage to take a sip and drank the whole can of Sprite instead

You even bought some wrap with extra mayo and told Simon about your friendly chat with the waitress/cashier and mentioned her former co-workers

And you died on the inside because his only reply was "She should go back sometime to ketchup with her old co-workers or she mayo not want to"

To shut him up, you have decided that buying him Sprite would work and it kinda did

Only for a short while though

Dr Alto Clef

Clef is well aware of the fast-food chain called McDonald's

It was hard to ignore it as a lot of people younger than him had kept talking about it, even you

Even worse if it was you talking about McDonald's since you have an obsession with their Sprite

Poor Clef was confused as he assumed that all lemon/lime flavoured drinks were the same

Oh boy was he wrong

You came back with your lunch from you know where and 2 bottles of Sprite

One was from McDonald's and the other from Lidl along with some of your favourite pastries, like croissants and toffee yum yums

You had him try all the foods and both Sprites and he finally gave in to the fact that McDonald's Sprite tastes more superior than the other

Not only that, he made dirty jokes and puns about the food in McDonald's

Like "Baby, you got more legs than a bucket of McDonald's", "Come over to my house and I’ll give ya a happy meal", "Do you work here? Because I’d like to order some fries with that shake" and "Girl when I am done with you, you won't be looking for no toys in this happy meal"

Dr Benjamin Kondraki

Benjamin Kondraki would be the type of person who would be reluctant to try but would anyways since you asked so kindly and gave them those eyes

And by that, I mean a death glare

NGL he doesn't seem like the type of fella to be eating a ton of unhealthy food

I mean he doesn't necessarily eat salad or anything overly healthy, but he does have a balanced diet for the most part and does treat himself sometimes, but not too often

You magically crept up behind Kondraki and scared him unintentionally but you still laughed anyway because you're evil

He looked down and realised that the packaging was from McDonald's and you were holding a familiar clear bottle in your other hand

You were kind enough to share your food with him and he thoroughly enjoyed it

Then after that, you forced him to drink some Sprite since he has PTSD from your unhealthy obsession with it

And yes, he did end up drinking it

And no, he didn't like it nor did he hate it

You were upset that you thought he shot you down about Sprite but quickly regained your happiness since he did tell you about the drink being just above average

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fairyreaper22345 · 4 years ago

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Hey can i offer you guys a short fluffy tododeku fic

syke I'm giving it to you anyway

Twilight was always Shouto’s favourite time of day. He couldn’t tell you why – although, if you looked into it, it may have been that he saw himself in it. He saw himself as that balance between light and dark, day and night, fire and ice. In a way, he saw himself as the moments of sundown, ever walking the bridge between two sides.

That’s why he always found himself walking along pavements around this time. He found his feet would pace out of the door, mind wandering, not really concentrating on his movement. It got dark early around this time of year anyway, so he found himself going out earlier and earlier - shops hadn't even closed by the time he left, nowadays. He usually spent this time - this time of silent, amicable, cosmic turmoil - buying things for his classmates. He had money, so why not - plus, it was an easy way to make friends. He wasn't very good at the social side of things, but gift giving? Easy peasy. He was quiet, observant, and had plenty of daddy's money. Gifts came naturally to him - it was, well, a gift.

As he wound his way along not-quite-dark, but not-quite-light-either, streets, he listed off what he should buy; more birdseed for Tokoyami, he was starting to run out. Maybe he should keep it in a puzzle-feeder, one of those fun little contraptions that cats like to play with - did Tokoyami need enrichment? Do eagles play with their food? Was Tokoyami even an eagle? He looked more like a crow, honestly. And more importantly, would Tokoyami be mad if he bought a complex feeder? He decided it was worth the risk - PetCo was on route home anyway, he might as well go inside.

Oh, and Mina needed a new pillow… or six. Hadn't she gone and corroded through it again? He was sure she'd mentioned something like that… did she drool acid in her sleep? Sounded like a problem. Maybe they sold metal pillowcases in Home Depot. That didn't sound comfortable, but in a world with such varied quirks, that must come in handy somewhere, right? Did such a thing exist as quirk-proof pillows? He made a mental note to find out.

Oh, and Iida needed some engine oil, too. His damn pipes needed lubricating or something - Shouto didn't really remember the details, just that he'd mentioned his MOT in passing. Shouto didn't know people had to get MOTs - although he supposed it made sense.

Before he could think of anything to add to his ever-growing shopping list, a bright orange light shone to his right, his side of the road, bright through the dwindling sun. PetCo, fantastic - maybe they had the seeds Tokoyami liked. Sunflower, he thought - he was sure he'd overheard a conversation about them. Or were they his least favourite seed? Shouto didn't want to make that mistake, that would be rather-

Ding!

Todoroki's phone vibrated with a little note in his back pocket, snapping him out of his thoughts, indicating he'd gotten a text. That was a little odd - people didn't usually text him, let alone at this time. They knew he'd be out on his Walk of Contemplation.

Pulling the mobile from his back pocket, a name flashed on the screen. "Midoriya 👉👈" it said, in searing white letters.

Shouto blushed slightly - he loved getting messages from his boyfriend. Izuku was always so polite and complimentary, and so eloquent, and-

Opening the message with a brush of his thumb, he saw that, in reality, Izuku hadn't actually said anything. He'd just sent his location, no word of explanation.

If Shouto was holding anything but his phone, he'd have dropped it, consequences be damned.

Last time Izuku had texted him something like this - in fact, it was exactly this, verbatim - it was about the incident in Hosu city. That time, two of his friends had nearly died, and he could've gone down with them.

It pained him to think about it - he wasn't short on traumatic experiences, but fighting the Hero Killer was truly a grisly highlight of his tragic backstory.

It could be a butt dial. He was really hoping that this message was a butt dial.

He wasn't willing to take that chance.

He pivoted on the ball of his foot, doing a complete 180, throwing himself away from the store front and back into the cold, darkening dusk - he gripped his phone roughly and ran.

His feet pounded against asphalt. He didn't know much about social cues, or healthy family relationships, but he did know about running. Running from the truth, from his past, from himself - running along sidewalks and cement - he knew all about that. He'd been running since the get-go.

Musutafu roads were well known. He didn't need a map. He needed energy, stamina, and he had it - danger, fear, adrenaline pumped faster than blood and stronger than fire through his broken, hurt, traumatised veins. Corners were obstructions, and side alleys were shortcuts - c'mon Shouto, faster, faster, Deku could be in trouble. His legs couldn't hold him, couldn't hold the speed of his heartbeat.

He neared the location on the GPS, but his boyfriend was nowhere to be found - in fact, it was a block of flats. Inside the block of flats, actually - and Todoroki could see right through the window, right where Izuku should have been standing, but he wasn't - he wasn't there. Perhaps he was above.

Fear, dread, seeping into his veins like oxygen, Shouto thrust out his arm, an icy, brittle ladder forming in front of him. On another day, he'd have no problem with something so simple as a set of steps - this day, now, with the concern in his veins, he could barely manage it.

Izuku wasn't on the second floor, either.

Leaning against the window, Todoroki breathed heavily, counting to ten - and then out, closing his eyes with the steadying rhythm of his lungs. Okay, he'd have to think about this analytically, intelligently - he couldn't see fire, or plumes of smoke, so on the surface nothing seemed amiss. In that same, long, deep breath, though, he considered that Izuku, lovely Izuku, eloquent Izuku, concise Izuku, would never simply send a location, unless it was a dire emergency. Unless it was like Hiso.

Pacing himself, he concentrated once more on frozen stairs, this time managing a cascading, glittering set of fractals, that led a path to the next flat up. Perhaps Izuku would be on this one, and he'd explain that it was all just an accident, and thank you for coming to my aide, but actually I'm fine-

The toll on his legs evident, Shouto staggered up his DIY-stairwell, glaring with growing exhaustion into the room above; sure enough, there he was. Izuku Midoriya.

Lovely Midoriya, eloquent Midoriya, concise Midoriya, sat on a cushioned bed, shirtless, his slender back exposed to the open third-floor window.

Shouto knew he should've said something, but he couldn't help it - he saw a wonderful, peaceful side of his boyfriend. He saw slightly muscled arms, unkempt green hair that he'd have loved to have messed with, shoulder blades like shields. He was so endearing; his freckles covered his body, from face to neck to legs, like stars in a galaxy-filled sky. Shouto wanted to trace them, follow the constellations with his finger tips, finding new star systems and signs embedded in his boyfriend's skin.

"Izuku," he breathed, at last, eyes still fixated on those Greek Pantheon shoulders, occasionally wandering from there to the All Might posters on the walls (Todoroki wasn't so fussed about the man, now he'd actually met him) or to the neatly discarded pile of today's laundry.

Deku didn't seem so surprised. If anything, he was gleeful, glad Shouto came to see him - even if he was half-hanging out of a three-story window. "Come in, Shouto," he smiled to the boy behind him, one green eye exposed under the outside street lamp.

Clambering through the window, Todoroki whispered a question with mild urgency. "I saw your text. I was worried. Is there an emergency?"

Izuku sat on his bed, wearing only his boxers and a smile, and grinned that sun-bringing, crop-watering, skin-clearing grin that Shouto always found himself falling deeply for.

"Nah. I just wanted to see you."

Todoroki released tension he didn't realise he was still holding, breathing a relieved, although exasperated, sigh.

Actions, they say, speak louder than words - in that moment, as he took Izuku's hand in his, kissing his knuckles gently, it was the truth. In that moment, as he rested his mouth against Deku's, it was true that no words could have meant anything more than the lazy gratitude, and the tired giggles they shared.

#no i cant characterise todoroki why do you ask #tododeku #shouto todoroki #izuku midoriya #my writing #fanfiction #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha #long post

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floraisann · 4 years ago

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eighteen

➣ ateez 9th member au

➣ warnings: a couple of curse words because jinju + yeosang = chaos

➣ genre: honestly idk since yongju starts all in His Feels™ then because ateez it gradually dissolves into chaos sooooo maybe angstxcrack??? 🤠

➣ word count: 2,317 words (how did i even accomplish this 😳)

➣ summary: it’s yongju’s birthday!! though the question is... who’s gonna tell the others?

➣ main masterlist

➣ yongju’s masterlist 🐉

➣ author’s note: i’m aware that it’s approaching noon on the 29th in korea as i’m posting this, but where i am, it’s still the 28th, meaning it’s still a valid time to post this. so anyways, happy birthday to my firstborn mr. lim yongju 🥺😭 he is my BABIE and i can’t wait until i can actually develop his character further sdkfnvsijn

❅♩♬♩❅――

“I'm tired of the city, scream if you're with me If I'm gonna die, let's die somewhere pretty, ah”

It wasn’t that Yongju’s mindless singing was a rare, unwelcome occurrence in the dorms— in fact, the ATEEZ members had grown so accustomed to the sound of his voice that the halls felt empty in the few hours where both Jongho and their new maknae were silent. Rather the thing that was making the members uncomfortable was the lyrics leaving their youngest’s lips as well as his tone.

Homesickness. The cold, empty feeling in your chest as you long for a home that is no longer yours. That’s what it was. That’s what Yongju was feeling, singing as to distract from the sentiment.

A sigh leaves Yongju’s lips as he pauses the track halfway through the first verse, the raindrops against the window somehow only working to magnify the desolate misery in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t the first birthday he’d spent away from his family (SM hadn’t exactly allowed him to travel back for the special occasion in those thirty months spent hoping for debut with his SMRookies friends), and of course, his relatives had all sent him countless birthday wishes earlier on in the day, but it was still the first birthday he’d spent completely away from any family.

Lim Jinju. His annoying twin sister who, as the title implied, shared birthdays with him. Every year prior to the present one, even if they couldn’t celebrate with their families, at least they had each other. Perhaps her absence was just what was making him feel so miserable. Yongju couldn’t call himself outgoing by any means— often disappearing from others’ eyes hours at a time in order to recharge his rapidly depleting social battery— but it was always in the presence of such… chaotic figures that he felt able to let go.

“Do the members even know my birthday…?” He whispers, his words disappearing within the confines of the dark, empty dorm room. Wooyoung and Yeosang along with several more of the members had left for the company building to get some additional practice hours in to prepare for some upcoming schedules. The only members that stayed with him at the dorms were Seonghwa and Jongho, both of whom were unfortunately injured.

Tired, Yongju let himself flop onto his side, the headboard loudly clicking against the wall before rocking to a stop. “What am I so tired for…?” He mumbles to himself, squinting at the sudden brightness of his phone as he unlocks it. “I haven’t even done anything today.” His thumb hovers over the ‘call’ button for a few seconds as he considers calling home. The thought soon leaves him once more as he groans, shifting onto his back.

“Ah, my head hurts.”

Sleep quickly finds the young boy, its grip firm against him as he’s forced to succumb to his drowsiness. It’s restless, but still, it’s much needed. For the first time in days, Yongju can stop thinking.

♩♪♫♬⇝

“I think he might like the vanilla cake.” Hongjoong softly mutters to San, who stands hunched over, carefully inspecting the contents of the store’s bakery counter to find the perfect treat for their later celebration.

San gently shakes his head, not tearing his eyes from the iced treats as he replies to his elder in a semi-hushed voice. “Vanilla? No that’s too basic even if he is kinda plain. I vote chocolate.”

“Vanilla is basic and chocolate isn’t?” Wooyoung scoffs. “Chocolate is probably the most basic cake flavor to ever come into existence.”

“Everyone shut up, let’s get him carrot cake.”

The members all turn to Mingi, incredulous looks on their faces as they question his words.

Wooyoung is the first to explode. “You absolute HEATHEN do you want him to think we hate him?”

“I was just making a suggestion!—”

“—Wait guys!” Yeosang’s call quickly breaks the chaos as his bandmates turn, not wanting to speak over him. “I have—” He stops himself to laugh into his sweater-covered palm. “—Guys, I got Jinju’s number. Should I ask what kind of cake he’d want?”

The expressions on his members’ faces quickly shift from incredulous to exasperated and Yeosang finds that he can only laugh, giggling as he scrolls to his phone contacts to find ‘Lim Jinju’

“Yeosang,” Yunho finally begins. “You’re telling me that this whole time we were arguing, including the entire car ride to this place—” He stops, closing his eyes as he presses his fingers against his temples. “You had contact with Jinju?”

The accused blonde simply flashes a toothy grin as he extends his arm to show off the newly added contact in his phone. “Okay—” He quickly retracts, looking down at the said contact. “I’m being completely honest here— I actually forgot I had her contact since I just got it last night and entirely by chance too!”

Wooyoung blinks. “Yeosang, what you mean, sir?”

Grinning, Yeosang quickly locks his phone, clapping his hand over the screen as he launches into his story. “Okay! So you know how Yongju always falls asleep while on his phone, right? Yeah! So last night after I showered, I came back to the room and he was asleep, probably on accident too, because the episode of ‘Free!’ he was watching was only half finished.”

“Where are you going with this?” San interjects, Hongjoong quickly shushing him.

“Okay, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, when I was walking past him, I noticed his phone was on like, maybe two percent battery? So being a good roommate, I decided to charge it for him. So when I grabbed his phone, I had the sudden realization that since it was unlocked, the options available to me were endless! So in the end, I both charged his phone and saved Jinju’s number to my contacts for safekeeping.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you suck at ending stories?” Wooyoung flatly questions. Yeosang is quick to glare through his blonde locks, eliciting a few laughs from the other members.

“Well either way, that safekeeping purpose ended up being fulfilled much earlier than expected, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be calling Miss Lim Jinju!”

Before anyone can react, Yeosang’s phone is unlocked, and the familiar ‘calling’ chime rings in their ears.

“Put her on speaker!” Hongjoong instructs, and Yeosang is quick to comply.

“Hello?” Jinju’s strong and clear voice reverberates around them after the third ring, and there’s a momentary bout of chaos as all six men present attempt to greet her at the same time.

“Happy birthday, Jinju!” Wooyoung hollers directly into the speaker.

“What are you all so loud for?” She whines. “I swear you just gave me hearing loss— anyways, I hope I’m not the first twin you’re screaming at because last time I checked, the other June twenty-eight born lad literally lives with you.”

“Well, that’s kinda why we called, you June twenty-eight born lass, you know?” Yunho weakly sings into the speaker, causing a few odd glances from the shop’s workers.

“What could you— Oh!” Yeosang flinches, pushing the phone further away from his face as Jinju yells. “Wait I know exactly why you called! Okay, so be very mindful of Yongju’s taste buds because they’re kinda fucked, and he hates chocolate cake.”

“See! I told you!” Mingi hollers, Wooyoung being quick to slap him across the back of his head as he quips a fast, “You didn’t tell us shit, mr. carrot cake!” back.

“Stop fighting!” Hongjoong scolds, lightly punching Mingi on the shoulder. “Anyways, Jinju, if he doesn’t like chocolate, what should we buy him?”

There’s a brief silence as the twin contemplates her answer, the six members present leaning close to the phone as they make their own guesses as to what Yongju would like. “I’m pretty sure the last time we had cake he really liked the red velvet.”

The members immediately disperse, different degrees of self-disappointment on their faces, save Yeosang, who had begun to softly sing the chorus of ‘Red Flavor’ by Red Velvet.

“Why is it that no one guessed red velvet, yet one of us idiots managed to come up with the idea that Yongju would want carrot cake?” Wooyoung finally asks.

“It’s because we’re all clowns,” San starts, turning away as Hongjoong goes to purchase the small red velvet cake. “And Yongju just so happens to be the circus director.”

❅♩♬♩❅――

“Yongju, wake up!” The boy in question blinks awake, disoriented, as Seonghwa gently shakes him conscious. “Sorry we couldn’t let you keep sleeping, but the managers want you, Jongho, and me over to the company for some last minute evaluation… thing,” He explains.

Yongju sleepily yawns into his hand, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he asks, “What time is it now?”

“It’s 3pm,” His elder quickly answers. “They want me there earlier so I’m heading off now, but the managers are gonna bring you and Jongho over in an hour or so.” He then smiles, lovingly pinching the youngest on the cheek. “Freshen yourself up before then, alright? I’ll see you soon.”

As Seonghwa leaves, Yongju forces himself into a sitting position, dazed, yet trying his hardest to force himself fully awake. Finally, he kicks his legs over the side of his bed, padding straight over to the bathroom to put on some makeup. He was an idol now. He had to at least try to look alive.

♩♪♫♬⇝

“Guys, hurry up! Jongho and Yongju are gonna be here any minute now!” San whines, rocking on his heels.

Seonghwa immediately stops his work in arranging streamers on the wall to glare at the younger boy, who in response, flashes him a wide grin. “If you’re so concerned about us not finishing in time, you could help, yeah?” He rolls his eyes. “I’m literally injured and I’m doing more than you.”

“I’m the supervisor!” He happily sings. “I’m here to make sure you guys are doing your work the right way!”

“What time is it anyways?” Hongjoong quietly mutters. “How much time do we got until they get here?”

“It is,” Yunho begins in a sing-song voice. “It is exactly 4pm at this moment.”

The boys all turn back to Seonghwa as a small choking noise leaves his throat. “Why didn’t you say anything? Jongho told me he’d get Yongju here by four o’clock sharp!”

“Yeah, and I have some news.” Yeosang announces, glancing down at his phone as he calls all the attention to himself. “Jongho just texted the old group chat saying they’re getting out of the car now.”

“I told you this would happen!” Seonghwa yells, all of the balloons they had purchased for the event in his hand as he runs to place them. “This is why I asked all of you to keep track of the time!”

♩♪♫♬⇝

“Do you know what we’re filming?” Yongju softly asks Jongho as they approach the practice room. “Are we filming a dance practice for ‘On’?”

Jongho lets a puff of air escape his lips as he shrugs at the question. “They probably wouldn’t have brought me or Seonghwa here if that were the case since we didn’t even dance in that stage.”

“Good point,” Yongju comments, nodding. “But is there anything else we could film? There was nothing in the schedule for today either.”

Jongho simply shakes his head once more. “I really don’t have the slightest clue.”

The pair stops as they reach the practice room, and for once Yongju notices the lack of light coming through the semi-transparent door.

“Are you sure this is the right room?” He asks his bandmate, frowning as he steps into the pitch black expanse. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the main practice area this dark…”

“Well, the managers told me—”

He’s cut off as the lights flash on and the other seven members’ faces are exposed.

“Happy birthday, maknae!” Wooyoung screams, his high tone easily slicing its way through the babble of the others as they begin singing him a happy birthday.

He can’t help but take a few steps back, his hands flying to his mouth as his eyes fill with tears of… happiness? surprise?

“Why are you running away?” Jongho asks, his hand still draped across the younger’s shoulder as he pushes him closer to the cake.

He smiles, standing somewhat awkwardly as Yeosang places the cake in his arms and he tries his best not to drop it, eyes lighting up as he notices the cake’s color.

They all applaud, urging him to quickly make a wish so he could blow out the candle and enjoy the treat.

Well, what did he want to wish for?

His life situation had taken a drastic turn in the last nine months. It wasn’t just that his thirty four month trainee period had finally drawn to a close. Finally, Yongju had friends, or rather eight brothers and countless fans who he was beginning to truly feel comfortable enough to be completely himself in front of without fear of judgement. And on top of that, he was able to get this far without giving up anything he loved.

He made it. For the first time in the nine months Yongju had spent with ATEEZ, he could finally feel the full effects of the word ‘success’.

He wants it to last.

The members all happily cheer as he blows out the candle, and he flinches away from San’s aggressive shows of affection. Despite the secondhand embarrassment he should be feeling first and foremost as the eight of them act— well— so wholeheartedly themselves, he’s distracted by the warmth he feels in his stomach as well as a sudden burst of energy as he finds he wants to mess around just as he would with Jinju back home.

Yongju debuted. Yongju had a family. Yongju had success.

#ateez #atzinc #kpopuniversenet #ateez 9th member #ateez reactions #ateez headcanons #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez writing #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez jongho #ateez yongju

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aliciameade · 5 years ago

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Santa's Little Helper - Merry Pitchmas 2019

Merry Pitchmas to @brandneweyesx!

Summary: Beca needs to earn some extra cash so Chloe hooks her up with a job at the mall. And maybe her motives aren't totally innocent.

Rated: T

(Also on AO3)

“Just cover me one more time; you know I’m good for it,” Beca says, giving her best big doe-eyes that she knows will win over Chloe. She doesn’t take advantage of the known weakness that often, but it’s useful when she does.

She watches Chloe sigh yet nod in agreement. “Okay. You know, if you’re so broke, I could try to put in a good word at a few of the stores in the mall. They all staff up for the holidays.”

Beca’s instinct is to reject it; she’s busy enough as it is with figuring out how the Bellas will defend their national title and repeat as champions. Oh, and attending class. She does that most days, too. She’s also flat broke as a result of her packed schedule and Chloe’s paid Beca’s share of the Bella house bills for the last three months.

“Fine,” Beca says, resigned. “But nothing lame like Cinnabon or hocking hand lotions at a kiosk. Get me in at Journeys or Sunglass Hut. Somewhere I can get a discount on stuff I actually want to buy.”

She smiles into Chloe’s shoulder when she gets tackled by a wholly unnecessary and welcome hug. “I’ll do my best. I can’t believe we’re going to work together!”

“Do not get me a job at Victoria’s Secret.”

“What—too tempting to look at all the pretty girls?”

“Shut up,” Beca huffs while pushing Chloe off her. She schools her face into a strong pout with a hefty glare that earns her a giggly kiss to her cheek.

“Don’t worry,” Chloe says, voice dropping to a whisper, “your secret’s safe with me.”

Beca’s pout turns into a furious blush. She’s still getting used to the whole someone-knows-she’s-gay thing. Chloe was the first—and remains the only—person she’s come out to. It’s been kind of nice getting to talk about it, even if it feels a lot like learning to ride a bike without training wheels.

It’s helped that Chloe had made no secret about her own bisexuality, and her current favorite hobby is quietly pointing out (or texting pictures of) girls she thinks Beca might find attractive and prodding her for an opinion. It’s also often accompanied with, “I can talk to her for you if you want.”

Beca’s been dismissive of the options, begrudgingly admitting that, “Yes, that girl is pretty,” but, “No, please don’t talk to her for me.”

“I don’t think I’m ready for that,” is the reason she provides when Chloe asks why not.

“What if we went on a date instead?” is the answer she wishes she could give,” but, “No, please don’t talk to her for me.”

“I don’t think I’m ready for that,” is the reason she provides when Chloe asks why not.

“What if we went on a date instead?” is the answer she wishes she was brave enough to give instead.

“Okay, no lingerie stores,” Chloe laughs, interrupting Beca’s thoughts. “Let me see what I can rustle up for you.”

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

When Beca shows up at the mall the following Thursday afternoon, she’s there via what seems like one step away from an illegal hustle based on the lack of information provided by the man who had called her.

“Southeast entrance. 4:00. Ask for Randall.”

Turns out the southeast entrance isn’t where she’s going; a man identified as Randall leads her through a service entrance and into a network of nondescript, neutral-colored hallways. She’s considering texting Chloe and asking what exactly she’s about to walk into or if she needs to have her family prepare ransom money when Randall pushes open a door into an employee locker room.

Her apprehension eases considerably at the normalcy that comes with it. Just walls of blue lockers, a few benches, and a vending machine.

“163,” he says, pointing vaguely.

“They’re assigned? What is this, high school?” she asks with a laugh, only he doesn’t laugh back and she sobers, apprehension immediately returning. She follows his orders though, glad to put some distance between them, and pops the latch on locker 163.

“What is this?” she asks, pointing at its contents as she turns around, but Randall is already leaving and has offered no further instruction or clarity. “Cool, cool, cool,” she says with a nod as she turns back to face her reality.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

“We need to talk,” she texts Chloe, accompanied by a photo of the atrocious red and green outfit hanging in her locker before stuffing her phone into the pocket of her green skirt (at least it has pockets). The candy cane-striped leggings are itchy, the corsetted top is, in her opinion, too racy for Christmas, and honestly, don’t even get her started on the hat.

At least she can wear her own boots.

Unsure where to go, she stomps out the same exit Randall had gone and nearly runs into the man waiting on the other side of the door.

“Let’s go,” he says before dialing a number on a weirdly out-of-date flip phone.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s going on? I mean, I have a pretty good idea but it’d be nice to know—“

She stops mid-sentence when a door opens and she’s pushed (not led) right into the open floor of the shopping center just meters away from what is clearly the back of the mall’s installation of Santa’s Workshop, a noisy, bright monstrosity designed as a cash-grab for parents who need Instagram content. She’s avoided it like the plague every season while shopping, and now it seems the avoidance has ricocheted back upon her ten-fold.

She turns around looking for Randall but he’s gone and the door she was booted through is closed and the only thing left for her to do is to explore the obvious: she approaches the back door of the workshop and knocks while considering ding-dong-ditching.

The door swings open and a man that looks to be about her age, maybe a bit younger, sticks his head out. He’s dressed similarly but has a noticeable amount of rouge on his cheeks and he’s definitely wearing body glitter. “Beca?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Just in time; I need a damn break. Get in here.”

She’s half-pulled into the structure which is much less magical inside than its exterior, save for a few deliberately placed decorations that can be seen if one looks in from the front windows. There are a couple of overstuffed chairs, a Christmas tree, a fake fireplace, and a plain table and chairs that sit in the back out of sight for employees. “Um, I don’t really know what I’m doing here. Literally and figuratively,” she adds hoping for at least a smile but instead, she gets a blank stare.

“You’re an elf. Go be an elf.” With that, her new, nameless coworker disappears out the back as if such an explanation is suitable for someone’s first day on a job, as basic as it might seem.

“And a Merry Christmas to you,” she says with a sarcastic bow in his direction. She checks her phone expecting a response form Chloe but she hasn’t replied so she does the only thing she can do.

She puts her phone away and opens the front door of Santa’s Workshop to the cheers (and screams) of children and a loud, “Ho, ho, ho! Here’s another of my little helpers!” from an unimpressive mall Santa who looks at her with what should be a criminal level of disdain. Or pity. “Well, let’s not keep the good girls and boys waiting!” He gestures at the line that has no end in sight and Beca figures there’s only one thing to do.

“Okay, little guy,” she says, reaching out to take the hand of the next child in line, “let’s visit Santa!”

She’s going to have some very strong words for Chloe when she sees her tonight.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

“Dude, you said you were going on a break! It’s been at least two hours,” she whispers harshly under her breath when the elf she replaced returns. All he offers is a shrug and takes up a position at the front of the line to pass off the children to Beca.

At least she doesn’t have to walk back and forth trying to control the kids anymore. If they make it as far as her, most of them are agreeable to her lifting them on to Santa’s lap without too much of a fuss.

Her back is aching by the time someone tells her that she can take a dinner break and her hands are so uncomfortably sticky that she knows she’s destined to wake up puking tomorrow thanks to some illness she’s acquired. She pushes through the front door of the workshop and makes a beeline for the giant pump bottle of hand sanitizer, briefly considering bathing with it but settles on slathering it only on her hands and arms.

A check of her phone reveals to her her worst nightmare.

A photo, sent from Chloe, of Beca standing on the porch of Santa’s Workshop looking less than impressed by her situation, staring off into the distance contemplating her existence.

Only the photo was sent to the Bellas’ group chat, not just Beca, and there are at least fifty texts of varying levels of amusement and threats of blackmail that follow it.

She’s typing out a message intended just for Chloe to convey her irritation as she exits through the back door only to find the would-be recipient of her words waiting for her wearing exactly the smile Beca imagined her sporting when she sent her evil, evil photo to the girls.

“You!” she growls, her stride changing to stalk toward her co-captain. “You knew about this!”

“You asked me to get you a job, Bec!” Chloe says, voice so high and eyes so bright with mirth that it’s impossible for Beca to maintain any level of ill-will toward her. “So I got you a job.”

Beca pokes her squarely in the chest. “This wasn’t what I had in mind.”

“No?”

“I specifically said nothing lame.”

“It’s not lame,” Chloe grins. “I love Christmas!”

“Right. You love Christmas.”

Her correction goes unnoticed (or ignored) by Chloe. “I knew you’d make a good elf.”

Beca crosses her arms. “And why is that? Choose your words carefully.”

“Because I knew you’d look adorable in the costume.” Her eyes roam Beca in what feels like a slightly invasive manner. “And I was right.”

Beca blushes despite herself. “I look like an idiot.”

“But an adorable idiot. Are you on break?”

Beca lets her comment slide. “Yeah.”

“Awes. Me, too. Let’s go to the food court.”

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

Beca should have known that going to the food court in full elf attire would garner attention, especially from children. They flocked to her asking about Santa like pigeons to tossed breadcrumbs and if not for the stupidly cute way Chloe watched her while it happened, she would have probably done something to get herself fired on her first day, like yelling that Santa isn’t even real and to get the fuck away from her.

“You know you owe me. Big time,” she says as Chloe walks her back to the workshop.

“If I’m not mistaken, you actually owe me. That’s why you’re here.”

“Right,” Beca grumbles.

“But seeing you dressed up like this is definitely worth more than the money you owe me. Let’s call it even.”

“What? Dude, no,” Beca says, feeling immensely guilty that Chloe’s offering to forgive the nearly $100 she owes. “I’ll pay you back.”

She feels Chloe grab her hand once they’re behind the workshop and sidle up alongside her to whisper conspiratorially. “Tell you what: give me a private tour of Santa’s Workshop after you close. Then we’ll call it even.”

Beca’s stomach flip-flops, maybe from the mall sushi she just ate or maybe from Chloe being so close and sounding so suggestive. “I don’t think I’m supposed to do that.”

Chloe clicks her tongue and the fact that it happens so close to Beca’s ear makes her shiver. “Everyone knows Santa’s Workshop after-hours is the place to be. You just have to know someone to get in. And now I know you.”

Beca can’t help but smirk a little. “You make it sound like it’s the hottest new club.”

“Well, maybe not quite,” Chloe says with a shrug and puts a bit of space between them once again. “But I do want to see it.”

“It’s just a big empty box.”

“Then who cares if I see it?” Damn Chloe and her logic.

“Fine. What time does this thing close? I don’t even know who my supervisor is. Or when my shift ends.”

“Mall closes at 9:00. Santa at 8:30.”

Beca checks her very non-elf-like watch and groans that it’s only 6:30. “Then meet me here at 8:30.”

Chloe gives her one of her excited squeals and a kiss on her cheek before scampering away back toward her much less lame job at Aeropostale with a wave.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

She spots Chloe spying on her in the open plaza of the mall when she’s helping the other elf close up the workshop (which involves little more than placing a sign in front of the door that reads Santa’s checking his lists - come back tomorrow!) and she throws a glare or two her way.

Chloe laughs at them and when Beca disappears into the workshop house to exit through the back, she sees Chloe all but skipping around it to meet her. Beca lets her fellow elf depart first who stops when he almost bumps into Chloe waiting at the back door. Beca’s immediate reaction is to panic that she’s in trouble but instead, he turns around smiling and says, “Nice one, honey. And on your first day.”

She doesn’t have a chance to ask what he means because he’s out the door and Chloe’s stepping in, closing it behind her.

“Why did he look at me that way?” Beca asks, trying to catch sight of him through a side window as he departs.

“I don’t know,” Chloe says airly. “This is cool!”

“Uh, sure,” Beca says as she steps aside so Chloe can explore what little there is to the place. She watches her try out both chairs, wondering aloud which one is Santa’s and which one is Mrs. Claus’s while taking more than one selfie.

“Come sit on my lap,” Chloe says and it makes Beca wonder if she heard correctly.

“What?”

“Come on,” she repeats, patting it. “Don’t think I’m not getting a picture with Santa’s cutest elf in his workshop.”

“Oh, my God, stop,” Beca says with a roll of her eyes. “I’ll do it, but only if I get photo approval.”

“Deal,” Chloe grins, holding out her arms expectantly.

As if it’s really some big chore for Beca.

She perches cautiously on Chloe’s knee only to get pulled back until Chloe’s arm is around her waist, the other poised in the air with her phone at the ready.

“Say, ‘Have a holly jolly Christmas!’”

“Not saying that,” Beca says but she smiles for the photos anyway.

A few minutes and many photos (and one photo approval) later, Chloe has a new Instagram post and Beca has days of ridicule lying ahead. She’s also still basically on Chloe’s lap, the two of them shifting to share the chair, though Beca’s legs have to drape awkwardly over Chloe’s to fit.

“You know,” Chloe starts as she wiggles to get her phone into her pocket, “I’ve worked at this mall for three Christmases and I’ve never been invited to the workshop.”

“Should I know why that’s significant?”

“Well,” she says as she settles again, her free hand now taking up Beca’s to start playing with her fingers absentmindedly, “this is totes the make-out spot in the mall.”

Beca nearly chokes. “What?”

“I told you: it’s VIP. You have to be invited. It’s like, the law of the mall.”

“And you thought making me an elf would get you in? Dude, I’m not going to be a lookout while you hook up with someone in here.”

“No, silly,” Chloe laughs. “I didn’t mean that. I wanted you to invite me.”

Beca feels like her ears are on fire. “What?”

“You wanna make out?”

Beca’s sure she’s now entirely engulfed in flames, and Chloe’s hand resting on her hip isn’t helping matters. “Dude, what?”

“We don’t have to,” Chloe quickly follows with. “Unless...unless you want to? Maybe? I’m not trying to make anything weird, I just thought, you know, I like you, and now that I know you like girls, too, I just thought maybe...”

Beca’s brain tunes out after that because Chloe’s turned from a giggly, cuddly friend to a rambling ball of nerves; she can even feel how tense Chloe is beneath her. She tunes out because Chloe’s asking Beca if she wants to kiss. Each other. And something about Chloe having thought about it?

“Okay.” She doesn’t know where the word comes from but her brain spits it out and it cuts off Chloe.

“...Okay?” Chloe repeats slowly, as though unsure she heard what she thinks she heard.

Beca feels seconds from full-on panic so she just nods.

“Oh. Cool,” Chloe says, the uncertainty and tension starting to ease. “So…”

“So…” Beca repeats and finds herself adjusting her position next to Chloe so they’re less cheek-to-cheek and more face-to-face.

Or lips-to-lips, as it were. Not that she’s thinking of such things. Mostly her heart os pounding in her ears and her stomach is tingling because there’s no doubt that Chloe’s staring at Beca’s mouth with intent and there’s getting to be less and less distance between them.

Beca holds her breath when they’re so close she can feel Chloe’s. But then Chloe stops.

“Are you sure?” she asks and Beca almost laughs.

“Chloe.” She hears herself and is embarrassed by how whiney it sounds but it makes Chloe’s soft lips split into a grin.

“I just wanted to hear you beg,” she whispers before erasing the last inch between them to press her lips to Beca’s.

Beca’s still reeling from the fact that Chloe is kissing her when her sassy and startingly sexy words register with Beca. She starts to pull away with a grunt of protest, not of the kiss but of Chloe’s cockiness, but Chloe laughs against her lips and slides the arm that’s been around Beca’s waist higher up her back so she can’t get far.

Beca doesn’t really want to get away from Chloe anyway. Or stop what’s currently happening. Because Chloe’s lips feel amazing touching hers and just when Beca starts to sink into it, Chloe changes things up and tilts her head in a way that makes them fit even better.

The sound Beca makes at the touch of Chloe’s tongue to her lips is just as embarrassing as whining about Chloe teasing her but the sound Chloe makes in response is the sexiest thing Beca’s ever heard.

It fuels her. Emboldens her to press a bit forward, to part her lips and let Chloe in to meet her tongue with her own.

That’s all it takes for them to be making out in the darkened Santa’s Workshop. A rambly suggestion and Beca nodding like a bobblehead. If she had known it would be that easy, maybe they could have done this a long time ago.

Not that she has any regrets. Not when Chloe’s tongue is playing with hers in a way that makes Beca think she might be showing off. Or maybe Chloe’s just an amazing kisser.

(She’s pretty sure it’s the latter.)

She doesn’t know how much time passes but eventually Chloe is the one to pull back with a satisfied-sounding groan. “God, that was really good,” she says before leaning in to kiss Beca again, a hard, fast, wet kiss that turns Beca on more in those three seconds than everything prior.

“Yeah,” Beca replies and she can hear in her own voice how breathless she sounds.

“And you look...smokin’ hot dressed up like this.”

Beca almost finds enough snark left inside her to turn that into a comment about Chloe having a weird Christmas kink, except as soon as she thinks about Chloe having kinks of any kind, her mind shuts down again and she’s the one suddenly kissing Chloe, hard, fast, and wet.

Chloe groans again when Beca pulls back and it’s all she can do to not lean right in for more. It feels too good and knowing it’s affecting Chloe like it’s affecting Beca is even better. She manages to refrain, though, because she’s noticing how dark it’s gotten. “Dude, they turned off all the lights.”

“Mall’s closed,” Chloe says, voice sounding as dreamy as she looks.

“And it’s okay for us to still be here?”

“Security will let us out. Do you want to do this again?” Chloe’s question follows her comment about security with no warning and it catches Beca off-guard.

“Uh, I mean…” she stumbles over what she should say; she doesn’t want to sound like the horny college student she is, and she doesn’t want to sound like she’s rejecting Chloe’s offer (?), but she definitely wants to do this again. “Amy’s crashing at Bumper’s tonight,” is how she answers it and it’s not until Chloe’s eyes go wide with surprise that she realizes how that sounded.

“I just meant...oh, my God,” she rushes, trying to figure out how to explain that she didn’t mean it ‘that way’ except she kind of did, just not all-the-way that way. Except despite tonight being their first kiss, she’s pretty sure she would sleep with Chloe tonight if things went that direction.

It’s not like she’s never thought about it.

“I just meant we can hang out in my room and be alone and see what happens.”

Chloe’s smiling at her struggle to answer and it only grows. “‘See what happens’? What if what happens is more of that?”

Beca thinks it’s a dumb question. Dumb dumb dumb. “Then that would be fine,” she says with a nod.

“Then let’s go home,” Chloe whispers before pulling Beca into one more kiss, all of it leaving Beca’s legs unsteady when she finally rights herself so they can leave the workshop.

“I can’t get over this,” Chloe says with a tug to Beca’s skirt before standing up as well. “Can you keep it on when we get home?”

“In your dreams.”

Chloe hums thoughtfully as she takes Beca’s hand to lead her out of the workshop and through the hidden hallways of the mall to the exit. “Oh, it will be.”

Beca has a lot of questions about that: what exactly she means, what exactly she’d be dreaming of, what exactly what’s happening means for them as friends, and if it means something more.

Instead of asking about any of that, however, she says, “I didn’t forget what you did. You’re not off the hook for this elf thing.”

The look Chloe tosses her over her shoulder makes her breath catch. “Guess I’ll have to make it up to you.”

The End

#bechloe #merry pitchmas #merry pitchmas 2019 #fanfic #brandneweyesx

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vagrantblvrd · 5 years ago

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In from the Cold, (1/1)

Summary: The past couple of months have been busy for Ryan.

Notes: Prompt fill for Anon who asked for Freewood with flowershop owner and hitman/spy AU way back at the start of May. :D?

(Read on AO3)

The past couple of months have been busy for Ryan. Running back-to-back missions with operatives from allied agencies that took him all across the globe until a lucky bullet put him down for the count in Bangkok. Left him bleeding out in an alley until a Good Samaritan happened by and took him to a local clinic.

Everything after that was something of a blur until he woke up to Geoff by his bedside with his face in his hands.

Relatively new to the agency, but he looks like he’s been there since the beginning. Takes his agents’ welfare far more seriously than his predecessors ever did and Ryan knows he’s not alone in adjusting to the way things have changed since he was appointed. (No idea what to do with someone who cares.)

Tired and drawn-thin with orders for Ryan to stop fucking doing this to him because he’s an old man and getting older every time one of his idiots ended up at death’s door, fucking hell, Ryan.

Dramatic of him, but Ryan had taken his point.

Promised to be good, once they got him back stateside. Listen to what the medical professionals had to say and let himself heal up before he went out and did something insanely stupid again.

So here he is, puttering around his apartment that feels more alien to him than the hotel rooms and other assorted hovels he tends to live in on missions.

A bit on the dreary side of things, since he hasn’t had the time to put personal touches into the décor. Most of the plants that were gifted to him when he moved in from coworkers and friendly neighbors are dead.

Dry, withered things that make him wince at the sight of them because he’d meant to ask someone to check in on them for him, but things had gotten a little out of hand. Gone from infiltrating a posh gala to gather intel on suspect characters and ended with him teaming up with fellow agents to retrieve nuclear codes and it’s a long story. (Ends with betrayal in the rain and a bullet in his shoulder.)

“Well this is fantastic,” Ryan says, and the little stray staring at him through the window screen in his kitchen meows agreement.

Scrappy little thing, loves to sunbathe in the flower planter attached to the window frame and not at all scared of Ryan.

Won’t come any closer, but the food he leaves out for her on his balcony disappears like clockwork, and she’s no longer so scrawny he can see her ribs.

Small victories.

Ryan looks around.

Thin layer of dust everywhere and nothing feels like the home it’s meant to be. Place to go after the briefings and missions and reports, to remember how to be human.

“Okay,” he says to himself quietly. “Okay, I can do this.”

He can’t roll his sleeves up at the moment, because one, he’s not wearing a long-sleeved shirt, and two, one arm is in a sling, but.

Tackling a task like cleaning his home up and making it suitable seems like something where you’d do that.

Instead Ryan flips the baseball cap he’s wearing around and wades into things armed with a feather duster, garbage bags, and sheer determination.

========

“Oh dear God,” Ryan says, an hour into things, because he forgot about the food he left in the fridge, and it’s not a pretty sight at all.

========

Several hours and a shower later, and Ryan’s apartment is starting to look like someone lives there now and there are no things in the refrigerator.

He’s tired, pleasantly so. Sense of accomplishment and hunger gnawing at his belly that drives him out to the little grocery store on the corner for groceries.

Smiles at the little old lady who asks him to get something off a high shelf for her. Makes small-talk with the cashier as she rings him up. Feels more human as he walks home, feet slowing when he comes across a flower shop he doesn’t remember seeing before.

Quaint place with a sandwich board on the sidewalk in front of it advertising daily sales. Curious stand set up for passersby to pick up a free flower as a courtesy. Brightly colored things with a vial attached to keep them fresh for the trip home.

Ryan thinks about the houseplants he threw out earlier and the lingering guilt in the back of his mind at the waste. How lifeless his apartment feels without them, and chooses a deep red flower, somehow managing not to drop the bag of groceries he’s carrying as he does.

When he gets home he realizes he doesn’t have a vase for the flower and settles on a drinking glass. Sets it on his kitchen counter where he and the stray can see it and laughs at himself because it’s ridiculous, isn’t it.

Government agent (spy) like him, and a silly little flower (unnecessary, frivolous) in a glass on his kitchen counter and it feels nice.

He keeps glancing at it while he cooks dinner for himself while saving tasty tidbits for the stray, and wonders if the shop sells houseplants.

========

They do.

========

Ryan is...not a plant expert.

Has no idea what he’s doing, really.

Ends up browsing the plant selection along one side of the shop. Flowering houseplants and herbs and other things he doesn’t know the names of. Recognizes from seeing them on the desks of his fellow agents and support staff at work and wonders if he’d be able to keep any of them alive given his frequent trips.

He’s considering an odd looking succulent when someone bumps into him. Ryan stiffens, turns to face whoever it is, cold voice voice in the back of his head admonishing him for not paying attention to his surroundings. For forgetting. (It sounds like his former superiors, and leaves him unsettled.)

“Are you alright?”

The man who bumped into him is wearing a work apron with the shop’s name emblazoned across the front. A handwritten name tag that says “Gavin”. British accent and a wild shock of hair. Too-big nose and blue-green eyes.

Frown on his face as he looks Ryan over, checks to see if he’s alright since Ryan still hasn’t answered him. The apologetic smile on his face drops away to open concern when his gaze lands on Ryan’s sling.

“I’m fine,” Ryan says, smiles to back that claim up. “Don’t worry about it.”

Gavin’s frown deepens, as though he’s not entirely convinced, but he huffs out a little laugh along with another apology.

Notices the small succulent Ryan’s still holding and makes this little cooing noise.

At the plant.

“Oh, she’s a lovely one,” he says, looks up at Ryan with this smile. “Do you have any at home?”

Ryan isn’t sure what’s going on.

“Uh, no,” he says. The plants he’d been given were hanging plants and flowers. Nothing like this strange little plant. Looks a bit like aloe but with prominent white stripes. “But I’ve heard it’s supposed to be hard to kill.”

Might survive him and his absences, even.

Gavin grins, and Ryan’s sure he must get customers in here all the time who say something along the same lines.

“Do you have pets?” he asks, something Ryan hadn’t considered before.

Thinks about the little stray and the fact that fall is just around the corner, and cooler weather with it. Rain. Frost. Early snow, if last year was any measure.

“...Yes,” he says, even though he’s not sure the stray would agree with him.

Gavin doesn’t question it though, just turns to the plants on display on the low tables set out and selects another succulent. Fat little leaves growing in a rosette pattern, touches of color at their tips.

“You might want to try one of these,” he says, cheeky little sales pitch. “The one you’re holding is safe for pets, but this is another lovely one and also on the hard to kill end of things.”

Ryan considers the plant, short stubby thing, and realizes he’s more than a bit out of his depth here in more ways than one.

Looks up at Gavin, that little smile on his face like he knows, and sighs.

========

The stray’s curious today, pacing back and forth on the other side of the balcony kitchen window as Ryan contemplates the best arrangements of his new houseplants.

The zebra plant he was initially drawn to and several other succulents. A spider plant for the living room. Several others he’s worried will die in his care sooner or later, but Gavin had been so enthusiastic about them and Ryan -

Well.

He’s a weak, weak man at loose ends until his shoulder heals and Lindsay’s always telling him he needs hobbies, isn’t she? Things unrelated to work, something that will help him wind down after a stressful mission.

So.

Looks like he’s going to give plants a try, see if he can’t keep them alive long enough to count as an actual hobby and not an impulse buy.

“Fingers crossed, huh?” he asks, and gets a flatly unimpressed look from the stray.

Ryan laughs, and turns on the television to watch the news as he fusses with the plants. Frowns at a reporter looking solemn as they drone on and on about a string of jewelry store robberies and rise in unrelated break-ins and daring burglaries and the like over the last few months. Only thing of significant note the fact they take place around sunset.

No new leads but unusual for the city, local police concerned about the rise in crime asking viewers to call a hotline they’ve set up it they see any suspicious activity.

Ryan hums to himself, and spares the stray a glance when it lets out a plaintive cry.

“I don’t suppose you know anything about that, do you?”

Ryan’s odd sense of humor and an old, worn out joke involving cats and burglaries and honestly, part of the reason he gets along half as well as he does with his co-workers.

========

Ryan’s not completely off the hook when it comes to that last mission, no.

There are meetings and conferences. Investigations and Ryan tired and hurting and facing down official and legal counsel from their sister agency over their operative who’d gone rogue on them. Sold their country out for the guarantee of a cushy retirement somewhere tropical – Ryan’s never seen the appeal, all that sand – and done their level best to kill Ryan as well.

Didn’t seem to think the fact better people had tried and failed, thought they would finally be the one to succeed.

He gets Geoff’s tired sighs, aggravated noises in private before they face the long, exhausting spectacle of it all. His staunch support at his side while others are trying to tear apart Ryan’s accounts of events. Insist he’s lying, dragging a dead man’s name through the mud to cover his own wrongdoing as though Ryan wouldn’t be more clever about things.

Laughs to himself when he mentions that to Geoff over lunch one day, and gets to see the man choke on his salad, sputtered “Jesus Christ, Ryan, don’t say shit like that,” because spies and paranoia and Geoff’s a good man but also a naive bastard if he thinks Ryan’s enemies don’t already know that about him.

Lindsay and the others check in with him when he’s not facing an inquisition, text him random things they think he’ll find interesting or at least entertaining. Call him up to pick his brain over some technical snag or logistic problem with a mission still in its planning stages.

Strange little community, family they’ve become over the years due to the nature of their jobs and the bonds it creates. (Out of familiarity and necessity at first, although it became choice a long time ago.)

========

Ryan’s understandably wary about buying too much in the way or perishable foods in case he’s called away for work longer than expected after the Fridge Incident. Makes daily trips to the corner grocery store, which somehow ends up with him stopping by the flower shop on the way as well. (Picks up one of their free flowers to brighten his apartment up, add a little cheer.)

Gavin’s always happy to see him, comes over to talk if business is slow at the time. Ask after Ryan’s plants, helps him when one of them is doing poorly. Shares pictures of the strays that loiter in the alley behind the flower shop he’s trying to befriend and all the ridiculous names he’s come up for them when Ryan mentions the stray that’s adopted him in its own way.

Ryan’s not completely socially inept, but this is definitely different from charming a target or dealing with fellow agents and support staff. This is -

It’s kind of terrifying, because he’s startlingly fond of Gavin and his rambling nonsense. Little stories about his coworkers at the shop, people Ryan’s met in passing and always seem busy. Delivering orders to customers or handling events for clients, in and out all the time.

Leaves the two of them time to talk, and Ryan’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

(Unnecessary, frivolous, but.)

“Ryan!” Gavin’s smile lights up his face and Ryan -

Oh, he thinks a little helplessly. Oh, no.

========

Ryan is an idiot.

========

“I mean, yeah,” Geoff says, snatches the unopened can of diet soda from his hand. “You really are.”

Ryan’s not sure why Geoff’s here, poking around his modest apartment and stealing his diet soda, but here they are.

They’re not friends in the conventional sense, but there’s something more to it than their working relationship. Something that lets Geoff unwind in Ryan’s apartment, loosen his tie and kick his shoes off. Give Ryan this little smirk like maybe they are friends, and Ryan just hasn’t caught on yet.

“To be fair I don’t know what you're talking about? But you, Ryan. You are definitely an idiot.

Ryan sighs, getting up to take another can of diet soda out of his fridge. Watches Geoff sitting in his kitchen looking as relaxed as Ryan’s ever seen him. He’s got the newspaper Ryan picked up on his morning jog spread out in front of him, frowning over a news story concerning another jewelry store robbery. (Used to work for the FBI, according to the rumors, before Burnie lured him to the agency to make things right.)

“Thanks, boss.”

Geoff cackles, gestures to the kitchen window and the stray watching them through slitted eyes. Basking in the warmth of the late afternoon sun in its planter.

“When did you get a cat?”

Ryan shrugs.

“Hell if I know.”

He’s a dog person, but the damn thing has claimed Ryan’s planter as its own and climbs into his lap when he sits out on the balcony with a drink and book to read and what is he supposed to do about that?

Geoff eyes him, thoughtful edge to it, and laughs.

“See that? Right there, Ryan? That’s you being an idiot.”

========

He’s not wrong.

========

Gavin’s coworkers are...odd.

Strange.

Suspicious as hell.

“Gav’s not here,” Trevor says, light, airy tone, but steel in his eyes.

The three of them don’t seem to have set days off, rarely work together the same days. (Not that Ryan’s looking for patterns, routines. Using those observational skills of his the agency honed to use because he still feels at loose ends, no.)

There’s just something about Trevor that unsettles Ryan.

Co-owner of this quaint little flower shop who as it happens is not Ryan’s biggest fan, and sure as hell not shy about letting Ryan know.

The door to the shop swings shut behind Ryan and he feels trapped.

Hairs on the back of his neck and urge to go for his weapon, but this isn’t a mission.

This is a quaint little flower shop a few blocks from his building and the coworker of someone Ryan’s gotten far too attached to for anyone’s good.

And yet here he is.

Trevor’s watching him with this frown – one Ryan belatedly realizes is only for him. Eyes sharp and assessing in a way that unsettles Ryan.

“Ah,” Ryan says. “I see.”

Trevor’s eyebrows go up, and Ryan winces.

Government agent of the “spy” variety and an absolute disaster dealing with anything not related to his work. Amazing.

“Maybe you can help?” Ryan asks, even though he’d prefer to slink out of the flower shop with the way Trevor’s looking at him. “One of my plants isn’t doing well, and I’d hoped I could get advice on what to do?”

Trevor tips his head to the side as he squints at Ryan. Pinpointing weak spots perhaps, or the best way to kill him and hide the body afterwards. (Ryan’s mind flashes back to plays he was in, once upon and time and smothers a laugh, barely manages to keep from asking if they have Venus flytraps in the back.)

“Maybe,” Trevor says, mimicking Ryan. Smiles, faint. Definitely amused by Ryan. “Why don't you tell me what you’ve done to the poor thing and we’ll see what we can do, hmm?”

========

Alfredo is another odd one.

Friendly smiles and bright laughter that covers this sharpness to him Ryan’s hard-put to describe.

Easy to see why the customers in the flower shop linger when he’s helping them. Like to chat about things going on in their lives, tease and joke with him.

It’s not just good salesmanship, it’s -

“Oh, hey, Ryan!”

Unsettling in a completely different way because he’s disarming. Makes people want to trust him, and Ryan can feel himself being drawn in despite himself from time to time.

“Alfredo,” he says, not surprised they’re the only ones in the shop.

It’s early still, on a weekday and people are headed off to work and dropping their children at school. A million and one things to do and not enough hours in the day.

And then there’s Ryan, fresh from his morning jog and still this restlessness to him afterwards.

“Is it here?”

Alfredo grins as he looks through the notes they keep behind the counter. Service numbers in case something goes wrong in the shop and repairs need to be made. Delivery numbers for online orders and so on. A handful of customer numbers and the relevant information for those like Ryan who’ve requested a special order for plants and supplies they don’t keep on hand due to lack or space or wider interest.

“Oh-ho,” Alfredo says, and flashes Ryan another grin. “Look at this!”

A delivery receipt for a company in town, and Gavin’s signature at the bottom.

“Hold on a minute and I’ll get that for you.”

Ryan doesn’t fidget while Alfred goes into the backroom, he just.

Explores.

Wanders over to a display stand on the counter a little further down. Odd little plants in tiny terrariums that claim to be hardier than other indoor plants Difficult to kill and perfect for those looking for a unique plant for their homes or offices.

Hand-painted pots from local artisans. Odd bits and bobs like keychains and refrigerator magnets for plant lovers. Seed packets for those looking to start butterfly gardens and so on.

“Here we go,” Alfredo calls out, singsong note to it as he emerges from the back and sets Ryan’s order down on the counter.

Looking at it, Ryan feels ridiculous because it’s –

< i>Unnecessary, frivolous.

“It’s a beauty,” Alfredo says, giving Ryan this smile like he knows. “You have a name picked out?”

Ryan laughs, little huff of breath as he pulls the small potted plant closer.

“Still thinking about it,” he says, and wonders how much grief he’d get from Geoff and the others for naming is new Venus flytrap it after a certain killer plant from outer space.

========

If Ryan’s being honest with himself – and to be honest, he rarely ever is – Gavin’s a bit on the odd side of things as well.

Little things about him that ping the edge of Ryan’s finely-tuned radar for trouble that he pushes aside because...Because.

That smile of his and his cheerfulness. Way he laughs at Ryan dumb little jokes and stands far too close for someone he barely knows when Ryan stops by the flower shop for advice on his plants (and honestly, the internet is right there at his fingertips, isn’t it?) or pick up something he didn’t know he needed for them. (It’s a learning process he’s woefully slow about.)

Gavin is sharp in a way Ryan’s learned to watch out for. Covers for it well with that aforementioned smile and cheerfulness, but he’s...there’s something to him that doesn’t quite sit right with Ryan.

Clever and bright and as he learns one day when he walks into the shop to find it empty, part mountain goat.

“Hello?” he calls out, instantly wary because it’s the weekend when there tend to be a fair amount of customers about the place, Gavin or one of his co-workers behind the counter or helping said customers.

There’s a clatter from the back storeroom. A clunk, a rattle and then a harried sounding Gavin.

“I’m in the back!” he yells out, and, “come on back!”

Ryan glances around as though he could be talking (yelling?) at anyone else, and hesitates before he steps behind the counter and heads through the doorway into the storeroom.

He doesn’t see Gavin at first, but it’s easy enough to follow a trail of knocked over supplies and other things to a corner of the storeroom. Look up, and there Gavin is a good ten feet off the ground and moving about the storage shelving there instead of using the ladder Ryan can see less than five feet from him.

The height doesn’t seem to bother him, let alone the dangerous footing. Moves as easily as he would if he were on firm ground, and glances down at Ryan with a cheerful grin.

“Ryan!” he greets, “just the person I wanted to see!”

Ryan’s glad for the dim lighting back here, because spy he may be but he he still hasn’t mastered involuntary reactions like blushing. (A failing for someone in his line of work, surely.)

“Oh?” he says, and bites the inside of his cheek when Gavin laughs at him as he snags a box on the shelf above him and makes his way down the shelves with easy confidence.

Gavin drops the last foot off the ground and turns around to show Ryan the box he grabbed, and gestures for him to follow him into the work area.

Ryan follows him, curiosity piqued as Gavin sets aside pieces of foam and cardboard to reveal a little clay pot with stylized flytrap plants painted on it and curving, twisting vines curling around the entire thing.

“I almost forgot this,” he says, little grin on his face as he glances at Ryan. “That special order you put in reminded me about it.”

Ryan stares at the pot and can’t help the stupid little smile he can feel stealing across his face thinking about re-potting Audrey II into it like the dork Lindsay and the others are always accusing him of being.

========

Ryan’s always had the worst luck.

========

It doesn’t seem to matter how careful Ryan is, something like this always happens.

Always.

He’s moved several times since he joined the agency, made it a habit after the first few years and one too many coincidences he suspects weren’t.

Past time to have moved from his current apartment, to be honest, but sentimentality and something else has kept him here. (Someone.)

Whatever his reasons it’s a moot point, considering the current situation.

Annoyed, because things were going so well for him for once. He was so close to being reinstated, had something of a life outside work, and now there’s another hole in his shoulder. Too damn close to the first and bleeding like a son of a bitch.

His fault, for allowing himself to develop routines while he’s on medical leave. Patterns. Made himself predictable, allowed his enemies to set up a trap and bait him into it.

And now there’s a broken off blade in his sill-healing shoulder (it seems to be a magnet for things like that) and a dead enemy agent behind him along with Ryan’s phone that bravely took a bullet for him.

Something close to fear in his chest and too far from home. (Guilt building up with each painful step because there’s someplace closer he thinks might be safe, and resignation because somehow it would turn out like this.)

He makes it to the alley behind the flower shop, thankful for the heavy downpour that’s driven people inside, fewer potential witnesses. Knocks on the back door and hopes like hell someone’s close enough to hear it.

That there aren’t any customers to deal with, other complications he hasn’t considered -

And then the door opens.

Ryan stumbles back, hisses softly as the motion jars his wound, and looks up to see Gavin standing there, eyes widening as he takes in Ryan’s battered state.

“Ryan?”

Ryan opens his mouth to answer, but the words don’t come.

Doesn’t know what he could say to explain himself even if they did.

Thankfully Gavin doesn’t seem to care, already moving to help him. Slips a shoulder under Ryan’s good arm and guides them inside. Leads Ryan to a stool in front of a workstation of sorts and eyes him with something more than concern.

“Can you sit up on your own?” he asks, strange sort of familiarity in this sort of situation that speaks of past experience.

Ryan nods, hand pressed to his shoulder as he watches Gavin go over to a counter and pull a sign out of a drawer. For the front door, and he catches a glimpse of it before Gavin slips into the shop proper, an apology for being closed but Gavin’s gone before he can read it fully.

He recalls seeing it in being used before and the excuses one of the others gave him afterward and not thinking twice about it. The way Gavin’s moving now, with such purpose makes him wonder if he should have.

Hears the sounds of Gavin pulling the blinds and shutters closed, locking up behind him before he comes back, phone in hand.

Pauses with his thumb over the call button and glances at Ryan.

“Ambulance?” he asks, and nods to himself when Ryan shakes his head.

Bad idea at the moment, speaking from personal experience. Ryan should put a call in to Geoff, the agency. Get a team out here to deal with the mess, have their people handle things, but he’s so tired.

Doesn’t know what he’s doing here, why he’s not doing a damn thing as Gavin calls someone. Talks too quietly for Ryan to make out what he’s saying and the concern he should feel nowhere to be found.

Tired.

Aware that whatever else happens now, things are going to change between them. Already have, with the way Gavin’s acting.

No longer the slightly clumsy co-owner of a quaint little flower shop and more...something.

Someone who knows how to react in a situation like this, isn’t nervous or panicking. Flustered. Just this calm sort of efficiency to his actions, clear protocol in the steps he takes.

From the quick assessment of Ryan’s current state to making sure other people – civilians – don’t wander into this little mess unsuspecting, to whoever he’s called to alert them.

Gavin hangs up and turns to Ryan, expression Ryan can’t read on his face.

Shaky little sigh and then Gavin pockets his phone and goes over to the counter he pulled the closed sign from. Takes out a hefty looking first-aide kit and comes back over to him with a little detour to turn the heat up as he does, wry twist to his mouth.

“Well then,” he says, tries for a light tone even though the look in his eyes is anything but. “Why don’t we see what we can do about that nasty wound of yours, hmm?”

Ryan blinks up at him, feels like he should be asking questions. More so as Gavin picks through the little plastic box, setting out medical supplies and muttering to himself.

Little laugh as he brings a desk lamp over for better lighting and Ryan tries to help, get his shirt unbuttoned, but his hands are clumsy from the cold and everything else and he makes a mess of it. Stops when Gavin places his hands over his and laughs, eyes sliding away fro Ryan’s as he helps him out of his shirt.

“Can’t say this is how I saw things going,” Gavin says, another awkward little laugh and dusting of red high up on his cheeks.

Ryan – doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything at all.

Gavin clears his throat and mumbles something Ryan doesn’t catch as he shakes off whatever nervousness took hold and sees about doing what he can with the supplies at hand.

There’s this...Gavin makes this noise when he sees the bullet wound, fingers ghosting over it before he moves on to seeing about the knife wound.

“I don’t have the proper medical tools to remove it,” he says apologetically when Ryan tells him the blade’s still in there. “Probably for the best you get someone qualified to see to it anyway.”

He keeps Ryan engaged, chattering on about nothing and handing him things to hold. Nudges him with his knee when Ryan’s mind starts to drift, presses his fingers into his shoulder causing a slight sting and yanking his mind back to the present with a murmured apology.

Trevor and Alfredo show up just as Gavin’s double-checking his work, stopgap measure at best that he apologizes for several times, but he’s already done more than Ryan expected when he made his way here.

“So,” Trevor says, taking in the mess before him, Ryan included. “This is quite the pickle.”

Gavin continues cleaning up, neatly avoiding Trevor’s eyes and ducking around Alfredo who seems content to watch things unfold.

Ryan...should definitely be more concerned about all of this, the way Trevor’s looking at him, but can’t seem to when Gavin comes back to stand beside him. Puts himself between Ryan and the others and his heart trips over itself in his chest at that.

“Trevor,” Gavin says, layers of meaning to it Ryan can’t hope to understand as they stare each other down.

Alfredo shuffles his feet and clears his throat pointedly when the tension in the room rises, gestures at Ryan who’s just sitting there like an idiot. Thoughts slow and stupid, far from the top agent he’s supposed to be because he’s not doing anything about this, is he.

Just letting things play out like it has nothing to do with him and honestly, it would be nice if that were true, wouldn’t it.

“This changes things,” Trevor says, and Ryan knows that tone of voice, doesn’t he. The slight shift of his stance from an odd sort of civilian to someone who very much is not. “We can’t - “

Ryan gets to his feet because nothing good ever comes after a statement like that, and it’s clear he’s made a mistake. Let his guard down when he shouldn’t have, forgot his training and all the lessons he learned the hard way.

Much as he tried to ignore the signs that something was off about this quaint little flower shop and its owners, that he just couldn't turn his training off there’s no way to interpret the shift in the three of them.

Trevor’s a threat. Alfredo’s a threat. Gavin’s a threat, much as it hurts to think of him that way, and he can’t continue to sit there letting things play out any longer.

Ryan stands, but his body betrays him. Blood loss and pain, shock, strain on his body – all of it – finally catch up to him as the world tips sideways on him.

He hears Alfredo's low swearing as he reaches for him, sees Gavin start to turn back and the world fades out before he hits the floor.

========

“You’re an idiot.”

First thing Geoff says when he gets to the hospital Ryan woke up in, which had been a surprise given the last thing he remembers. (Honestly a surprise he’d woken up at all, with the way Trevor had been looking at him.)

Geoff is in a chair beside his bed radiating an enormous amount of disapproval at him, and Ryan?

He’s just confused.

“I know,” Ryan says, pokes gingerly at his shoulder and the thick swathe of bandages there. “Thanks for the reminder, though. I really needed it.”

He’s not even being sarcastic about it, which seems to throw Geoff for a moment. Has him eyeing Ryan like he’s worried he hit his head and failed to tell the doctors. He might have, actually, that last little bit in the back of the flower shop.

“Ryan - “

Ryan’s not looking at him now, watching a bird winging its way past his window. Sky cold and gray, storm clouds rolling in over the city to match his mood since waking earlier that day.

“Any sign of them?”

Quaint little slower shop setting up business in Ryan’s neighborhood while he was gone on a mission and hadn’t given a second thought to being there. New businesses popped up all the time like it, shopping about for good locations to set down roots and hopefully turn a profit.

Nothing suspicious about it, and the young men running it were so sweet and charming. Kind, and so knowledgeable about the flowers and pants they sold. Ingratiated themselves with the other local business, the community.

No reason to be suspicious about it, even when he should have known better. Trevor and Alfredo and the way something about them seemed ever so slightly off, but he’d been distracted, hadn't he.

Saw a pretty face, fell hard, because Gavin was kind and didn’t push, wonder, about the half-hearted lies Ryan fed him. Had this energy, light to him that drew Ryan in. Snared him easy as anything, even though he knew better. (Should have.)

Never would have pegged him as a thief, though. Three of them leaving behind enough clues to point to a heist they were forced to abandon, months in the making and Ryan nearly bleeding out in their little flower shop to ruin it.

The spate of jewelry robberies and other burglaries that had happened since the flower shop opened. Odd days off one or more or the three of them would take, easy explanations for it that just rolled off the tongue.

No trace of them aside other than a handful of clues about their next target, a rare set to be on exhibit at the museum in a few weeks time. Only window for them to grab it when it arrived in the city, jumble of faces around it and risky as hell but doable.

Sounds too bizarre to be true, and yet -

And yet.

Ryan’s always had the worst luck.

He’s surprised they didn’t leave him to die in the back of their shop. Sure as hell no incentive for them to help him, even less reason knowing they’d have to abort their heist. Run, before their...activities were discovered, careful lies and plans unraveling under the agency’s scrutiny, police involvement.

Geoff’s staring at him.

“You know,” he says, quiet, thoughtful. “When we got the call from them, we thought you were dead?”

Wouldn’t be the first time, the way Ryan’s luck runs.

Presumed dead several times over and always coming back like a bad penny.

He says as much, and can’t help the touch of amusement at Geoff’s aggravated sigh, frustrated growl.

“Jack warned me,” he mutters, scowling now. “Asshole warned me when I took the job. Told me what assholes you all were and I’d be lucky if I didn’t have an ulcer in the first six months.”

Ryan looks over at him then, curious.

Geoff cares, and the rest of them have long resigned themselves to working for people who didn’t. Saw them as expendable. Assets. Threw them at the current problem and no skin off their nose if they didn’t survive, because God knew there would be more recruits fresh out of the academy to take their places.

Geoff, though.

He cares.

Worries about them, the kinds of missions they get handed because their agency’s gained a reputation for taking on the most dangerous missions. Incredible success rate and never mind the cost.

They’re still adjusting. Learning to trust Geoff’s different, that he and his people are working to change the way the agency works. Put their people first. (When they can, because sometimes there’s no other choice.

“Just out of curiosity,” Ryan asks, “how long did it take?”

========

There’s a big to-do about the attack on Ryan.

All these security concerns and everything else that turns the agency even more on its head than when Geoff came in and started to rip out the roots past Directors planted years ago.

Something of a conspiracy from the remaining old-guard and those loyal to them and Geoff and those loyal to him have Ryan quietly relocated. And relocated again, because paranoia and all the things that come with his job.

No one can confirm if the attack was related to his last mission or something else. Old grudges from enemies he’s made over the years or someone discovering his status as an agent, to some as of yet unknown reason.

It’s the least reassuring thing in the world, and exactly what he was expecting to learn.

Ryan’s own bad luck and the nature of their jobs.

They put a security detail on him while he’s recovering from his latest injuries, because Geoff won’t take no for an answer and Ryan’s learning to accept that.

Still.

“Hey,” Michael says one day, disgruntled look on his face as he lets himself into Ryan’s place. “Got your mail for you.”

Ryan looks up from the newspaper he’s reading where he may or may not be looking for stories about recent robberies or burglaries. (Stupid of him, he knows. Foolish in the worst way.)

It should be annoying, really, the way the agency’s handling this. Michael and the others assigned to it not quite barging into his private life as...he doesn’t have the words for it, and is surprised he doesn’t mind it as much.

Blames Geoff for that, changing the way the agency operates and encouraging them to forge bonds with one another that was once frowned upon. Going from what amounted to work acquaintances to something more to the point Ryan doesn’t bristle at the thought of someone else collecting his mail.

(Security reasons for it too, scans and checks and that paranoia in action.)

He’s not an invalid, can make the trek down to his mailbox just fine, but he gets tired easily and some days it doesn’t seem worth the effort.

“Oh,” Ryan says. “Thanks, Michael.”

Michael eyes him when he notices what section of the newspaper Ryan’s reading. Looks like he wants to say something and just shakes his head before dropping Ryan’s mail in front of him.

“Yeah, sure.”

Ryan knows the agency is looking for Gavin and the others as well. Unsure if they were somehow involved in the attack or otherwise connected. Why they bothered to help Ryan knowing it would compromise their own operations and concerned at how completely they’ve disappeared off the face of the Earth.

A lot of questions there, and no luck in finding a hint as to where they’ve gone.

Ryan sets the newspaper aside and sorts through his mail, pausing on a brightly colored postcard. Gorgeous photo of a beach in Miami from the name emblazoned across the front in elegant script and brief description when he turns it over.

No message, just a little doodle of a Venus flytrap that has Ryan staring at it too long, because Michael notices.

“Something to be concerned about?”

Nice and casual, but when Ryan looks up it’s clear Michel knows the postcard means something. He might not know what the significance is, but he’s far from stupid.

“...No,” Ryan says, knowing what a risk he’s taking. With whoever sent the postcard (he knows, though, he does) and with Michael.

They’ve known one another or years, and Ryan’s always counted him among the small group of people he works with he could trust. (For whatever that’s worth.)

Michael gives him a long look – far from stupid – and shrugs.

“If you say so,” he says and goes off to check in with the team across the way.

========

Later that night Ryan does a quick online search and discovers several news articles about a spate of jewelry store robberies ad daring burglaries that took place in Miami recently.

Unknown suspects and so on and so forth that sounds far too familiar.

Ryan should, he knows, should bring it to the agency’s attention. Inform them there’s a possibility said crimes are related to Gavin and the others, too coincidental to be anything else, and yet?

He doesn’t.

No.

He deletes his search history, scrubs it from his laptop and harddrive, goes overboard with it because it’s what he knows and tucks the postcard away in the drawer of the table Audrey II sits on.

========

He gets more of them over the next few months. Always a new city, new state and all these news reports from those locations he uncovers after the fact.

Enough to make him wonder what Gavin’s playing at, hoping to gain from any of it.

Michael pretends not to notice, and the others assigned to babysit Ryan do the same.

And it would be fine, it would until Ryan comes home from his morning jog one day to find Lindsay cooing at something on the other side of his kitchen window while Geoff looks on.

“Uh,” Ryan says, sharing a look with Michael. “Lindsay? Geoff?”

Lindsay continues to coo, babbling nonsense and tapping her nails against the screen. Geoff turns to look at them, expression on his face that has Michael going to Lindsay to drag her out of Ryan’s apartment.

She protests, calls Geoff and Michael heartless buzzkills, but still lets Michael pull her away.

An impressive enough feat once Ryan goes over to see what had her so entranced.

It’s the stray.

Happily sunning itself in Ryan’s new planter he hasn’t bothered to plant anything in with the fall in full-swing and colder weather on the way.

“Oh,” Ryan says, because he hasn’t seen it since the agency relocated him. Tried his best to put it out of his mind because there were other, larger concerns than one small stray he wasn’t sure he wanted in his life anyway.

He’d done a terrible job of it though, sneaking away from under the noses of his babysitters to go back to look for it more than once with little luck. Realized it had run off to harass some other unsuspecting idiot, worm its way into their reluctant affections the way it had with him.

“Looks like your cat found you again,” Geoff says, and it’s a mix of Ryan’s boss and Ryan’s friend looking back at him.

Worried about the implied security risk to Ryan and God knows what else, because.

It’s fall and while the weather hasn’t turned terribly cold just yet, there’s a definite chill in the air once the sun goes down. Noticeable shift in temperature.

The stray’s sunning itself in the planter, yes, but there’s also a pet bed with blankets place on the small balcony that Ryan knows for a fact wasn’t there when he and Michael left for his morning jog. Bowls of food and water.

Ryan tears his gaze away from them to look at Geoff, unsure what to say.

It’s possible the stray might have somehow found him all the way across the city after being relocated twice. He’s heard about the incredible journeys pets will go on to find their owners after being separated from them, but something like this is more difficult to explain away as part of that phenomenon.

But like Michael before him, Geoff just gives him a look.

“I always heard you don’t choose a cat as much as it chooses you,” he says, sarcastic as hell. “But I never expected to see proof of it like this.”

The stray opens its eyes and lets out an accusatory cry when it spots Ryan, right on cue.

========

The postcards trail off after that, so slowly Ryan almost doesn’t notice. It coincides with Geoff lifting the extra security precautions and being cleared to go back light duties so he doesn’t have time to dwell on it.

The fact that Geoff saddles him with a rookie lifted from some shady government agency or other around the same time helps in that regard too.

Jeremy’s bright in a way Ryan doesn’t remember being when he came to the agency, but he supposes that makes sense.

Ryan had half a decade of experience by the time he was handpicked by the agency’s former Director. Knew the dangers and risks inherent in their job all too well by the point and already had quite the collection of scars to show for it.

He’s also a quick learner, and a few short months after the two of them are partnered together the two of them end up in a coastal city in Italy.

Scenic, picturesque.

Enough so that Ryan finds himself playing the part of tourist while he and Jeremy scour the area for signs of the target they’ve been sent to find. (Eliminate if necessary, although Ryan’s hopeful it won’t come that.)

Jeremy’s snooping around a mansion overlooking the town while Ryan listens in to his end of things over their comms. Wry observations and quiet humming as he evades security guards and staff alike, no nervousness or alarm in his voice.

Ryan finds his eye drawn to a rack of postcards at a little kiosk in a marketplace and is looking though them when someone bumps into him. Ryan stiffens, turns to face whoever it is, voice voice in the back of his head chiding him for not paying attention to his surroundings. (It sounds like Geoff. Tired and long-suffering and this underlying concern for the lives, people he’s responsible for, Jesus Christ, do not make me have to do the paperwork on you if you get yourself killed on the clock you assholes.)

“Are you alright?”

The man who bumped into him is wearing a button-down shirt with the top two buttons undone. British accent and a wild shock of hair. Too-big nose and eyes obscured by a pair of sunglasses.

Seems friendly enough, but there’s this touch of wariness to him like he’d bolt if Ryan says the wrong thing.

He frowns as he looks Ryan over, checks to see if he’s alright since Ryan still hasn’t answered him, gaze lingering on Ryan’s shoulder before meeting his eyes.

Ryan, for his part, can’t seem to stop staring.

“I - “ he manages after a long moment. “No, I’m fine.”

Gavin smiles.

Small, crooked.

“That’s good to hear,” he says, and glances at the postcards Ryan was looking at before he picks one up.

Photo of the coastline with the town behind it as the sun sets in background and breathtakingly gorgeous.

“I’m rather partial to this one,” he says, and there’s a note of mischief to his voice Ryan doesn’t remember hearing before but finds that it suits him perfectly.

Thinks back to the postcards he’s received, most with photos taken at sunset or just a little afterwards with the sung hanging low in the sky and night starting to set in.

“Oh?” Ryan hears himself say as he takes the postcard from him.

Gavin laughs, and then winks as he pays the kiosk owner for the postcard.

“Consider it a gift for running into you,” says, as the two of them amble along to avoid drawing attention to themselves. “I’d offer to buy you a drink instead, but I’m afraid I’m just passing through.”

Ryan looks at him from his peripheral when they stop on a section of the marketplace overlooking the docks. Notices the way Gavin��s watching a boat down there, pair of figures already on board.

He still seems calm, relaxed but still has that edge of wariness to him.

Ryan’s sure he’d be gone like a shot if he says the wrong thing. Hop over the railing and down the pier faster than he could hope to catch up to him along with Trevor and Alfredo. Maybe he’d just turn and bolt into the crowd around them, lose Ryan in the crowd while the other two take off to rendezvous somewhere else.

Some other scenario Ryan hasn’t even considered.

And maybe, maybe, if Ryan wasn’t here for a mission, if he was still the same Ryan from a year or even a month ago he would do what’s expected of him.

But he is here on a mission, and he’s definitely not either of those Ryans.

Isn’t really sure what kind of Ryan he is these days, is still working on finding that out for himself.

“Maybe some other time then,” Ryan suggests, because there’s always something with them, isn’t there.

Timing gone wrong somewhere and no way to change it he can see right now. Maybe one day if they’re lucky.

Gavin laughs, and it’s the same as Ryan remembers. So is the bright smile on his face when he looks at him.

“Sounds lovely,” Gavin says, and Ryan’s sure it will happen when the time is right for both of them. “I rather think I’d like that.”

========

The mission is a success and Ryan comes home to find Lindsay’s coaxed the stray to come inside when checking on things for him while he was in the field.

“Only for a few minutes at a time,” she says as she lets herself out now that he’s back, “but, hey, it’s a step in the right direction.”

A welcome one at that, with winter nipping at their heels and threats of snow on the way.

The stray’s skittish, hides under the couch and whatever else it can find but willing to be talked into coming close for a tasty treat.

There’s an envelope waiting for him postmarked from Italy. When he opens it he finds a postcard inside with a collage of landmarks of Rome across the front and a message on the back.

”For that other time,” with a phone number to go along with the Venus flytrap doodle.

Ryan’s sure of what he’d find if he looked up news reports from Rome around the time Gavin and the others would have been in the city, so he doesn’t. (Wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise when Geoff comes to him about it because he’s been keeping tabs on a certain group of jewel thieves.)

No.

Ryan laughs as he commits the phone number to memory and adds the postcard to the collection already there and looks forward to what the future holds in store.

#freewood #ragehappy #spy agency au #Anon #prompt fills #Kings of Nowhere #vagrant fic #this is somewhat what anon asked for #kind of #sort of #:D???#¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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caiminnent · 5 years ago

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dawn’s first light [Adam & Malik with implied jensard, T]

Prompt(s): missing and presumed dead (@badthingshappenbingo, 3/25) + 14

Summary: Adam survived Panchaea. Not everyone knows that.

Fandom: Deus Ex

Tags: Not Black Light Compliant

1.7K. || Also on AO3.

It’s not the best bar she could sneak her way into, but her glass is more booze than ice, the music doesn’t make her ears bleed and people don’t stare at Augs too hard—three things she couldn’t say for anywhere else she’s been to in Prague.

Not that she’s been doing a lot of bar-hopping. Her time in Sarif Industries—and isn’t that a name she wasn’t dying to think of tonight—has done a good job of training a regular sleep cycle out of her; but the streets of Prague at night are nothing short of a horror movie. She’s only out here tonight because the thoughts inside her head were worse.

At least Sarif hadn’t minded the fuel she wasted on the nights she needed an escape.

That was a different time, though. A different life.

She was a different person, too.

Maybe.

She shakes her head, stabbing her short straw at the melting ice at the bottom. Getting maudlin on herself—always a good sign to call it a night. Except that she doesn’t want to. Calling it a night means walking back to her hotel room, alone; it means checkpoints and barricades and power-drunk police officers getting in her face about half a dozen different documents that she needed to get forged to “prove” her improved synapses don’t make her a criminal.

She signals the bartender for ještě jedno, who gives her a careful look-over but takes the glass anyway, leaving her with the coaster. It’s an ugly brown that blends with the counter, worn and peeling at the edges, the bar’s name written across it. The internet says it means brave.

A sign, if she’s willing to take it that way.

Holding up the coaster between two fingers, she snaps a quick picture and types: Drinking alone. Join me.

---

Two drinks in, Adam is more relaxed than she ever remembers seeing him: shields off, sleeves pushed up, his new too-expensive trench coat piled up on the stool next to him that no one dared take. He’s been talking, even—about everything and nothing; she’s lost the thread somewhere between an asshole colleague and the coffee machine at work.

Work that he’s been very careful to talk around. A couple drinks every few months doesn’t make them the best of friends; but they should’ve been above half-truths by now, considering. Guess not.

Around them, the track finally dies down, something faster and even more intelligible replacing it. He taps along to the starting beats—almost an exact match—before folding his forearms on the counter, leaning forward. “You never told me what brought you to my city.”

His city that won’t ever accept him as its own. “Life,” she says simply, shrugging a shoulder. “Work. Money. Take your pick.”

He gives her a dry look. “I’ll take the truth, thanks.”

It wasn’t a lie, exactly; she is here on business. A scheduling conflict left her on paid leave; but two more days and she’ll be back on a chopper to Detroit.

The choice of Prague for a layover wasn’t random, though.

She pokes at the lime slice on the edge of her glass until it sinks into the liquid and rises again. “It’s Pritchard.”

His eyes cut at her. Without the shields, he looks naked, in a way—all his feelings written across his face for everyone to see. Longing and regret and fear she can spot before he reaches for his drink, swirling the last of it around and tipping it down in one smooth motion.

An odd guilt curls in the pit of her stomach, like she just took a good look at his bedroom.

His expression schooled back into the usual wall, “Is he here?” he asks, glancing at the mostly empty bar behind them as if Pritchard could jump out of some corner any moment.

She shakes her head. “Still in Detroit. I told him I was going to visit an old friend.” Which she is. What Pritchard doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

If she repeats it enough, she just might start believing it.

The lines of his shoulders relax minutely, just visible enough without his usual layers. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

If only.

She runs a hand through her hair—too long by her standards; she should get it taken care of once she’s back home—and leans closer. He’s already grimacing. “Adam—”

“Please don’t.”

“—he deserves to know, too,” she pushes on. Not an argument she expects to win, not after all the times they’ve treaded over it; but she couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t at least try. “You weren’t there, you didn’t see him. After Panchaea—”

“We all lost something after Panchaea,” he bites out. “Things we can’t get back. It's time to move on.”

To move on. “Like you did with TF29?”

He stills—surprisingly noticeable. “You’re not supposed to know about that,” he says carefully, his gaze sharpening.

Her sensors remain passive. No CASIE, no trespassing.

“I’m not supposed to know a lot of things,” she pipes up, flashing him her best fake grin even as frustration starts to thicken in her chest, spreading into her lungs. “You didn’t mind it when it helped you, Spy Boy.”

“It’s not the same thing,” he snaps—she’ll eat her headset if this is not a man trying to convince himself first. “You don’t have Sarif to buy your way out of trouble anymore. If the Interpol catches you—either of you—flying over too close—”

She can’t help a bitter laugh. “See the problem now?”

He flinches, his eyes widening—finally starting to get the picture. “You’re not implying—”

“No, Adam, I’m telling you that Pritchard is going after TF29,” she says bluntly, honestly, the way she should have from the beginning. The way she should have been with Pritchard when she got that call from Alaska. “I don’t know how close he is, or what he already knows; but we both know he’s going to find out more than he’s looking for. He’s going to find out everything—and when he does? It won’t be pretty.”

“You’ve got to stop him.”

As if. “You think I didn’t try?” she asks—lowers her voice at the bartender’s side glance, the casually cautious way he’s holding himself now. Aug-friendly or not, the last thing they need is more attention. “You know how he gets when he’s on a trail; I would have more luck talking to a rock. He doesn’t sleep, he doesn’t eat—I’ve been mixing vitamins in his caffeine pills and he hasn’t even noticed.” She meets his gaze, shaking her head. “If anyone can stop him, it’s not me.”

A new shadow settles onto his features as he contemplates his empty glass—flags down the bartender. Bad idea, if you ask her. He doesn’t.

Even as impulse demands so, she doesn’t press for answers, allowing him the space to think it over. If she’s being honest with herself—something she hadn’t been often enough, she’s finding—she hadn’t expected to hear more than hard dismissal; it’s already something that he is giving it thought.

Whether that’s a good thing, they’re going to find out soon enough.

When the bartender shows up with Adam’s new drink, she pushes away her mostly-full glass for him to take. The walk is looming large even without the risk of tripping over her own feet.

Rubbing at his forehead, “I can’t come back, Malik,” Adam sighs at last. Another glance down and he’s pulling at his sleeves like they’ve personally offended him, dragging them as far down as they go. “It’s too dangerous. They’ve barely stopped doing background checks on people I brush past on the way to the store; I can’t risk getting him in the Interpol’s radar.”

“Pritchard is about to get himself in their radar,” she points out, frustration starting to get the better of her. Adam is a smart man; how can be so willfully blind? “And if he gets caught…”

And if he gets caught, Adam will be the one coming to his rescue.

Is that it? Does he plan to play the white knight when the time comes and hope Pritchard will be too grateful to get angry?

No, it doesn’t make sense. Adam can be reckless; but not where Pritchard is concerned. The time it took the two to get anywhere is proof enough.

What is this really about?

“You didn’t jump from Alaska into the waiting arms of the Interpol, Adam,” she says—softly as she can while still hearing herself over the music. Closer to noise now, long as the night wore on. Hard pill to swallow, but she might be getting old for the scene. “You had both the time and the means to reach out to him. Why didn’t you?”

The corners of his lips twitch; the only sign that he’s heard her. He’s quietly frowning down into his thus-untouched drink like it’s both the source and solution to all his problems. Which would explain things.

She didn’t come all the way here to talk at another rock, though. “Adam—”

“He won’t believe me,” he mutters, effortlessly audible. She suppresses a wince at the flatness of his tone—the surety of it. “You know that. He’ll call me counterfeit, a liar—hell, an experiment.”

That’s… probably not wrong, is the worst part. Francis Pritchard is many things and cruel is one of them, especially when he feels justified in it. He doesn’t even need to believe any of it to spit his venom on Adam’s face.

“I believed you,” she reminds him. She had no reason to, aside from desperately wanting it to be true; but that didn’t stop her from risking her job to change her route. Would’ve done it again in a heartbeat. “I can vouch for you.”

His lips twitch again, this time to curl up in a wry half-smile. “Then he would call you a fool and a traitor.”

She doesn’t say don’t care—she’s not the lying type and he would see right through it anyway. “Worth it.”

He raises his eyes to her, slowly, with a new emotion shimmering in them. Gratefulness doesn’t fit that face any better than regret.

Maybe she’s doing something right for once after all. Maybe it all won’t end in disaster.

#badthingshappenbingo #Deus Ex #Adam Jensen #Faridah Malik #jensard #Cai does words #finished fics #dawn's first light #baby's first fic in new fandom #it was high time

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imagethat · 5 years ago

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A Day With V | V x Reader Fluff

After the events of DMC5, V survives through the magic that the reader had. V x Wiccan reader. Based on my previous post about the house I headcanon V living in. Fluff~ (P.S. I don't know how to do the 'under the cut' thing, I don't have a computer. Sorry for the long post/^\)

Today was going to be a good day. The forecast predicted mostly sunny with a slight overcast. Morning rays dripped into the living room and kitchen as you went about your morning routine. Setting a kettle on the stove, you measured a precise amount of tea leaves to put into each cup. You had grown the flowers yourself and dried them with meticulous attention to detail, wanting each cup to be perfect. While you waited for the water to boil you went over to the couch and sprawled out to enjoy this peaceful moment in private with a book. It was one your roommate had recommend to you. It was of course very descriptive but slightly ambiguous. It had some undertones of romance too, which you couldn't help but wonder if that was his weird way of flirting with you. V was an odd and mysterious person. You knew of his past, where he came from, and of how you had saved him. The bond you shared during the Quipoths reign of tyranny was stronger than even the trees roots. But even at that, V still had a lot to learn and experience in his newfound life. You eagerly helped him at every step, starting with allowing him to stay with you. Dante had agreed to it simply because Vergil needed time to adjust to his new life as well, and having both posted up at Devil May Cry would've been awkward to say the least. You didn't mind his company, even enjoyed it. He was becoming a soothing presence in your everyday life. As your thoughts drifted off, you didn't notice V come out of his room. He turned the stove off because the water was boiling, poured you two both a cup of tea, then took a seat beside you. "Today looks like it'll be lovely, how are you faring?" He questioned and you smiled gratefully while taking the tea. "I'm doing good, and you?" You asked in return. He simply closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. You had opened the windows earlier to let fresh air in and lit a nicely scented candle. You didn't need V to speak to know he was enjoying the moment. While the two of you enjoyed your cups of tea in silence, you pondered what you'd do today. Each day you tried to experience something new with V, to help familiarize him with the world. It's been two months since the Quipoth broke Red Grave but you wouldn't even be able to tell with how tranquil it seemed right now. You hadn't gotten V much clothes since then. Just a few spare outfits from Dante and Nero. Before you could ask if he'd like to go shopping though he spoke up. "This tea is quite good, I think your skills are improving. Though, I think it could benefit from something to balance its sweetness." He commented and you nodded. "Tomorrow we can bake something to go with our tea if you'd like." You offered and he nodded softly, his black hair flowing with the movement of his head. "That'd be wonderful, please do let me do the measuring though." He replied with a teasing little smirk which made you scrunch your nose at him while crossing your arms childishly. After a short while in silence once more you got up. "I'm going to go get ready, you should too." You said. "Where might you be taking me today?" He questioned, with slight excitement in his eyes. "We should probably get you some clothes that are suitable for someone of your caliber." You teased and pretended to bow. He chuckled which you internally blushed at. His voice was deep and could make you flush a deep red without warning. After taking a shower and dressing for the weather you were ready. V was already at the kitchen counter waiting for you by the time you were done. You gave one final check to make sure you had everything before departing. While getting ready you had put some thought into the stores you wanted to go to, trying your best to choose places you thought V would like. If you were honest, it was a bit hard to tell what his fashion sense was. You knew his choice of clothes previously was simply because they were all he could find after being split from Vergil and since then he'd never gotten the chance to choose his own clothes. Fall was starting to change the trees. Leaves made satisfying crunching noises beneath your feet as the two of you walked together. You were too distracted with your thoughts to notice V's eyes lingering on you. He enjoyed the way you seemed to put extra effort into stepping on the fallen leaves. You reached your first destination, which was a mall. Originally you thought he wouldn't enjoy the crowds, but the mall just had so many different types of clothes to offer. Plus you could stop by a bookstore there as well. V seemed to walk closer to you when inside, keeping his head down. He was uninterested in speaking to others, but it was hard not for people to look at him. He was tall and anyone would be lying if they said he wasn't gorgeous. Somewhat to your disappointment as well was the fact that he didn't seem interested in too many of the shops either. And you had to put in a little extra effort to get him to go into any of them. V isn't very frivolous per se, seeking out comfortable and functional clothes over the most fashionable types. When you passed by the bookstore though, he took your hand and practically dragged you in. A testament to how much enjoyed the comfort of a good book. You were okay with this and enjoyed seeing him so happy. The way he got completely lost in the pages or how he'd excitedly explain the synopsis of a book to you never failed to capture your heart. But after a few hours you felt it important to remind him of today's goal. "I think we've spent long enough here, we should go look somewhere else." You said softly, being respectful of the other customers, especially the ones reading. He gave you a sad look, pleading to you with his eyes. "Just a little longer, please?" He asked while placing a hand on top of yours. You couldn't help it, giving into staying for a little while longer. After another hour you brought up leaving once again. "I'll get you that book you're holding, but only if we can leave now." You offered and he seemed to contemplate the offer before agreeing. "We can go to the library tomorrow." You added to cheer him up a little. On the walk to your next destination he continued to read, and multiple times you had to make sure he didn't bump into anything. He could be a real dork sometimes honestly. You decided to go to a thrift store as your second destination, simply because the prices would be more reasonable and there would be a wide range of items. You hoped he could find some decorations for his room too, really wanting to make your apartment as home-y as possible. You left him to look at the clothes while you searched through the stores CD rack. Since the CD's were so cheap, you got into the habit of just buying whatever seemed interesting. Though, you left V a little to long as he found his way to the book section. Much to your suprise though, he had a few items of clothing picked out. "Do you ever think of anything besides reading?" You teased. "Well," he pondered before looking down at you, "I suppose you cross my mind every now and then." He mused and you just rolled your eyes before taking a look at the clothes he had chosen out. A few simple T-shirts, some pull over sweaters, and some jeans. Underneath the clothes though you found an interesting quill pen and inkwell. It looked old so he probably wouldn't be writing with it but it would look nice on his book shelf. You smiled softly before returning his items to the small carry around cart. "Well Mr. Poetry, are you ready to go?" You teased, using the name Dante usually called V. You sorta wanted to have V choose out a real name for himself, and you would have no problems if he preferred V, but you hadn't asked yet. "Hmmm. I suppose so." He responded, clearly half submerged mentally in the book he was holding. You stowed away your thoughts and nudged him slightly to remind him that you were leaving. After paying for everything you hummed softly. "Is there anything else you need? We still have time to go to another shop." You offered and V nodded no. "You've been kind enough already. I am very grateful." He replied. You two promptly started your journey back home after that. Once you got back you put the clothes V got from the thrift store into the washer and started preparing for dinner. When V returned from his room, he was wearing a T-shirt and a comfy pair of sweatpants. Looking grateful that he no longer had to wear the heavy leather jacket around the house as a top. You admittedly found it weird to see him in such normal clothes but cute at the same time. He cleared his throat, you didn't realize you were staring until he did. You muttered sorry and continued what you were doing. He let Griffon and Shadow free. Griffon found a comfy spot on the counter where he was perfectly set to pester you while Shadow curled up on the couch. "Jesus, you think of V all day but what about me? I'm gonna get stiff if I ever sit that long again." The bird hissed out and you rolled your eyes at how overly dramatic he was being. "Would you prefer I feed you to the demons?" You questioned. "Whatever, I'm sure V would appreciate that. Give you two some alone time if you know what I mean." He shot back. You glanced at the man on the couch who had a hand rested idly on Shadows head. He didn't seem to acknowledge the birds comment. "Oh curious are we?" Griffon asked and you gave him a soft tch. "Curious about the way our chicken should be served tonight." To which it was Griffons turn to reply with tch. The night went on without interruption after that, Shadow sitting at your feet trying to get a scrap of food when dinner was served even though she was well strong enough to just take your food. After dinner you cared for the plants and cleansed the space while V continued to read on the couch. His mind really didn't leave his books. You were fine staying friends with the dark gentleman who was always in your presence but you wouldn't deny you wanted more too. Maybe he just needed more time though. The world was so new to him. V called it a night early and left you in the company of Shadow. After you finished with your work you sat down on the couch and petted her head softly. You always loved when it was quiet like this. The moon would be full soon, so watching it rise above the skyline was a treat. It bathed the world in such an ethereal glow. You recalled your times as a kid when you'd sneak into the forest during the full moon. Your parents were heavily against your Wiccan identity and sought to derail it in any way possible. Even if that meant putting a lock on every window and door in the house. You had always felt more connected to the earth and moon than others growing up. Your dreams were mysterious, often speaking to you of the future. Later in life you learned they were not just dreams, but actual demons who you communed with nightly. At the age of 15 you ran away from your home. Something whispered to you in the night, telling you that you'd find yourself in Red Grave. That's how you met Dante, and your demon hunting slash Wiccan healing days began. It hurt to run away, you knew in your heart your parents just wanted the best for you but if you had never ran away you probably wouldn't have been as happy as you are now. You had found your own family, one that accepted you. Nero and Nico playing their music so loud, they had to yell when they bickered. Dante being a lovable train wreck. Shopping with Lady and Trish. Chatting with Vergil about music and nature. Most of all the company of your roommate V. "Are you alright?" His voice was soft but it startled you. So buried in your own thoughts for the second time today, you didn't hear V come out of his room. You didn't realize you were crying either. In a attempt to hide that fact, you quickly rubbed your cheeks. "O-oh yeah! I'm great!" You lied, but your voice betrayed you. V left you for a moment, only to return with a blanket from his room which he draped over your shoulders. He made his way into the kitchen and came back with a cup of hot cocoa. He sat down next to you and fidgeted with his fingers. Trying his best to think of something to say. You spoke up first though. "Thanks… I was just… Well, you know how I am. I sorta get lost in my own head sometimes." You muttered. "I'm fine though, I promise." You quickly added. The moonlight seeping in through the window made him more beautiful. You didn't know that was even possible. The white glow bounced off his pale skin, and his green eyes seemed even deeper before the moon. "If we are going to reminisce about the past, then… I'd like to thank you." He said, you tilted your head softly. "I didn't know it was possible to feel such comfort in the presence of another. Nor did I think I'd be lucky enough to experience life the way I have with you." He continued. "I'm eternally grateful for all that you've done. If you should ever need anything, please let me know." V glanced towards you, and even with the soft lighting that you two were in you could tell he was serious. If you weren't tired from the crying you wouldn't have done this, but the fog from your emotions blurred out your reasoning. You leaned over and rested your head on his shoulder muttering thanks softly before your eyes closed. V tensed for a second. He wasn't yet used to physical contact, but he always enjoyed your hugs. He wrapped an arm around you in return and rested his hand gently on your head. Softly he began humming a melody, which lulled you to sleep. V only stopped after he felt your breathing even out and he was assured you had fallen asleep. Griffon internally teased V about it mercilessly after that, but maybe… just maybe V was starting to feel something for you. Or maybe he always had. He wasn't sure, but nonetheless, he admitted he cared for you deeply on that night.

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beepbeeprichiellc · 5 years ago

Note

Please do a part 2 to the “I thought you loved me” I’m such a slut for angst and your writing is so good and wow it was incredible

You asked for it bruh.... Part 1

Eddie looked between the two snacks, chewing on his bottom lip while contemplating his choices. He had one job and was afraid he was going to make the wrong decision thus ruining the entire night. It was as stupid thought but it drilled itself so deep into his psyche that he was sure that if he bought M&M’s instead of Red Vines and it wasn’t the right choice then they would be literally thrown into his face as result.

That was his anxiety speaking.

It was something Eddie had always carried with him and at one point he actually had it under control but sometime in the past year the medication seemed to lose its effect thus allowing the anxious thoughts to creep back. It had been a rough life leading up to this moment, one full of self doubt and depleting thoughts but finally there was something to fill the void in his chest and the future seemed a bit brighter.

Shrugging he decided to just buy both, figuring if either was wrong then he had the backup to give away. His phone buzzed in his pocket and Eddie didn’t need to look to know that it was Mike asking if he was on his way or not. Turning heel he sought out the cash register but was stopped by a scruffy figure standing right behind him. The sudden realization made Eddie jump, his heart leaping into his throat.

“Hey Eds.” Richie said, awkwardly waving at him.

“Holy fuck Richie, you scared the shit out of me.” He breathed, bringing the Red Vines to his chest to shush his pounding heart. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to watch you debate between those two snacks.”

It was supposed to be a joke but Eddie didn’t feel like indulging the poor excuse for laughter. Instead he looked at his ex-really looked at him for the first time in over a year. Eddie had heard through the grapevine that the girl that had gotten between the two of them had left him some time after they had started dating and now was engaged to be married. There had been an expectation for Richie to seek out Eddie after that but that had never happened and instead Eddie had endured thirteen months of learning to love himself rather than anyone else. It had nearly killed him.

Apart of him was thankful for the radio silence. If Richie had come then he would have taken him back without so much as a second thought and allowed all of his actions to be forgiven. Eddie had grown without his boyfriend and now was standing at the forefront of a new life, that would have never been possible with Richie and for that he owed this man more than he could ever give.

“H-how have you been Eds?”

“Fantastic, is that what you want me to say?” Richie flinched at his harshness but Eddie wanted to cut all of the formalities and get to the point, he was already late as is. “Or terrible, which one are you fishing for?”

“Come on, don’t be like that” Richie sighed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m just trying to-”

“I know.” Eddie mumbled, feeling a little guilty for his sudden reaction. “Sorry Richie, I just-I guess I wasn’t expecting to see you. It’s been so long that I figured you just moved away,”

“I did.” He said, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “After being dumped I went back home for a bit, spent time with my parents and trying to get my shit together.” There was a pause like he was waiting for Eddie’s approval but when it never came he finished with, “I just got back a few weeks ago.”

“Well welcome back I guess.” Eddie shrugged, “Look I’m running behind, it was nice to see you but I’ve gotta get going.”

“I want to talk.” Richie blurted then, the mess of words sounding like a string of vulnerability. “I know that things didn’t end on good terms but fuck Eds, I miss you. I miss you so much and I never stopped thinking about-even when I was with her. I fucked up and if you just give me a chance, I know that I could-”

“I’m seeing someone.” Eddie found himself saying, stopping Richie’s speech. He wondered if Richie had practiced it, if he had stayed up late to rehearse over and over until it was perfect. Secretly Eddie hoped so. He hoped that the truth hurt Richie just as much it did for him that fateful night.

Richie blinked, stunned. “Wh-Is it serious?”

“I don’t know.” Eddie answered honestly, “It’s only been a month but I owe it to him to tell you.”

“Oh.”

It felt like Eddie should apologize, but there was nothing to apologize for. Instead he nodded his head and confidently spoke, “Yeah, he’s a great guy actually. His name is-”

“I don’t want to know.” Richie put up his hands as if to shield himself from the truth. “Sorry but I think it’s just easier not knowing.”

“I understand.” And he did.

Richie licked his lips, and Eddie could practically see the wheels in his head turning. “Does he make you happy?”

“He makes me feel safe.” Eddie answered, “And that’s what I need.”

“Right.” Richie let out a hollow laugh, the shape of it sad and disfigured. “Well I hope this guys knows how lucky he is.”

“I’m the lucky one.”

Richie smiled, this time it was honest and true atop of his face. “Goodbye Eds.”

“Goodbye Richie.”

----

“Finally!” Mike mused as Eddie walked through the apartment door. “I thought you got lost at the store! I was about to call for a search party!”

“Sorry.” Eddie mumbled, handing over the bag with candy and forcing a smile. “I wasn’t really sure what you wanted so I got Red Vines and M&M’s.”

“You know I would have eaten whatever you got.” Mike replied, soothing over the anxiety that Eddie had over the entire ordeal. “But I appreciate the extra effort.” Gently he leaned in and placed a kiss onto Eddie’s cheek, it was sweet and slow just like Mike himself. This should have made Eddie melt but instead he flinched. Miked noticed this because of fucking course he does and allowed the space to resume between them. “Somethings wrong.”

It wasn’t a question.

Eddie knew he couldn’t lie Mike, doing that this early in a relationship would surely be the arrow that killed them. So he answered truthfully, “I ran into Richie at the store.”

“You’re ex?”

“Yeah.”

Mike sat on the back of the couch, his aura open and kind just like it always was. “What did he want?”

“He wanted to talk.” Eddie said, peeling off of his jacket and tossing it onto the kitchen counter. He didn’t dare to look at Mike, fearful of his reaction. “Gave me the speech.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Mike mumbled, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “He was stupid to let you go in the first place.”

Eddie sighed, “Mike-”

“Did you tell him about us?” He interjected, moving back to his feet. There was no anger and judgment in his question but rather an actual curiosity.

“I did.”

“Really?”

Eddie was taken aback by his surprised tone, like whatever they have been doing for the past month meant so little to Eddie that he wouldn’t mention it to Richie. It was a turn, and Eddie could feel Mike’s vulnerability from across the room. “Of course, why wouldn’t I?”

Mike shrugged, “We haven't been together that long, I didn’t know if you would have actually told him.”

“Well I did.”

“Do you still love him?” Mike asked, shoving his hands into his front pocket and rocking his weight from heel to ball.

Eddie knew that Mike was the textbook definition of a good guy, if Eddie showed any discomfort or hesitation he backed off, if Eddie would have came here tonight and told Mike he was going to go back to Richie then Mike would have wished them the best of luck and actually have meant it. He was too good for this world, too good for Eddie himself. “Maybe, somewhere deep down I think I always will.”

Mikes face dropped, “I see.”

“But that doesn’t matter, Richie chose his path and I’m choosing mine.” Eddie walked over to his boyfriend and kissed him sweetly, burning the taste to memory. As he pulled away he looked up to Mike and added, “Now come on, let’s start the movie.”

Mike snaked his arms around his waist, “Okay. if that’s what you really want.”

“It is.”

And it was.

#it it au #reddie #prompt #requested #kasplon #because sometimes you don't get what you want #and I want reddie #so fuck me I guess

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purrincess-chat · 6 years ago

Text

Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Original CH3

I officially changed the name of this fic from Forget Me Now to this, so hopefully no one gets too confused. Let’s find out what Adrien has to say to Marinette, shall we? ;)

Previous First Next

Chapter 3

Marinette stood frozen on the sidewalk as her brain processed what was happening. She closed her jaw and shifted her weight a little to mask her unease. Of course, she’d expected her friends to question her decision, but seeing Adrien outside the bakery door came as a bit of a surprise.

“I, uh…I have a lot of homework to catch up on and-” her voice trailed off at his pained expression, and she tapped her foot hesitantly for a moment before sighing. “Okay, you can come in.”

Adrien followed her up to the apartment silently, gaze fixed ahead as if there were a lot on his mind. Truthfully, he looked tired, but Marinette did her best to avoid eye contact with him for fear of what she might see.

“Can I make you some tea?” She offered, setting her bag on the stairs.

“Sure.”

Perfect. Tea was a good excuse not to look at him, and she kept her back to him while she worked, pretending that she didn’t know where things were to stall for time. She was hyper-aware of his eyes on her, following her every move. Watching. Waiting. She knew she couldn’t keep this up, so she decided it was best to get it over with.

“So, what’s up?” She asked while she filled the kettle.

“Marinette.”

“Do you like sugar in your tea?”

“Marinette.”

“I think we have some honey around here somewhere…”

“Marinette.”

“Preference on cup color?”

“Marinette.” She pressed her lips into a line, tapping her nail on the counter before turning around to face him.

“I know what you’re going to say,” she said, gripping the edges of her skirt. “’Why did you leave? How could you do this? I thought we were friends. Why didn’t you tell us?’ Look, I know, okay?”

Adrien waited patiently for her to finish, expression grave, though he didn’t look sad or angry. No, there was something else in his expression, and as she stared into his green eyes, she detected a hint of… worry.

Marinette flinched when he took a step toward her, hands shaking at her sides until Adrien reached out to place his hands on her shoulders.

“Are you okay?” He asked softly, and she blinked in surprise.

“Aren’t you mad at me?” She asked, eyebrows furrowing. “Don’t you want to know why I left without saying goodbye?”

“Because you’re hurting,” he said, trailing his thumb along her jaw. “No one believed you about Lila, and you felt like your friends were shunning you, so you left because you were hurt. How could I be mad at you?”

“I’m not just hurt,” she shook her head, flicking her gaze down to his shirt. “I’m angry and heartbroken and frustrated and-”

Her vision blurred as hot tears welled in her eyes, and Adrien pulled her against his chest, leaning his head against hers as she buried her face in his shoulder and began to weep. Adrien held her close, rubbing her back and smoothing her hair. He tightened his grip around her waist as she began to tremble, shoulders shaking with each hitched breath.

“I’m sorry, Marinette,” he whispered after a few minutes. “I feel like this is my fault.”

“No, it’s not,” she pushed back and shook her head, running a hand across her cheek and sniffling noisily. Adrien brushed another tear from her cheek with his thumb gently.

“I told you not to confront Lila, but I didn’t know you felt that strongly. If I hadn’t stopped you then you wouldn’t have left,” he said apologetically, running his hands down her arms and twining their fingers. “I just didn’t want to cause conflict, and I had hoped that Lila could be reasoned with if we could just get through to her, but…”

Marinette shifted her gaze down to their hands, giving them a small squeeze before flicking her gaze back up to meet his. “There’s something else I should tell you.”

Adrien quirked a brow, but the screech of the kettle on the stove interrupted before she could speak, so she turned to tend to it, rubbing at her nose. Her hands shook as she poured, and Adrien stepped forward to help her hold it steady, placing his hands over hers gently. Normally such intimate contact with him would have driven her mad, but she was too numb to care. His presence actually comforted her and made her feel like her old life wasn’t entirely lost. At least someone hadn’t abandoned her.

“Talk to me,” Adrien said gently once they sat on the couch.

“I don’t think that there is a way to get through to Lila,” she started, swirling her index finger around the rim of her cup. “The day she came back to school, she came up to me in the bathroom and tried to manipulate me just like she did to everyone else, and when I called her out on it, she turned in an instant. She told me that I was either with her or against her, and that if I didn’t play along with her then she was going to turn everyone against me.”

“She said that?” Adrien gasped, and Marinette nodded, biting her lip.

“That’s not all,” she continued. “After she left, I was crying in the stall, and…an akuma came, the one that ended up turning her into Chameleon. It was meant for me.”

“Marinette…” He gaped in disbelief before shifting closer to wrap an arm around her. “I had no idea.”

“I fought it off,” she shrugged, taking a sip of her tea. “I’ve always been good at finding the silver lining, but with Lila…”

“Well, that would explain a lot about today then,” Adrien said with a sigh. “She told everyone in class that you didn’t say goodbye because you don’t care about us and that you just wanted attention.”

“And let me guess, everyone in the class believed her?” She grunted, pursing her lips sourly.

“I don’t think people know what to believe, but it made me sick to hear her say those things about you because I know they’re not true.” He shifted his gaze down to his lap. “I should have said something, but…I guess I’m just a coward. You must think I’m a pretty bad friend.”

“I don’t think that,” she shook her head, a small smile curling on her lips. “You came over because you knew I was upset which is more than I can say about anyone else.”

“What do you think we should do?” He asked with a wince. “I still don’t think outright exposing her is the way to go.”

“No, she’s too manipulative and crafty. She’ll just lie her way out of it,” Marinette affirmed with a disgusted scowl. “Honestly, I don’t think there is anything we can do to her without backlash. I mean, it’s just our word against hers.”

“Yeah…” Adrien shifted with a guilty grimace, and Marinette glanced over at him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” she nodded.

“How did you figure out that Lila was lying?” He glanced up to meet her gaze.

Marinette pursed her lips contemplatively, debating how much truth to reveal to him. She supposed that lying wouldn’t be ideal in this situation, but she couldn’t exactly tell him everything. Releasing a sigh, she set her tea cup down on the coffee table and turned to face him head-on.

“You’re probably not gonna like it,” she said, biting her lip, “but I’ll tell you.”

She paused for a moment to draw in a breath before continuing.

“The first day that Lila came to school, everyone was so impressed with everything she was saying, but the more stories I heard, the more suspicious I got. Everything just seemed too amazing then I saw her talking to you, and…I got concerned, so I followed you two,” she admitted, tugging on her blazer. “Mostly Lila, but I watched her buy that necklace at the store, and then I heard everything when Ladybug showed up, and so yeah.”

Adrien’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and he took a moment to process before nodding.

“You really followed us?” He cocked a brow, and she nodded guiltily. “So, you know how I know then.”

“Yeah…” She clasped her hands together in her lap and tapped her index fingers together. “I didn’t trust her, and I was worried about you.”

“You’re always looking out for your friends,” he smiled, nudging her with his elbow. “I’m really sorry that everyone else sided against you. For what it’s worth, I prefer your company to Lila’s any day.”

She smiled at that, peeking up at him before shifting to wrap her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Adrien.”

“I wish you hadn’t left, but I understand why you did,” he murmured against her shoulder. “And I’d never ask you to come back somewhere where you felt victimized, but I am going to miss seeing you every day.”

“You can come by any time you like,” Marinette assured him, pulling away with a smile. “You’re a real friend, Adrien, and just because I changed schools doesn’t mean that has to stop.”

“You’re right,” he said, running his hands from her shoulders to her arms. “Promise me you’ll keep in touch?”

“Oh, I will,” she said with a giggle. “One of my new friends is a big fan of yours.”

“I’d love to meet them and all of your friends, and if ever you need me, I’ll always be here for you.” Marinette relaxed a little at the sentiment before letting out a deep breath.

“I guess we just have to hope that Lila eventually lies herself into a corner,” she said, shifting to lean back against the couch.

“She will. Eventually. Then everyone will see her for who she truly is,” Adrien said before mirroring her position. “Liars only hurt themselves in the end.”

“Yeah…” Marinette said, pursing her lips then sitting up. “Well, if you’re free for a while…we could do our homework together then hang out for a bit. Take our minds off of everything.”

“That sounds nice, and you can tell me about your new school,” he perked up, nudging her with the back of his hand as the tension in the room faded, but before they could move, Tom burst through the front door.

“I brought up some fresh baked cookies for you two,” he announced, pacing over to set them on the coffee table.

“Thanks, Papa.” Marinette stretched up to kiss his cheek. “Adrien and I are gonna do our homework then play Ultimate Mecha Strike.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Tom beamed, brushing her cheek with his finger. “I can’t wait to hear all about your first day tonight. Your mother and I will be down in the bakery if you two need anything.”

“Thanks, Mr. Dupain,” Adrien said politely as he retreated back out the door. “Your parents are so nice. I can see where you get it from.”

Her cheeks flushed at that, and Adrien placed a hand over hers.

“I’ve always really admired you, Marinette,” he said sincerely. “You’re always doing your best to help others without ever asking for anything in return. The world could use more people like you.”

Adrien chuckled when she hid her face in embarrassment before leaning over to peck her cheek.

“I’m happy we’re friends,” he whispered in her ear, and she peeked between her fingers with a smile.

“Yeah, me too, Adrien.”

***

Alya stuffed her books into her bag, eyelids hooded and lacking their usual enthusiasm. Nothing in her world seemed right that day. Every time she’d glanced over at the empty seat next to her, she felt a tightness in her chest, and her eyes began to water. Now as she stood in front of her locker, staring at old pictures she’d hung inside, Lila’s words echoed in her mind.

“Maybe she wasn’t really your friend after all.”

That couldn’t be true. Marinette was her best friend. They told each other everything.

“If she really cared about you, she would have told you she was leaving.”

Certainly there had to be an explanation, but Alya couldn’t think of one.

“Maybe you don’t know her as well as you thought you did.”

True, Marinette was always running late and coming up with excuses, but Alya had always thought she was just scatter-brained. Maybe Lila was right, and Marinette was hiding something from all of them. Maybe all she wanted was attention. The only people Marinette ever clashed with were Chloe and Lila, both of which got tons of attention from everyone. Not to mention she was always strangely possessive of Adrien…

Alya shook her head to clear it, but her doubts still remained. Suddenly she was questioning everything about her friendship with Marinette and wondering what was real. She glanced back up at her photos of the two of them smiling, the pressure in her chest returning as angry tears bubbled in her eyes. In a fit of rage, she reached inside and ripped the photos out with a growl, tearing them to shreds as she sank to her knees.

Squeezing her eyes shut as tears rolled down her cheeks, she clutched the last picture and didn’t notice the black butterfly hovering over her until it touched the edge of the photo, and a familiar voice sounded in her head.

“Hello, again.”

#miraculous ladybug #mdcsp original #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #ml salt #spite fic #my writing

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klimtandbencbatch · 6 years ago

Text

Sounds Like a Deal

I promise PROMISE I’m gonna get back to answering prompts, I’ve been in a bit of a writer’s block funk lately, but this came to me in the shower and I had to write it

Hey, I’ve got some new specs on some tech I’m making for you. Come over. TS

There’ll be wine if you say yes ;) TS

Stephen read over the texts again and again as he rode up in the elevator towards Tony’s new penthouse - the man had gotten it a few months back, and had apparently already wheedled and begged and bribed his way to an extension on the apartment (read: bought the ones underneath it), and had tricked it out with a smaller version of his workshop at the compound. He’d invited Stephen over almost completely out of the blue. And while Stephen had initially been ready to say no, he fixated so hard on the winky-face emoji that he found it impossible to decline.

Winky-face. That meant something, right?

Their relationship had shifted from Iron Man and Doctor Strange to something more personable, a bit more intimate. Stephen Strange and Tony Stark hung out occasionally, now. Which, Stephen guessed, it was led to this. Wine and tech specs on a Thursday evening.

He stepped off the elevator as the doors opened with a quiet tinkling of chimes, walking right into Tony’s living room. He smiled, some of his nerves melting away. The man really had an eye for interior design. The place was spacious, but somehow still homey, the modern-ish furniture not too new-age to be alienating. The couch looked especially inviting, but Stephen could already hear music coming from down the newly-installed (according to Tony) spiral staircase.

He headed down, his hands tucked in the pockets of his pants as he made his way towards the sound. He chuckled quietly to himself as he began to recognize it, humming along as he caught sight of Tony’s hair bobbing about behind some holoscreens and projected blue prints.

“Chuck Mangione,” he said as he came in, pointing up towards the ceiling. “Nice choice.”

“Hey, yknow, rock usually does it for me, but this isn't exactly a big - rockets and stuff project, so I figured I’d tone it down. Something more your speed,” Tony answered with a smile, nodding over towards a nearby table. “Dum-E’s got the wine, if you can wrestle it away from ‘im. You’ve got a problem, mister!” he called after the bot as it wheeled across the floor, whirring excitedly and swinging a bottle of shiraz dangerously by the neck.

Stephen laughed, jogging over after the bot and politely working the bottle from its grip. “An even nicer choice,” he murmured, glancing over the label.

“Oh, don't act all sommelier on me,” Tony said, tweaking a few more things with some quick gestures of his hands. “Just pour me a glass. It’s got alcohol in it.”

They began to look over Tony’s plans that he had - a new set of stabilizing gloves for Stephen to use in combat. “I’ve got it so it’s sort of like that Copperfit stuff, or whatever. The Brett Favre commercials.”

“Yeah,” Stephen agreed, looking more closely at the sketch floating in front of him.

“You put it on, and it'll amplify your body’s energy signature. So you'll be stronger, and it’ll help steady your hands in the meantime.”

Stephen made a sound of disbelief, looking over at Tony as the other man sipped from his glass, swirling it and making a face of mock contemplation. “How long have you been working on this?” he asked.

Tony flushed slightly, though Stephen had to scrutinize him pretty hard to pick it out. “Oh, yknow. About a month. Just - everyone else has some sort of stupid tech thing from me. Didn't want the new kid to feel left out.”

“He doesn’t," Stephen assured. “This is - Tony, this is really incredible.”

Tony nodded, his eyes glazed over as he looked at the plans. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers, gesturing up. “Herbie Hancock.”

Stephen paused, listening before a smile broke over his face. “Yeah. Very good.”

Tony looked smug, exaggeratedly holding out his pinky as he downed the rest of his wine. "Well, when you appreciate fine jazz as much as I do…”

——————————

Neither of them were sure how it happened, but another bottle of wine later, they'd made their way upstairs, looking over Tony’s vinyl collection and plopping record after record onto the old player that Tony had in his lounge.

“Oh, wow,” Stephen breathed, pulling one out of the collection with an air of reverence, holding it carefully in his trembling hands. “‘In A Silent Way’. Is this - ?”

“An original, yep,” Tony said, smiling. God, Stephen was cute up close. Strip away all the magic and robes and belts (why so many belts?) and he was a kid in a candy store. Tony could practically see the memories flitting across his face.

“This was the first record I ever bought with my own money,” Stephen laughed. “Damn. It’s in beautiful condition,” he said, sliding it out of its jacket, his mouth slightly agape in awe.

“You got a collection somewhere in that madhouse you call home?” Tony asked, looking around to see where their third bottle had gotten off to.

“…I had one, yeah,” Stephen answered, slowly putting the record back. “I, um. After my accident, I sort of… Lost it. I went nuts looking for a doctor to fix me, any surgeon that would - take me on and make me whole again.” He shook his head, looking down at his hands as they shook slightly, his scarred fingers spread wide. “I sold everything I owned. Most of my watches, all my furniture, my suits, my - my record collection, too. A few of them had been my dad’s, the ones he - managed to buy when he scraped some extra money together.”

Both men were silent for a bit. Tony let the information sink in, making sure to file it away for later. Just before the silence got too awkward, Tony cleared his throat, pulling the album back out and holding it out to Stephen. “Take it.”

“I can't do that,” Stephen said immediately. “It’s an original, Tony, it’s worth - “

“Take a look around you, sweetheart,” Tony said, gesturing to the rather plush lounge they were standing in. “Does money look like it matters to me? I want you to have it. Consider it an investment in your new collection. Something to start with.”

Stephen smiled, laughing a bit. “I - don’t know what to say,” he admitted, his hands closing around the record as he admired the cover again.

“Say you'll come over for a wine night again,” Tony offered, reaching out to place a hand on Stephen’s arm, squeezing gently.

“Do I get to walk away with another record?” Stephen teased.

“Hey, if you play your cards right.”

They shared a laugh for a moment, their eyes holding one another's gaze. Stephen broke first, looking down to appreciate the album in his hands again.

“Thanks, Tony. Seriously. For - the gloves, and the - honestly, for the best night I've had in years,” Stephen sighed, offering Tony a small, genuine smile.

“Hey, any time,” Tony said, finally locating the third bottle. “Ah ha! Now, help me finish this little bastard, and then I'll let you go home.”

Stephen grinned, slipping his new record out of its sleeve and placing it on the player, standing back as the music began to play. "Sounds like a deal.”

#ironstrange #doctor strange #stephen strange #iron man #tony stark #mcu #marvel #jazz music and wine eh boys?#nice #classic #tony giving stephen a record was the thought i had #and it inspired me to write this #ps #they fuck on the couch later

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davidcarner · 6 years ago

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The Kiss Ch 8, The Cover

A/N: We've kinda built to this, haven't we? May not be a lot of "cannon" in this, I think most of you are okay with that. Because Cas really wanted it, I decided to do it before several others, I give you The Kiss, Ch 8, The Cover

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck, but after this Sarah might!

She didn't know when she had been more nervous. They had danced around this for days, there were always excuses, but they were past the point of excuses, she was past the point of no return, well, not yet, but she hoped to be soon. That brought a grin to her face. She was trying to be calm, but it was like the world was plotting against her. It had all started this morning, when Chuck had pulled her into the supply closet saying they needed to talk. She knew exactly what he wanted to talk about, and she wanted to, she really wanted to, but she had a problem with words sometimes, so she decided to show him exactly how she felt. When Casey opened the door ten minutes later, Chuck's hair was a mess, they were still clothed, but buttons had been opened and Casey was muttering about "brain bleach." He had tried to talk to her all throughout the day but they had been just busy enough and the double date had saved her, kinda. They had to agree on what to say to Devon and Ellie, and they agreed, both blushing a bit that Sarah had just been there for him last night. She didn't like it, but it was the truth, and Chuck was better when he could tell Devon and Ellie the truth. However, the spy in her became worried when Devon mentioned how things were so quiet in Chuck's corner of the world, Sarah became concerned. When he tried to give Chuck a pep talk about getting back on the bike, Sarah almost choked.

Ellie returned, assuaging Chuck's worries, and Devon and Ellie headed to bed, just leaving Chuck and Sarah. She wasn't sure what to do. As a spy, she knew what had to happen, she had to protect their cover, but what she wanted, there was no cover involved… What was wrong with her? She had blurted it out a few days ago, but now, now she couldn't bring it up.

"Sarah, I really need to talk to you about something," Chuck said, pulling her out of her thoughts. "It's spy related." She felt a little more comfortable. "And, not," he added. This whole thing was getting complicated. He took a deep breath. "This woman, Lou, got sent in from the Buy More today, because they couldn't fix her phone." She got a look on her face that made him grin. "I know, right? But she was kinda flirting, and I need you to know I'm not interested, but with our covers and our real life, I don't want to say the wrong thing."

"What do you mean?" she asked, fighting jealousy that she didn't know existed.

"Is it okay if I tell her I have a girlfriend?" Chuck asked. "You, of course, because you are my cover girlfriend." She walked up to him and took the coffee out of his hands and placed it on the table. She took his hands in hers, finding the strength to say what she needed to say.

"I think of you as my actual boyfriend," she said. Chuck grinned at her.

"Really?" he asked, his nose scrunching up his smile was so big. She had an amused smile on her face as she nodded. "Sarah Walker thinks of me as her boyfriend, not just a cover boyfriend, but as an actual real life boyfriend."

"Easy, Chuck," she said with a grin. "Casey will be here in a minute yelling about lady feelings." He hugged her.

"So I can drop the cover part?" he asked.

"Mhm," she hummed into his ear. She pulled away from him and looked at him, there was something else on his face.

"Speaking of cover, the uh, the, er, other night," he stammered.

"I was being sarcastic," she blurted out. She took a deep breath and spoke softly. "When THAT happens, it won't be for the cover." He stared at her.

"Oh," he said. "I, uh, see." He was turning a shade of red that she wasn't sure was on the color charts. "Uh,"

"We can talk about that tomorrow, get some sleep," she said, kissing one of his cheeks while caressing the other. She winked at him, walked to the door, looked back, and saw him standing there, brain attempting, but failing to reboot. She walked out and headed to her apartment, quite pleased with herself.

}o{

"Hi, Lou," Chuck said as she entered the shop the next morning. She looked extremely worried, and Chuck, being Chuck wanted to end her worries. "Don't worry, it's good as new-ish."

"Is this Lou?" he heard a voice ask, and Sarah came out of the back, and Chuck's eyeballs about burst out of his head. She was wearing a shoulderless white dress and a pair of glasses. Chuck swallowed, and just stared at her. "Hi, I'm Sarah, Chuck's girlfriend," she said, walking over and shaking Lou's hand during the introduction. "He was really worried about getting your phone fixed, you have all your recipes on there?"

"Yeah," Lou said, sighing in relief. Lou looked at Chuck, and shook her head. "Should have known one as good as him was taken." Sarah smiled at her.

"I'm lucky, I know," Sarah said, honestly. Chuck had an idiotic grin on his face.

"You two should come by my store sometime, I'll treat you to a special sandwich, for saving my ass," Lou said. "I'm gonna go," she said, as she looked back at Chuck who still hadn't manage to pull his eyes off of Sarah. "Take care of him," and with that she left.

"Oh, I plan on it," she said. An alarm went off on Chuck's phone. "Chuck, CHUCK!" He didn't move. "I like the prequels better than the original trilogy."

"Sarah!" he said, snapped out of it. She glanced down to his phone and he realized it was going off. He pulled up the screens to the apartment complex and noticed someone approaching Ellie's door. "Huh, police," he said.

"Zoom in," she replied. Chuck nodded, did, and the flash began. He looked up. "I got it," she said, and bolted out of the room.

}o{

"Sarah," Chuck called out as he entered the apartment. Sarah and Casey had arrested Reardon Payne before he was able to drug Ellie, and all was right with the world. There had been some uncomfortable moments about what exactly was going on, so Sarah pulled Ellie off to the side. He didn't know exactly what happened because Sarah wouldn't tell him, and Ellie wouldn't either, but when Sarah left, Ellie was excited. Ellie had burst into his room that night and asked him what was going on with the two of them. Chuck had replied with the standard, "It's complicated," and Ellie opened up on him. She told him he was a big boy and she was a big girl and the two of them could uncomplicate things in a hurry if he'd just go over there. Chuck's eyes got wide. He tried to explain to her she didn't understand, and Ellie said, she understood better than he did. That's why Chuck found himself at Sarah's. "You home?"

"In the bedroom, Chuck, I'll be out in a minute," she said. "Will you start the music for me?"

"What music?" he asked, and looked on the coffee table, and saw a remote control. He hit play and Ain't I Been Good to You by The Isley Brothers began to play. "Oh, good song," he said. He swore he heard her giggle. "Makes you want to dance."

"Then dance," Sarah said, still in the bedroom.

"Uh, I don't dance too well," he said.

"Chuuuuuck," she said, and he could hear the grin in her voice. "This is our place to be ourselves, I won't judge…..much." Chuck began to dance, getting into the music and he noticed candles. Lit candles. What was going on?

"Looking good, Chuck," she said from the hallway. She was wearing a black trench coat, that was all he could really see.

"Oh, you going somewhere, I can head home," he said. She grinned at him.

"I kinda hope one day you'll consider this home," she said softly. Chuck looked at her for a second and a smile broke out on his face, making his nose scrunch. "Chuck," she began, but couldn't say it.

"Sarah, there's something you really should know," Chuck began. "I've been thinking, realizing, contemplating," he paused. "Basically I've been spiraling." Sarah giggled, making Chuck grin. "I'm crazy about you, and I know one day, you could be taken to some exotic place. I get it, and while I always wish you could be here with me, and I get that you have a job, so thank you for making me such an important part of your life. Just please, tell me goodbye before you leave." Sarah stared at him. She slowly walked towards him, and Chuck noticed the coat's length, not that long, and her legs were bare under there. He forced his eyes back up to her face, and she was grinning. Good lord she was enjoying this. Chuck didn't ever remember being this nervous, or excited in his life.

"Why would I go anywhere, Chuck?" she asked, popping the "k". "My life is here. Did you not hear General Stansfield? Did you not hear me? I am tired of being an assassin, I am perfectly fine spending my remaining days watching over you."

"Yeah, but what if we're not together?" Chuck asked. Sarah shook her head.

"So that's it," she said. "You don't think we belong together?"

"No, no that is not what I'm saying, I just don't want you to resent me, find someone that will blow your mind, and you're stuck here with me," Chuck said. "I love you too much for that." Chuck realized what he said, and his eyes got huge. "I, uh, I mean."

"I swear to God if you try and take that back, I will make you regret it for the next eighty years," Sarah said fiercely.

"Eighty. Years?" Chuck asked, his eyes wider than they were. Sarah nodded.

"I'm in good shape, and I can get you there," she said with a twinkle. "And don't start that crap about someone blowing my mind, because, Chuck Bartowski, I've already met him."

"It's Casey, isn't it?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yeah," she said, mock sighing. "Something about those grunts just do things to a girl," she said, backhanding him.

"You're very violent," he said, laughing.

"That's what happens when I have no way to release my pent up, aggression," she said emphasizing aggression. Chuck leaned forward, and she didn't even realized she hissed a breath until she heard it.

"Is that what you call it?" he asked. She didn't answer, well, verbally. She undid the tie to her trench coat, and slid it off her shoulders. She had on a purple negligee and she heard the same hiss of breath from Chuck. "Thank you, God," he whispered.

"See something you like?" she asked, coyly.

"Every day, I see you," he said. She reached up, put a hand around his neck, and pulled him in, gently. She kissed him and Chuck thought if he died right there, life couldn't get better, that's when his hand settled on her hip and his thumb rubbed the bone, and she moaned into his mouth. He was wrong, it was about to get better. She pulled away.

"You don't need the flattery," she said, grinning. "You got the girl."

"I'm just telling the truth," he replied. The look on Sarah's face made him think of a ravenous tiger and he was nothing but a slab of meat. He was looking forward to her dinner.

"Chuck, we're going into that bedroom, I'll drag you if I have to, and you are going to pay for all those times you got me reved up, and left me high and dry," she said, grinning.

"You might be the death of me," Chuck replied. "Speak well of me at my funeral."

"You gotta earn it, Baby," she said, kissing him. He pulled away and looked her in the eye.

"For the record, please call me Baby whenever you feel like it," he said. She winked, grabbed his hand, and was pleased to see she didn't have to drag him into the bedroom.

A/N: Hoped you liked it, reviews are always welcomed…til next time.

#Chuck #sarah #Charah #The Kiss #fanfic #fanfiction

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403secret · 7 years ago

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so this is... a seung gil fic i wrote back at the beginning of may. i dug it up and crammed out 800 more words to end it

anyways i’m stuck in rarepair hell but the dynamics btwn seung gil and phichit are great even though they’ve pretty much never met

He messes up his free skate.

And, god, it shouldn’t bother him as much as it does. As a professional skater, Lee Seung Gil is used to failure; he knows that not every opportunity is going to come to fruition, and it’s been something he’s learned to accept the hard way.

Except––except, this is different. This is Worlds, and it’s his first time here. He’s finally made it to somewhere big. And the fact that he screws up his free skate so badly–shaky limbs and awkward movements and badly executed jumps and all–that just isn’t representative of him. It’s just one bad performance, but it’s all the world gets to see of him. Nobody cares about his better days if he’s not standing on a stage.

And it hurts.

His coach takes the hint. She’s always been good at reading him after having to deal with him for so long. She gives him time to compose himself, under the pretense of giving him a few days off, but she knows it’s not out of kindness. It’s out of pity.

And he takes it. He doesn’t go to the rink after that. He can’t think of skating, can’t think of going back onto the ice when all he can ever do is fall, fall, fall–

It’s a day after the free skate when he runs into Phichit Chulanont in his hotel on the way to breakfast. Or, rather, when Phichit runs into him.

“Morning, Seung Gil,” Phichit chirps, wearing the same vivid, hundred-watt smile that he always has on.

And Seung Gil flinches. Phichit might as well be the most cheerful person who’s ever tried to talk to him–the boy has a personality equivalent to sunshine, and Seung Gil just doesn’t have the energy to deal with him right now. He pushes past, pretending not to have heard.

“Hey, hello?” Phichit asks, falling into step beside him. “What’s with the sad face?”

Does he really not know? Impossible. As a finalist, Phichit has to have watched the semi-finals, right? Seung Gil straightens up, sending him his most convincing glare. “I think you know.”

Phichit opens his mouth again, and all Seung Gil can think is, shut up, shut up, shut up. He isn’t ready to speak to anyone about it. Not now, and not ever. Maybe he should just spend the rest of the trip locked up in his hotel room, he contemplates.

“Hey,” Phichit begins, then clears his throat. “Is it the fr–”

“I’m not really in the mood.”

There’s a beat of silence, but it’s not nearly long enough. “I don’t get why you’re beating yourself up over this. Honestly, I think you were amazing.”

“I don’t need your pity, Chulanont.” He enunciates each word through gritted teeth, voice kept carefully low so Phichit can’t tell that it’s shaking.

“Wait, what are you talking about? I’m not pitying you!”

Seung Gil whips around, eyebrows drawn together and mouth creased in a frown. “I don’t want to talk about it. Just leave me alone.”

“Oh,” Phichit says, face falling. “Okay. I’m sorry for bothering you, then.”

He turns and leaves. And, damn it, Seung Gil hasn’t done anything wrong, but Phichit’s somehow managed to make him feel so damn guilty. He swallows, dumping his half-finished plate and grabbing his coat. Breakfast suddenly doesn’t seem so appealing anymore. He has a headache that’s been present ever since he’d performed his free skate, and come to think of it, it might have played a part in his lackluster performance.

It doesn’t matter now, anyways. He can’t change anything. He heads toward the elevators, not turning back once.

Dialing Park Min So.

Seung Gil leans back in his seat, holding a hand up to his throbbing temples. It may be something to do with skipping breakfast and lunch, or it might just be karma for having turned everyone away, but he feels like shit. Physically.

His coach picks up. “Seung Gil,” she says, voice warm and familiar, and he almost tears up at the sound. “I’ve been waiting for you to call. How are you?”

And now he’s going to disappoint her too, he realizes. The one person who knows he could’ve done better. Shifting, he leans so that the phone is held between his ear and his shoulder as he grabs the tissue box. “I’m fine.” He feels compelled to lie further, but his thought process is interrupted by a few harsh, jarring coughs that take him by surprise. He swallows, and his throat is sore. Weird.

“Are you feeling okay?” She’s asking, and he finds himself nodding. It’s a bad idea, considering that she can’t actually see him, and his phone nearly falls off his shoulder at the sudden movement.

“I don’t know,” he admits, then coughs again, muffling it into a handful of tissues. Had he had more hands, he would’ve brought the phone further from his ear. He knows it must be unpleasant for her to hear his symptoms up close. “I don’t…” he sniffles, feeling utterly pathetic. “...feel that great.”

“Sounds like it. I’m sorry,” she says sympathetically, and he curls an arm around himself, trying hard to conserve his body warmth. Briefly, he wonders if the air conditioning has started malfunctioning. It’s utterly freezing in here. “Just take it easy, okay? Take as many days off as you want.”

“Okay,” he says, and then repeats it, more for his own ears than for hers. “Okay.”

“Drink plenty of fluids, and make sure you get enough rest,” she says, sounding like his mother, but he knows she really just means, take care of yourself.

“Yeah,” he responds. “I will.”

He clicks the end call button, and the room is suddenly too silent.

When he next wakes up, he feels like shit. Physically and emotionally. It’s freezing and he’s shaking all over, but it’s the unpleasant type of coldness that extra layers can’t fix. His head still hurts like hell, but it’s worse now–a constant, throbbing ache–and he can’t breathe through his nose.

A hot shower should help. He hoists himself out of bed, trembling at the coldness of the wooden floorboards beneath his feet, and makes his way over to the bathroom. He’ll feel better after this, he tells himself.

When he steps inside the steady stream of water, he notices that he has to turn the knob a few degrees more than he usually does–he’s always been mathematical enough to notice things like this, and it’s not a good sign. It probably indicates that he has a fever. Great.

He doesn’t even have the energy to wash his hair, so he settles for just standing in place, letting the warm water flood over him. It’s nice and it loosens up his congestion a bit, but suddenly the hot water is running out and the coldness is starting to make him sneeze, and he’s getting congested all over again. It’s not a pleasant sensation.

He groans, turning the water off and hurriedly wrapping two towels around his shivering frame. The air feels mercilessly cold on his too-hot skin, and it’s concerning. He’s Korean; he’s supposed to be good with the cold, considering that he lives in one of the coldest areas in South Korea. The fact that he’s shivering right now isn’t characteristic of him at all.

Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. More than once, he gets dizzy and has to slump against the bathroom counter, waiting for his vision to clear. Maybe he’s worse off than he’d thought.

When he’s finally done, he exits the bathroom and falls back into bed, face-first, too exhausted to stay awake for any longer.

In his dreams, he’s skating his free skate over and over again, except every time, he messes up. It’s hard to breathe. Feels like he’s suffocating. The ice rink is too cold and his body is out of his own control and he wants to prove himself but he can’t, he can’t, he can’t. Or maybe he has nothing to prove in the first place.

When he wakes, he realizes that it’s dark outside, and he hasn’t left his room since breakfast. His throat is dry, and his whole body feels out of whack; each movement is uncontrolled, sluggish.

He needs to call Min So, he thinks to himself. He needs her to get him medicine to take for this.

Except he’s already bothered her enough. Except he’s already let her down. The least he can do is buy medicine for himself; there’s a convenience store on the street and he should be able to make it there and back, right?

It’s worth a shot.

He stands up, using the walls for balance, and makes his way to the door. He pulls on an extra jacket that’s too big for him and pries the door open, shivering as he steps into the hallway, which is somehow impossibly colder than his own hotel room. There’s only one thought on his mind, and it’s how much better he’ll feel after he takes something.

He doesn’t expect to end up standing at the cash register in the convenience store, his hands clammy and mouth suddenly gone dry.

In his wallet sit a few crumpled bills amidst a sea of coins. Blue, red, green, yellow. Korean currency. He can’t use this. He’d been planning on going to a bank sometime this week, but he hadn’t been taking into account that he’d spend the majority of his week locked up in his room, too out of it to even consider leaving the building.

“Would you be able to convert won to rubles?” He asks, and the woman at the cashier smiles apologetically.

“I’m sorry, we don’t offer that service here.” Of course. It’s a relatively small convenience store; he shouldn’t even have asked. Seung Gil looks at the medicine on the countertop, at the bottled water that sits tantalizing close to it, and swallows, a little painfully.

“I’ll have to pass on these, then,” he admits, shoving his wallet back into his pocket and scooping the items up into his arms. He coughs a few times into his shoulder. “Sorry, I’ll put them back. Thanks for your time, miss.” He turns to head back in the direction of the shop, energy sapped.

“It’s okay. I hope you feel better,” she calls after him.

He’s standing at the end of the medicine aisle, wondering if he can really make it back to the hotel without passing out, when he sees.

Standing a few rows away from him is Phichit Chulanont, gazing contemplatively at an assortment of ramen on the shelves. It’s kind of endearing, actually, how seriously he seems to be taking the decision process.

The relief hits Seung Gil all at once. Phichit can help him. They may not be friends, but they’re certainly acquaintances–surely Phichit will be willing to lend him just enough to cover the cost of the medicine pack, right? Seung Gil will even be willing to pay back in interest when he’s feeling well enough to stop by an actual bank. He takes a few steps over to Phichit’s aisle, relief completely overriding caution. He feels so unwell, but the idea of having medicine solve all his problems sounds just so damn appealing–

Only when Seung Gil opens his mouth to call out to Phichit does he realize what he’s doing. He’s the one who’d rudely pushed Phichit away just a couple days back. He doesn’t have the right to ask Phichit for a favor at all.

He’s so selfish. Blinking away the liquid in his vision, Seung Gil turns on his heels, mind set on getting out of this aisle as quickly as possible–

–and then his body has the audacity to make him sneeze.

The timing would be almost comical if he weren’t feeling so shitty. Phichit whips around, calling out a cheerful “Bless you!”, before his eyes widen in recognition. He sets three packs of ramen back onto the shelves, then takes a few steps in the Korean's direction, looking unsure of himself. “Seung Gil?”

This is the part where Seung Gil should make a run for it, except his legs won’t move, and his body feels stuck to the ground. “Hey,” he says, almost wincing at how his voice comes out. It’s dry and raspy and scraping, and, god, if he hasn’t made enough of a fool of himself already– “I didn’t think I’d see you here,” Phichit says, making no comment on the fact that Seung Gil’s voice sounds absolutely wrecked. “What’s up?

“Nothing’s up,” is the default response, and then he takes a step back, making a startled sound as he bumps into a shelf of cans. They rattle from behind him, and he feels his cheeks flush hot in dizzying embarrassment. “I was just… planning to get going.”

He takes a step out of the aisle, except then he’s coughing and he can’t stop–his frame shakes with every outburst, and his attempts to draw in a shaky breath are all interrupted by more coughing. It’s suddenly requiring way too much effort to stay upright. Wow, this is really bad timing. He can feel Phichit’s gaze on him, which isn’t a good sign. He probably looks like a complete jerk right now, coming to a convenience store when he’s sick and most likely contagious–

“That doesn’t sound good,” Phichit says, and Seung Gil almost flinches at the bluntness of the comment. “Are you not feeling well?”

“No, I’m not.” He swallows; he’s not even going to try to deny what’s blatantly obvious. “I was just stopping by for some medicine, but I think I’m going to head back now.”

“Without any medicine?”

“Yeah. I, uh… I didn’t know what to get. I couldn’t find the kind that I always use.” It’s a blatant lie, but he doubts Phichit knows him well enough to tell.

“In that case, I know some brands that work really well,” Phichit offers. “Wait just a second.” He darts off into the medicine aisle, and Seung Gil fumbles with his coat zipper so that it’s zipped all the way up to where his scarf begins. It’s too cold in the shop; his head hurts and he can’t breathe through his nose. He just really wants to get back.

Then Phichit’s there again, holding three different types of medicine, including the type that Seung Gil had brought up to the cash register before. “These should work.”

Seung Gil blinks, a little dazed. “Thanks.”

But Phichit isn’t leaving, and Seung Gil finds himself at a loss. He doesn’t want to turn down Phichit’s suggestions, but he can’t go back again and pretend he doesn’t know about the lack of Russian currency in his wallet.

“I appreciate it,” he stammers, “but I really can’t take these right now.”

“How come? Is it an ingredient allergy? Or something about the brands? Or–”

Seung Gil feels his face flush red. He should’ve just been straightforward with this in the first place. Now it’s practically too late to say something, and yet, what other choice does he have?

“I only have Korean currency with me.” He pulls his jacket a little closer in an attempt to suppress his shivering, wishing his body could at least attempt to cooperate. “I’d, uh, have to stop at a currency exchange store first.”

“That’s okay,” Phichit says, and Seung Gil almost gapes at how nonchalant he sounds. “I’ll pay. Don’t worry about it.” It’s as if he really, genuinely doesn’t mind. As if he isn’t practically offering money to a stranger.

“That’s too much,” Seung Gil says, “I can’t let you pay for this.”

“It’s not that expensive.”

“Yeah, and it won’t take me that long to find an exchange service.” He twists away to cough into the crook of his arm, making sure to put as much distance between himself and Phichit as possible. “I’ll buy them myself after I get the money converted.”

Phichit frowns. “When you’re well enough to go to an exchange service, you won’t really need the medicine anymore. Just let me do this, okay?”

“It’s really not necessary--”

“Think of it as a favor between friends.”

His eyebrows crease. “We’re not friends.” Are they?

“Then... a favor between fellow skaters?” There’s a steely determination in Phichit’s eyes--one that suggests that he’s not going to back down easily.

Seung Gil weighs his options. A part of him wants to keep arguing. After all, he’s an honorable person–it’s only natural to decline acts of kindness that he can’t repay. But the convenience store is somehow even colder than his hotel room is, and he’s shivering even under all the layers he’s wearing, and the walk here has drained all the energy from him and now he’s–well, he’s dizzy. Frustrated. Exhausted. And, more than anything, he wants to get his medicine and head back.

“Fine,” he caves, his voice cracking on the note. “But you really don’t need to do this.”

“I know.” Phichit turns on his heels, heading towards the first available cash register, and there’s nothing left for Seung Gil to do but follow him there. “I’m doing this because I want to.”

He pays for the medicine, then stuffs everything into a plastic bag and slings the handle over his wrist. “I’ll walk you back to the hotel?”

Seung Gil, previously preoccupied with attempting to stifle a sneeze as quietly as possible, glances up quickly. “Don’t you have more stuff to buy?”

“Not anymore. I was going to get ramen for dinner, but since my flight’s tomorrow, I think I’m going to eat out tonight instead. Get a taste of Russian food while I’m here, you feel?”

“Oh.” Seung Gil sniffles, blinking owlishly. “...Yeah.”

They cross the street and navigate the cluttered sidewalks to the hotel, side by side. Seung Gil tries to focus past the headache that’s taken root in his skull, but it’s next to impossible–everything around him is too cold and too bright, and his vision is slightly hazy around the edges, as if all of this is taking place within a dream.

It isn’t until they get to the hotel lobby that Phichit hands him the bag of groceries he’s been holding. “For the record, I meant what I said,” he asserts. “I think your free skate was really good.”

Seung Gil frowns, his fingers tightening around the bag handle. “I could’ve done better.” It’s a blatant understatement.

“That doesn’t change the facts. You were really cool out there.” Phichit grins, and his smile is just one degree from blinding--Seung Gil has to will himself to look away.

“Thanks for the medicine,” he says, changing the subject. “I’ll pay you back when I’m feeling better?”

“My flight’s tomorrow. If you’re that insistent on paying me back, I guess you’ll have to find me at the Grand Prix next year, huh?” Phichit quips, his tone light.

Seung Gil doesn’t say, I’m not participating next year. He doesn’t say, I’ve always skated for the fame; after a rough start like that, I’ve lost people’s respect for sure. He doesn’t say, I don’t have anything left to skate for. Because when he looks up at the person in front of him--acquaintance? Fellow skater? Friend?–that doesn’t feel quite true anymore.

Instead, he smiles, feeling something screwed tight in his chest loosen for the first time in years. “You’re right,” he says. “I’ll see you there.”

#i dont even remember what happened in this show LMAO it's been so long #my writing #yoi #apologies for the ending

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jitterbxg · 7 years ago

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Wrong number (DΞΔN fic)

“I'm sorry you got the wrong number”

Oh dear-- You were pacing back and forth your dorm. You didn't know what else to do since Hyuk was practically mad at you right now. It wasn't like it was solely your fault for accidentally breaking that gundam he had been waiting for for months. You were a trainee under Fantagio and the only reason why you knew VIXX and Hyuk was because one of your co-members is cousins with him. She was the one who invited yourself over to Sanghyuk's house, sure she was a regular there but you had been the one telling her it wasn't a good a idea to come to his room and wait for them there and to top it all off, she accidentally broke that Gundam he had been talking about for the past weeks!

God were you mortified but even in more terror when your groupmate didn't even feel an once of guilt. You were the only one being fidgety and now Hyuk won't even talk to any of you. You were sure his anger would pass but it's not like that was gonna sit well with your conscience, and you didn't like it that he was mad.

His cousin refused to give his number to you, the guilt was driving you insane that even tho you weren't even as close to Ravi, you decided to text him instead, asking for Hyuk's number. Sure he was puzzled but after explaining a little bit of the reason to him he had sent you the number right away

Hyuk K. +82 xx xxxx

Without wasting anymore time you had quickly tried to compose a message for him.

"Hey Hyuk, it's noona. Look I'm really sorry I know you're mad right now but please reply to me I promise to buy a new one of what we broke"

tap tap tap tap went your keypad as you were basically furiously typing in your reply.

sent.

Meanwhile, somewhere, a phone buzzes making the owner shift his gaze from the computer screen to his phone. Brows creasing once he reads the unregistered phone number's text message.

He wasn't sure who it was but all he thought was that it must have been someone he knew. Not a lot of people called him Hyuk nowadays, he was known and has always been know as Deanfluenza, or just Dean and besides, no one he knew had broken---

Oh darn it.

Someone had broken one of his beloved headsets last week. Maybe that was the same person and guilt has finally eaten them up. They were quite a pair, expensive too but he wondered which of his female friends were older and clumsy enough to break it in half.

Finally grabbing the phone, he quickly sends a reply back.

"I'm not mad anymore but how did you break it? I haven't even had much time to use it" Your phone buzzed and you quickly opened the message, heaving a soft sigh. Finally! And even tho he was no longer mad it still saddened you.

to: sanghyuk "I promise to buy you a new one. Are you free tonight? we can go and look around"

You had a few hours more and practice was going to resume tomorrow morning quite thankfully. You didn't bother wearing anything flashy or too fashionista style, it was only Hyuk anyway. A simple pair of shorts or jeans and a shirt plus hoodie had always been what you wore around your friends, besides you were debuting soon so glamour can wait, comfort first while you could still have it.

Pondering a little, your thoughts wondered maybe you should go around now to see atleast if you found any then it would be better and Hyuk can just confirm it if he likes it and you'd instantly buy it for him.

Your phone buzzed again as you were putting in your small backpack the things you needed. Checking it quickly you frowned a little.

from: sanghyuk "sure! does 9-ish or 10-ish sound good to you?"

The message was all too casual, maybe he was still a little bit mad and you couldn't blame him but the way he typed the message didn't seem like a Sanghyuk way to say things at all but you just shurgged it off, maybe he was busy and had someone else typing the message out for him. Replying with a quick 'alright see you' your phone didn't buzz not until an hour later, when you were finally at the mall. It was only 6 PM and there were a few people around at this time but surely by 8, more people would start comming in. It was a friday night and it would be overflowing with people here once Hyuk arrives, it worried you a little that what if someone recognizes him and mistakes you for a girlfriend?

Oh god no. You were just about to debut and you didn't want scandals following you, and most importanly, no sasaengs going after you.

While walking around, you phone buzzed again.

from: sanghyuk "I finished up earlier than expected. I'm on my way I'll just wait for you there :)"

You panicked a little, but he was using a smiley face that made you chuckle. 'there's the Hyuk I know', you muttered quietly to yourself.

to: sanghyuk "micky mouse shirt, ripped jeans, the brown coat and looking 🐷🐷🐽 as always"

you replied back and kept your phone. You wanted to tell him to meet your at your usual hangout place but there were far too many people and that was always a bad sign. Still walking around a few more minutes you could only wait for him to arrive. It was about a total of fifteen when you finally felt your phone vibrating again, it was another message from Hyuk stating he's already here and by the fountain. You weren't far from it and had quickly made your way but upon reaching the place, you frowned, you didn't see him at all or anything that resembled him. There were about seven people sitting around the fountain and not one of them was Sanghyuk.

'Is that kid playing games with me again?' you thought and sighed, quickly dialing his number and calling him instead. Maybe there was another fountain around?

The answer was almost instant as you turned around, back against the said spot while looking just incase he might have been in one of the nearby stores.

"Hyuk-ah.... I'm already here. Where are you?" you calmly asked. You were in no position to be mad at all, but instead of the usual Onew-like voice to greet you, it was different. It felt familiar but at the same time not really. Whipping to face him you froze as you were arms length away from a different male with his phone against his ear as well.

"You're not Hyuk!" You frowned as he mirrored your expression.

"Yes I'm Hyuk" He answered back but you had to admit, you liked his voice way better than Sanghyuk's and he was a total eye candy but he still wasn't the reason you had to drag yourself out of the dorm.

"Who are you?!" You asked a little too boldy, he froze for a moment out of shock and you weren't sure if it was because of your tone or because of the fact that you didn't know him. His face seemed familiar but you couldn't point your finger to it.

"You're the one that texted me first!" He finally spoke and oh. right there was that one option too, you were about to glare at him when you realized.

"Wonshik! ugh... he gave me the wrong phone number" You mumbled, squishing your own cheeks out of frustration. "I'm sorry, I thought you were Sanghyuk. This is really embarassing" God did you want to just pull your hair and have the ground swallow you up. You had made a fool of yourself infront of a handsome dude. Maybe this was the 'balance' you get for being way too happy yesterday.

He chuckled, and that got you having to raise your head and look at him despite the deep red of your cheeks. "It's alright... While we're here we can look around" He offered. You were about to say something but he beat you to it. "Don't worry, Ravi knows me and I'm pretty sure if you ask him about me, I hope it's only good things"

Eyes looking lost, you contemplated a little. He is kinda cute you thought, needing to pinch yourself. Dear god, why must you act this way of all days, he's just a boy for heaven's sake. A really good looking boy, your mind butted in. Although you were a trainee yourself and had met a few really good looking guys,, even alot more handsome than the person infront of you, there was just something about him... Maybe it was because he looked like an angel.

"I guess it's fine" You did want to spend a little more time with him, it wasn't always that one would be blessed to meet someone like him.

Putting your phone away, he keeps the soft smile on his face. "It's unfair that you know my name but I have no idea what's yours" God was his voice distracting. Telling your name in return, you give him a small shy smile as he repeats your name, liking the way his voice calls you out.

"So how do you know Ravi?" Explaining to him wasn't all that hard but his expression was unreadable, he surely didn'y think you were going to be an idol and you knew yourself you weren't as idol material yet. You did have the talent but you had always doubted your looks. You always felt that your appearance was least when it came to your co-members, and your body type felt like a burden. You weren't skinny but in some ways were you considered 'fat' and it was often troublesome.

"I didn't think you'd be a trainee" he honestly stated,and it tore you a little because you guess it was really true. Looks are the defining point, you heaved a soft sigh and didn't think he'd hear. "I thought you were in the underground scene" Head whipping to look at him, you gave a soft smile back and that felt a little better.

It was almost midnight and you had enjoyed yourself a little too much. Hyuk was just so warm and had stories to share, he was funny too and insisted that you pay for nothing at all but he resigned when you wouldn't let it pass that you wanted to treat him and thus the reason for your ice cream this late in the evening. You just wished that either the day doesn't end or you could have met him earlier, he would probably have suit your ideal type.

Walking you home since your dorm wasn't too far away, you pleaded a little bit that hopefully he keeps in touch.

"It was nice meeting you" He said as you both stopped infront of the building's lobby. All you could mutter was a yeah and a smile. "See you around then?" You nodded and bid goodnight as he ushered you to quickly go in. You sighed, you didnt even have a photo to remember this day.

Your could feel someoen shaking you as you selpt on the practice room floor. Tired was an understatement, you were completely exhausted and now you were getting told to change into something a little better atleast because your group was finally meeting the producers for your album. Everyone was so excited even you, changing quickly and nearly jogging up to the office.

"I thought Dean wasn't going to show up today. He said he was busy" You and your groupmates could hear the hushed talks about the main producer of your album, you couldn't help but think. 'He's coming right? so what's their problem?' You were actually excited to meet this Deanfluenza. Your group was only told about this a few days ago and had forgotten to search him up all the time, sure they played his songs but you never really knew how he looked liked. "He's here" You heard the manager say and as you all stood up to greet him, you froze in your spot and eyes glued with a shocked expression.

On his lips were a playful smile, you had mentioned last night little detials about you and your group. Sneaky bastard!

"Hi the name's Kwon Hyuk but please do call me Dean" He said although his gazes lingering at you a few times, smile still playful as you still couldn't believe what you were seeing. Maybe the wrong number wasn't such a bad thing at all.

---

this was on my aff but casually leaves it here. look at that cutie

#dean #deanfluenza #kwon hyuk #smtm 6 #tell me this was cute right omfg #dean fanfic #fanfic

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watchtheblog · 7 years ago

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invidious consumption

i was crippled with anxiety in the weeks leading up to my 21st birthday (just last year! wow, time sure does fly!) terrified that one of my earnest girlfriends, in an innocent but spectacularly misguided attempt to celebrate me, would surprise me by hiring a limo** - with a sunroof that i would be expected to stick my upper body out of - to drive us around times square because she had misinterpreted my denouncement of a limo full of rabble (one of whom - having witnessed my disdainful facial expression - had rolled down her window to look at me pityingly and emit with no irony the query, “jealous?”) as repressed curiosity… when in actuality it had been a manifestation of my vehement distaste for unfettered, garish exhibitions of joy.

(limo sidebar: my alter ego, reina, is *obsessed* with limos:

you can see more of her work here. HIRE ME TO RUN YOUR DATING APP ACCOUNT THAT YOU USE TO AMUSE YOURSELF AT THE EXPENSE OF DESPERATE MIDDLE AGED MEN IN YOUR AREA!)

while the last time i was flailing my body through a limo’s sunroof was never, i can say with the utmost confidence, i could go to my grave never having had 50-100% of my body in a limo and my life will have been full.

ditto drunkenly slurring “genie in a bottle” in a neon lighted basement in chinatown with strangers who smell like a chain hibachi restaurant. (i’m describing a karaoke bar. did it work?)

double ditto having a man in a thong swathe me in a sash and other bridal accoutrements and proceed to rub his muscles on me in the name of tradition at a bachelorette party (which is why i don’t allow anyone near me who owns a michael kors purse, whose favorite movie stars reese witherspoon, anyone who has seen magic mike in a theatre, or anyone who thinks instagramming a glass of wine with a caption about “relaxing” is an appropriate thing to instagram… also anyone who has ever posted a collage or that “year in review” on instagram. also anyone who wishes family members who don’t have instagram a happy birthday/father’s day/mother’s day etc. on instagram. #instagram #spon)

fear of having to refuse to partake in the activities someone has planned for me because they assault my sensibilities - and therefore having no celebration at all - has not stopped me from expecting to be surprised in some way on my birthday (september 26th. that is my birthday) every year since i turned 14 my first year at boarding school.

my parents are not “fun” people. they don’t “do” surprises. my mom is not “warm” and my dad is not “sneaky”.

despite this, i was absolutely convinced that my parents - who lived in new york and had acrimoniously divorced the summer before - would surprise me for my birthday and, i don’t know… take me to dinner and look at me, my mother contemplating why she’d crossed the atlantic ocean to do this when she could have just not and instead she could be in new york at like, the chobani store (this is a private joke for myself about my mom and her v specific, repellent personality). but no, instead, she’s in london with her ex husband… watching their daughter eat her weight in prosciutto and not even have the decency to have adopted a british accent yet.

honestly, the best possible outcome was no less grim than this… and yet!

when i woke up, assuming they’d taken a red eye, i calculated time for collecting their bags, getting lost and added two hours in case my recalcitrant mother had gotten detained for saying “bomb” on an airplane in a post 9/11 world - something she has literally done for sport; i have borne witness to it.

so, at lunch until the end of the school day, i stared out the window, waiting for them to arrive. when school ended and they hadn’t arrived, i expected them to surprise me in the dining hall at dinner. they didn’t. when my dad called me after study hall to wish me a happy birthday i thought, “oh maybe just my mom is coming…”

neither of them showed… nor did they the next three birthdays i had there, even though every year i woke up with the same eagerness of anticipation.

(that christmas, aged 14, i learned there was no santa.)

the perpetuation of this surprise fantasy allows me to excitedly anticipate a thoughtfully placid fete… and then inevitably gently fails to come to fruition, effectively allowing me to enjoy a day pleasantly marked by sangfroid, as i consider the calamity that “could have been” while at a dinner i have guilted one to three of my five friends into attending at the last minute!

and THAT is the cycle of my birthday and the 364 leading up to my birthday. (my birthday is a lifestyle, just like drake said.)

(an alternative explanation is that i continue to delude myself into thinking someone will plan a surprise party for me *in order* to be disappointed so that i may blame any potential melancholy on someone (everyone!) else instead of my hatin ass for being a human being who is impossible to please and whose inability to literally be “fun loving” and embrace gauche celebratory activities has barred her from ever experiencing the type of youthful excitement katy perry songs are about. this is a shitty but also v honest assessment. thank you for reading.)

ALL THAT BEING SAID … if you’ve been here before, you know my hatred of vulgar displays of birth nostalgia does not prevent me from loving being celebrated privately and has never stopped me from treating my birthday like it’s a wedding and creating a tacky but v self aware registry for the occasion.

so without further ado …

my birthday list! (which - because i refuse to leave my home unless it's to go to a lawyer's office to sign a contract and pick up a check for a series order for my pilot - is the only acceptable way in which you may celebrate me privately. so if you choose not to celebrate me financially, please consider yourself removed from the following list.)

thanks!

(if for some perverse reason you’d like to see my prior innocent but spectacularly misguided registries, please go here. it’s a doozy! however, please note i will only be accepting gifts from this year’s registry. so stay current!)

also, i’m not going to say whether or not anyone has ever purchased something for me off one of my lists, but i will quote william blake “If the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise” as opposed to albert einstein and you may draw your own conclusions.

the list.

givenchy pandora purse

here are 1, 2, 3, 4 options

a casual throw for my bed

i just love something easy you know? i beg you to click that link and know that the description includes this: “perfect for cuddling in the cold”. literally lmao. correct. and unfortunately there’s zero other way for me to cuddle in the cold.

seriously though a casual throw

this one is on sale in the white, which is the only color i allow on my bed. isn’t that nice!

ditto this one

here’s one that isn’t

a pillow

i need a firm pillow. i didn’t know that. i thought i liked soft. but then i realized i like firm and my pillows are soft. you can see my dilemma. here or here or here

this bathrobe

it’s a bathrobe. you know how they go.

a juicero

i don’t know how many times i have to ask. i’m not even putting a link because i’m so furious. ditto: a range rover. smh.

a personalized clutch

do what you will. small or big

a vacation

you know... so i can chill from all the stress of waking up and realizing i have to figure out how to spend the next 10 hours… every. single. mother. fucking. day. here are some places i’d like to go. you’re more than welcome to book a trip for yourself, but i will not engage with you in any way. (i kept it domestic…ish to be polite)

arizona

this is a whole spa thing…

tulum

utah. also utah

montana

this is an all inclusive ranch experience… can you imagine the discreet fun i would have! and the joy you would get from witnessing that, second hand.

wyoming

erewhon gift card

somewhere in the range of $1000-5000 should take care of me for the fall. if you need to understand why, please read this

macarons

not shitty ones. please use bottega louie as a standard but you can find better i’m sure. go to france! i want like 45 of them. pistachio is my favorite; i also like rose, salted caramel, strawberry.

i want to go to a lakers game, but i must be courtside.

no link.

sunglasses chain thing

i am v embarrassed to put this here because i was directed to it from some bop’s instagram i never should have been on… but we all make mistakes and now you can literally pay for mine. (when i typed “sunglass chain”, it autocorrected sunglass to dumbass.) feel free to have a regular glasses chain custom made if you’d rather not support the local business of an instagram celebrity. i wear glasses now to look smarter but uglier.

a candle

this candle smells like the gramercy hotel in new york. i once stepped on john mcenroe’s foot “accidentally” at the bar inside this hotel in 2013. that is enough of an interesting story to make you buy me 5 of these candles, right? consider it preemptive retribution for the serena williams comment.

a yoga mat

it’s a long story… i saw a spider in my home and my neighbor called the police on me because i was yelling and crying so loudly she thought i was being murdered. but in actuality, i was heaving a yoga mat across the room to cover the intruder... and then i stomped it to smithereens, effectively rendering the yoga mat - which had previously never been in use - useless. i need another one. and this one is one of the most expensive ones i could find. it’s luxuriously dense, like my cerebrum.

really good headphones

i think this pair are really good but then again i am an idiot. i will accept any that someone deems “really good”.

megaphone

i’d like a megaphone for reasons i don’t feel comfortable getting into here. i have not googled but any top of the line megaphone should do.

in conclusion, i will settle for a job a dinner at olive garden or nobu malibu on my birthday - with uber suv roundtrip fee included - where no one sings happy birthday to me and no one asks “how my career is going”! my birthday is september 26th.

godspeed.

#my birthday #lists of things #lists of things i want #birthday lists #9/26; never forget #hello it's my birthday #Happy Birthday To Me #birthday gifts #things i want #invidious consumption #waste!

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