#anyways now I drink tea and coffee and eat cakes in the afternoon so who is she | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

persephoneyss · 3 years

Text

Doomeds.

Pairing: Min Yoongi x f! Reader. Ft. Bts.

Genre: Yandere, dark themes, anguish, suspense.

Summary: ❝We are doomeds, wandering in eternal suffering.❞

Warnings: Yandere behavior, obsession, stalking / stalking on cameras, humiliation, unspecified forced marriage, n*n-c*n explicit sexual relations (on the reader), abuse of power, implicit murder, drug use, kidnapping, hitting, manipulation, dating previous trauma, alcoholism and depression (in Yoongi), accusations of infidelity, dub-con (in Yoongi's case), the reader is in school but is of legal age, death threats, really strange facts. Possibly this would qualify as dark fantasy since everything is so unrealistic.

Number of words: 10,000+

︙Author's note: *sighs* This is the longest fic I've ever written, and I honestly don't know how it turned out because I didn't read it twice like I always do before publishing it. But my beautiful baby helped me correct, I hope you enjoy it and please read the warnings well, I do not want lawsuits. Thanks for being here!

(Sorry for any mistakes, my first language is not English and I am not fluent either.)

Puedes leer este fic y más aquí en español.

If they ever had to ask the reality of events it would be ... Unbelievable. Thinking of how just a simple action changes everything in an already established and perfect environment.

A life.

Your minutes, hours and days were the same under your criteria and eyesight, you study in the mornings, you work in the afternoons and you attend to your homework at night. It was a good routine that used to be repetitive at times, it was fun to follow, even more so in your part-time job.

You could meet many people working in one of the best cafes in the city, your classmate insisted too many times that you work with her saying that could recommend you and you should not even pass a test, they would only accept you for her.

It was a good opportunity and you accepted it with a smile, although she was long gone from work, you were still grateful for the good salary and health insurance that they gave you every month.

"An American coffee with a spoon of sugar and a green tea cake with cream on top." Your mouth and hand move in sync, the client nods silently. You smile, pointing out other details before asking what name you would give the order.

With a sigh, he name came out like a gust of light wind. "Min... Min Yoongi."

You write his name on the screen, the little receipt paper comes out of the machine. You hand it to him by brushing his hand with yours, strangely cold and pale. A chill runs through you but you ignore it, continuing with your work.

"Good Morning _____!" One of the employees greets you kindly, you correspond still concentrated on serving the mysterious stranger's coffee. "Do you have a request for me?"

"Oh, uh... Yeah, this is for table four."

Yun smiles taking the tray with Yoongi's coffee and cake, arriving at his table. The man's expression can be dazzled even under his black mask that covers half of his face, his eyes look for you before colliding with you. YYou refuse to play along, continuing with your work, you had a lot to do and wasting time flirting wouldn't really help you make money.

However, it became pointless trying to ignore him when he kept coming back day after day. Week after week. Tormenting your head, Yoongi was not the first nor the last handsome man you would see coming often, your work establishment was literally in a strategic area and not cheap, you knew that many men and women with money frequented them to drink a coffee or eat some delicacy, even sometimes they only came in to sit for a few hours attending to their affairs over the phone.

It was fine, it was comfortable. You weren't expecting too much, sitting behind a counter, always having to fake a smile despite being tired.

Perhaps it was the constant visits that led you to start a conversation with him. You had about an hour of rest, you prefer to spend those few moments sitting in front of the window of the premises eating any cake that was a few days before expiring to avoid paying for consumption, you felt comfortable in that place that seemed so far from all the other clients.

Until his voice interrupted once, he seemed as calm as ever. His gaze lost from you elsewhere avoiding making contact with you, nervous apparently. His rough and austere tone was changed to a bolder and lower one, asking if he could sit next to you for a few minutes.

"Sure, sit down... he's not busy." It was your answer without having any problem in sharing your place so secret, so comfortable. It was still just as safe even with him present.

And in much the same way, everything became a silent routine. You heeded his order, you took your rest next to him and then you both left at one point. The talks became more common, he being the first to ask about such insignificant things as the rise in the market in the country and how prices should start to rise in coffee as well.

You laughed, you really did it by getting his attention and sharing your reaction.

They both started laughing at how strange it all started, and it was always the perfect anecdote to tell their friends about how they met.

Everything was perfect, like a painting by a great artist, what you would see would be beautiful and cheerful colors, adorning both of you possibly holding hands with a smile and a loving expression from the man who was now your partner. Her pale skin and angelic face represented on beautiful thin paper, presented to the world as a painting that reflected a symbol of love between two souls met in a casual cafe and who wanted each other so much. Too much.

Yoongi was the clear representation of an ethereal person, casual and elegant, polite and kind, protective but not possessive. Simply to the target.

Your routine didn't change much after starting your relationship, you kept walking to your school in the mornings, you attended the cafeteria in the afternoons and you rested at night. Perhaps the only significant thing that you would get out of your boring schedule was your boyfriend's proposal about moving with him to the house of his best friend, almost a brother as he described it, and avoiding paying for your little apartment. You had made one and a thousand excuses, making Yoongi shut them all up.

"Jin is my brother, he would never take advantage of us. I already mentioned the proposal, about you... I have been living there for a few weeks, I assure you that you will be like family."

Family?

Your face relaxed for a few seconds, you had abandoned that feeling and sensation long ago since you moved from your home in your native country. Your mother used to call you every night but little by little that habit was lost, she also had her own problems and being aware of you as if you were a child was ridiculous.

"It's fine." It was your final decision, nervously you moved your hands in the air explaining what you would not accept.

Do not invade your privacy.

You had spent days thinking about how to introduce yourself to them, because apparently there would be more than just Jin, Yoongi and you in that house. Your things were scattered in boxes, you stood in the middle of the almost empty room still nervous about meeting new people and friends of your boyfriend.

That they were now family. Literally family.

The moving truck was parked in front of a large house, it had two stories and an incredibly large garden. More like a forest than an ordinary garden, you got out of the car trying to clean your clothes as much as possible and look presentable. Although it was difficult when your whole body was covered in dust after lifting the boxes.

"I'm not ready, Yoon." You say, containing your anxiety that vibrates to the surface of the skin within you.

Her hand gently brushed your cheek, giving you a bit of reassurance. "You look beautiful, they will accept you anyway." Her lips came up to yours, giving you a quick and soft kiss. "I just remember that I love you, and I know all my brothers will too because you are perfect."

You thanked the little compliment in a whisper, the door of the house opened just after the two of them left, you automatically showed a friendly smile approaching the first person to leave. He was a tall and rather handsome man, he seemed very well dressed to be indoors on a Sunday, more like he was going out to an important business meeting. He looked flawless and elegant.

"The suit was not necessary, Nam!" Shouted your boyfriend behind you mocking, the man laughed showing all the charm of him to your eyes.

"I'm Namjoon, Yoongi's friend. Nice to meet you... _____, right?"

"Yes, it's me. Sorry to see me so disastrous, it was a tiring day with the move."

Namjoon seemed like a very nice and incredibly understanding guy, his presence made you want to meet your boyfriend's other friends. You opened the door entering the house after Yoongi asked you to find your room to start carrying the other things, Namjoon stayed behind to help him, leaving you alone on your unknown route. You walk all over the place and you are surprised that you only walked through the living room, your eyes straying to a noise in the kitchen.

Curious.

You ignore it, continuing your way up, you read every name on the doors. Jin, Namjoon, Yoongi, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook. All written brilliantly on each different door, you walk a few steps to one that says your name and you thank it with a sigh.

You weren't surprised by how big it was, everything inside that place seemed to be exorbitant and out of the ordinary.

"Oh, it must be you." You are surprised to hear a voice behind you, you turn around in fear before remaining calm. You recognized her face from a photo Yoongi had on her phone.

"Jimin?" You ask with fear of being wrong.

"It's me, it's nice to finally meet you. Jin-hyung said you're moving in a few days, I didn't think it would be so soon." His voice seemed to be calm but there was a hidden question. Why? Why were you there?

You take a few uncomfortable steps back. "It really was, but ... I thought it would be better to do it today that I don't have classes, plus Yoongi doesn't work this day and it seemed like the right thing to do. I'm sorry if bother you."

"No you don't. it's okay, Welcome." With that one simple word he left.

You thought you would have a longer talk with him but you weren't expecting too much, they didn't even know each other and you plan to chat with him like they were old acquaintances. Well, naive.

It seemed strange to you that no one else showed up in the whole house, even when you were uploading the last boxes of the move no one seemed to be a little curious to meet you. Aside from the already friendly Namjoon and the reserved Jimin.

"Yoon" You get his attention, he smiles at you taking the sheets out of your suitcase and making your makeshift bed ready for the night. "Do your friends work today?"

"I guess so, they really don't spend a lot of time together or at home." Explain without noticing your downcast face. You nod, putting the issue aside and concentrating your eyes on arranging your clothes. "Hey... Okay, you can meet them all at dinner today."

Your chest clenches in anguish, "Dinner?!"

"Yes, darling. It's the only time they meet all day, when Jin-hyung cooks for us especially on days like these where we have pleasant surprises."

You purse your lips annoyed, Yoongi smiles kissing your forehead so carefully and lovingly that it melts your senses. The mere presence of him made you want to continue with him forever, you relax for a few seconds hugging his body in silence. They both stay like this, with nothing to say but telling each other everything at the same time.

The thought of ever letting go scares you.

You wait several hours, still sitting in the same place where Yoongi left you. You should be presentable for dinner, you take a quick shower before running to change into a nice comfortable dress, you try not to overdo it but also not show disinterest. From the stairs you hear everyone's mixed voices, chatting animatedly.

"Honey, come here." Yoongi watches you, being the only one to notice that you were peeking in the shadows still unsure of interrupting.

You say hello by walking a few steps until you reach your boyfriend's side, you present yourself the best you can. Everyone falls silent, Namjoon smiles at you just like he did before. Jin interrupts the moment where no one seemed to have anything to say about you, or if he wants to want to introduce himself.

"Today we have a special guest, the dear girlfriend of our brother. I introduce myself, I am Jin the official cook of this family." His body bends down with an exaggeratedly long bow, proud of his words. Jimin rolls his eyes, while his other siblings just choose to tease. "On Yoongi's orders we made her favorite dish, so I don't want any complaints of any kind about the food. I'm looking at you Jungkook."

You are surprised how well everything is going, you feel praised when your favorite food is in front of you. She looked just as elegant, as if you were eating in a five-star restaurant and at a luxurious table with silk tablecloths.

Jungkook still stayed away from the talks, preferring to eat quietly and fiddle with his phone. Hoseok was more animated, asking about you and exaggerating anecdotes that happened with his childhood friends. He moved you that he will still remember all that after years. Namjoon vaguely drew your attention with book recommendations when you commented on your love of reading, Jin quietly continued eating in complete tranquility, Jimin thanked the food and just left.

Taehyung... He seemed interesting to you, he was looking at you all the time with narrowed eyes and when Jimin got up and walked away, he followed closely with a small and almost hidden smile.

You had a strange feeling inside what they called home.

"I-I... I need to use the bathroom." You say goodbye by wiping your lips with a napkin before quickly walking behind them both. Something attracted you to want to know more, as if they were leaving clues knowing that curiosity killed the cat and that you wanted to be the one.

Your steps were quiet, even more so when you tried not to be noticed . You went upstairs listening to their voices whispering and then... An obscene moan was clearly heard, Jimin seemed to laugh in the air.

Your hands shook thinking of opening the door and seeing what was happening. And without knowing it, you had fallen into the same network of attraction as them.

You curse yourself biting your tongue and cheek until they bleed, sure that you were going to make a big and heavy mistake. Minutes later you are going down the stairs back to the table but no one is waiting for you anymore, the table was just as spotless and clean. You are pleasantly surprised to learn that they don't treat you like a guest and that they don't wait too long for you. Maybe they had things to do, however you feel a chill when silence comes.

Where were?

You look around the yard, but no one is outside. Neither in the kitchen and less in the room where you had already walked twice. You catch the sound of drums in your ears rumbling loudly, you close your eyes in a daze for a few seconds until in an instant it goes away, and then everything comes back to itself. You hear their voices upstairs, chatting animatedly for the second time.

"Where were you sweetie? Are you okay?"

You nod still confused. How did they... When was that... You were really fine? You refuse to fall into paranoia and lie down next to Yoongi, as they continue their conversation with each other. Your head keeps spinning with the fresh memories you have, but they seem to disappear second by second and it scares you, you open your eyes without wanting to fall asleep yet but it is as difficult as breathing.

You fall into the dark abyss of sleep, feeling the same chill.

Your gaze is lost in the gray sky, you are cold and your body is swaying. Your eyes move restlessly observing that you are under the snow and a person holds you in his arms through the forest, walking at a slow and safe pace.

It's fine. Are you okay.

Wake up. Yoongi greets you from the door of your now room, you try to regulate your breathing thinking that he would notice your overwhelmed state and he would worry, but no. He is as calm as ever, relaxed even.

"Good morning beautiful, it's time for breakfast. Jin-hyung made your favorite." And with that last sentence she is shifting away, closing the door behind he.

You go down the stairs ready to go, your backpack resting on your shoulder. The table is just as full as at dinner, Jimin seemed very tired trying not to fall asleep, you watch him for a few seconds before looking at Taehyung who ignores you taking his cup of ... Coffee. You approach making him recoil alarmed and disgusted, you check the cup realizing that it is the same recipe that you use in the cafeteria.

Like them?

You look up noticing that, you were uncomfortable, Taehyung takes a few steps away from your body almost leaning against his, still sitting in his chair. You apologize to him making me sigh irritated, still ashamed you apologize again without eating or serving anything, just leaving through the front door.

Your journey is reflective. You forget, dream and recognize, that was the pattern you were following, everything seemed so strange and deep down gloomy, you feel the already casual chill running through your entire body almost like a warning.

Your seat in class was empty waiting, ready for you. Ari greets you, being your table companion and friend.

"Hey, intense night?" She jokes, you look shaking his head. She laughs pointing your neck. "You have... something there."

She frowns even more confused, her face leaves her smile aside and she starts looking at her things until she takes out a small mirror and she hands it to you. You look with horror at a large red bruise painting on your skin, it seemed painful but you had not even noticed or felt it. You touch it still scared and nothing, it doesn't hurt or it seems real.

You take a deep breath before lying with silly chatter, "I had an accident, but I'm fine. I had forgotten I was there, it was nothing serious."

Ari seems worried but in the end she forgets it by returning to the same kind and joking attitude of her, but her gaze drops from second by second to your neck making you cover yourself uncomfortable. Who? It can't be Yoongi, he was always very calm in that regard. You think terrified, your hand goes up to touch it and this time you manage to feel a sharp pain.

You have to cover it with the collar of your shirt so that no customer will notice it and avoid staining the reputation of the cafeteria, you smile nervously taking orders as fast as you can and avoiding looks. Yun greets you like every day, arriving at his work time. You spend hours begging for the clock to advance faster, the night sky appears and the doors close, you clear the last counter before you can finally show your neck again and breathe.

"That's a big problem." Yun whispers looking at the horrible mark, you nod with a sigh giving the same stupid excuse you told Ari. "You should use a little makeup to cover it up, I think it will help you a lot."

You think about it for a few seconds before deciding what you would do. You bow to him with a bow after he offered to close in your place and finish the remaining work for you.

You come home with a smile, you greet Namjoon who is reclining on the couch in the living room watching something on TV. You wait a few seconds but you do not receive a small or accidental look, you approach a few steps to repeat it again but you only get him to get up and go upstairs closing the door of his room apparently with a door slam. What the hell? You think covering your face with your hands looking for some comfort.

Everything was happening inside you, it was like a whirlpool sweeping away your sanity. Were you going crazy? Or you were just thinking a lot about nothing.

You try to draw a picture of your situation, but the only thing that repeats is the constant painting of Yoongi and you together.

"Yoongi!" You say to yourself with a smile, you drop your backpack running towards his room, wanting to see him after such a day.

Your hopes fade like air, everything within the space him screams 'he', but he is not there. You check the safe time that he should be home at that moment. You hear Jin's voice screaming from below about dinner ready, you sigh losing your appetite at those moments.

You lie on your bed checking your cell phone in case there was a message from Yoongi warning about he delay but nothing. You feel empty for some strange reason, but there was nothing different about it now.

If I had been more attentive and conscientious, you would have noticed that two more people other than Yoongi and you were missing from the table. Jin smiles sitting in his same place leaving your plate not caring without you being there with them, his smile never fades even when all his brothers are sitting silently eating and looking at your empty place so intensely that it was terrifying, he squeezes the cutlery in his hand without wanting to break the tradition in his family.

Dinners are sacred and no one should be missing. There will be no discussions or complaints, that's what the rest of the time is for.

That was what her mother said, sitting at the table in her old home containing her anger at seeing her husband so calm after having been unfaithful once more. Not on the table, not on the table.

Not on the table, honey.

Jimin opened the last bottle with a little satisfaction, poured another glass before handing it to his friend who was only glaring at the ground.

"She's not like that... I know her." Repeating the same stupid prayer for hours, Taehyung rolled his eyes trying to calm his annoyance, looking at his other friend insisting that he help him.

"Yoongi-hyung you saw it yourself, she had that... That mark. you didn't do it, maybe Tae is right and she-..."

"Not!" I scream interrupting what to him were lies. "_____ she's my girlfriend, she's not like that. I know her ... she loves me! She loves me! Do you understand?" Says exalted, holding the shirt of his friend who closed his mouth immediately, Jimin noticed that same reflection of anger in him and knew it was better to leave it for now.

Taehyung pushed the drunk Yoongi away from his side, making him release him and repeat the same phrase as in his state, he tried to believe himself.

The door to your room was opened and the smell of alcohol invaded you, making you look disgusted. You closed your eyes without wanting to see him, his body fell to the side of your bed approaching your body so slowly that the anxiety inside you doubled.

"I'm sorry..." He whispered.

His hands rested around you, giving you that warmth so familiar and comfortable in your gray days. A sob was heard while you lost yourself in your own thought, you watch it melt into your arms crying and without wanting to tell you why.

"It hurts." It's the only thing it says. But... Why?

You wake up. Just like a week ago, days had passed and it seemed like your skin kept accumulating horrible marks all over the place. You even went to consult a doctor but he only insisted that something... Or someone did them with such fury that it was incredible that a piece of skin will not be torn off by the force of his suction.

You touched the last mark that came, it was dangerously close to your crotch, you try to hide the others with makeup but they were still visible at a short distance.

You went down the stairs to see them all again, you greet with regret taking the first thing you find. Your mug had your name written on it, it was a rather curious gift from Jin after your melancholic night with Yoongi days ago, he apologized explaining that he felt bad after hearing all the sobs and apologies. For a moment you thought it was something exaggerated but he kept insisting that he felt bad about himself, not with Yoongi who was almost his brother or with you, with him.

You accepted it without wanting to show your dislike for his selfishness and narcissism, thanking him so softly that he hardly heard you.

The special drink that morning was coffee... Americano. You felt insecure to drink it, and you just put it aside.

Same recipe.

Yoongi looked at you for a few seconds before smiling fondly, and you just looked away, leaving him with a confused face as you walk out the door so quickly that he can hardly feel you.

He sighed before being drawn to Jimin's grin-adorned face, he shrugged, hinting at his silent opinion. She is not faithful to you Yoongi, why do you keep waiting for something good? Only looks at her body, her attitude and who she surrounds herself with, it is a classic of womens. You will know that she is a fox hidden under her sheepsuit, just observing her more and you never leave her.

The marks on your body, your cold attitude made him more and more suspicious and fall for Taehyung's profound words. She bit his lip, refusing to spy on your life away from him... Out of his sight.

But he really wasn't doing anything wrong, just observing. In his now dirty head, everything was valid if he could know the truth.

You did the same thing you always told him on his nights where they stayed up talking about his heavy days. You went to school, to work, and then home. Nothing changed your version.

I try to focus on your friends, there was only one girl you spent more time with in your classes and after them. He researched everything about his life, but he had nothing to worry about after learning that he had a boyfriend. He passed your work, standing outside for hours waiting to see you do something dirty or guilty, but you never seemed to move.

You just served the orders and then kindly said goodbye to the customers. He felt guilty for doing something so low to you, until he saw you.

To you.

Your smile grew when one of the workers who was your partner approached your place in the box to whisper something in your ear, you left your place following him towards the warehouse.

Anger consumed him quickly, refusing to continue standing there observing the obvious, possibly he was being irrational and he knew it but the constant insinuations of Jimin. The conversations with Taehyung, his words, his suspicions, the pleased looks from they when he fell back at his feet asking them to tell him what to do with you.

With his damn relationship.

Where were you and him. Not them. You and he.

He opened the door to your room and started going through your things like a degenerate, something must have made him sure that you were cheating on him. Something, a letter, a note, a gift from him, or a simple cheap jewel.

This was your Yoongi? You were clearly looking at another subject.

"Yoon..." You started, his eyes coldly piercing you. He looked different, he was looking at you but you didn't feel safe being so close. "What are you doing?"

"What do you think I do?" He asked how else he will not point to the obvious, for a moment you thought that even if it was, out of respect or dignity, he would try to deny it or find another explanation for his actions so offensive to you. "Where is?"

"Where is what?" You claim, starting to get angry, his eyes leave you again as he continues searching through your drawers, dropping everything to the floor with thudding noises. You get closer trying to push it away but you only get rejection. "Stop it, Yoongi."

"Not until you say so."

You freeze without knowing what he meant by the latter, you take his arm to stop him but you only receive a push that makes you back away this time scared by the force of his attack. "Enough!" You claim this time by making him look at you with his cold eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about and why you're doing this, but enough."

"Then say it..." You shout again that you don't know what he wants you to say, you even curse furiously making him come closer to support your shoulders with his hands bringing you closer to his face. "Say it damn it! Say you're cheating on me with that bastard son of a bitch!"

You feel the pain of his grip, you sob, begging him to release you but are ignored as he continues to ask you to say so. You refuse to lie, especially with something so degrading.

Jin hears the screams as he continues serving the dinner desserts, Jungkook strangely puts aside his phone for a few minutes to thank him with a small toast and a smile that was rarely seen on him.

"The dessert tonight is sweeter than usual."

Jimin raises his glass with a bright smile, Namjoon adjusts his tie tied perfectly around his neck as he sips from his glass, Hoseok laughs eating the delicious cake with enthusiasm.

Curious, a green tea cake with cream on top.

"It's a shame Yoongi-hyung misses out on dessert." Taehyung speaks pretending a pout on his lips, playing with his spoon with the cream on her plate. "It is especially exquisite today."

"Stop playing already, when will you do it? I'm looking forward to getting started." Jin snaps angrily, pushing the cake out of her sight as he drinks from her wine glass.

Jungkook laughs, turning his phone back on to continue playing as usual. "So impatient, hyung." He says he with a click of annoyance.

Jin rolls his eyes, following her gaze to Jimin who is innocently cowering in her chair. Ignoring how completely obsessed Jungkook is with his games, it really was not his business,for something his youngest friend had his parents, who were too busy with their work, they ran the largest electronics factory in the country, leaving his son in the background just giving him everything he asked for without objection. Always showing a smile when little Jungkook came before them demanding a new console or the best phone.

"It only remains to wait..." Whispering, he released a patient Hoseok. His smile as charming as ever. "For her to decide what to do and then... Plot! She fell into the wrong well."

"I hate when you describe and talk like that, but I can't expect much from a Jung... like you."

However, Hoseok never stops smiling even when anger is consuming his mind causing him to clench his fists under the table and bite his tongue inside his mouth, hidden by his gleaming and visible teeth. Namjoon smiles at her, knowing that she managed to provoke him but that she won't do anything to shut him up.

"Pathetic."

Motherfucker.

Jin breaks the tense silence, shushing everyone with a snap. That silence. Nobody hears anything from you or Yoongi, for a moment they feel the anguish that something bad has happened or that his friend has lost a bit ... The hand. But just seconds later you're rushing down, wearing the same clothes and your face covered in tears. You don't even look at them when you run to the door, leaving a trail of emptiness behind you.

"Hm, intense." This is Jungkook speaking, his eyes still lost on the phone screen of him playing a silly online championship. "She will be fine after hours."

"Jungkook is right, now we must move with Yoongi."

Namjoon gets up walking to your room, surprised that everything seems almost the same as it was before their fight.

He smiles when he manages to see his friend laying on the floor sobbing, and like that children's book called Pinocchio, he feels good being that cricket-shaped voice of reason. Only this time that sweet and serene voice, released one and a thousand blasphemies that would contaminate even the most devout by his beliefs.

He managed to convince Yoongi's easy to manipulate mind, blurting out words almost like a song. Playing with the naive self of hes that still lived and breathes inside him.

You had come home after days of spending with Ari and her boyfriend away from him. You really didn't want to set foot in that house again in years, a small irrational part of you believed that it was all his fault, your real problems started when you set foot in that damn place.

You open the door observing the room in the same way, empty. You try not to make yourself feel ready to go to sleep, without having been able to do it in days, but now you doubted that it would be different here.

You remain static in view of everyone, you had forgotten that at that time they were having dinner together. They only met once a day and it had to be right there.

"Good evening, sorry to interrupt." You ignoring Yoongi's gaze that, he's trying not to get too excited about your return, even though she causes he to euphoric whirl. "Carry on, I'll just go to my room."

"Please no, sit with us."

"I'm not well."

"I insist, sit with us. They were difficult days but I know they can fix it." Jin puts a plate in front of one of the empty chairs, you refuse to sit down but you do it out of compromise.

Everyone seems to be exclusively quiet, dinner was gray, like a black and white painting. Remember the first dinner, where everyone seemed to have so much to say and now that was left behind, Jungkook continues to play with his phone sometimes moving his plate by accident, without touching a single silverware with the intention of eating. Jin eats in peace, so slowly that he is strange. Namjoon reads a book in his hand, eating so cleanly that it's amazing.

Hoseok looks at you playfully from time to time, with a smile that almost makes you smile the same. Jimin and Taehyung seem to communicate silently, they both look at each other with slight grimaces and smiles.

"We can talk?" Yoongi whispers, you feel her breath next to you and instinctively you walk away scared. Still hurt by her actions and attitude, you give your vow of silence by standing up and without saying goodbye, you walk up the stairs.

"How rude." Jungkook interrupts, keeping an eye on his screen lighting up his beautiful face. "He didn't even taste the food."

Yoongi looks at Jin, her oldest friend and the one she trusted the most, seeking some advice. But just gets the same treatment as always, a look insisting that go with you and try to fix her mistake.

However, it was late. You had packed a makeshift suitcase by going down as quietly as you could, exiting through the back door like a thief or a fugitive.

You spent days thinking about your cowardly way of running away, but in the same way you felt better and even more so when you did not receive any message from him. Maybe it wasn't that important to him, it hurt but it also relieved you.

You knew it would be awkward to see him in the face again, but you should go back and get your things over with as soon as possible. You naively thought of forming a friendship, a very distant one, but in the end it would be the healthiest thing for both of you.

"______?" Asked the person who opened the door after you barely managed to ring the bell due to nerves, he was clearly confused.

"W-good morning ... Jin." You greet by taking a few steps back to get a better look at it, you had forgotten how tall it was. "Sorry to bother I just wanted to -..."

"Talk to Yoongi? I'm sorry but he's already better without you, he even met someone new." You were surprised by his austere, sour tone and trying to intimidate you. "And you better go, you are not welcome here."

"No ... No, I-I came for my things but I'm glad to know that it's better now, and that ..." The words stayed in your mouth, almost as if it hurt to admit it. "I was able to find someone, I hope we can be friends. Also with you, I'm sorry I left without explaining or saying goodbye properly."

You waited what seemed like ages for her response, and you expected more than a simple nod of the head, letting you pass without a hitch. You searched your room quickly, trying not to have any contact with any of them for now. You opened the door that had your name on it but you were scared by what you found inside, the whole room had been painted blood red, a very dark color that managed to give you such familiar chills.

"What is this? Where are my things?!" You turned around ready to go and claim but the door closed behind you with a stormy noise. You ran to try to open it but it did not move an inch, you searched the whole room for something useful to help you but it was completely empty, and alone.

You sobbed in fear, not understanding what was happening and why it seemed that the walls were getting narrower every second. You fell to the ground, trying to stay calm and without losing your goal, hours and even days passed for you, you waited to hear at least one noise but everything was so quiet that you had to avoid going crazy, you played with your hands trying to distract yourself and think positive things, you had read many books about stressful situations to know that thinking a lot about those things caused even more stress, you lie on the floor sure that a nap will calm everything down, if it was a nightmare you wanted to wake up and if not , you wanted to dream that it was.

A lock, you hear that particular noise and you wake up. You open your eyes as fast as you can lifting your body, the door was slightly open as if someone was exiting. You scream for help but it closes, you fall back into sadness and despair screaming even more for your freedom.

You didn't deserve this.

You look with regret at the delicious food they left for you, for a moment you think about going on a hunger strike but your stomach demands you not to be so stupid. The same would not change anything. Regardless of manners, you eat as fast as you can, dropping quite a bit of food on the ground in your rush.

It had an exquisite taste, and you could recognize it everywhere. It was one of your favorite dishes, you felt disgusted to compare it to your mother's food, but as magnificent as it was, it reminded you so much of her.

You wait for something to happen, but minutes go by in which you just look at nothing, letting your head fly. Thinking of a thousand things, playing with the spoon and singing in a low voice.

You feel hot from one moment to the next, your vision becomes cloudy and the door opens again. You just stay in the same place, you don't care about anything, not even how they hold you by helping you walk into another room.

"You were right, she is very calm now."

You look at him, their faces so familiar and you try to place them, but your head is flying away at that moment. You close your eyes laughing, and drifting into unconsciousness.

You wake up. You open your eyes and you are tied, you struggle with the ropes that hold your arms while the bed below you makes your body bounce. You touch the sheets realizing that they are extremely soft, you are in an unfamiliar room surrounded by scarlet red, with elegant and shimmering decorations. You try to stand up but your legs, like your hands, are tied.

And you're still quiet because of the rag in your mouth.

You fight the bindings furiously, screaming into the cloth as much as you can get sick of being locked up again.

You think of Yoongi, although at that moment it was irrelevant you wonder where she is and if she knew that she was being kidnapped in such a way, would she help you at least? Resignation covers you completely, fighting the bonds again with such force that you feel like they burn your skin every time you move.

You sob, just as he did one fall day.

Yoongi watches you from the monitor in another room, Jin is talking to Namjoon to the side while Jungkook is still sitting in a corner entertaining on her phone. Jimin, Taehyung, and Hoseok seem reluctant to look at each other despite facing each other.

Remember the day, the one in the past, when he met them. Jimin and Taehyung were already friends playing in one of the children's castles, with their hands pretending to be weapons as they ran around. Hoseok was sitting next to his mother, talking and apparently they had a lot to say. Namjoon did not detach from the side of his father who urged him to go up to the games, while Jin was busy collecting Flowers in a basket that his grandmother was holding.

They were all strangers and even more so he, felt out of place surrounded by so many games and away from home. His parents had freed up a whole day to spend together in a decent park, it was several hours of travel from Daegu to Seoul only for his son to play in a beautiful park surrounded by luxurious buildings.

He dropped down next to her mother, hugging her without wanting to let her go.

"Min Yoongi, we didn't take this trip just for you to sit there all day, son."

"I'm scared..." he whispered, biting her lip and hiding her face in the neck of his beloved mother.

"I see... but the games look so much fun. Run and try them, love."

He nodded still uneasy, walking over to one of the swings where he sat rocking so slowly that he seemed still. He felt hands pushing his body from behind, scared he looked at the boy behind him, he had a smile on his face and waved him with a hand.

"Sorry, I thought you needed to be pushed." He spoke and did not seem at all nervous.

"I'm fine, but thank you..." There was a momentary silence before he interrupted again. "I am Yoongi."

"Hoseok, although my mommy calls me Hobi."

He smiled, offering himself this time to push the swing, they spent minutes like this just helping each other take a walk pleasantly. He didn't even think about it when Hoseok offered to talk to Jimin and Taehyung about how they'll all play together in teams.

Now in the present, he smiled again remembering how he met Jin that same day, he had collided with him when he was running so as not to be caught by Jimin. His older friend was flushed with anger, screaming for her flowers and his dirty clothes. His grandmother teased him a bit making him deny even more, he followed Yoongi for several minutes until the chase because of her desire to hit him became a game.

They both fell to the ground tired, laughing before Hoseok introduced himself to Jin. Namjoon arrived shortly after, curious about the commotion and why he had gotten bored of sitting for so long, as he explained later. Besides that his father didn't have the best conversation starters.

He cried so much that very day when he had to go home again, promising to return soon.

"We have everything ready, are you ready?" Jin stood next to him, his eyes looked at him but he couldn't recognize his childhood friend. The same one that he offered to organize his birthday parties when his parents could not afford them, the same one that he never took advantage of his money to lower it. The one who hugged him as many times as he could when he came out of his therapies after his parents died.

Who was this man?

"Y-yes." He murmured still stunned. He got up, following in his footsteps with his head lowered.

They opened the door showing him, you were distracted biting the cloth in your mouth and trying to move your hands to free them.

Your body felt the same repetitive chill making you look at them feeling their presences so... uncomfortable.

"Enough." Jin ordered as you continued your insistent useless movement, trying to free yourself. "I'm not playing around, stop."

Me neither, idiot. You clench your teeth as much as you can at not being able to say it out loud, you stubbornly keep moving even faster than before. Your hair falls on your face from your busy tossing and you stare at him, challenging his patience and judgment.

You try not to tremble when he approaches you with intentions that deep down manage to scare you. But you continue, the bed moves as fast as you do until his hand falls against your cheek causing a gasp to come out of your gagged mouth.

"Hyung!" Yoongi claims holding her hand to prevent her from trying to hit you again, you feel the particular burning on your right cheek and the tears growing back in your eyes. "Please, no blows. That was not what we agreed on."

Jimin cleared his throat, a satisfied smile on his face, "We never specified anything, actually... Yoongi-hyung."

"Jimin is right, you never specified any kind of restriction for her and us." Namjoon clarified making you look at them confused, it was as if they were talking in terms of employment or contract.

But you had never signed anything.

"B-but they can't do that, they'll never accomplish anything if they force her." He tried to persuade him but Jungkook sighed, dropping his phone to the ground and then stepping on it like it was worthless. "She will just hate them."

"She will do it anyway, if we let her off her or try to convince her to stick with sweet words she won't think twice and she will run away ready to report us for kidnapping."

"In addition to the damages that she suffered here." Namjoon continued to condemn Jungkook, uplifting her surname and her family's status.

"You are in this with us or against us, there is still a free place in the basement for you with chains just as heavy."

Again, the same chill ran through you causing you to cringe in your place. These men were insane, they were capable of betraying each other, and worse, they could possibly also consider shooting themselves in the back when they weren't looking at each other. All for you, as if you were some kind of prize for winning and owning.

After moments that seemed eternal, Taehyung was releasing your mouth as you began to complain about what they were doing, how they dared and demanding freedom.

Really a classic, so much so that it was witty and hilarious that you said it literally.

They forced you to kneel on the ground with your hands on your legs still perfectly tied. More questions filled your mouth not knowing what they were planning, all you could do was look at them so scared it was adorable.

"Uh... Well... I guess one should go first." Jin says, taking a few steps away from your crouched figure.

Jimin stepped forward, standing in front of you causing you to look up from your spot below him.

"What are you doing?" You ask weakly, you try to drag yourself away when his hand struggles with his pants to remove it but Jin holds you in place. Getting on his knees to speak into your ear softly.

"You better take a breath instead of trying to run away, honey. I thought you were smarter... hm?" He laughs mocking your scared face, you refuse to open your eyes and mouth making him stop laughing in annoyance.

Jimin sighs taking your face in his hands so roughly that they will surely leave a purple mark on your skin. He was still dressed, I was hoping I could humiliate you more and then fuck your mouth until you suffocate while his hyung explains everything to you. How it all started, his obsession, his plan, they had planned everything so perfect that it was terrifying, everything monopolized on one board.

Soon as soon as possible you will just be a cute housewife and you will forget your life before that day. Not for nothing did they have a closet full of cheerful and homely outfits ready for you, they wanted to destroy you and then put you back together just to serve them.

You would be his wife, of everyone.

"Come on, little bitch..." Jimin started, reaching over to kiss you on the lips even though you refused to do so. You really no longer had a vote or a word of objection in his plans. "Open your eyes darling, you don't want a stray bullet to land in your mother's skull, do you?" He threatened making you obey even more scared than before.

"P-please don't hurt my mother!" You sob, clasping your tied hands in supplication.

"Oh, we won't.... yet." He whispered kissing your lips one last time before imposing himself on your kneeling body. Her cock came out of her pants, stroked a few times before guiding it to your lips. Your stomach contracted, and you pulled your face away as far as you could before Hoseok held you by the hair tightly pulling you close again. "Take it, baby. Everything will be fine if you just obey."

"I hate them, they disgust me" You whisper before Jin forced you to open your mouth making you take it, you fight for a few seconds but her hips are already moving making you choke and gasp. His moans are so loud they make you squirm but his hands hold your head close to him.

"I told you you'll take a breath, but you're a dumb whore." His breath is hitting your neck directly, your skin crawling trying to distract you from anything other than Jimin's cock in your throat causing you to gag and vomit. "I bet you're wondering why, what did you do, and nothing really. Or if Yoongi!"

You do not look at your boyfriend before, you only focus on Jin who smiles, caressing your body with his hands, almost exceeding your limits. However, what did it matter if he did it, there was nothing you could do for yourself.

"You were only here, I think we all loved you from the first moment we saw you. We spent many nights wondering what was special about you, many of us had dated women before but you... You were so different, you had something that attracted us and it made us go crazy. " His hands squeezed your breasts causing you to gasp on Jimin's cock who moaned with pleasure, continuing his steady and hard rhythm. "Taehyung got involved in the matter. "

Jimin smirked when your eyes went up to him, your eyes showing how angry and helpless you felt. And it was exquisite.

"I bet you didn't know about your beloved boyfriend's background,locked up in a rehab center for alcoholics for two years. Three years taking therapy for his depression after the tragic death of his parents, quite strong actually." His words had such a strong past but from his mouth they came out as if it were not so important. Something common for him. "I'm surprised he loved you so much and didn't tell you."

You cried unable to turn your face to look at him, deep down you wanted to put Yoongi aside and not hate him for this. But it seemed almost impossible when he was there, doing nothing, so calm that it was unreal that he had ever looked at you directly and declared his love to you over and over again. For months.

"He really was fine for a while until we decided to make him fall again, one drink after another... First trust him, then question their relationship and finally make them argue." A laugh left his lips, it was almost uncomfortable that he was the only one doing it. Everyone else was so quiet just watching. "But I can't give myself all the credit, let me introduce ourselves well, my dear."

Jimin walked away from you letting you breathe again, you had almost forgotten that he had been doing that act against you. Your tied hands help you hold off the ground by not being able to breathe properly, you feel so weak that you are about to pass out but you refuse to look weak in front of them.

"Kim Seokjin, son of the best chefs in the country and heir owner of thousands of five-star restaurants, inside and outside the country." His body crouched down, making an extremely long bow. Namjoon stood next to him, with the same smile from the day he met you. "Kim Namjoon, the only and adored son of the best lawyers and mayoral candidates, future presidents if occasion permits." There was a strange tone behind his voice, with a knowing wink. "I thought you can guess what Hoseok's parents do, but I'll tell you just in case. Great psychiatrists recognized for their countless achievements outside and within the country, having a tradition from generation to generation, capable of manipulating even the cleverest mind like yours."

Hosoek smiled at you, but this time his smile showed malice and pride. All that time you were surrounded by people who wielded a certain power and influence, oblivious to the fact that they could ever use it against you.

"Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung... Maybe you heard about their surnames on the news two years ago? Families specialized in medicine, their knowledge dazzles science and biology. Before allies and now both surnames are enemies competing for the market, but who would say that their children would meet secretly and use their same knowledge to retain a precise treasure." His hand stroked your hair causing you to recoil angrily, with a grimace of disgust and resignation. "Well... Finally Jungkook, son of the best technology creators in the country. Capable of creating anything, millionaires obviously, like everyone. Faithful lovers and devoted to he son, giving him everything he wants. " He stopped for a moment and then brought his hand to your ear taking out one of your earrings, you looked at him confused before he opened it showing a tiny device that lit up. "Even creating a more than wonderful device, a tracker of the smallest size."

You opened your mouth completely petrified, looking at each and every one of them. Most of them had a firm and conceited posture, but your eyes only looked at him.

"Were you in on this?" You ask by moving your body slightly, Yoongi only remains silent, avoiding looking at you at all costs, even if it is out of mercy you demand a simple word. "Speak! Tell me! Tell me!" You scream completely out of control, letting out all your frustration and anger with him, just him. It's all his fault. "Tell me now! To finally be able to completely hate them all... Please tell me, I just want to stop inventing and fooling my head trying to justify why you are standing there doing nothing for me" You sob almost exhausted, " Without helping me, when before you said you love me."

His eyes meet yours a few seconds before Jungkook chimed in, completely certain that you were trying to play your manipulation cards to get rid of them. Funny, they had done the same to catch you, their hyung could sometimes be so... credulous. That it was ironic that she was older than him.

"Good enough talk for today." He demanded, causing you to hide your head again in fear. You were so scared, even with the pain in your cheek and jaw from being forced by Jimin, you would never give up on them.

Your mouth felt dry, you couldn't remember the last time you drank water alone. As if they could read your thoughts, Taehyung appeared with a tray with a glass of water and a purple pill.

"Take that away from me." You scream when he tries to put the pill in your mouth, backing up as far as your bound legs will allow.

He sighs bored, as if he doesn't have the patience to deal with it, "If you want water you'll have to do this."

"What is it?" You ask almost breathless from the lack of water in your body, he smiles before bringing the pill to his face to look at it rolling it on his finger.

"Hm... Vitamins." Respond after hesitating. "Everything you need in one compact little pill. It was an invention by Jimin and me, we were hoping you would be the first to try it."

A few seconds ago you remember hearing about the reputations of both families, they were specialists who probably passed that knowledge on to their children. If they knew what they were doing with them, they would be shocked. Your reasoning tells you no, to throw it away and try to run away but your head and body can't take it anymore, they demand water and a rest.

"I-it's okay." You accept, removing the pill and the glass of water from the tray angrily. You put the pill in first, then the water so hard your mouth hurts from the force.

You return the glass silently, eyeing him suspiciously before sitting back down and walking a few inches away. You wait for everyone to do something, but they stay so still as dolls that it scares you, everything about them and their attitudes was creepy.

I wish you had noticed earlier.

And now you feel it, it was not pain, nor anxiety. I was just calm, the noises seem to decrease and your vision does not blur but you feel so relaxed that you do not seem to be affected by any drugs. You could feel it all, but you didn't care.

It was relaxing but you weren't far this time, you remember the previous scenes. When you ate the food they gave you, it was similar but as if it had been modified so that you can remain docile and obedient, but at the same time you know what they are doing.

Your body falls on the bed, you don't even try to get up. Your brain isn't thinking about that, it just gets distracted by the decorations around it, but it clearly perceives one of them nearby. Namjoon is behind your body lying face down, half is on the bed and your legs are still kneeling on the floor. You feel his kisses so desperate on your neck, his hands touching your breasts and stomach trying to lower himself further, anxious not to wait to fuck you as he always wanted and should have been.

You do not fight when his legs open yours with force and speed, you just stand still, thinking with your head glued to the soft sheets of the bed, deep down you can slightly feel your desire to push him and push him away furiously, you want to do it but not you do. You feel so confused that you sob into the sheets in released frustration.

"I thought I heard from you, that her wouldn't refuse anything with his stupid pill." Jin whispers, disgusted seeing you struggle with yourself in search of reason.

"I don't see her deny it." Jimin retorts, crossing his arms with a small victorious smile.

Yoongi stands aside, not wanting to accept this but likewise, like you, does nothing to avoid it while Namjoon sinks deep inside you causing you to writhe overwhelmed and let out a groan of pain, your mouth opens to complain and probably ask him to stop, but he instantly closes again only releasing more gasps and squeals.

They spend minutes with all eyes on you, taking the cock of her friend who abuses your sore pussy from overstimulation, this time you are crying and begging for mercy to stop. Even in your unconsciousness you continue to feel all the pain and also the pleasure that is now almost non-existent.

"S-stop!" You cry between gasps of exhaustion, your hands had been released by Jungkook seconds ago so that you can hold on properly. However, you only use them to try to ward off Namjoon who is holding you against the bed by slamming his body against yours with obscene noises. The bed squirms like you, colliding with the wall in sync.

"A little more baby... Just a little more... And I'll fill you with my cum, so fucking tight. You like that, hm?" Her breath very close to your cheek makes you react, you squeeze your eyes almost suffering from your next inevitable orgasm. You scream making everyone watch you fascinated by how your face contracts with pleasure and pain, you try to walk away when the moment of ecstasy recedes, but he continues to fuck you bareback hard, selfishly chasing the release of him against you.

You spent hours repeating the same routine, sometimes sometimes even more hours than you can remember or count.. Your body was completely covered with bruises and marks not only made by them manually, you had discovered in the worst way that Hoseok had a great fetish to make small cuts to any animal or person that had skin and that glistening blood came out of those wounds, red as hell and as sweet as ambrosia.

A delicacy, truly a true delicacy blessed by God.

Jin could not stop laughing at your overwhelmed face, sometimes he would sit next to you while your body was fucked uncontrollably, watching your face move on the sheets with the constant and hard movements of his friends.

"Do you enjoy it, you dirty bitch?" You knew he was making fun of it, not only because it denigrated your dignity, but also because you couldn't answer correctly and the only thing that moved was your head up and down from the thrusts. As if you were affirming his disgusting words. "You like it right?" And again. "I bet you will enjoy it every day from now on, do you want to marry us, little bitch? Be ours forever, that we fuck you every damn day like that, that we also fill you up that you would get pregnant, you would have our children , and you would gladly. Do you accept _______?"

You did not want to know where he managed to get your last name, nor your full name and less because he thought that after the effect of whatever they had given you, you would really accept being his damned wife.

But he just stands there, watching Jungkook abuse his new power against you and taunt him.

I just wanted to wait for everyone to leave, so I could hug you, heal you, and ask for forgiveness.

He couldn't save you if he was chained to the basement like they threatened to do. He was afraid of his own friends, who looked at him madly when hours before he thought of withdrawing from the plan, Hoseok as charismatic as he always claimed to be able to cut his neck so easily if I took you away from them.

Now, they were doomeds.

The painting lost its color once more.

343 notes · View notes

hillariat · 3 years

Text

Bubbline fic finished!

Posted the final chapter of my Bubbline fic, check it out!

Also huge thanks to @hehe-food for beta-ing both the 3 and the final chapter

Unexpected

Setting: Highschool AU

Status | Wordcount: Complete | 5,770

Tags: Fluff, emotionally confused PB.

Summary: Marceline confesses to her long time friend Bonnie. It takes an unexpected turn and, just as things were back to normal, takes another one.

AKA It's Bonnie's gay awakening.

Read it on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/30298620/chapters/74678148 OR down below

The hurried pat-pat of Bonnie’s footsteps echoed through the hallways. Her legs, exhausted from a student council meeting that dragged on for far too long, begged her to slow down by at least 30%. She ignored them. She really didn’t want to keep Marceline waiting any longer than she had to after all.

When Bonnie reached the music room, she heard a familiar tune being played. Smiling to herself, she pushed the door open and saw Marceline perched upon a table and chair in a seat-footstool combo, strumming on her bass guitar. The raven-haired girl turned to Bonnie and smirked.

"’Sup Brainlord, how’s the prep meet?"

“Terrible, Becky wouldn’t shut up about adding more “tasteful” food to the school breakfast program even though that’s clearly out of our budget. It literally took us over half an hour just to move on to another topic.” Bonnie sighed and continued. “If she wasn’t so high up the pecking order, I’d have kicked her out. Personally.”

Marceline nudged her shoulder.

“I could do it for you”

“And be expelled? No thanks. As much as I hate Becky, I don’t think you leaving is worth it.”

Her heart lurched, practically begging to be freed from her chest. She opted to shrug it off, instead turning away from Bonnie to start packing her bass.

“Maybe I could do a prank instead. Y’know something that says, ‘fuck off from student council or else.’”

Bonnie raised her brows.

“Oh, and what would this prank be?”

By the time the girls left the school building, several rotten sandwiches and a passive aggressively typed note were left in Becky’s locker.

__________________________________________________________

"Thanks again for waiting up for me."

Bonnie entered the front passenger seat of Marceline’s car, inhaling the familiar scent of leather, strawberry and wood that probably came from an acoustic instrument lying around somewhere.

“Dude not this again. I told you, you don’t have to thank me every time I wait up for you. It’s like, our thing to hang out on Tuesdays anyways.”

Bonnie buckled in her own seatbelt whilst Marceline started the engine.

“Still, I appreciate the gesture. Not everyone would wait 2 hours just to have afternoon tea with their friend.”

Marceline felt a blush threaten to reveal itself on her cheeks. She really needed to get those butterflies in her ribs under control. She raised her hand, the other hand focused on driving out of the parking lot. “No. Stop with the sap. You’re turning me into a marshmallow.”

“You’re already a marshmallow, Marshmaline”

She gave a playful whack, accompanied by a glare. “Shut up! I am not a marshmallow, I’m too punk rock!”

Bonnie rolled her eyes, unfazed by the other’s glare. They had long lost their terrorizing effect on her. “Sure you are. Oh! That reminds me”

She dug through her bag, fishing out a pack of guitar strings and handing it to Marceline. “Gauge 9 right?”

“Wha- Bon. You didn’t have to.”

Bonnie waved her hand dismissively. “Nonsense. I distinctly remember a certain someone complaining about forgetting to buy them for 4th week in a row yesterday.” She turned away from Marceline, opting to look at the passing traffic. “and… well, I just happen to pass by the music store when I was at the mall with Lady yesterday.”

Marceline gave her a heartwarming smile.

“Aww, thanks mom”

Bonnie huffed.

“What would you do without me?”

Marceline snorted, smile still evident on her face.

“Forgetting them for another week probably.”

Bonnie chuckled.

“Damn right”

__________________________________________________________

The girls reached their destination, a quaint little café tucked in a quiet neighborhood near their school. Marceline introduced it to Bonnie a while ago, insisting that the red velvet cakes were “to die for”. Bonnie wouldn’t put it the same way, but she did admit that the food was “more than acceptable”. The place quickly became their favorite hangout spot, next to the diner ran by their friend’s ( Finn’s) parents. Though that diner was more of a clique hangout spot. This was more of a 'just them' spot.

They ordered their drinks, an apple pie to share and of course, a slice of red velvet cake for Marceline. They sat at their table, indulging in said items whilst making idle conversation, ranging from the food to Marceline’s music to school gossip.

Bonnie noticed how her shoulders were a little tense, how she would pick and flick her own fingers and how her eyes wandered in a way that said her thoughts weren’t entirely focused on the present. Marceline was clearly bothered by something.

The Bonnie of 5 years ago would’ve pried her incessantly, but now she knew better. Marceline was the kind of person that needed space to figure things out. She would tell Bonnie what was eating at her when she was good and ready. Any prying on Bonnie’s end would lead to scathing remarks and, if allowed to escalate, a fight. Hence, despite the well-meaning itch that urged her to figure out what was bothering her best friend, Bonnie didn’t ask. Respecting Marceline’s boundaries was more important.

When Marceline’s giggling fit died down after a joke about a certain lemon-faced principal , she took a deep breath. She warily made eye contact with Bonnie.

“I need to tell you something. Its -It’s important”

“Okay”. Bonnie nodded and kept her eyes at Marceline expectantly, conveying that Marceline had her full undivided attention. A long, pregnant pause ensued. Bonnie was tempted to break the silence, but Marceline got there first.

“I’m gay.”

Okay. That wasn’t what Bonnie expected. Not that there was anything wrong with being gay, no not at all. Bonnie was just very unfamiliar with coming-out-of-the-closet etiquette. After all, most of her friends were straight.

She was clearly out of her element here. How should she respond to this? Did Marceline want a boisterous congratulation? Or a simple acceptance? In the end, Bonnie did what she always did when she was uncertain about things.

“Okay, what am I supposed to do with that information?”

Marceline raised her brows in surprise. She was expecting more of a reaction to that. Bonnie had just…. rolled with it. Maybe her fears were indeed unfounded. Maybe. It was still too early to tell.

Marceline took a deep breath, gathering what little courage it could provide and continued.

“I’m gay for you. As in, I like you. Like, like-like you.”

For a moment, Bonnie was tempted to make fun of Marceline’s unironic use of “like-like” but knew better than to do that. Instead, she was contemplating her response to it. She knew exactly what she should say, she knew her answer to that obvious unsaid question, but the vulnerable expression on Marceline’s face made her hesitate. Marceline looked so fragile, as if a gentle breeze could shatter her. The only other time Bonnie saw the other like this was when Marceline’s mother had passed.

Bonnie furrowed her brows, bit her bottom lip, and took a deep breath. It was definitely going to hurt, but she was good at making tough decisions for the people she cared about.

“I … don’t feel the same way. I’ve only ever seen you as a friend. I’m sorry Marceline.”

She could see Marceline shattering right in front of her. The girl’s shoulders slumped, a frown formed on her face and, most troubling of all; the light in the girl’s eyes dimmed. For a moment Bonnie wanted to take her words back, to make Marceline beam instead with an acceptance. But she knew from experience that giving false hope was worse than a flat-out rejection, so she kept her mouth shut.

In a flash, Marceline’s demeanor switched. She had a smile plastered on her face and her posture likewise improved. Perhaps it was a prepared response, as if she already knew this was the probable outcome. Though her newfound demeanor couldn’t quite reach her eyes.

“It’s cool. It’s cool.”

She paused as if unsure as to whether she should utter the next line. She opened her mouth, her voice wavered before she could even muster the first word.

“We can still be friends, right?” Accompanied with, again, a vulnerable expression. But this time it came from a girl who was already kicked down.

“Of course.” and Marceline wasn’t the only one who wanted to believe that.

They fell into silence, neither girl looking at each other anymore. There were no more words to be said on the matter. Bonnie glanced at the clock in the café. Time ticked by slowly, as if a second was enough time to write an entire thesis.

She searched for a change of topic, not wanting the silence to stretch into awkward territory. Her eyes wandered the surroundings and found it on their table. She gestured to the item.

“Are you going to finish that cake?” Bonnie’s fork was already threateningly hovering above the slice of cake.

Marceline smirked and hoped she didn’t misread Bonnie’s seemingly playful tone.

“I swear, one day you’re gonna get diabetes Bon. You’re such a sugar slut.”

Bonnie completely ignored her friend’s warning and grabbed the last bit of cake, eating it with a slight smile on her face.

“And you – She pointed to Marceline with her empty fork- are distasteful.”

Marceline laughed at that, the tension now fully leaving her. Bonnie could say the same, though she was just smiling at her friend.

Things were going to be okay.

Chapter 2: Confusion

The coffee cup made a clack as it landed on the table.

“Figured you’d want this.” Marceline flashed a toothy grin, though this one was softer than the usual mischievous one. Still, it was one Bonnie was well acquainted with.

Her stomach squirmed. She blinked. Odd. She didn’t remember having shellfish the night before.

“Uhhm, thanks.” She didn’t know why she fumbled. Marceline always got her coffee for their afternoon study sessions. She took a sip. Caramel Macchiato with an extra shot and drizzle, just the way she liked it, though for some reason, today it tasted a little sweeter.

Marceline plotted herself next to Bonnie and started rummaging through her bag. “So, what’s on the agenda today Bonbon?”

Bonnie scribbled in her notebook, having already started on her work. “Maths. We have 2 assignments due soon so I figured we should start.”

Marceline nodded and got her stuff out. For a good half hour, the only sounds that came from their table were the scrawls of pens, the clicking of calculators, turning of pages and occasionally, some curse words muttered under Marceline’s breath. Eventually though, the relative silence was broken.

“Hey, what’d you get for 3c?”

“69.3”

Bonnie saw a toothy grin appear on Marceline’s face. She frowned and shot a glare in return. That girl better not do wh –

“Thirst much, Bonnibel?”

She groaned. “Really Marceline? Get your head out of the gutter.”

Marceline shrugged. “Hey, I’m not the one writing innuendos as answers.”

“Not my fault the teacher likes putting innuendos as answers”.

Marceline chuckled, then she glanced over to Bonnie’s notebook. “Anyways, how’d you get that number?” She leaned over to get a closer look at Bonnie’s homework, now just close enough for Bonnie to smell what shampoo the other used. It was strawberry. Bonnie took note of Marceline’s face, how her brows scrunched in concentration, how her green eyes always held a beautiful shade of green, how her raven hair cascaded down her face, framing her sharp jawline and how her lips pouted at a formula she obviously didn’t understand. Bonnie wondered if those lips felt soft. Wait, what?

“Earth to Bonnie? You there? Hello?” Marceline waved her hand in front of her face.

“Huh? Oh. Sorry, what did you say?”

“I said what’s the deal with this guy? -She gestured to some convoluted looking math term- How did it get to this?”

“Oh, well..” Bonnie went on to explain how she derived the expression, going through it step by step as she usually did, pushing away any strange thoughts of the girl next to her. They were just a fluke after all. Nothing more than spontaneous curiosity.

__________________________________________________________

It happened again a couple of days later. Marceline was casually humming along to a punk rock song in her car with Bonnie seated next to her, quietly scrolling through her phone. The song was crass, mocking, harsh even, filled with edginess that stereotyped the genre. But somehow when the same song came from Marceline’s vocal cords, hummed in a low tone, it sounded so much more…beautiful. Smooth. Gentle. It felt like a cloud was encompassing her, warm and welcoming.

Bonnie felt her insides turn to jello. Strange how she never noticed Marceline's voice having this effect.

She frowned. Something was up. Lightning never struck twice in the same place after all.

“You got your thinking face on Bonnie. What’s up?”

“Oh. Nothing, I was just zoning out”

Marceline smirked, “Lemme guess, thinking of another experiment? Or wait, OH. Trying to answer one of the greatest mysteries of life.”

Bonnie glanced at her lap. Her hands were fiddling with loose jean threads. “You could say that.”

__________________________________________________________

The rest of the week, and the next, followed the same pattern. Bonnie and Marceline would hang out and Marceline would do something utterly mundane and Bonnie would find herself getting the squirmies. Her insides would twist and turn in all sorts of funny ways and she would find her cheeks embarrassingly warm.

She found herself lying down on her own bed, gazing at the ceiling with a half bolster clutched in her arms and contemplating the confusing experiences of the previous weeks. This was the 5th night in a row she had done this.

She has had both male and female suitors confessing to her before, though none of them were as close to her as Marceline was. However, she never gave them more than a second’s worth of thought as she preferred to utilize her brain’s resources on more important things. Chiefly; her schoolwork, independent science projects and her student council duties.

She blinked. Once. Twice.

Could she…like Marceline?

She frowned; brows scrunched and lips upturned in confusion.

She had never experienced a crush on a girl before. What she had told Marceline was nothing but honest, she genuinely had never seen the other girl in a light that wasn’t platonic. Marceline was indeed only a dear friend to her. Nothing had changed between them, so why did her insides turn to mush when Marceline did something as mundane as laugh at her own joke or open a door for her. It didn’t make any sense.

Bonnie’s clock read 02:14am and she figured she should get some sleep before school. With heavy lidded eyes, Bonnie concluded that she should do what she always did when she was uncertain about things.

__________________________________________________________

Bonnie found her in the music room, as usual. She was alone. Good. She swallowed the lump in her throat, and gripped her bag strap tightly. She didn’t know why she was the one who felt terrified, after all she was the one planning on basically cornering Marceline with a potentially awkward situation. She took a deep breath and entered the room.

Marceline turned to her, ceasing the strum of her bass. She flashed a warm smile. “Hey Bon, what’s up?”

“Marceline, do you want to go on a date?” At the sight of Marceline’s confused face, she added “With me. Romantically.”

Marceline raised her brows, even more confused than before. “Dude, I thought you weren’t into me that way? You said so like 2 weeks ago.”

She was right. Bonnie only hoped that her persuasion skills were good enough. “While it is true that I've never seen you in that way before, I don’t think it’d be a bad idea to try?” She paused, not really sure how to phrase it less awkwardly. “So, let’s go on a romantic date and see how that goes.”

Marceline looked downright offended by that offer. Was there some homosexual etiquette Bonnie was missing out on?

“I don’t need a pity date.”

Oh. OH. Oh god was that it how it sounded like? Bonnie knew she had to rectify the situation and soon.

“No no. It’s not that. It’s…“ Bonnie broke eye contact with Marceline, instead favoring the ground. She wasn’t sure why she felt so flustered, maybe it was because admitting the truth was embarrassing. “I’ve been thinking about us. How I feel about you, ever since that day you confessed.” Bonnie started fiddling with her hands.

Marceline tensed. She didn’t know where this was going, but she was paranoid and listened to every echoing thought in her head that said this was going to end up bad. Crap. She thought she was out of the woods after that day in the café.

”and I know I said that I hadn’t felt anything but platonic towards you before, and that’s true. But now I’m not so sure.”

Marceline furrowed her brows. What did she just say, was she implying that – “I…I might like you romantically. Or not. I don’t know. I was hoping that going on a date would help me figure things out. Its more for me really.”

Marceline blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice. Bonnie had…mixed feelings for her? No, rather Bonnie wasn’t sure how she felt. Marceline released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding until now. It wasn’t an ideal outcome, but it was certainly not the worst that could have come from her confession to the redhead.

Taking Marceline’s prolonged silence as a no, Bonnie continued. “I’m sorry. It was selfish of me to even suggest that considering everything you’ve been through. Just forge-“

Marceline raised her hand to stop her babbling. “I get it. Figuring out your sexuality is hard and you’re not exactly swimming in gay friends. I'm down for it. But you have to promise me this.” She looked straight into Bonnie’s eyes, holding down probably the most serious stare she could muster. “The moment you figure out your feelings for me, you have to tell me. Even if it hurts me. Its just-I just need to know as soon as possible.” Her voice wavered. “Please.”

Bonnie nodded, understanding the gravity of this.

Marceline let out a huge breath, visibly relaxing. She smiled.

“Alright. You free Friday night?”

Bonnie smiled back at her. “Yeah, pick me up at 7?”

Chapter 3: Consolidation

Bonnie didn’t think she would be one of those girls. The ones that would empty their entire closet and prance around their clothing littered room wondering why nothing there was good enough for their date. But here she was doing exactly just that.

It was just Marceline after all. They’ve hung out a billion times before.

Except it wasn’t just Marceline was it?

Bonnie groaned; this was infuriating. She dug through another pile of clothes on her bed, burying herself in thoughts of what to wear instead of trying to unpack the queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

In the end, she settled for a white sundress. Well, “settle” was a stretch considering she was going to change again if she hadn’t been interrupted by a ring from the front door. She rushed out of her bedroom, hurriedly making her way down wooden stairs with a tap-tap from her feet.

“Is that Marceline?” Her mother called out from a distant room. Knowing her it was probably the living room. Bonnie did get her love of sappy cable TV rom-coms from her after all.

“Yeah, I got it! I’ll be back by midnight.” Bonnie replied. “Alright, text me if your plans change.” After a brief moment of silence, she added, “Oh, and keep yourselves out of trouble okay! I do not want to hear a peep about either of you from the cops again!”

Bonnie giggled, reminiscing that exact event from 6 months ago.

“Oh. Wow.” Bonnie’s gaze was fixated on the sunset, a bleary mix of reds, oranges and yellows fading into dark blues that casted a looming shadow, outlining the town center. Bonnie and Marceline were on top of a ruined four story building without a roof which was nestled on top of a steep hill, giving them a brilliant vantage point that overlooked the entire t-

“Right.” Marceline flashed a cocky smirk. “Told you this place had the best view.” And she wasn’t wrong.

Bonnie scoffed. “Well sorry I thought otherwise when you dragged me through a forest, a chain link fence and an abandoned construction site.”

Marceline snorted. “What did you think I was gonna do?”

“Kill me and the hide the body?”

“Pfft, if I did that, whose homework would I copy of off?”

“Uh,” She tapped her chin, actually giving the question some thought. “Finn’s?”

Marceline looked at her with bewilderment, one eyebrow quirked above the other. “Dude, you know the whole point of copying off someone else is to pass, not fail.” Bonnie huffed, “Okay, fair point. But – "

“Hey, what are you two doing here?! Get down now!”

They snapped their heads to the source of the yelling. Down on the ground floor stood a middle-aged security guard, practically steaming with red-hot fury. Both girls looked at each other, conveying some unsaid message to each other, seemingly in agreement.

Then they ran.

After hopping through several cinder blocks and steel beams sprinkled with a few swears and complaints about thinking the place was abandoned, they got to a chain-linked fence. Knowing that they were pressed for time with the security guard hot on their tail, they opted to try to squeeze through a tiny gap on the bottom of the fence instead of climbing over it as they did before.

Bonnie crawled through just fine, merely getting some scuffs and dirt marks on her pullover. Marceline on the other hand got stuck, her “fashionable” ripped tank top getting caught on stray fence wiring. Both girls rushed to untangle Marceline, but with the stomp-stomp of booted footsteps coming ever closer to them, Marceline pulled Bonnie’s hands away from herself.

“Bon. I’m fine, just.. go ahead without me”

“But- “ Marceline pushed her away, stopping any argument Bonnie would give out.

“Go! I’ll text you when I’m home.” Bonnie stared at her for a moment in concern. Her eyes darted back and forth between her friend and the direction of the encroaching footsteps. Then she blurted,

“Shut the fuck up” and scrambled to get her friend out.

They both got caught.

After a phone call, a drive and long drawn-out conversation between Bonnie's mom and the police, both girls found themselves on the receiving end of a stern mother's gaze whilst seated on Bonnie's couch.

"Explain."

Before Bonnie could get a word out, Marceline started. "It was my idea Mrs. Butler, I dragged Bonnie to the construction site up at the hill near the end of town. I wanted to show her the sunset from up there.”

"The abandoned one?"

Marceline gave a sheepish smile "Well it turns out it wasn’t so abandoned after all".

Mrs. Butler wasn’t so amused. “Uh-huh.” She glanced at Bonnie, who was squirming in her seat from nervousness. "Bonnie, I know it wasn’t your plan but you still tagged along. You’re grounded for a week. That also means no access to the garage lab."

Bonnie groaned but didn’t feel the need to protest that decision. It was fairly light considering they did get the police involved.

Her mom turned to Marceline. "And Marceline. It’s late so you can stay over, but in the morning, I am going to have a talk with your father, got it?"

"Yes ma'am."

“Good, now I’m going to head to bed, it's late. Bonnie, be a dear and help set up the couch for Marceline” With that, Mrs. Butler went to her bedroom. Bonnie and Marceline started setting up the couch in silence, bringing out blankets and extra pillows from a nearby closet. Marceline wondered if this would be a good time to say what was on her mind, but was interrupted by Bonnie asking her to grab the duvet. When she dragged the duvet to the couch, Bonnie noticed her stumble a little. And then again. She was limping.

“Marceline, your leg!”

“Huh?” Marceline glanced down, seeing a small trail of blood running from her knees. Her very battered and cut knees. “Oh shit”

Bonnie immediately pushed Marceline to sit down on the couch, then ran off into the kitchen muttering something about alcohol. She then came back with a small first aid kit and began treating Marceline’s wounds. Marceline figured this was as good of a time as any.

“Sorry I got you in trouble. I didn’t know there was security there, I checked out the whole place and didn’t even see any keep out signs.” She fiddled nervously with the duvet below her.

Bonnie flashed a warm smile. “It’s fine, just…” She glanced down at Marceline’s knee and frowned, then looked up and made eye contact with her. “Be more careful next time?”

Marceline gave a reassuring smile.

“I will.”

Ding-ding-ding-ding! God, Marceline was one hell of an impatient girl. Bonnie rushed to open the door, silently cursing herself for zoning out for so long.

Marceline was clad in a red-black plaid flannel paired with a dark grey top and ripped black jeans. 'Classic Marceline,' thought Bonnie. Though in the raven-haired girl’s words it would’ve been classic gay, whatever that meant.

Marceline started, “Hey.” She flashed a gentle, earnest smile. She can do this. She’s good at playing cool. She’s the coolest person in school. Totally cool. Absolutely not having a heart attack right now.

“Hey.”

“You look great tonight.”

Bonnie smiled, soft and sweet. “Thanks, you look nice too.” She gestured to the other.

Marceline snorted. “Pfft, this is my normal outfit, what are you talking about?”

She smirked. Oh, it was all too easy to tease Marceline. “Maybe I think you look nice normally.”

Marceline spluttered into some incoherent murmurs. Her cheeks flushed crimson red and she scrambled to look at anywhere except Bonnie. Bonnie found it amusing.

She noticed that the raven-haired girl had her hands tucked behind her back, as if hiding an object from her view. Before she could ask though, Marceline beat her to it, having recovered from her gay panic.

“I, uhh, got you flowers.” She presented a bouquet of soft pink and white roses.

"Flowers?"

Marceline averted her gaze, instead staring at the small scuff marks on her shoes."Yeah. Figured I'd, uhmm....give you the full date experience." But the flustered cheeks and wavering voice said there was more to it than that.

Bonnie felt a heavy pang strike through her chest. She didn’t say anything about it though, figuring that it was a little too late to back out now. "Thanks."

She took the flowers into the kitchen and quickly deposited them into an empty vase. Then she rushed back out and hopped into Marceline’s car and they drove off. She turned to Marceline. “So, where are we going?”

Marceline smirked. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

“At least tell me if it's legal. I promised my mom I wouldn’t get in trouble with the cops tonight.” She crossed her arms and pouted. Marceline thought it was adorable and wondered if she should comment. She didn’t.

Instead, she let out a cackle. “Nah it's totally legal. Don’t worry about it.”

They continued the drive in relatively peaceful silence, with only the radio to fill in the space. Bonnie’s gaze fell to her lap, where she fiddled with the hem of her dress. This was it. She was going on a date. With her best friend. Marceline was her date. Huh. Sounds weird.

Chapter 4: Conclusion

Bonnie glanced at the building, eyes widening at the familiar sight of the local science museum. "I thought you didn’t like science?"

Marceline shrugged, "I don’t. But I'm down for learning about the things you like.” She flashed a gentle smile and Bonnie's insides went into a tumbling frenzy of butterflies and thrumming heartbeats. “Now c’mon, this place closes at 9!"

Before her insides could murder her further, she found herself being dragged to the building, hands intertwined and all. Bonnie couldn’t bring herself to complain.

They grabbed their tickets from the ticketing booth and then trailed through the museum, weaving through various exhibits from electrochemistry to evolution to tectonic plates. They stopped by an anatomy exhibit; Bonnie having decided that the musculoskeletal system was an absolute must-see.

“Oooooh, the knee joint!”

Marceline quirked her brows, “What makes this one so special?”

"Well, it is the largest joint in our body, and y’know, THE joint that enables us to walk.”

“Yeah, but isn’t it like, weak? I always hear about people having busted knees or something.”

“That is true. That’s mostly because it does endure a lot of force when we’re using it, about one and a half times our body weight when walking and eight times when squatting.” Bonnie paused for a moment. ”Oh! And it’s also susceptible to numerous pathological conditions like arthritis”

Marceline hummed absentmindedly, then said, “Heh, y’know, you’re just like osteoarthritis” -she turned to her and flashed a toothy grin-” ’Cause you make my knees weak.”

Bonnie stared at her as if she grew another head. A pause ensued, just as awkward and confused as Bonnie’s expression. It went on for a bit, what with Marceline having no clue how to handle it and Bonnie trying to piece together what in the world just happened. She eventually broke the silence with a snort and a smile.

"Well," She moved closer to the other, interlinking their arms together. "You’re like a cation because you’re positively attractive.”

Marceline doubled down, practically filling the museum with cackles. Her cheeks were tinted red, though whether that was from being flustered or from the strain of laughter Bonnie couldn’t tell.

“Omg Bonnie that’s…” She took a breath in an attempt to get her chuckles to die down. ”That’s so you.” Another fit of laughter hit her.

Bonnie floundered, muttering a brief string of indecipherable words and turning away from Marceline in a vain attempt to hide her beet-red face.

“Hey, hey, c’mon. I didn’t say it was bad. It's….” Marceline rubbed her neck, eyes purposely averting Bonnie’s gaze. “It’s actually really cute.” She flashed a tentative smile. Her cheeks mirrored Bonnie’s.

Bonnie pouted, “Geez, you really can’t take a compliment, can you?”

“Welp, sorry, my parents are as emotionally constipated as I am.”

Bonnie chuckled, then tugged the other along to another exhibit.

They wandered through the exhibits one by one, with Bonnie rambling on about the four ventricles of the heart and some Newtonian mechanics and Marceline occasionally quipping in with a flirt or a joke (usually a pun).

“You wanna go watch a movie? I heard they’re premiering the remake of the Thing at the old theatre downtown” Marceline asked. They had finished a full round at the Museum, just in the nick of time as an announcement declared that the museum was closing. Now they were making their way to the carpark.

Bonnie was a little surprised that Marceline would have heard of the Thing. She didn’t seem like someone who would keep up with Sci-fi remakes, then again, the Thing was also a horror, that could explain it.

Bonnie shrugged. “Sure, sounds good.” She glanced down at their still intertwined hands. It was all still surreal to her. She really was on a date. With Marceline.

“Bon? You okay?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Just…uhh, zoning out. Yep. Heh.” She really, really wished she was better at lying. Marceline raised her brows but didn’t comment any further, to Bonnie’s relief.

__________________________________________________________

They wound up seated in a small theatre, with Marceline sipping on her soda and Bonnie occasionally munching on popcorn. Bonnie glanced at Marceline, wondering if she should be doing something at this moment. Their arms were still interlinked, still a fairly platonic gesture. She wondered if she should push it, cross the platonic boundary a little bit more. After all Marceline clearly had with her incessant flirting. She supposed she should reciprocate by initiating something too.

And so, cautiously, Bonnie leaned in, slowly placing her head on the crook of Marceline's shoulder. Marceline tensed for a moment, and for that moment Bonnie wondered if she should retreat. But then Marceline relaxed and leaned in.

Cuddling wasn't something the girls ever did together in their friendship. Physical affection, whilst there with casual hand-holding, a hug here and there and such, was always kept at a respectable distance. This was new and if the butterflies in Bonnie’s stomach were anything to go by, it was a good kind of new.

Maybe dating wasn’t so weird after all.

__________________________________________________________

Marceline brought Bonnie to her doorstep in silence. Not the comfortable kind that they often shared. No, this was tense, heavy, as though there was a huge anvil weighing them down. Both of them clearly knew why, it was the end of their date after all. Neither of them really wanted to start, but, feeling obligated because this was her idea, Bonnie did.

"As cliche as it sounds, I really had a good time tonight." After a short pause, she added, "I'd like to do it again sometime."

Marceline’s brows shot up into her hairline. "Wait does this mean -"

“Ehp!” She croaked. Despite knowing what Marceline's reaction would be, Bonnie still found a lump rising in her throat. She took a breath and tried again.

“Yeah.” Bonnie smiled tentatively.

Marceline’s face went through various stages of metamorphosis, from confusion to disbelief to being completely flustered red. It finally settled on a dumbfounded smile with rose-tinted cheeks.

“That’s, wow.”

Bonnie giggled and crossed her arms. She just couldn’t resist the opportunity presented. “Really? You got your crush to like you back and all you can say is ‘wow’. Real smooth Marceline.”

“Sh-shut up!”

Bonnie could practically hear the pout from her. She snickered and Marceline desperately scrambled for a change in topic. She found one and smirked.

"Does this mean I can kiss you? Coz you were so obvious with the staring just now"

Bonnie scoffed. “We both know I wasn’t staring, nice try though. As for the other thing,” She averted her gaze and gave a non-committal shrug. “Maybe on the second date, or the third”

Marceline grinned. “Ooooh, there’s gonna be a third date now?”

“Only if you behave.” She deadpanned.

Marceline cackled, her voice echoing throughout the silent neighborhood. Soon enough, Bonnie couldn’t help but join and now in between the quiet of suburbia were the giggles of two girls.

They kissed on the second date.

#bubbline #bubbline fanfiction #bubbline fanfic #adventure time #adventure time fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #princess bubblegum #marceline #marceline the vampire queen #atimers #at #at fanfic #at fanfiction

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aloysiavirgata · 4 years

Text

In The Gale

Title: In The Gale

Author: Aloysia Virgata

Rating: PG

Category: MSR

Author's Notes: For @perplexistan, who asked and helped me make it better. This is shortly after settling into the Unremarkable House. I tried making sense of their legal status, but it’s simply impossible and I gave up.

Our heroes quote from Melville, Shakespeare, Sagan, Baudrillard, and (Emily) Dickens.

***

Because I know that time is always time And place is always and only place And what is actual is actual only for one time And only for one place I rejoice that things are as they are and I renounce the blessed face And renounce the voice Because I cannot hope to turn again Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something Upon which to rejoice

And pray to God to have mercy upon us And pray that I may forget These matters that with myself I too much discuss Too much explain Because I do not hope to turn again Let these words answer For what is done, not to be done again May the judgement not be too heavy upon us

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly But merely vans to beat the air The air which is now thoroughly small and dry Smaller and dryer than the will Teach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit still.

T.S. Eliot, Ash Wednesday

***

She recites The Raven to herself on the drive in, lists all the state capitals in alphabetical order, and goes through the periodic table. Her body fizzes like a shaken soda, tiny anxious bubbles rising through her blood. They’ve done so much for this, called in so many favors. Mulder put his book on hold for a month, quizzing her with dog-eared notecards.

“Immediate treatment of myocardial infarction,” he’d call, and she’d say “MONA TASS.”

She feels a pang for the simplicity of the other life, the hiding one, where she just had to ring up cigarettes and herbal Viagra at gas stations.

***

She’s the new girl at the cafeteria table, awkward and alone. Mulder had prepared her a lunch like it’s the first day of school, and she stares at it, wishing for an appetite.

From the corner of her eye she sees two colleagues - an MRI tech and an obstetrician, she thinks - talking softly and glancing over. Scully thinks she hears “FBI,” and she looks up and smiles, uncertain.

They blink at her, look away.

***

Ybarra comes around the corner, gliding in his cassock like a disapproving ghost. “Dr. Scully,” he says, in his pinched voice.

She smiles thinly. “Father Ybarra.”

“Nurse Mossing was looking for the chart for Mrs. Sullivan. Imagine my surprise when I found it in Room 314 instead of Room 413. That’s a potential HIPAA violation, Dr. Scully. That’s a federal law.”

Scully curls her hand so that her nails dig into her skin. “I’m so sorry,” she says. “Father Ybarra, please forg-”

He holds up his palm. “It won’t happen again,” he says, and glides onward.

Scully closes her eyes and leans against the wall. She breathes through her nose until the ringing in her ears stops.

***

She wants to collapse into his arms and cry when she gets home, but that would be giving in. It would be letting them down.

“How’d it go?” he asks. He’s wearing basketball shorts and a Knicks shirt, a five o’clock shadow.

She smiles brightly. “It was good. Learning curve, but good. I think Father Ybarra might be a tough nut to crack, is all.”

Mulder rubs his cowlicked hair. “Put your feet up, Scully, since you won’t wear sensible shoes.”

She does, and accepts the glass of wine he holds out. “Thanks. I’ll sleep well tonight, anyway. There are miles of hallways.”

He sits next to her on the couch. “I wrote a few pages,” he says. “I deleted a bunch, but I think there was a multi-paragraph net gain.”

“I’m glad you’re able to stop focusing on my stuff now,” she says. “Both back in the saddle.”

“Go team.”

She clinks her glass against his. She drinks her wine too fast.

***

Ybarra had come in during her rounds that morning and startled her into knocking a metal bedpan onto the floor. Scully thinks the reverberations of that sound will follow her to the grave.

She’s now in the chapel, tucked into a back pew. She’s been staring at the small altar, at the stained glass windows flanking the crucifix. The Blessed Virgin smiles beatifically down at her, a wretched sinner.

Scully laces her fingers on the back of the pew in front of her and bows her head against them. “Please,” she whispers. “Please.”

***

Mulder wakes her with tea and eggs. “You haven’t been eating,” he says, brow furrowed.

She rubs her eyes, yawning. “What?”

He sits next to her on the bed, sets the plate and mug on her night table. “You just push your food around your plate, you hardly talk when you get home. What’s going on, Scully?”

She sits up, looking at his worried face. He’s sun-browned and tousled, beautiful, with a mouth that still makes her weak in the knees. “Nothing. It’s just a lot to jump back into.”

“I’m sure it is. And I still want to help you with it.” He pulls the flash cards from his pocket, touches her wrist with his other hand. “Let’s see - causes of upper zone pulmonary fibrosis?”

She looks at the ceiling, back at him. “I don’t need help.”

Mulder blinks, stung.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. You just don’t need to hover over me. You have your own things to work on. Work on your book, patch up your henhouse. ” Her voice sounds snappish to her own ears.

His changeable eyes, now mossy green, darken. He chews his bottom lip, nodding slowly. “I thought you were one of my ‘things.’ Sorry to bother you.” He rises, walks downstairs.

“Mulder,” she whispers.

The tea goes down fine. Scully tries to eat the eggs but feels bile rise in her throat. She flushes them down the toilet instead of leaving them behind, because that is love.

***

She arrives at the nurses’ station on the second floor with three dozen donuts and two cardboard boxes of coffee. She deposits them on the desk. “Good morning, Annabel,” she says.

“Anneliese,” the woman says.

Scully nods, walks away.

***

He slides his hand up her pajama top, tracing circles on her ribs, sliding his fingers around to her breasts. He kisses the back of her neck. “Scully,” he whispers, his breath warm and ticklish in her ear.

She wants to pretend to wake up, to turn towards him and lose herself in his body. She wants to tell him everything, to be held and loved and petted and reassured. She wants him to remind her that she once stared down Congress, that some backwater priest and his prickly staff should be a joke to her. She wants them to laugh together at these silly, petty people.

But she can’t, she can’t disappoint him. He’s been so proud of her.

Scully stays still, breathes evenly until his hands move away and she’s alone again.

***

Her car rattles over the driveway, through shimmering waves of heat that rise from the crisping grass. It is the kind of late July afternoon where the sun is a hazy white ball in the west, and clouds of gnats are a permanent feature of the landscape.

Scully parks, avoiding a puddle in which a peacock is standing. Mulder has recently become enamored of yard fowl. She narrows her eyes at it while opening the car door.

“Good boy, Kevin,” she calls to it, wary.

Scully picks her way over the gravel in her thin heels. The peacock mews an alarm as she approaches, but doesn’t charge. She lets herself inside, shuts the heat and sun and wildlife outside. The house smells of coffee and microwave popcorn.

She walks into Mulder’s office and finds him hunched at his desk, typing. “Hey,” she says, and drops a kiss on his head. There’s a sketch of Baphomet taped to his monitor, her worn flash cards atop a tome about Raëlism.

He turns in his chair. He puts his arms around her hips. “Hey.”

“Kevin behaved himself,” she offers.

“You two will be friends yet, you’ll see.”

She peers at the computer. “You get a lot done today?”

Mulder shrugs. “Eh, a bit. Waiting on a few emails, and I had to run that tubing to drain the sump down into the woods. Ate up most of the afternoon.”

Scully shakes her head in admiration. “I don’t know how you manage all the multitasking.”

“Well, the book helps me avoid the house, and the house helps me avoid the book. It’s a perfect system. That Ybarra guy still riding your ass?”

She chews her lip. “No,” she lies. “I think we’re okay now.”

“Good,” he says. “I’d hate to have to beat up a priest.”

***

Scully gazes at herself in the empty locker room. She looks thin and tired, and her hair is frizzing up, even pulled back like this. All her makeup has sweated off except for smudged crescents of mascara. Her bra is the color of a Band-Aid, her underwear white and sensible. Between the two is the hard white rose of her gunshot scar, like a second navel, an artifact of a second birth. It is numb when she touches it, indifferent. There are no stretch marks from William, a tale missing from the anthology of her skin. She unhooks her bra, lets it slide down to the damp floor. Scully turns to observe her body in profile. The scar is gone this way, the tattoo hidden as well, and she smooths her hands along her ribs. Her breasts seem out of place to her when they are unbound, frivolous somehow. Vestigial.

She looks away.

***

The hospital is labyrinthine, having been constructed of various additions when funds allowed. There are dead ends, pointless staircases, and a mysterious storage closet filled with old televisions. She makes little maps on notepaper.

“So where did you work before this?” an orthopedic surgeon asks her.

A diner in Wyoming.

“I was out West for a while,” she says.

***

A week in, and Mulder has made a cake to celebrate. A bouquet of Kevin’s shed tail feathers ornaments the table.

An offering, Mulder calls it, tickling her chin with one.

A week down, she thinks, and blows out the candle. She wonders when she’ll stop counting the time.

***

Shy, he gives her a chapter to read. It’s good, and she tells him so. It’s very good. She hears his voice in her head when she reads it, his passion. She loves the esoterica tucked into his gyri and sulci.

“Your prose was never this clear in your reports,” she remarks.

“Hey if you can’t blind them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit.”

Scully laughs. “You want to read a few medical reports?”

He looks at her, suddenly serious. “Yeah,” he says. “I would. It would be nice to hear about your day for once.”

She wonders if love is the weapon that lets them wound so casually.

***

“You’re late,” Ybarra says softly.

She doesn’t explain that she’d somehow ended up at the TV closet again, that the room numbering system in this hospital had been designed by nihilists, that the nursing student had Dermabonded her glove to a patient’s forehead.

She lowers her eyes like she did at Catholic school. She promises to do better.

***

“What’s going on?” Mulder asks her for what feels like the hundredth time. “Talk to me, Scully.”

She presses her hands to her face for a moment, drops them to her sides. “Nothing,” she says again, frustrating them both. “I’m tired. It’s a hard schedule.”

He places a throw pillow on his lap and pats it. “Come here,” he says. “Please.”

She acquiesces, curling on her side with her back to him. He runs his fingers through her hair, traces the Fibonacci spirals of her ear. She wants to relax, to melt into his touch. She indulges in a Mulderesque conspiracy theory that the hospital microdoses the water with tetanus toxin to keep everyone rigid and tense.

Scully gazes at the windows, at the hard white light of summer streaming in. The curtains are blue with an arabesque pattern, and they looked very chic in the store. She wonders now if they seem desperate in this odd little house. She thinks of Meg March, dressed up in borrowed finery at the Moffats’ ball.

***

Scully clomps up the steps to the porch and kicks her rain boots off next to the umbrella stand. It contains four umbrellas and a gnarled hickory limb that Mulder claims is going to be polished into a fine walking stick one of these days. She goes into the house and is dismayed to find it stale and stifling and dark. Dust motes waft in Brownian motion through shafts of sunlight, undirected by fans or air conditioning.

“Mulder,” she calls, and there is silence.

She twists her hair into a bun as she pads upstairs, old wood satiny under her bare feet. She pushes open the bedroom door, and the air is hot and still.

“Mulder?” She needs his help with her zipper, but there is no reply.

She wrestles herself out of her silk sheath, sticky and irritating, and lets it puddle on the floor. Her bra follows. She feels guilty, as Mulder has turned out to be a surprisingly diligent housekeeper. His office is filled with perilous stacks of home improvement books and arcane journals about lake monsters, the walls papered with clippings and blurry photographs, but he seems able to quarantine his own entropy.

She is trying to do the same.

Scully pulls on soft cotton pajama shorts, a gray tank top imbued with the compressive powers of Lycra. She uses lotion to rub away the mascara beneath her eyes. She goes downstairs and out the back door, shielding her eyes against the piercing sunlight. A mosquito whines at her ear and she pinches it out of the air.

“Still got those reflexes, kid,” Mulder says from somewhere off to her left.

She turns and sees him crouched next to the hulking green block of the transformer. “All the lights are off, and the house feels like a rainforest. I take it you’ve had an eventful day?”

He sighs. “Not really. Well, not the event I was hoping for, which is the power coming back on. There was a pretty heavy thunderstorm around one and that’s when the electricity blew.”

She sits on the bottom step, knees drawn up. She likes to watch him working, a side of him they’re both still learning about. There was never much call for home maintenance at Hegal Place, or living out of cash-only motels. “You call the power company?”

He huffs. “Yeah, they told me they had no reported outages and the power should be fine. I explained that I was trying to report an outage and that it definitely was not fine and she promised someone would be here between tomorrow and eventually.”

Scully smiles. “And that’s why you’re out here toying with death?”

“Not much else to do, really. Can’t write with the power out.” Mulder sits back on his heels and shrugs. “You, uh, have a good day?”

She hadn’t. “Yep. Starting to feel like part of the team.”

“Good. You need to get your career standards as high as your standards for men,” he says, getting to his feet.

“Oh, well, that’s an obviously unattainable bar.”

“Obviously.” He sits next to her on the step. “You wear that to work? You know I think bras are a tool of the patriarchy and you shouldn’t bother, but I’m just surprised Our Lady of Perpetual Shame takes such a liberal view.”

She laughs a little. “I figured as long as I tossed a lab coat over it, I’d look like a real doctor. It worked when I was a kid.”

“Hey, that’s what I did with my badge half the time. Listen, Scully. The house is pretty tropical. You want to bunk up in a hotel until they get the power sorted out?”

Scully thinks about the convenience it would afford. Maids and room service and maybe a pool, depending. But she is tired of hotels, even nice ones. She is tired of polite signs that remind her that the pillows and towels and hairdryers aren’t hers, the tiny toiletries an indicator of her temporary status. She is tired of living out of suitcases and dressers that made her clothes smell strange, tired of running from her own life. She wants to be home.

“Nah,” she says. “We’ll manage.”

Mulder looks surprised, but doesn’t question it. “I’ll call Lowe’s about getting a generator delivered tomorrow. We ought to have one anyway out here.”

She’d always had a vague idea that Mulder had money - it was the only explanation for his complete disinterest in it. But when they’d come back, when they’d talked to his lawyers, she'd been staggered. The Vineyard house alone explained his casual international jaunts. They can have things now, endless things, and there is something frantic in her that wants to spend the money. Bingeing chocolate bunnies after Lent.

Mulder peels his shirt off, wadding it into a limp ball. He tosses it so that it hooks over the doorknob. “Still got it,” he says. He preens.

“Does the NBA realize the tremendous talent they’re missing out on?” she asks. “Do they even know that, at this very moment, a six foot tall middle aged white man is out here flinging his clothing a distance of several feet?”

He snuggles up to her, wrapping his sweaty arms around her shoulders.

“Ugh,” she says, and pushes at him. “Mulder, you’re disgusting and it’s a thousand degrees out here.”

“Hoping that cold, cold heart of yours might cool me off.” She sniffs disdainfully, and he releases her. “Scully, how do you feel about bees?”

“We have a history, bees and I,” she observes, tapping the back of her neck.

Mulder curls his hand over the scar, kneads the muscles there. “Well, these wouldn’t be fancy bees.”

“Hmmm,” she says. “I’m not inherently opposed. Why do you want bees, Mulder?”

He shrugs. “I’m getting older, and I’ve got to consider funeral plans. The last one didn’t really go as expected, so I thought maybe I’d mellify myself this time.”

She nods. “Makes sense. I mean, of course, there’s no actual proof that mellification actually occurred, but that’s never stopped you.”

“I also like honey,” he adds. “And bees are good for the planet.”

“Honey often contains botulism spores,” she remarks. “Botulinum toxin is the most lethal toxin known, and it’s estimated that as little as 40 grams of it would be enough to kill everyone on earth.” She doesn’t say you shouldn’t give it to babies, that she sweetened her smoothies with dates and maple syrup so that -

“Well, nobody better piss off my bee army and me,” he says darkly.

“Everybody eventually pisses you off. Mulder, is that old tent in the shed still? We could sleep in that tonight.”

He shakes his head. “Heavy mildew and dry rot, so I threw it out. We could sleep out here if you want, though. We’ve got that big air mattress.”

“Let’s do that,” she says. “We can put it on the porch. Tell you what - you get stuff together, and I’ll even make dinner.” Scully doesn’t like cooking, but she wants to create order, to complete a finite task. She can be domesticated again, like a lost house cat finally returned to a hearth.

“We having eggs or peanut butter?” he asks, smirky.

“I’d hate to spoil the surprise,” she snips, and goes back into their sauna of a house.

In the kitchen, she stands in front of the open fridge, letting the delicious leftover cold soak into her skin. She’ll deal with the spoiled food later. Eggs had, actually, been her plan but it’s just too hot. The stove doesn’t work, and she doesn’t have the fortitude to turn the grill on. She finds some leftover shrimp pasta that Mulder has made, some vegetables, and assembles it all into a passable salad.

There, she thinks, pleased. I’d pay twelve bucks for that somewhere. She uses her foot to scratch a mosquito bite on her calf.

Her skin is clammy, hair stringy and damp from sweat. Maybe they should just go to a hotel after all. Perhaps she should stop ascribing symbolism to every damn thing and enjoy herself once in a while. But she thinks of packing, of driving, of unpacking and somehow it’s all too much and her eyes start to fill and her sinuses sting.

Scully pinches her wrist until it passes, feeling weak and hating the weakness in herself. It’s the heat, it’s the exhaustion, it’s the heavy mental load. She considers going outside for a dip in the pond, but suspects the water will be unpleasantly warm. Instead, she drags herself back upstairs for a cold shower.

She sits on the edge of the bed, weary, and stares at a framed picture of a sea turtle on the far wall. If she lets her eyes drift out of focus, it looks like it’s swimming. She tips her head back for a better angle, watches it float across her vision. It slips away then, into the black of the deep waters.

***

She startles awake when he touches her shoulder, gasps.

“Jesus,” Mulder says, and sits next to her. “Bad dream?”

Scully sits up, dazed. “What? No, was I asleep?”

“You’ve been out cold for over an hour, but I wanted to make sure you got some food. Water at least, it’s too hot up here.”

She blinks, confused. “I don’t remember,” she says. Peering to her right reveals night outside.

Mulder holds a hand out and she grasps it, letting him pull her to her feet. She wavers and he steadies her, arm about her shoulders.

“I just need some water,” she says, defensive.

He guides her down the stairs and out the front door onto the porch. The air outside is substantially cooler, a light breeze kissing her face. She settles into a chair, stares deep into the felty dark. She still can’t remember falling asleep.

Mulder hands her a water bottle from the little table and she rolls it between her palms, the plastic crinkling. “Hey, I thought you were setting up the air mattress out here,” she says.

“No air flow behind the wall,” he replies. “Drink that up like a good girl and I’ll show you what we’ve got.”

Scully obeys and feels better. The water tastes stale, but it’s cool and wet. “Maybe you should have my job,” she says, looking up. “Caring for live people is so much work.”

“Everybody eventually pisses me off,” he reminds her. “Come on, Doc.”

She follows him down the steps and around the side of the house. Their property is vast and feral, pocked with mole burrows and rabbit nests. The floodlights are out with the power, and the house is nearly swallowed up by the vast night. Scully glances up at the Milky Way, at the waxing moon, and marvels again at the sky they have out here. We are star stuff, she thinks.

“Moonstruck?” Mulder asks.

“The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars.”

“As long as you can tell a hawk from a handsaw,” he says, and tugs her along.

She follows him to the back of the house and then stops, smiling. Mulder has hammered some old two-by-fours into a frame, draped the structure in white bedsheets. Inside, the air mattress is piled with sofa pillows. Outside, camping lanterns, candles, and two strands of solar lights make it into a kind of fairy circle.

“Mulder,” she says, delighted. “This is ridiculous.”

“Indian Guide saves the day,” he says.

“Your architecture badge is definitely more impressive than your fire badge,” she says, walking over to the little tent. He’s brought her salad inside, and there is a cooler packed with ice and water bottles. Cans of bug spray sit at the flap. She crawls inside, suddenly ravenous.

Mulder joins her on the mattress, which bounces in response. “Remember my water bed?”

She laughs, piling food on a plate for each of them. “What a swinging bachelor you were.”

She remembers the water bed fondly, the leather couch and the fish and the postage-stamp bathroom in his apartment. It shouldn’t hurt still, but it does. She knew herself there, her place on the map. She eats her salad, wistful for Chinese food and beer at that battered coffee table.

“Scully,” he says.

“What?”

“Scully.”

“Just middle-aged nostalgia, I suppose,” she murmurs.

He reaches out to take her hand. “You’re scarcely middle aged.”

She smiles, squeezes his fingers. “If you go by life experience, we’re both about two hundred years old.”

“Like those Galapagos tortoises. But you need to tell me what’s going on at work. You won’t disappoint me.”

It can be very disagreeable to live with a profiler.

Scully drops his hand. She bites at the fleshy part of her thumb. This is real, she thinks. This place. It is not down in any map; true places never are. She can only deflect for so long, and her armor is rusting away. “I’m afraid,” she whispers, then chances a look at his face.

His eyes are soft, searching. “Why?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know, I don’t…” Her sinuses sting again and she presses her palms hard into her eyes. “Please.”

Mulder’s hand on her back, in endless, gentle figure eights. He pulls the elastic from her hair and lets it tumble down to her shoulders. He shifts so that her back is to him, his long legs on either side of her body.

“Mulder, what -”

“Shhhh,” he says, and gathers the hair at the crown of her head. “It’s not a real sleepover if you don’t get your hair French braided.”

Scully blinks. “Since when do you know how to braid hair?”

“Little sister, absent parents. Now stop moving and talk.”

She keeps her head very steady, thinking of her own sister’s deft fingers when their mother was too busy for anything but ponytails. Mulder tugs at another little section of hair. Scully thinks she might be okay if she isn’t looking at him, if she can’t read herself in his eyes.

Moth shadows dance across the white sheet wall, drawn to the flickering candles outside. It fascinates her that they never figure out that fire burns. “I don’t know how to do this,” she says, and her voice is thick.

“To talk, or to be still?” he says in his Oxford psychologist voice.

She isn’t sure of what she means either. “Yes,” she says, with a hiccupy laugh. “Both.”

“Me too,” he says, slipping his thumb through the strands behind her ear. “I don’t know how to do this.”

She swallows hard. “I just...I’ve always had something to consume me. I had the FBI, we traveled all the time, and then we were running and I thought it was hard but it was so easy to just survive. There were no decisions. I didn’t care about, I don’t know...plates.”

He pauses in his work. “Plates?”

Scully chews at a hangnail, frustrated. “Just things, the things you buy for a house. Long term things. I did with William and then…” she trails off, her chest tight. “I feel like I’m playing a game sometimes, like improv theater. Fox and Dana Build A Home.”

“Fox and Dana?” he repeats. “Surely not.”

“Well, we’re hardly Mulder and Scully anymore, are we?” Her stomach clenches and that’s it, she sees. That’s the fear.

He finishes the braid and fastens the elastic at the end of it. “Of course we are,” he says. “We are who we are.”

She turns to him then, the whispering anxiety back with a roar. “And who is that, Mulder? I was plain old Dana Scully until I met you. And we had this life, this strange and wonderful and terrible life where I was Scully because I was your partner and now that’s over. It’s all nothing.” She’s crying openly now, quietly, and it feels cleansing.

“You’re still my partner,” he says, and his eyes are shining too.

She wipes her nose with a paper napkin. “Am I? At what? I go to work and see patients but I forgot there’s no closure with the living. People get sick and get better and get sick again. It doesn’t end. And this house, the power is always going to go out and the chickens will always be hungry and -“ she stops, feeling hysterical.

“You don’t have to work,” he says softly. “The settlement from the FBI, my inheritance…”

She shakes her head. “You know I have to work.”

He sighs, rubs her knee. “I know you do. But it doesn’t have to be this. It doesn’t have to drain you.”

He’s right, of course he’s right, but he’s also so terribly wrong that she wonders if he knows her at all. She has to be a doctor for her father, for William. For him. She has to see something through. Scully smooths her hand over the back of her head, feeling the even ridges of the braid. Mulder is so competent with everything he does, so easy with himself. He’ll get his damned bees and become some kind of honey magnate in no time.

“People at the hospital, they ask me what I did before. And I don’t know how to answer. How can I possibly answer that question? I just say I was with the government, but that isn’t really the answer, is it?”

Mulder shrugs. He’s never felt the need to explain himself to people. “It’s true.”

Scully stretches out on her stomach across the mattress, chin on the pillows, watching the moths again. They tumble like acrobats, untethered in the thick air. “There’s this number called Graham’s number, used in Ramsey Theory, which is, well, nevermind. It doesn’t matter. Anyway, it was in the Guinness Book for being the largest specific number used in a proof at the time. And Mulder, this number is so big that writing out all the digits would exceed the bounds of the known universe.”

“Nobody likes a math nerd, Scully.”

She rolls onto her back to glare at him. “Yes they do, they give them Nobel prizes. Anyway. A whole new notation system, Knuth Notation, had to be developed to express these massive numbers. Graham’s Number, Tree(3), et cetera. And I feel like that at times. That there’s this endless amount of vital, inexpressible information inside of me that is so essential but that I have no way to share.”

She blinks a few times, spent by this unburdening.

Mulder stretches out next to her, propped on his side. “You can express it to me,” he says, massaging her temple with his thumb.

Scully closes her eyes. “I feel like a ghost sometimes. How do you do it, Mulder? How do you just keep moving forward without getting lost?”

He sighs. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but you have a tendency to compile people into perfect specimens, then measure yourself against that imaginary standard. It’s the precession of simulacra.”

She looks at him, indignant, then realizes he could be right. “Well,” she says. “It’s possible. But Mulder, is that such a bad thing, to want to hold myself to the highest goals?”

He tugs her onto her side so that she’s facing him, nearly nose to nose. Her lips feel tingly. “Yes,” he says, stroking her hair. “When the goal isn’t attainable. And when it puts everyone else on pedestals where we’re ill equipped to balance. And when it puts you in a constant state of frustration and anxiety. No one is perfect. Not even you.”

“I don’t want to be perfect,” she lies. “And I don’t need you to be either.” That part is true, at least.

He laughs in reply. “Apropos of being Galapagos tortoises, Charles Darwin once said ‘I am very poorly today, and very stupid and hate everybody and everything.’”

“He rode the tortoises,” Scully says, calming. “I can’t defend his methodology.”

“See? You’re better than Charles Darwin.” He kisses her forehead.

“Well,” she says. “Well.”

“Scully, look. You’re not alone here, feeling at sea. I went to the feed store and some guy picked a fight, shoved me pretty hard with his shoulder. And this reflexive part of my brain wanted to grab my badge, stick it in his face, and put him against the wall for assaulting a federal agent. But I ignored it and bought the chicken feed and just headed out. And I felt like, is this who I am now? Some pushover with yard birds and home improvement books?”

“You made a little fast and loose with your authority sometimes,” she says, thinking of Roche. She curves her palm against his cheek, thumbs the fine ridge of his zygomatic bone.

He bumps her nose with his. “You broke into a secret morgue.”

“You made me.” She sniffles, laughs a little. “The good old days.”

“These can be the good days too,” he says. “They can, if we work at it.” He traces her mouth with his finger.

“Okay,” she says. Hope stirs in her, a thing with feathers. “Partners?”

“Partners.”

He kisses her, in their small tent, in their ring of light.

#xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #my fic #iwtb

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aphrodites-law · 4 years

Photo

A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (8/?) The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her Café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction. (ao3)

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7]

Lexa walked in ten minutes after opening time the next day. Clarke had just rung up a coffee to go when she saw her, her raincoat unzipped and revealing her sweater and the collar of her shirt beneath it. Beige this time. Clarke liked beige. Then again, she couldn’t think of a shirt Lexa had worn that she hadn’t liked. One couldn't help but wonder how large Lexa’s wardrobe was. It had to be quite the collection.

Waiting for her turn, Lexa kept her eyes on the display case. When she finally stepped up to the counter, Clarke arched a playful brow.

"Good morning," Lexa said.

"Pretty good so far."

Lexa visibly tried to contain a smile. “You changed the display."

Clarke glanced at the display, remembering all too vividly how she’d been pressed up against it. Judging by the way Lexa looked at her, she remembered it too.

“It's honey cake and croissants today - still warm,” Clarke replied, noticing just then that Lexa was fiddling with the strap of her satchel.

It was something Clarke had recently noticed about Lexa. She appeared confident, sometimes even stony-faced, but there were subtle signs showing the contrary. She was a master at hiding her nerves, but Clarke was starting to pick up on how she did it.

"Oh I meant to tell you - Wells loved Gus' honey. He was pretty die hard about his old brand but he's interested in switching."

"He did?" Lexa seemed very proud. "I'll have to let Gus know. And maybe try a slice of the cake then."

“For here?” Clarke asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“Yes. Please.”

“No drink?”

Lexa took out her wallet. “Coffee is fine.”

Clarke leaned closer. “Lexa, you don’t need to force yourself. You don’t like it. It’s fine - I don’t take offense.”

“I know. I just feel like a fraud staying here if I don't. Like wearing sneakers on an ice rink."

Clarke chuckled. “Well, speaking of ice, let me make you a chilled one. I'll go easy on the actual coffee part."

“You don’t have to go to the trouble-"

"It’s on the menu. You know that, right?”

Lexa looked up, as if noticing the menu above the coffee machines for the first time. It wasn't a long selection but, sure enough, there was an ice coffee and tea option.

“I hadn’t..." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fuck.”

Clarke fully laughed then, her voice still a bit raspy from the early morning. "God, just go grab a seat. I’ll be right up with your order.”

Lexa left a crisp bill in the tip jar as she always did. She sat at her usual seat and took out her laptop and notepad. After she'd skimmed through some of her recent notes, Clarke came over with her slice of cake and iced coffee.

"Thank you."

To Lexa's evident surprise, Clarke took the seat opposite hers and propped her chin on her hand.

"I need to be sure you like it. No more grimacing in my café."

Lexa sighed bashfully. She picked up the cup and took her first sip of the chilled drink. After licking her lips and pausing for effect, she hummed.

"Hats off to the barista. This is really good, Clarke."

"Well of course it's good!" Clarke beamed, pleased with herself. "Now your funny faces can stop giving us a bad rep."

"Hardly doubt the press picked up on my expressions."

"You never know who's paying attention."

Lexa looked at her and smiled. "You?"

Clarke's cheeks felt warm. She glanced down. "That's one person."

Whatever that meant for them, Clarke didn't know. It was a strange place to be in. To know the woman sitting in front of her was responsible for the best kiss she'd had in recent memory, if not her entire life. She was aching to talk about it, but her worry Lexa would bolt was stronger.

Lexa cleared her throat and looked around. There was only a couple and an older man seated for now, but then again the sun wasn't even out.

"Not too busy yet?" She asked.

Clarke shook her head. "I give it thirty minutes. College classes and rush hour starting."

"Have you had more customers recently?"

"Definitely. I'm still not sure if it's all due to Finn's fall from grace, but I'm not complaining."

"You know what made me wonder?" Lexa asked. "He knew Echo and I were from the Gazette. He knew she and I went to his shops to write about him, but somehow he couldn't fathom it would be for anything other than praise. He wronged everyone on his staff and lied his way into smaller businesses believing it was justified. Now he's looking into suing for defamation. Can you imagine the ego?"

"Sounds like Finn Collins."

Lexa noticed a change in Clarke's expression. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, not at all. Just bad history. Finn had me believing a lot of things too. It might be the one thing he's actually good at."

"I see."

Clarke bit her lip, unsure where to go from there. It seemed like Lexa was thinking the same.

"Are we still…" Lexa lowered her voice. "Is this weekend still happening?"

Clarke's heart leapt. "If you want it to."

"I do."

Clarke forgot all about Finn Collins, her bitterness replaced by sudden excitement. "Give me your phone."

Lexa took it out and watched as Clarke typed her number in. She then grabbed her own phone and sent Lexa a message:

Coffeemaker ☕ Nice flannel today, I'd guessed blue

"I don't have a lot of blue," Lexa chuckled, then frowned. "Bit of a reductive name. I'd definitely give you something better."

Clarke shrugged. "That's between you and your phone. Anyway, I'll send you the details. I checked the weather and there's just a small chance of rain, so we should be good. We can do the River to Nowhere hike."

"Never heard of it."

"I figured. It's kind of a local secret. The view on Costial and the mountains is amazing though."

At Lexa's silence, Clarke felt a pang of worry. "This is still good, right?"

Lexa looked up. "Yes. Of course. I'm looking forward to it."

Clarke nodded, still not entirely convinced. But at least Lexa had come back. She was here, sitting where she belonged. Clarke stood up at the ding of the bell, knowing she didn't have much time before the morning rush.

"I hope you enjoy the cake."

"Thank you, Clarke."

* * *

Lexa came into the café every day. She apologized that she couldn’t stay too long before going to work, but she still came every day. Mostly in the morning, but once in the afternoon. Clarke saw the slight, quick pout on her face when she noticed her seat was occupied that day, and practically heard her sigh when she eventually found a tight spot on the other side of the counter.

"I thought we said no funny faces," Clarke told her in passing, too busy to stop but still yearning for interaction.

Lexa looked up, realizing then how close to Clarke this new seat was, though also much noisier and not conducive to writing. "My apologies," she said, just loud enough for Clarke to hear.

Clarke smiled to herself. That was mostly how they communicated that week, pleasantries here and there, asking how work was going, how Lexa's articles were progressing, if Clarke and Wells were going to start interviews soon. It was as casual as could be, but beneath the simple nature of their brief conversations was something neither of them could deny.

Desire. The kind that had Clarke panting into her pillow at night while she touched herself. The kind that turned every look and every touch into the most excruciatingly good form of foreplay Clarke had experienced.

It was in the way their fingers brushed together when Clarke gave Lexa her drink and pastry. The way Clarke caught Lexa looking her way, or perhaps Lexa caught Clarke. In those moments, Clarke felt the same thrill she'd felt when Lexa had entered the café after closing time.

But they had yet to actually talk about it, which made Clarke both impatient and anxious for the weekend.

Lexa could run or she could stay. It was something Clarke was keenly aware of, which was why she'd promised herself to be as honest as could be. The way they'd approached things before hadn't worked. Things had been left unsaid on various occasions, piling up until they became a tangled mess. That couldn't happen again. Clarke knew it and she had no reason to doubt Lexa knew it too.

Her phone buzzed in the pocket of her apron. Clarke finished making an order for a pick-up before reading it:

Lexa I'm off to work (yes I do have a real office despite appearances), but thank you for saving a croissant for me

Clarke glanced toward the fig tree, where she saw the empty table.

Clarke Ha, I was starting to think you'd quit. You're welcome

Lexa I'll see you tomorrow?

Clarke Yep, pick you up at 11am. Wear good walking shoes

Lexa Stilettos it is. Have a good rest of the day :)

Clarke chuckled, liking this lighter side of Lexa. Hopefully - and Clarke's hope had blossomed these days - it was a facet of Lexa she'd get to see more of.

* * *

Lexa didn't wear the stilettos, though Clarke wouldn't have been too upset if she did. She had a hunch Lexa had quite the fashion sense beyond her professional attire. Not that the shirts, blazers and tight pants didn't work for Clarke. Today it was her dark green knitted hat that had Clarke melting a little.

She drove through sleepy Costial with Lexa in the passenger seat, something she would have never imagined happening just a week ago. Clarke talked about some of the resumes she'd read with Wells over the week. One in particular made Lexa laugh out loud.

"Eating is a commendable skill, Clarke."

"It was the only word in the skills section. Just eating. What do I even do with that?"

"Well, hopefully they figure out they're better off being your customer than your employee."

"I just feel bad for Wells, he takes on so much already."

"No one stood out?"

"One woman did, but she'd be out of our budget. Honestly Wells doesn't even care about fancy certificates, just passion and impeccable hygiene."

"Hm."

"What?"

"Nothing. Just thinking."

Clarke spotted the sign on the road that pointed them to the small parking area. It was a ten minute walk from the actual mountain trail, which itself was hard to find for anyone unfamiliar with it. Clarke hadn't been here in months, but it was perfect timing. The weather was kind and there wasn't a grey cloud in sight.

She parked the car and popped the trunk open.

"Are you ready?"

Lexa nodded. "Let's go."

They stored their water and food in one backpack that Lexa insisted on carrying, as the other one felt lighter than air. The trail was hidden behind a particularly spruce, but once they were on it, there was a clear grassy path snaking through the sprawling forest. In a few weeks, everything would be covered in snow. For now, it was a lovely clash of browns and greens, with shrubs and moss at the foot of pine and hardwood trees.

"You know, I tried looking up this trail in the Gazette's search engine," Lexa said. "Not even one link. When you said it's a local secret, I didn't think you meant top secret."

Clarke smiled cheekily. "One thing you have to know about Costialites: we love tourists in our theaters and shops, not our nature."

"Any other hidden spots I might discover?"

Clarke stepped over a fallen tree, dead and yet full of life, with lichen and mushrooms covering the sides while insects skittered inside.

"Nu-uh. The inquisitive journalist's cap comes off. You can pick it up on the way back."

She heard Lexa's small laugh behind her. "If you say so."

They walked without speaking for a while, slowly going up as they appreciated the fresh air, bird chirps, and the novelty of doing something together for the first time. Clarke had been on this path with friends before; had even shown her mother - but she'd never come here with a potentially romantic partner. It was fun with friends, but there was a more intimate quality to it with Lexa. After days of only seeing each other surrounded by other people, it was a welcome change.

But Clarke remembered her earlier promise to herself.

"Lexa… I need to get something off my chest."

Lexa glanced at her, understanding this wouldn't be shoptalk.

"The push and pull between us…" Clarke started, fighting her nerves. "It really confused me."

"I know."

"It's just that, from my point of view, you sat in the café every week for six months but you were still a mystery. Then suddenly we were talking and… the mixed signals threw me off." Clarke paused, unsure how to word the next part delicately. "You run when things get too close, but then you come back and I think - this is it, she's taking a step forward. But it's not." Clarke stopped to look at her. "What I'm trying to say is I can't do that again. I don't need a label for whatever this is, but I do need to know we're on the same page. I'm sorry if this is brusque-"

"No, that's fair," Lexa interrupted. "Thank you for telling me. I want to be on the same page too."

Clarke waited for more, but Lexa turned her head toward the source of a trickling sound. "Is that the river?"

Clarke swallowed back her disappointment. "Yeah. Come on, we can follow it upstream."

* * *

If what Clarke had said had affected Lexa, she certainly didn't show it. Instead, Lexa started asking questions like she had at the café, interested in knowing about Clarke's life without divulging too much about hers in response. Clarke had to call her out on it:

"I thought you'd agreed to leave the journalist cap behind."

Lexa seemed surprised. "I can't ask about your job?"

"Can I ask about yours?"

Lexa kept her eyes on the rocky stream bed at their right, where the water flowed slowly down the slope.

"Sure."

"Did you always want to be a journalist?"

"No."

Clarke waited, then sighed. "A little more?"

Lexa slid her hand beneath the straps of the backpack. She was quiet for a while, then cleared her throat. "My grandmother raised me, but after she passed away when I was seventeen I had to grow up very quickly. I started working in a motel to save for college. Met a lot of people left behind by laws, so I had a fantasy of going into politics. Be a part of change."

Clarke startled a bit at the amount of information Lexa had unloaded in the space of a few seconds.

"I didn't know you were… I hadn't realized-" she stuttered.

"Don't worry, I'm not a traumatized orphan, Clarke," Lexa said with a self-deprecating smile. "Anyway, it all worked out. Even got a scholarship."

"Still. That must've been hard."

Lexa nodded in acknowledgment. "When I got into college, it was like an all you can eat buffet. Politics didn't feel exciting anymore. But my counselor told me change could come from anywhere."

"So you took up writing?"

Lexa's expression suddenly changed, like she was in pain. "No, not right away."

Clarke left it at that, not wanting to push. A few minutes later, she stopped on the path and took Lexa's arm.

"Come on."

She guided her behind a pine and past a couple shrubs, where finally they reached the flat rock that overlooked Costial and its surrounding mountains. Lexa took off her backpack, stopping just a few feet from the edge.

"Jesus, Clarke."

"I know."

They took in the view for a few minutes, until Clarke laid out the quilt she'd put in her own bag. She sat down and looked up at Lexa, noticing just then there were tears in her eyes.

"Are you okay?" She worriedly asked.

"Just give me… I need a minute."

Clarke waited patiently, knowing they had both reached a point of change. She would stay here the entire night if Lexa needed it.

Lexa sat down next to her. "I never wanted to confuse you," she finally said, her voice full of regret. "It's just that I didn't expect you."

Clarke caught her eyes, hoping Lexa wouldn't look away. She didn't.

"But you took the first step."

"I was… hoping I was ready." Lexa swallowed hard. "I keep to myself and I don't get close, because… because the only three people I chose to love passed away."

Clarke froze, hardly even blinking as she absorbed Lexa's words.

"First there was Luna, my best friend since I learned how to walk. We did everything together for years. Had our best and our worst ideas together. She drowned during a family vacation." Lexa's fingers dug into a patch of grass by the quilt. "Then there was Ontari, in junior year. She was my first… everything. Most of the time she was angry because her mom was a drunk, but she was kind with me." Lexa's jaw clenched. "She was stabbed by some lunatic for seventeen dollars and her bracelet."

If Lexa had managed to keep her voice from breaking before, her efforts were in vain this time.

"And then Anya," she said tearfully.

Clarke sat closer.

"Hey, you don't have to-"

"No," Lexa abruptly said. "I want to. I need to." She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "Anya was my sister - how I imagined a sister would be anyway. She took me under her wing in undergrad. Pushed me toward journalism when I hesitated and kept me from making bad decisions out of anger. Without her, where I am today would only be a dream." Lexa's voice steadied then as she contemplated the three blades of grass in her hand. "Four years ago Anya lost her fight against breast cancer. Her last words to me were, I fought like hell, didn't I?"

Lexa let go of the grass. "You were right that night at the bar. In a way I do use people for their stories. I eat up their words and I spit them back out because my own stories - they're no good. The good ones are all tainted. I don't talk about my past because my memories only have ghosts in them. And nothing hurts more than realizing the only people who knew you are gone."

Clarke felt stricken, overwhelmed with sadness for the woman baring her soul in front of her. She couldn't imagine losing a best friend, let alone three. She couldn't imagine having so many of her memories tarnished by sudden, senseless death. Losing Wells would be like losing a piece of her heart. He knew her fears just as well as her dreams. He knew how to make her laugh and how to get her to stop crying. If he disappeared from her life, Clarke could see how that would feel like losing a part of herself. Memories shared would be wrecked by grief.

"When the visions happened," Lexa continued, "suddenly it was like hope was on everyone's lips. Lincoln was the first to tell me his. I was on the opposite coast, living life like a robot, when my estranged cousin calls to tell me he's seen us dance together at his wedding." Lexa smiled at the memory. "I thought he was losing his mind - couldn't even remember him honestly. But then more reports came in. And he kept calling, kept talking to me about Costial, this beautiful city he'd always wished my grandma and I visited. Apparently she used to send him postcards every year. For her sake, I agreed. I reconnected with Lincoln and… I fell in love with Costial."

Clarke knew how easy that was. It hadn't taken her long to know she'd build on her dreams here. After college, leaving had never even been in question.

"I wanted to do something to honor it," Lexa said as she stared at the skyline. "I know there are already thousands of pieces on visions out there, and I know there'll be thousands more after mine, but they won't be on this place. They won't be about Indra Keene reconnecting with her brother thanks to her vision of them having dinner. They won't be about Jonathan Murphy working hard to get his GED after seeing himself graduate college. I know I haven’t been here long, but this place is the first that's felt like home. I thought it deserved to be written about."

Lexa looked at Clarke. "And you… I guess I wanted to know what hope looked like for you. You're at the café every day, always smiling at people, even the rude ones. You seem so happy, so eager to put in the work to make your dream a reality. I couldn't help but wonder what else you might dream about. But really I just transcribe what I hear. I'm no more than a typist here."

"You sell yourself short."

Lexa shook her head. "I don't mind being the one listening. I like how I fit in Costial. When I got here - when I was driving with the trunk of my car crammed with my stuff, I passed the welcome sign and I… I just felt so relieved. Like I could finally breathe. Move forward."

"And you did."

Lexa nodded. "When I found out the Gazette was hiring it all clicked into place. But the pain crept back eventually. Change isn't… Well, old habits die hard and all that."

"But you've already brought so much good here. Look at your article on the Mountain Men."

Lexa shrugged. "Hermit solidarity."

Clarke chuckled softly. "You're not a hermit, Lexa. You clearly have a talent with people… It's not just all because you listen. But you also need to be kind to yourself. Does Lincoln know?"

"Lincoln understands more than he lets on I think. He's been the best support I could ask for, but it's different with family. You… you made me want to hope again."

"You can."

"Anya said the same."

Clarke waited a beat. "Lexa… do you think you're cursed or something?"

Lexa lied back on the quilt with her hands on her stomach. "It's not like that. Clearly there are powerful unknowns out there, but I don't believe a witch placed a curse on me, no. What I do believe is that some people attract bad energy. That no matter how hard you try, your place in the world is destructive."

"No," Clarke breathed out, horrified. "I don't believe that one second."

"But wouldn't you wonder - in my position? Wouldn't you try to put your theory to the test?"

"So you're just going to be alone for the rest of your life? That's your big experiment?"

Lexa shrugged. "I have everything I need - a good job, good apartment. It's not like I don't know anyone. Lincoln's practically introduced me to half the town. I know how to be sociable. I know how to work a room. I don't need anything more."

"People talk a whole lot about what they need in this town," Clarke sighed. "But what do you want?"

Lexa swallowed thickly as she looked up at her. "Does it matter?"

"It matters to me."

Lexa reached for her hand, hesitant at first, just fingers brushing. "Your vision... if that's what you wanted from me, I could give you that. I could be that person."

Clarke knew what Lexa was offering - wish fulfillment. Sex without the next morning breakfast. Sex without intimacy. Clarke had gone down that road before. She was good at it.

"No." She said the word before she even thought it. No, she couldn't do it. She couldn't spend a night with this woman and watch her slip out into the night. She couldn't pretend it hadn't happened the next morning; that they could go back to normal. There was no normal with Lexa - there never had been. "I want all of you, Lexa. If you're not ready for that, and I understand it, then we can be friends. But you need to stop looking at me like you do because otherwise I'll..." Clarke shook her head. "I won't even be able to be that. I did the whole casual thing and frankly I'm over it."

Lexa nodded silently, then retracted her hand. Her brow furrowed in thought, but she didn't add anything.

Clarke lied down next to her and sighed. "I think you're stronger than you know and I think your vision proved it. Your future doesn't have to be some kind of condemnation to solitude."

"And what if I hurt you?"

"My father used to say pain is a part of relationships, even the best ones. It doesn't mean we stop fighting for them."

"I don't mean hurt you by forgetting to clean the oven, Clarke."

"That would definitely be a blow." Clarke turned on her side, taking in Lexa's jawline and the fading tear tracks on her cheek. "But I don't believe in curses or bad energy. I believe in people and people acting on their choices. You're not alone. Not anymore."

Lexa turned to face her as well. She brushed a finger down Clarke's temple, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You're very stubborn, Clarke Griffin."

Clarke smiled. "You have no idea."

* * *

They packed up quietly after snacking on some pieces of honey cake, the emotional toll weighing heavily on both of them. Clarke knew Lexa needed the space, but she'd said her piece and it had felt right. The ball was in Lexa's court.

They went down the same path they'd taken, zigzagging with the river. Clarke thought to bring up Lexa's article, but felt a strong drop crash on the top of her head and froze.

"Oh no."

Lexa frowned. "Did you forget something?"

"This is your first autumn here, right?"

"Yes?" Lexa replied hesitantly.

"Hm. Well, there's this thing called the Costial shower. Usually in the winter, but sometimes after a long week of rain it creeps up on you. Doesn't last longer than a few minutes, but yeah."

Lexa looked up. "I don't feel anything."

As soon as she said it, a downpour started. Lexa flinched at the sudden wet cold, the weight of the rain making the tip of her green hat sag.

"Lovely," she deadpanned.

"Run."

"What?"

Clarke bolted like a bat out of hell.

"Clarke!"

Before she even knew it, she started laughing as Lexa called her name behind her. Luckily the trail was more grass than mud, not yet too slippery. Lexa caught up to her.

"I'm pretty sure you can't outrun rain," she yelled before laughing herself.

Clarke hadn't felt like this in a long time; adrenaline pumping through her as she laughed like a kid on the playground. She spotted what she'd been running toward just a few feet away.

"No, but you can reach the canopy in time!"

She slowed to a stop and then pointed up. Lexa realized the rain didn't reach them anymore, though they could still hear its angry fall. They were sheltered by the dense crowns of the trees, high and thick above them.

Clarke bent down with her hands on her knees, her laugh fading. "Ah, fuck. Haven't run like that since college."

Lexa pressed her back against a tree, catching her breath as she arched her brow at Clarke. A few drops still dripped down her face, but their clothes weren’t too wet.

"What?" Clarke asked. "It was finals week and I wanted tacos before closing time."

"I know I left my journalist cap out there, but you could've mentioned this."

"I really didn't think this would happen."

A slow smile spread on Lexa's face. Clarke felt her heart race, this time not from running.

"Lexa."

"Yes?"

"I told you not to look at me like that."

"Only if I wasn't sure."

Clarke held her breath, not knowing what to say for once. Lexa crossed the path and stopped in front of her.

"I've… been running my whole life. Moving from place to place thinking it would be easier each time. Running's never made me happy." Lexa exhaled deeply, nervous but not hesitant. She let out a small laugh. "Until now."

Clarke pulled on the straps of Lexa's backpack and kissed her. She felt Lexa cup the back of her neck and moaned, this kiss nothing like the one at the café and yet just as talented at making her legs weak. This was slow, purposeful, the full meaning of it hitting Clarke like a force. Lexa nipped on her bottom lip.

"I want all of you too," she said in a low voice, as if they weren't already alone in a forest. "I can't promise I won't mess up, but I want to try."

"Okay," Clarke stuttered in response, dangerously affected by Lexa rubbing circles on the back of her neck.

"Is slow okay?" Lexa asked.

"Slow is good. Slow is perfect."

"Thank you, Clarke. For being stubborn."

"My pleasure."

* * *

On the drive back, Clarke found it hard to stop smiling. Their shoes occasionally squeaked, but the discomfort was worth the memory that preceded it. Lexa took off her hat and started braiding her damp hair, humming along with the music Clarke had turned on. Lexa insisted Clarke drive home and didn't need to drop her off, as the view on Costial had made her want to walk in its streets for a bit. Clarke desperately needed a hot shower, so didn't protest too long.

She understood the reasoning better when Lexa followed her to her apartment door.

"I see how it is," Clarke grinned.

"A proper first date always ends on the stoop. That's what my grandmother used to say."

Clarke leaned back against the door. "First date, huh?"

Lexa stepped closer. "Slow," she murmured.

"Absolutely."

Lexa pressed a kiss against her neck. When Clarke thought she'd pull away, Lexa instead pressed closer and started sucking slowly. Clarke's mouth parted open and she closed her eyes, dropping her keys when she felt Lexa's hands on her waist. Her arm went around Lexa's neck, breathing harder when Lexa's tongue licked over her pulse, soft and tender and yet more sensual than Clarke had felt in a long time.

Lexa pulled back with a satisfied smile. "I want to take you on another date."

"You better," Clarke rasped.

"Hmm. I'll text you."

"Are you sure you don't want a towel or something?"

"If I stay one minute longer I don't think I'll leave, Clarke."

Clarke's eyes darkened. "Fuck. Okay. Get out of here."

Lexa had the gall to smirk before she turned around, walking down the hall like she was worth a million bucks. Well, Clarke thought, she could do slow too. She could wind up Lexa Woods very, very slowly.

[part nine]

#clexa #f: a bit of clarity #clexaedit #clarke x lexa #w #i can't believe we're reaching the end #how a silly concept turned into this i do not know

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gaylotusthatexists · 4 years

Text

too late to back away

pairing: dukeceit

summary: Janus needs to come clean to his boyfriend before it’s too late.

trigger warnings: sympathetic janus/remus, alcohol, discussions of sex (only briefly, not nsfw)

word count: 1641

a/n: day seventeen!!! today’s prompt was ‘supportive’. i’m actually pretty proud of this one, this was a lot of fun to write haha. i hope y’all enjoy <3

ao3

Janus picked at his fingernails, eyes locked on the table in front of him as he waited for Remus to return with their drinks. He didn't know why he thought this would be a good idea - Remus probably thought this was just a regular date, they pretty much always came to this café anyway, sat at this same table by the window, and Remus had been so happy earlier, what if Janus screwed everything up by doing this? Things were going so well between them, what if Remus thought he was weird, or if it made him lose interest in Janus, or-

Janus breathed in and out, and tried to ignore how his hands were shaking. He glanced down at his gloves, half tempted to shove them back on to stop himself from picking at his nails and to hide how sweaty they were, but he decided against it, because he wouldn't be able to eat and drink with them on. He needed to at least act somewhat normal, so that Remus didn't suspect that anything was wrong. Janus needed to be calm, he needed to act as though everything was just fine. He didn't want Remus to be afraid that they may break up, or that Janus was hiding something.

Well, Janus was hiding something, he supposed, but not like that. No, this... this shouldn't impact their relationship too much, unless it hurt Remus in which case Janus would be okay with ending things. He just wanted Remus to be happy, and... and if Janus couldn't make him happy, then he deserved someone else, someone who could. And... he supposed it was better to get it out now, before things got too serious and it was too late. He just... He needed to be honest with Remus, he didn't want to mislead Remus into anything.

Remus returned with their drinks and cakes and sat down, immediately launching into a speech, as Remus usually did. Janus had always been a quiet person, happy to just listen to others, whilst Remus had always been a rather loud person, wanting to make his opinions known and release his stories into the world. Janus couldn't quite remember what Remus had been talking about - probably some movie or video game - as he'd been too busy stressing over how to bring up the thing, and thinking of every possible way it could go wrong and how he'd bounce back from that. Surprisingly, Remus didn't seem to notice the anxiety slowly settling on Janus' face.

Well, not at first, anyway. As Janus lifted up his tea to his lips, Remus frowned. "Are you okay, Jan? You seem kinda out of it."

Janus drank his tea a little longer than necessary, coughing when he placed his cup down as he very nearly choked, before he plastered on a strained smile and nodded at Remus. "I'm quite alright, Remus," he said, voice a little higher than usual.

Remus' frown deepened. "Are you sure?" He took a bottle of vodka out of his bag and poured a little into his coffee, before taking a sip. Janus tried his best not to be concerned and a little disgusted at that.

"Yes."

"Absolutely positive?"

"Yes, Remus."

"So I don't need to murder anyone?"

"Yes- what?"

"Nothing."

Janus sighed. He took a bite of out his cake, then slouched back in his chair. "Alright, yeah, in all honesty, I'm not doing great," he said, immediately regretting it, but he'd come too far now to turn back. Couldn't this conversation wait a little while? Until next week maybe? Next month? Next year?

No, no. He needed to do this now.

Remus' expression softened. He leaned across the table. "What's wrong?"

Janus breathed in. He glanced around the café, eyes focusing on the elderly couples sitting around, as well as some younger people who weren't exactly the kind of people that Janus could trust, until his eyes eventually landed back on Remus. "Can- Can we talk about this somewhere else?" he asked, not wanting anyone to listen in to his conversation.

Remus blinked. "Yeah, okay." He took another bite out of his own cake, then downed the rest of his drink. "You're not breaking up with me, are you?"

"No, no, I-" He paused. Well, maybe. It really depended on Remus' reaction. But... "No." He didn't want to break up with Remus. It would be fine.

Janus drank the rest of his tea and finished his cake in silence, and Remus continued to talk about whatever he'd been talking about before. Once his cake was finished, Remus drank one of those milk pots that were meant to be put into coffee or tea like he'd drink a shot, then stood up. "Alright, your place or mine?"

Janus hesitated. "Uh... how about the park?" he offered, not wanting to go home and still dreading to find out what Remus kept in his bedroom.

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Y'know, I think that's the first time you've been willing to spend more time outside with me than necessary," he said. "I thought you hated sunshine?"

Janus rolled his eyes. "Actually, I don't like the cold. Sunshine is quite nice. And it's still barely spring."

"Sure, Jan." The two grabbed their bags and began to walk out the café, towards the park on the other side of town. It was a Saturday afternoon, so Janus assumed the park would probably be fairly busy, but he also knew of a place in the park that was quiet enough and hidden enough that nobody should bother them. It also meant there probably wouldn't be anywhere to easily escape to if this conversation went worse than Janus already feared, but... it would be fine. Things would be fine.

Maybe if he kept lying to himself, it would become true.

They arrived at a small pond at the back of the park, away from all the screaming children and exasperated parents. Janus sat down at the edge of the pond, staring at the ripples forming across the water as Remus began to chuck small stones in, apparently unable to contain himself - Janus couldn't help but smile fondly at that. Eventually, Remus sat down besides him and got that bottle out his bag again, offering some to Janus.

"No thanks," Janus politely declined, not in the mood to drink straight vodka. Remus just shrugged and drank some himself, before digging into his bag again and taking out a bottle of wine. Ah, that was a little more tempting. He probably needed it, as well, considering what he was about to tell Remus. He took the bottle and had a small sip, not wanting to drink too much but happy to have it as an option.

"So," Remus said, stretching out his legs and twisting his body slightly to face Janus, "what's wrong?"

Janus tapped his fingernails on the glass bottle in his hand. "Nothing's... wrong, per se, but... I do need to talk to you about something."

"Spill."

Janus breathed in. "I... I don't want this to change your opinion on me, and I need you to know that I love you more than anything and still think you are the most beautiful person in the world, but I..."

Remus' eyes widened. "Wait, you are breaking up with me, aren't you?" He cursed under his breath. "Did I do something wrong? I know I can be a little much at times, but-"

"No, Remus, I'm- I'm not breaking up with you," Janus promised. Remus looked relieved by that, but still a little on edge, as though he was scared to hear what Janus was going to say next. It wasn't too late to back down now, was it? No, yes, he needed to just... get it out. "I'm ace," he blurted out, immediately wanting to sink into a hole and die because damn he'd really just screwed up his chance of living happily with Remus-

"Is... that it?" Remus tilted his head.

Janus breathed in and out. What the hell was that reaction meant to mean? He'd expected annoyance, maybe anger at the worse, but... not confusion. Maybe confusion over what ace meant, but not... not that. "Yes?" Janus said, quietly. "I... I understand if you can't work with that, like if you're interested in having sex it may not be a brilliant idea to be with a sex-repulsed asexual, so if... if this won't work, I completely understand, I really just want you to be happy, so-"

"Janus," Remus said, cutting Janus off. "I literally could not care less. You're asexual, that's fine, I'm still madly in love with you."

Janus let out a breath. Did... Did that mean Remus was fine with it? Were things actually fine? "So you're..."

"I'm cool with it," Remus said, with a smile. "Y'know I'll always support you."

Janus felt like he was going to cry, but for entirely different reasons than he'd been anticipating. "I-"

"Was that what you were so worried about?" Remus questioned.

Janus nodded, slowly. "Yeah, I... I didn't want to mess up what we have."

Remus snorted. "Janus, you could literally murder someone and I'd still be in love with you. I mean, I'd help you hide the body, and everything."

Janus tried his best not to laugh at that. He ended up just taking another gulp of his wine, then leaning back, looking at Remus with fondness.

"So," Remus said, "anything else I need to know?"

Janus blinked.

"Like, how far am I allowed to go?"

Janus blushed. Oh. "Er, I don't know, kissing is fine I guess-"

Remus nodded. "Gotcha." He took a large gulp of his vodka, almost scaring Janus. Eventually, Janus scooted over towards him and rested his head on his shoulder. Smiling, Remus wrapped an arm around Janus, pulling him closer. Things were okay. He was okay.

#prideprompts2020 #thomas sanders #sanders sides #dukeceit #janus sanders #asexual!janus #remus sanders #tw alcohol mention #my fanfic #my writing

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blu-archer · 4 years

Text

A helping hand

Part 1 / Part 2 / Of the flower shop and bakery AU

Snz based again.

zero warnings

Main Pairings: Jimin/Yoongi

Sickies: Jimin [and a mild Tae]

Hopefully this is somewhat enjoyable...

“Is this how you’ve felt?” Taehyung groaned as he shuffled into the kitchen. Shielding his eyes from the sun

Jimin immediately felt his stomach drop when he saw how flushed his roommate was. Tae hadn’t even bothered to change despite it being early afternoon. Although, Jimin could kind of relate.

He hadn’t had the energy to do that at first either. The only real reason he had showered and changed now was because Jin had called in urgent need of a stand in, so Jimin was sucking it up and he was going to work through his cold. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, and he could be eased back into work early.

“I’m sorry. I was hoping that it would skip you this time.” Jimin sighed, wiping his nose with the tissue he had been using. “Should have known better. You had a shoot right? Are you still going to go?”

Jimin knew the answer already but he just wanted to make sure in case his friend decided to be an idiot.

“I can’t go like this. I already called the lady this morning and asked if we could reschedule to next week. She seemed nice about it though, so I don’t feel too bad.” Tae sniffled and sighed as if it were his final breath. He linked his arms around the smaller man as he leant into Jimin’s side before frowning. “Are you going somewhere? Where are your sweatpants and Yoongi’s T-shirt?”

Jimin scoffed but felt his cheeks warm at Tae’s question. “I do not sleep in Yoongi’s T-shirts.” He ignored Tae’s eye roll, mildly grateful that Tae wasn’t wasting any energy on calling him out properly. “Anyway, I have to go in to work now. Jin called in a panic a few minutes ago because Jungkook got into a bit of an accident and has to be taken to the hospital for stitches. Apparently he has Hobi and one of the morning bakers at the counter but neither of them really know what they’re doing so..”

Tae nodded in understanding as he moved to busy himself with making tea. Jimin, who had been emptying soup into a flask for himself before Tae had come in, grabbed a bowl to fill for his friend as well.

Namjoon should be pulling up any second to drive Jimin to work so he had at to get ready as fast as possible and eating right this second was not an option. Driving him had been the only stipulation Jimin had had because if he walked in this weather he would definitely have to add a week onto being sick, and that wasn’t in his list of things to do. Missing three days was enough to start driving him crazy, he needed his old routine back. Not to mention him avoiding Yoongi was leaving him with a heavy, aching hole in his chest. Tae had been telling him to just let his boyfriend come and see him, but Jimin was not willing to risk scaring the florist off so soon, so eventually his friend had given up and just listened to Jimin complain lamely about how his life sucked.

“I was hoping that I would at least have someone to hang out with.” Tae muttered with a pout, breaking off to cough down towards his shoulder before taking the offered food and leant against the table that had rapidly become a sick station over the course of the past few days. “Jin is going to try get back and help you right?”

“I think so. It really depends how long everything takes with Jungkook, I’m not sure how bad the injury is so I can’t really say. But I’m sure Hoseok will stay with me. Yoongi said that his store has been relatively quiet lately.”

“Okay... Just don’t overwork yourself.” Tae said softly.

They hovered beside each other in a moment of content silence, well as silent as the two sniffling sickly men could be, especially with Taehyung in the mix. Jimin had just been double checking that he had grabbed all that he thought would be necessary when his phone blared to life, a swift glance telling him that it was Namjoon calling to say he was outside. Jimin grabbed his things before he gave Tae a quick goodbye hug, both promising to take it easy before he left the apartment and jogged down the stairs to meet Namjoon.

Jimin had immediately gotten to work on making coffee’s the second he walked through the door, a bit daunted by the line that was growing. Hoseok had been trying his best but from the mess on the barista station and the amount of scattered half full to-go cups, he could only imagine how long the poor man had been suffering through this. It didn’t take much to notice that Hoseok was drowning in his attempts. His usual smile and welcoming laugh were replaced by wide eyes, frantic hands and quiet cussing.

Honestly, what had Jin been thinking? Hoseok worked as a florist and the only other job he had had before that was as an assistant teacher at a preschool, what did he know about making coffee?

Despite his blood pressure rising from the instantly stressful situation, Jimin had greeted and bowed at the waiting customers apologetically, fixing on a face mask and gloves before finishing up the current order in record speed. Thankfully with the extra set of hands that actually knew what he needed to do, the pair quickly got into a steady rhythm of work where Hoseok manned the register and the collection of any baked goods while Jimin handled the drinks. It surprisingly flowed well and Hobi was able to sink back into his carefree character since he was no longer out of his depth.

It took probably just over an hour and a half, but they managed to get everyone inside served, most being to-go’s thankfully, so they didn’t have to worry too much on clearing tables. To say Jimin was exhausted might have been a bit of a stretch, but he was definitely well on his way there already. The past three days that he had spent sleeping or lying around did not help the fact that he needed to be awake and functioning for their Saturday afternoon rush.

“I think I need to sit down.” He moaned and coughed deeply into his arm despite still wearing his mask. His legs pained at having had to stand for so long.

And his voice was becoming hoarse again. It had showed improvement that morning but perhaps the activity wasn’t as great a plan as he had originally thought. He could feel his nose threatening to run as well, and the last thing he needed was to be induced into a sneezing mess just before they would get busy again.

Hoseok winced and pushed the spare chair with his foot closer to where he was standing slouching against the counter. Jimin accepted it gratefully, practically throwing himself into it before coughing again. He rested a hand on his neck as it gave a sharp pain, sniffling miserably.

“You’re really down and out this time.” Hobi said sympathetically, offering a bottled water. “I’m so sorry for having to get you called in. I honestly didn’t think it would be that difficult. I have since figured out that the only coffee I can make is instant and Americano. Everything else is off the table.”

Jimin waved off the water, pulling his roughly discarded backpack out from under the counter and onto his lap. He gave a final glance around to see that no one needed help before he was content with opening it and pulling out his flask as well as a travel pack of tissues. “It’s fine. I was feeling a bit better this morning – might be a bit rough right now but I’ll be fine. I’ve worked through worse.” He pulled down his mask and blew his nose as softly as possible. It didn’t stop him from still being blocked up or sounding like a walking plague. “Ugh. This is gross.”

Hoseok nodded subtly but his brows were pinched with concern. “You haven’t worked here in a worse state. Jin would have a heart attack if that happened. But still, you should have definitely still been resting at home. I don’t think Jin will take very long, it depends on how busy the hospital is I guess.”

“What actually happened?” Jimin asked sincerely. Jungkook wasn’t the type to be careless to the point of hospital trips so the sudden visit and ditching of work was quite worrying.

“It was so stupid.” Hoseok groaned, running his hands through his hair. “While he was serving someone, he noticed that knife – the long one that you guys use to cut all the cake slices to put on display, yeah well it was falling or something and he reached for it without thinking. I came for coffee but what I got was to see Jungkook pass out cold with his entire hand and forearm just covered in blood. He is so lucky that he didn’t fall on the knife. And I’m pretty sure that the customer is scared for life, I know I am.”

Hoping that Hobi was exaggerating some, Jimin took one of the coffee cups from the cupboard and poured in a portion of his soup, then looked to Hobi questionably. “Have you eaten?”

“Uh.. no. Not yet. I was actually supposed to grab something for Yoongi and myself, but then I volunteered as a stand in.”

“Do you want some soup? Jin dropped like a bulk amount off at my place and I’ve just been reheating it in portions.” A small smile tugged at his lips at Hoseok’s own questioning look. “What I’m meaning is I didn’t make it, so it’s not contaminated or anything.” Jimin chuckled lightly, holding out the flask.

Hoseok took it gratefully but after a beat put it on the counter, running his hand through his hair again looking fractionally paler than before. “I don’t think I can eat anything red right now. Maybe I can take some over for Yoongi instead.”

Jimin hummed in agreement, murmuring a brief apology at not thinking about the colour and what context Hobi would associate it with. It was a tomato-based soup – not something Jimin was particularly fond of but he knew that Yoongi tended to enjoy it more than other soups. He vaguely remembered Yoongi mentioning it months back when Jungkook and Hoseok had been arguing about what the best foods were. Jimin wasn’t even sure why he remembered it so clearly.

“Why don’t you take something from the baked goods, and you can go next door again. You probably deserve some rest after all that you had to do earlier. I can handle here by myself or call one of the afternoon bakers to just step in temporarily.” He sipped his soup that was thankfully still warm from when he had transferred it to the flask. It felt soothing on his throat, even if it did make him need to blow his nose again.

“I can’t just leave you here.” Hobi frowned as he moved to grab a muffin from the display.

“You can come back if you want to, I just think you might need a break.” Jimin shrugged, tossing his used tissues in the bin before returning his attention to his food. “Rushes in the bakery are a bit different from rushes in ‘Spring Day’, but I’m more used to it than you are. Even if I’m sick I think I can manage. Should I make you two coffee before you head over?”

Hoseok sighed heavily but gave in, making sure Jimin ate a bit more before the younger slipped up his mask again and made up the coffee’s. Declaring them on the house to Hoseok as he waved at the man to go back next door.

He ignored the anxious glance Hoseok shot him from across the store as he was leaving when a couple entered the bakery, greeting the customers politely and responding to their small talk as playfully as he usually would. This was his job. It was something he was good at and he truly believed that he could hold out for an hour or two more without too much stress.

It was a bit difficult to slip into his normal role. He definitely wasn’t as talkative and he had to take more breaks trying to compose himself after particularly severe coughing fits, but most of the customers that came in were regulars and were both polite and sympathetic to the situation. Some of them had even heard about what had happened with Jungkook that morning, while others he had to try defend Jin’s honour in that he wasn’t forcing Jimin to work while so sick and that there was a genuine reason to him being there for couple hours.

Hoseok didn’t come back, but it was fine with Jimin. The rush he had been expecting had dwindled due to the weather, and those that did come more often than not tried to choose the easiest drinks to make in order to make his load lighter. They didn’t need too, but he was thankful that were so thoughtful anyway.

It was howling outside and even with all the doors shut tightly Jimin was still shivering from the cold seeping through his sweater. It had gotten much darker as well, and the rain that had disappeared for the last few days had returned in full force. His head ached and he had been stifling random sneezes that had seemingly been brought by the weather change for the last hour, quite frankly he was beyond annoyed at his crumbling state. He had even accidently dropped a complete latte on himself and had to deal with his jeans being covered in the cooling liquid for the rest of his time working. He was quickly giving up on his solo act and as soon as he had the slightest of breaks he was calling Hobi back.

Jimin had just set a small red cappuccino down on the counter-top when the familiar tickle in his sinuses became impossibly unbearable. He could vaguely hear Ms. Blake – the elderly foreign lady that had been coming to the bakery since its opening – questioning him on something, but he could only bring himself to mutter a quick apology before turning and half stifling his sneeze into the crook of his arm. The hitching and result being far more vocal than he usually was. Perhaps living with Tae really was affecting him.

He had hoped he would stop after one but that would be too much to ask for. He sneezed again, and again, until he couldn’t try to stifle it anymore. He was forced to lay a steadying hand on the counter as he hid into his arm. His mask was becoming wet and he cringed at how he must look right now. In front of a paying customer. And the town gossiper none the less.

Jin would be horrified.

He tried to apologise again in between shaky gasps but all that he had resulted in doing was giving a weird high-pitched whine as someone joined him behind the counter and pushed him down into a chair before addressing Ms. Blake with low and pleasant words that just fell short of audible over the buzzing in his head. Jimin would have thought that it was San or Yunho from the kitchen if it wasn’t for Ms. Blake’s need for conversation.

“Mr. Min? It’s so nice to see you neighbours helping each other out. Poor Jimin here looks just about to drop.”

Poor Jimin was about to now.

He was even more horrified that Yoongi was there and that he was having his worst moment in the day right in front of him. His timing was incredibly terrible.

“He really shouldn’t be here.” Yoongi said deeply. “But he has never been one to turn someone down when they need help. Hobi was over here helping earlier, so I thought it was my turn to have a round. Is there anything else you need?”

Hih’ITCHeww! Hih’hihITSHiew! Hi’INGXTuhhh!

Yoongi slyly slipped him what was left of his fourth pack of tissues. Jimin crumpled from his seat to practically hide under the counter, not daring to look at the elder man as he ripped his ruined mask off to try and clean himself as quickly as possible. He could hear Ms. Blake tell him that stifling was bad for him and that he shouldn’t be embarrassed, but he couldn’t bring himself to care much on her words at this point.

Yoongi was here.

Here.

And Jimin was a puddle of sickness that probably looked like something that gets run over and tossed in the trash.

God, this was monumentally embarrassing.

Yoongi kept her entertained for a few more minutes before helping her pay and waving her farewell, not even bothering to wait until she had left before he was moving to kneel in front of his boyfriend. Jimin finally took that moment to blow his nose properly, internally dying at how wet and gross it sounded.

There goes ever being attractive in Yoongi’s eyes again. Jimin was actually disgusting himself.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Jimin felt a large familiar hand rest on his arm but he didn’t dare look or even open his eyes.

“Hobi said you were coughing quite badly, seems like everything is in full swing… you should have called someone to help.”

Jimin sniffled and curled tighter into himself. He knew that there was a chance of Yoongi coming over, but he had hoped that his boyfriend would be busy with orders or something.

“Min… Please look at me at least. Did I do something wrong?”

Shit. He didn’t want to make a small thing into something more, and truly, it didn’t really have anything to do with Yoongi. It was a Jimin problem and he was going to have to deal with it sooner or later.

“No, I-“ Jimin sniffled again, running his wrist under his nose when he realised that he had no more tissues. “I’m sorry, this is just embarrassing.”

Yoongi lifted Jimin’s chin so that he could see his face clearly. Frowning at the bright red that tainted Jimin’s cheeks and nose. “Don’t be embarrassed. I’ve seen you sick before, and even if I hadn’t, there is nothing wrong with it. You know… besides not being well, obviously.” Yoongi reached up above the counter to collect something while he rested a hand on Jimin’s knee to steady himself. “Here. I thought I’d drop in to just visit. I’m glad I was here at the right time to help.”

Jimin couldn’t stop the smile from forming when he saw the sunflower he had failed to notice earlier.

“I was going to bring something that represented good health, but I thought perhaps bringing something that I knew you liked might be the better option.” Yoongi glanced away to avoid eye contact as Jimin took the flower, coughing suddenly into his fist. “Since I couldn’t get one to you on Wednesday..”

Jimin ended up resting the flower in his lap while he pressed his wrist hard to his nose. Squinting through blurry eyes at the bright yellow petals contrasting against his black jeans. As much as he wanted to greet Yoongi like how he usually would or at the very least thank him for the flower and helping him, Jimin couldn’t seem to get rid of that stuffy buzz that had made a home in his sinuses. It seemed to ebb and flow as it pleased and honestly left him an unwilling victim to the mess it made of him.

“Do you need more tissues?” Yoongi asked gently, already reaching for Jimin’s bag with flushed cheeks. “You should go sit in the back for a bit. Jin is on his way back so you won’t need to be here much longer.”

“I-“

“Please go.” Yoongi said softly, running a hand through Jimin’s hair and handing him the last packet of tissues that Jimin had thought to bring. “Take a break. I’m annoyed that you had to come in at all. You’re definitely not well enough to be here.”

Jimin couldn’t bring himself to deny the claim, it was pretty spot on actually. His body dragged and his head and chest ached after what he’d forced himself to work through. He didn’t even raise a complaint when Yoongi helped him stand and led him to the small staff area to lay him down on the small couch there.

“I’ll be out front.” Yoongi told him softly as the elder draped his thick jacket over the sick mans’ chest and arms. “I know how to make coffee better than Hobi so don’t stress over it too much. If I need your help I’ll make sure to come get you.”

Jimin’s reply was cut off by a harsh grating cough that made him hold at his throat in pain. Yoongi stroked a hand down Jimin’s warm cheek, feeling the younger shiver lightly at the touch. He laid a final kiss to Jimin’s nose softly before hesitantly returning to the front of the bakery.

Yoongi’s head had spaced so far after what he had just walked in on that he could barely hear the light bustle of the two bakers in the kitchen as they shifted the next load of goods into their respective places in the back. In fact, he pretty much felt like he was living with his heartbeat pulsing loud enough to be heard as music for the bakery.

Was he really that obvious?

With a sigh Yoongi sent Hoseok a text to be responsible for closing the store, then another much more annoyed text to Seokjin before he moved to clear the few tables that had had people at them – desperately trying to ignore the familiar heat that had crept under his skin the moment he had entered the store and laid eyes on the boy with messy pastel pink hair that he had fallen for.

#bts sickfic #Jimin is a hard worker #yoonmin #snz #sneeze #mild sick Taehyung #fanfiction #hobi is a mess #Jungkook is clumsy #Jimin likes sunflowers #Yoongi is sweet #vague namjin if you squint

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dreamingabouttaron · 4 years

Text

The Assistant Part 14

You spent the next morning contacting United Agents to inform them of everything that had happened with Taron the day before. You had been relaying messages to and from the insurance team, the production team and United. Back and forth, back and forth. Sure, yesterday had been an accident; but it had still left their leading man with some nasty injuries meaning it was going to be investigated. You had made it your mission to insist that Taron had a stunt double for the scenes that were on horse back, which thankfully everyone agreed with without hesitation. You weren’t going to let him climb back on a horse, no amount of money was worth his life. As you were completing all your admin for the day, an idea popped into your head. You shut down your laptop, collected your things and left your room.

About an hour later, you knocked on Taron and Emily’s door with your hands full of bags. A moment later Emily opened the door and kindly invited you inside. You placed the bags down on the floor and smiled at Taron who was sat up in bed with his glasses on reading. When he spotted you he placed the book down and took his glasses off his face and smiled back.

“How are you doing today?” You walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge next to him.

“I’m okay. Feeling better than I did yesterday. I’m still in a bit of pain but as a whole I’m doing well. I should be up and running again tomorrow.” It’s true, he did look better than yesterday. Seeing him the way he was yesterday was terrifying. Last night when you had tried to fall sleep the images of Taron flying off the horse kept replaying in your head. It was truly disturbing. It made you realise how much you did care about Taron. Which then made you feel riddled with guilt and anxiety. Being this close to him now made those feelings rise again.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you rushing this! Please take your time, they can start filming around you if they need too. I won’t let you do anything you’re not ready to do.”

“I’m sure.” Taron took your hand with a serious expression on his face, “I promise you, I won’t rush into anything.”

“If you say so.” You smiled. “and I promise to never put you on the back of a horse again. I’ve spoken to the studio and we have arranged for a stunt double to come in and do all horse riding shots for you. We can’t risk putting you in that situation again.”

You could see the relief wash off Taron’s face. “Thank you Megan! I don’t think I could do that again.” It felt like he was staring into your soul. You felt a sudden impulse to pull back and away.

“I’ve got a surprise!” You broke contact with Taron and walked over to the bags you had brought with you. You picked them up and placed them on the bed and invited Emily over to join you. From one of the bags; you pulled out some packets of pre-sliced fruit, multiple packets of crisps, cakes and a bottle of wine.

You held up the bottle and said “I thought if you can’t go to the picnic, the picnic can come to you.”

“Oh wow Megan! I think this is a lovely idea!” Emily gushed and emptied the second bag of food onto the bed.

You opened the bottle of wine and started to pour it into glasses. As you looked up you caught Taron’s eye, blushed and smiled. You handed out the cups and joined the pair who were sat away from each other on the bed. You held up your cup, “Here’s to the start of a wonderful new adventure.” You all raised your cups and took a sip of your wine.

“Thank you for doing this. It’s incredibly kind of you.” Taron said in-between mouthfuls of food.

“Anything for you, Boss.” You teased and took another sip of your wine.

The rest of the ‘picnic’ went down a treat. You all sat around on the bed and talked about absolute nonsense. It felt nice to unwind with friends after the stress from the previous day.

“So, Megan.” Emily said and then finished her mouthful of food. “I’ve decided to head back home Sunday evening. This weekend will be my last here.” You looked up at Emily with furrowed brows.

“Really? Why?” You had thought that she was supposed to stay for the majority of filming. It certainly looked like she had packed that way.

She shrugged and looked down, you could tell something wasn’t right. “We just think it’s for the best.” You watched her look at Taron from across the bed. “Taron’s got a lot going on here and I don’t want to be the one getting in the way.”

You caught eye contact with Taron, he looked at you expressionless. Something’s happened. You thought. You looked back at Emily, then smiled and nodded at her.

“That’s a shame. I’m going to miss having another female around.” You tried to lighten the mood.

Emily looked at you with a sad smile, “Yes. It’s been nice.”

Time seemed to rush past and before you knew it, it was dark outside. You could see Taron was still in some pain so you all said you goodbyes and you went back to your room for the night.

When you went back to your room you checked your phone to see you had a message from James asking for an update. You sat on your bed and typed out a long message informing him of everything that had happened. From the confession from Taron, The Kiss, Ben and the accident. It had been a busy trip and it had only just started.

***

The next day you went downstairs to the breakfast buffet to see Emily and Taron sat in the corner eating. As you entered the restaurant, Emily spotted you and gave you a wave. You quickly approached them.

“Good Morning! Look who’s up! You must be feeling better!” You stood behind Taron and placed your hands on his shoulders.

“I do! I’m ready to get back to it now.” He said as he looked up at you, with a mouth full of food causing you to roll your eyes at him. That boy and food.

“Megan, please come and join us! We have room.” Emily offered.

You thought about the kind offer and nodded. “Sure. Let me grab some food and I’ll be back. Do you want anything?” You offered politely. “Tea for me please.” Emily smiled. You looked at Taron and raised your eyebrows, “and a coffee for me please.” You nodded and went off to collect your items.

You came back over to the table with a tray of drinks and a plate of food for yourself. You placed the drinks down next to each of them and then finally sat down to eat.

“What are your plans for this weekend Megan?” Emily asked as she sipped on her tea.

You shrugged in response, “I haven’t really thought about it. Have you guys got anything planned before you head back home?”

“We were thinking about exploring the city a little Saturday, weren’t we Taron?”

Taron nodded as he finished eating his food. He didn’t look too interested at all. He was far too interested in the last bit of food on his plate.

“Did you want to go shopping with me Sunday afternoon, Megan?” Emily asked. You looked up from your plate and looked between Taron and Emily. Even Taron had looked up and stopped. “You wouldn’t mind T if Megs and I went shopping would you? You’d cope without us for an afternoon wouldn’t you?” Emily nudged Taron.

His eyes flickered into your direction and they narrowed whilst looking at you. “Sure. I don’t mind. That’s if Megan wants too though.”

“I would love too, it would be nice to get some time away from you.” You joked and winked at Taron, who rolled his eyes in response and continued to pick at what was left on his plate.

“Perfect! It’s a plan! It’ll be nice to get some girlie time in before I leave. At least I know whilst I’m gone Taron is left in good hands.” It felt like there was a slight undertone in what she was saying. Something bitter.

Just as you were about to respond, you saw a text come through on your phone. You picked it up and examined the message.

Good morning. I hope things are okay with Taron. If you’re not busy, I’d love to take you out for dinner Saturday night. I know a sweet little place just down the road. I think it’ll be perfect. Ben :)

You smiled to yourself which didn’t go unnoticed.

“Ooo, look at you! What’s made you blush? Do share!” Emily giggled from across the table.

You looked up from your phone and looked at Emily. You felt Taron’s eyes burn into the side of your head. “I think I might have a date tomorrow night.” You blushed and looked down avoiding eye contact with Taron. You noticed Taron tense at your words from across the table. He placed his knife and fork down slightly too loudly causing you and Emily to jump and look at him.

“Who?” He asked, he couldn’t disguise the annoyance in his voice. You looked him in the eye and cautiously said, ‘Ben. From the other night.” Your words struck him. If looks could kill. You thought instantly regretting being so open and honest. He has no right to get mad. You assured yourself.

“Who’s Ben?” Emily asked intrigued.

“He’s the screenwriter.” Taron snapped. His demeanour had completely changed. “I’m in a bit of pain, I’m going to head back up to the room.” Taron snatched the keycard that was sat on the table. Scrapped his chair back and stood up and left. You and Emily watched him leave. You could see the confusion on her face. You felt like you had to cover for him.

“Has he been taking his pain meds? Was he in pain this morning?” You sipped at your tea and continued to pick at your food.

“He didn’t mention it. He hasn’t been right for a while. If I’m honest, things really haven’t been the greatest between us for a while. He doesn’t tell me anything. It’s like he doesn’t want me around anymore. He closed himself off from me a long time ago. We’ve been trying to patch things back up for a few months now which is why I came but I think it’s too late. Anyway, forget about that! Come on, reply to that message and tell me all about Ben! I want to know everything!” Emily gushed.

Her words lingered in your mind whilst typed out a reply agreeing to meet Ben in the lobby the following evening at 7:30. You told Emily all about Ben and about how he was going to take you out to eat. After you finished your food, you and Emily went back to your room. She has insisted on picking an outfit out for your date.

“Right, let’s see what you’ve got! I’m going to make sure you look amazing for this date.” She exclaimed as she opened your wardrobe. You sat on the bed and watched her go through your clothes. She pulled several items out and hung them over her arm, slowly creating a large pile.

“Go and try these on for me please!” She thrust a pile of clothes into you. “I want a fashion show.”

“Fine.” You laughed at her enthusiasm and got up with the heap of clothes and walked into the bathroom to change. You tried on outfit after outfit. Emily was incredibly kind to do this with you but it didn’t make you feel any less guilty. You thought about what she has said over breakfast, Things haven’t been the greatest between us for a while. You wished you could go back in time and replay everything that had happened between you and Taron, but you knew it wasn’t possible. You were just as guilty as him. But you now had Ben. You wanted to see where things with him were going instead of fussing over someone that couldn’t decide between two wonderful women. You looked at yourself in the mirror before walking out of the bathroom in the last option you had.

“Okay, this is the last one from the pile.” You showed her the skin tight red dress which she had picked out.

“No…It’s just not right.” She got up from the bed and went back to the wardrobe. “There must be something else in here.” She rummaged through your clothes before stopping at a dress that had been hidden behind other larger items.

“Yes! This is it! You have to wear this!” You looked down at the blush silk midi slip dress that you had worn when you went out for dinner with Taron back in London. Your eyes darted from the dress back to Emily.

“Really? I’m not so sure. I think this one is fine…”

“Go and try it on!” Emily forced the dress into your hands. You resistantly nodded and walked back into the bathroom to change.

You pulled the red dress off over your head and took the silk dress off its hanger. You slipped it over your head and looked at yourself in the mirror. It brought back memories. Both happy and sad memories. You ran your hands over the dress the same way you had before you went to meet Taron. You were interrupted by Emily knocking on the door.

“Are you ready?”

You took one last glance at yourself in the mirror and opened the bathroom door.

“Oh my god! Yes!” Emily pulled you out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. “Fuck, you look so hot!” Emily exclaims, “Megan you look insane! You have to wear this.”

“I’m not sure, I’ll probably get too cold….”

“Megan it’s perfect. Look how insane you look.” She pulled you over to the mirror. You looked sadly at your reflection. “This is the one, I promise.” She smiled and picked up her belongings. She walked over to you and gave you a hug.

“Right I need to get packing! I want to hear all the gory details when I see you on Sunday! At least one of us is getting some.” She winked at you, waved goodbye and left. You heard the door click behind her. You sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at the dress in despair. Why did she have to pick this one? If only she knew when you had last worn it.

Tag List:

@primaba11erina @hitmeonmytspot @autumnslovex @fuseburner @huathmoon94

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

Hello one and all! I hope everyone is well! I wanted to say a quick thank you for all your support. I am now back at work full time so I am trying my hardest to keep up with the updates. I have written the next 4 parts but they all need a good old edit!

#taron egerton #taron x reader #taron david egerton #taron egerton x reader #taron x you #taron egerton x you #taron fanfiction #Taron Fanfic #taron egerton fanfic #The Assistant #Robin Hood #Kingsman #rocketman #taron egerton imagine #taron egerton fanfiction #taron egerton drabble

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walpurga-nacht-academy · 4 years

Note

🍊For the dorm leaders?

Thank you for the ask! ❤️ ❤️

🍊 What is your OC’s favourite meal? Snack? Dessert? Drink? Any reasons behind this besides liking how it tastes?

Marcia: Our favorite food, huh?

Rosalia: Hehe! Hehehehe!

Blanche:... What’s gotten into you now?

Rosalia: What a great opportunity to once and forever dispel any rumors surrounding my taste!

Blanche: Nobody was wondering about that-

Rosalia: You know! They always said that just because Cherry was always seen eating candy on the show, I must certainly like it as well. After all nobody could fake such a happy and satisfied expression when forced to eat something they dislike.

Marcia: Ah, now that you mention it, I remember Cherry always asking Uncle Apricot for candy when he visited.

Blanche: As I said before, nobody-

Rosalia: Exactly! And because filming would sometimes take a long time, I had to keep eating them even twelve times a day!

Marcia: Woah! That’s a lot of sugar. My old man would definitely scold me if I went overboard like that.

Rosalia: It was part of the role so I had to deal with it. But the worst part was when fans would send me bags of candy along with fanmail and I had to finish them before the next batch arrived. Even though I kept asking them many times not to send it anymore...

Blanche:... Rosalia.

Rosalia: Hm?

Blanche: This is something I noticed before, but... you’re the kind that’s stupidly honest, aren’t you?

Rosalia: HUH?! What’s that supposed to mean?! Are you picking a fight with me?!

Marcia: Now, now, don’t get all worked up! Let’s all get along!

Rosalia: Why are you including me in this, I didn’t-

June: Ugh!

Rosalia, Blanche and Marcia: ... S-Sorry, senpai.

June: ...

Blanche and Rosalia: ...

Marcia: A-Anyway... It’s kinda surprising you dislike candy, Rosa. Your acting skills are really something else if you managed to fake enjoying eating something you hate for so long! So what’s your actual favorite food?

Rosalia: Hehe! Well, this might surprise you but my tastes are more grown-up than people give me credit! My absolute favorite food is the legendary-taboo-for-all-children-super-adult rum cake! Cool, right?!

Blanche: ...

June: ...

Marcia: ... Y-Yeah, I guess...

Rosalia: ... Then why aren’t your expressions more appreciative of me?!

June: Ain’t anythin’ grown-up about that.

Rosalia: Huh?!

Blanche: Himalia-senpai is right. Rum cake, despite the name, isn’t inherently alcoholic since most it is cooked off.

Rosalia: B-But you can get drunk off it...

Blanche: Only if you consume it in large quantities. Otherwise it’s just a more flavourful dessert.

Rosalia:...

Marcia: Don’t mind. Don’t mind.

Rosalia: Don’t pat my back now! It just comes across as condescending.

Blanche: Seriously, that’s why kids like you...

Rosalia: HUH?! Then what about you? Let’s see what so grown-up about your tastes! So, tell us, what’s your favorite food?!

Blanche: Bitter chocolate.

Rosalia:...

Ugh! Why do I feel like I lost?!

Blanche: It wasn’t even a contest in the first place.

Marcia: Hahaha, it totally suits you though Blanche!

Blanche: Does it? Truth to be told, it’s the only strong flavour that I like, but I wasn’t allowed to have much of it growing up.

Marcia: Mm. I get it. Then I’ll be sure to gift you some during your birthday!

Blanche: ... I wouldn’t want to impose, but I appreciate the thought.

Rosalia: Hmp! Moving on~ How about you Marcia? I totally expect you to pick something nutritional and healthy.

Marcia: Haha, you’re not wrong! I’m crazy about sweet potatoes. Boiled, mashed, cooked in the oven - as long as it’s not fried, I’m good with any kind!

Rosalia: I knew it~

Marcia: Mm! But to tell you the truth, it has little to do with the nutritional value. I really like them because they bring back memories of me and the old man roasting some during autumn. It was a lot of fun even though it was mostly him doing the work. I hope that when he gets better we’ll be able to do it again together, all four of us.

Rosalia: That’s way too sad!

Marcia: Eh?

Rosalia: Aaah! Here I was complaining about people sending me candy when I didn’t even think about the feelings behind it! That was super childish!

Blanche: Indeed.

Rosalia: Ahh! Can’t you keep quiet?!

June: ... That could go for ya’ll. Makin’ a ruckus ev’ry single time... CAN’T YA THINK OF OTHERS ONCE IN A WHILE, HUH?! DAMN IT!

Rosalia, Blanche and Marcia: Crap! We got Himalia-senpai angry!

June: First of all, food is food! Dontcha complain when yer table is full of all sorts of stuff! Ain’t matter if ya’ll like it or not! People worked hard to put it on yer table! So just shut up and eat it!

Rosalia, Blanche and Marcia: U-Understood, ma’am.

June: Huh?! What was that?! Say it louder!

Rosalia, Blanche and Marcia: Understood, ma’am!

June: That’s right! Now scram and make sure to do ya’ll work! Or ya’ll be in trouble when I come checkin’ in. GOT IT?

Rosalia, Blanche and Marcia: YES, MA’AM!

How did it turn out like this?!

Extra: June’s favorite food is apple pie because it’s an easy dessert to make and quite filling. Though whenever she makes it at home she often has to fend off her nieces and nephews if she wants to have a slice for herself.

Diana: Meat.

Agatha: Hehe... land animals... really are simple...

Vita: Now, Agatha. I would say that Diana’s straightforwardness is to be expected by now.

Cassandra: Yes. It is just like Miss Arrow to be so honest.

Diana: ... It’s my true answer. In the savana besides swiftness, you also need strength. Meat helps build up muscle mass and is full of vitamins such as B12, B3, B6. It also contains carnosine which has anti-glycosylation-

Agatha: Ugh... so much... noise...

Diana: ...

Cassandra: A-Amazing! I have never heard Miss Arrow speak at such length. She truly does get passionate about her favorite topics.

Diana:...

Vita: Hm? Have you perhaps been overtaken by shyness, lioness? How charming.

Diana: ...

Cassandra.

Cassandra: Eh?

Diana: ...

I heard fairies like sugar.

Cassandra: E-Eh? Well, that’s more of a stereotype I would say than actual fact, but... um, I’m only half so maybe it’s true after all...

Diana: ...

Cassandra: Sorry... I’m not really sure of fairies’ true nature... um...

Vita: ‘Tis alright. The lioness was merely curious.

Diana: Mm.

Cassandra: Haha, I see. Sorry for making assumptions.

Um, to tell the truth, I’m actually quite fond of Mazarin myself.

Vita: Hm? Ah, I remember. It is a sort of almond tart, is it not?

Cassandra: Yes! It is quite tasty and easy to bake too!

My grandmother taught me how to make it when I was a child. It’s our special treat for when we wanted to make each other smile. Even now when I smell the aroma I am reminded of those afternoons spent in the kitchen together.

Agatha: ... annoying...

Cassandra: Sorry, that must have been really boring to hear. Um, what about you, Miss Voisin?

Agatha: ...

Cassandra: ...

Agatha: .................................................

Cassandra: ... Um....

Agatha: ............................................

Big Sis.

Vita: My, it seems my dear little Agatha doesn’t want to give a response. She gets uncharacteristically shy when other’s gaze is turned upon her. Oh well, then I shall take over.

I myself am quite partial to pomegranates. They have quite a peculiar taste that I haven’t really noticed in any other food. ‘Tis truly a marvelous experience.

Diana: They’re too sour.

Cassandra: I’m not especially fond of them myself, um...

Vita: A shame, alas.

My mother and sisters are of the same mind. They seem to find it abhorrent. ‘Tis only Grandfather who shares my opinion. Though, I do suspect ‘tis because it ease the pain in his joints. So as you can see, ‘tis a most versatile fruit.

Agatha: Pomegranates... are tasty...

Vita: Oh? How refreshing. I commend your good taste.

Agatha: ... Hehe.

Vita: My, how cute! It really suits you when you smile like that, Agatha, dear!

Diana and Cassandra: ...

Diana: Even though she says that-

Cassandra: -Isn’t it usual for Miss Voisin to smile, anyway?

Extra: Agatha’s favorite food is shrimp, but because it’s the usual prey for her fish species she doesn’t like to mention it. She can eat them raw and without cracking them open given her metabolism, but so far only Vita has seen her eating habits.

For Drinks: Rosa, Diana, Agatha and Marcia stick to water (sometimes with a wedge of lemon), June likes lemonade, Blanche and Cassandra like tea, while Vita prefers coffee and energy drinks.

Diana is the only one who snacks a lot, because she burns off the calories very easily and thus is always hungry. The others prefer either healthy options (Blanche, Rosa, Marcia) or sweet stuff (Cassandra) or something spicy or unusual (June, Agatha, Vita).

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fanschool #rosalia morgainne #blanche dion #marcia pyroeis #june himalia #diana arrow #cassandra delphinne #agatha voisin #vita dies #rosenhex #grimmaire #kriegskald #galdtrea #monarchia #oraluna #eliksia #noctasis #ask

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laceymorganwrites · 4 years

Text

birthday fic <33

A/N: this is a birthday fic for lovely @miyaniacs!! I hope you have a wonderful day today and are celebrated just like you deserve!

Word count: 1,970

Pairings: Gojo x Bea, Getou x me (I couldn´t help myself ehehhe), no tags since it´s just for you anyway <33

Another A/N: okay ever since we had that talk about Gojo being an embarrassing boyfriend and double dates...I just HAD to (tho I wish I could´ve executed those ideas better also the ending sucked cause I literally had no idea how to end it, BUT I still hope you can somewhat enjoy it <3333)

YOU´RE AMAZING; THANKS FOR BEING MY FRIEND; I CAN´T WAIT TO MEET YOU!!!

It was still early, the sun just rose, painting the sky a beautiful rose gold.

Getou was already up, he enjoyed the silence of the early morning.

Everything seemed to be at peace in those moments, no matter how little they lasted.

It didn´t matter to him anymore, he was at ease with Ace next to him.

His boyfriend´s presence calmed him down immediately and somehow the small boy always knew how to put a smile on his face.

They were like two popcorn kernels in a pot, nobody ever had any expectations for them but still they managed to exceed them, working harder than most people would recognize.

Working on yourself was always harder than it should be, but it was work that needed to be done.

Gojo was really proud of him for doing so, being afraid of what would happen to his friend if he didn´t.

Ace arrived at just the right time to give him the light he wanted to shut out of his life so bad.

Getou was glad he didn´t.

He found his missing puzzle piece and he´d never let it go, he had sworn to protect him at all costs.

The man stretched a bit before slowly getting up, careful not to wake the sleeping figure next to him.

It was routine at this point. But he liked it. Both men needed structure and routines in their life to be able to function. Even though they got better at being spontaneous, it was still hard to do overall.

Getou and Ace had the same sleeping pattern, preferring to go to sleep early and having the most energy in the early afternoon.

They also both had trouble sleeping, always waking up after a few hours and being unable to go back to sleep. It was easier now though, it was nice to know that there were always arms ready to hold. It was nice having someone there when you went to sleep and woke back up, it was the warm touch that was missing in both lives.

Getou prepared some coffee for himself and already cooked some breakfast. Meanwhile he was updating their grocery list and checking if anything else needed to be done.

Today was a big day, it was Bea´s birthday and Ace was beyond excited. It had been a while since they had last seen her and Gojo.

To be fair, Getou always tried to avoid double dates since Gojo could be quite exhausting.

After a while Ace slowly woke up, groggily sitting up in bed and yawning and stretching thoroughly.

“Good morning, love” he smiled from the kitchen counter as Ace slowly dragged himself to sit next to him, laying his head on his shoulder. “Morning, baby” he mumbled tiredly and slowly started eating his breakfast and drinking his tea.

Getou had helped him wrap his presents for Bea just yesterday since Ace´s wrapping skills were quite underwhelming to say the least.

The two talked for a bit and once they finished eating, they started cleaning the apartment, getting groceries and everything else they needed.

After a while they were done and just enjoyed the last few quiet minutes before the other couple would arrive.

The morning routine in the Gojo residence looked quite differently.

First of all, Gojo didn´t have a residence, he just liked calling his apartment that since there would be no way in hell a sorcerer of his caliber would live in an apartment building with others, normal citizens nonetheless.

However sorcerers didn´t get paid that well, no matter whether or not they had the six eyes. Gojo always had the little conspiracy that the elders cut his paycheck extra short.

And somehow he got off on it, he´d prove them all wrong anyway. He didn´t need them, he didn´t need anyone.

Only that the last one was a blatant lie.

He didn´t know he needed anyone until Bea came into his life.

She was quite something, so beautiful, made him laugh like no one else ever did. With her he didn´t have to hide anything, he could be himself.

And more than that: he could finally find out who that even was, he had time to think about those things now and not push everything aside like he did usually.

No, he wasn´t perfect like everyone thought, like he told everyone so that they´d leave him alone.

He was just a man.

A damn lucky one at that, being able to have her by his side.

Bea was new to the sorcerer world, but she had great potential, he took it upon himself to train her, though it really was just an excuse to get to know her.

She had her own issues, he could tell. But he wasn´t an asshole to pry on them.

Instead he asked her out immediately, because yes, he was one to rush things, following his heart.

To this day he asked himself why she said yes.

Somehow they got along incredibly well, so well in fact that he got to take her home.

Gojo never believed in falling in love but she just made it way too easy.

But it scared him, he never had been in love, not this way at least, never truly.

It was always a game to him, someone he´d hook up with and then never see again.

It was fun while it lasted and then left a burning, aching hole inside his heart that was just too sad to look at so he drowned himself in alcohol and did it all over again.

Bea was the first one he went on multiple dates with, the first one he tried to be a decent human being with.

Since both didn´t want a relationship in the beginning, both being too scared of rejection and hurting, they didn´t put a label on it.

They just fucked, went out, sometimes she stayed over at his place, that was nice. And sometimes she´d even laugh at his dumb jokes, that was even nicer.

Nice wasn´t the word to describe her though.

It was so much more than that, an incredible kindness and warmth that he only felt with her.

She made him feel special in a different way than all the others did and for the first time in his life he believed it.

Gojo wanted to make her feel the same way too and so he tried really hard, he tried to come up with exciting date ideas, take her to places she´s never seen before and show off like he always did.

But he always had this hopeful look in his eyes that she really saw what cool thing he did (which in reality was just dumb, but in his world it was cool).

And she gave him compliments.

Damn, did he love them.

He knew he was somewhat attractive but despite showing off he never really paid much mind to it.

But when the two of them were alone in bed, her tracing her fingers all over his body, those irresistible eyes looking down on him, that damn smile as she told him: “You´re so fucking beautiful, do you even know that?”.

“Right back at you” he´d grin, averting all of his attention to her so she wouldn´t comment on the fact that he was blushing.

They had quite the different relationship (once they finally admitted their feelings and called it that, so far everything went more than just perfect) than Getou and Ace, theirs was more fun, Gojo said.

Bea and Gojo always had the most fun, they always teased each other and could laugh a lot, as well as tell each other their darkest secrets without being judged.

“This isn´t a competition, you know?” Getou commented on that, but Gojo just grinned, to him it always was. And he always won.

He thought that Getou should be more grateful, after all he hooked him up with his boyfriend.

Gojo didn´t like Ace. He was so quiet. He didn´t like that about people.

However when Bea was around it was like he bloomed, suddenly he wouldn´t stop talking.

And that was annoying too.

Which is why Gojo always wanted to avoid meeting him.

But for her birthday he´d try to get along with him. For her.

The two of them had been on a mission yesterday and slept in now since they got home pretty late.

They somehow always woke up at the same time though which was more than just convenient. Gojo was mesmerized at how cute and pretty she looked even in the morning, he himself of course always looked dashing.

“Good morning, birthday bunny” he grinned, kissing Bea lazily but still taking her breath away.

“Why bunny?” she laughed, Gojo would always give her some cute nicknames that were quite random at times, but she never got used to it.

It was weird, having this affection without any intentions, just because he loved her.

“It fit” he grinned, he would embarrass himself in front of her a thousand times if it meant seeing her smile for only one instance.

She shook her head giggling and buried her head in his chest, his warmth was so comforting to her, she never wanted to get up.

“By the way… wanna have your first present?” he smirked, hands wandering down to her hips as he leaned closer to her to give her some neck kisses.

“Let´s wake up the neighbors, shall we?” he husked.

Meanwhile Ace was checking if the cake was already cold enough to decorate, which to his luck it was.

Ever since meeting Getou he baked more, they also baked together a lot.

Decorating wasn´t his forte, but Getou helped with that, he had steady hands and a good eye for those things.

“You know, wrapping a plushie isn´t as easy as I thought it would be” he laughed slightly. Ace loved his laugh, he was one of the few people who ever heard the real one.

“I´m sure you did great” he grinned and stood on his tiptoes to give him a quick peck.

Indeed the presents looked amazing, Getou even put on a little bow on the wrapping paper. Ace got Bea some manga volumes, a plushie and some other merch he hoped she´d like.

Now it was time to wait.

An hour later the other couple finally arrived.

“Sorry we´re late, we had important adult stuff to do, you two wouldn´t understand” Gojo announced grinning as he entered your apartment.

“Satoru! Shut up” Bea blushed and playfully punched his shoulder.

Getou just sighed and shook his head, why was he like this?

“Happy birthday, Bea!” Ace rapidly stood up from the couch and greeted her with a hug.

He gave her her presents and they talked about all sorts of things while their partners were in the kitchen to slice the cake and prepare the plates.

“I don´t want to hear it” Getou sighed. “Huh? I haven´t even said anything!” Gojo pouted, albeit feeling caught. Of course he was going to taunt his friend about his relationship, he of course never spared enough details to hurt anymore, but just enough to make everyone just a tad bit uncomfortable with embarrassment.

He couldn´t help himself, he had the best girlfriend in the world and everyone should know it.

The rest of the day wasn´t anything special, after all in the current situation you couldn´t do much.

But still, it was nice to meet up with friends, eat cake and have nice conversations.

They all ended up on the couch watching some movies and being too full to order proper takeout.

Though that was the fun in it, Bea was happy, she wasn´t alone like Ace feared, that was all that mattered.

He hoped her next birthday would be more eventful.

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

Text

The Whole Truth - 5

(As promised - some answers this time, as well as angst, and fluff, and a bit of sap. It’s a long one, so get comfy, here or on AO3. Enjoy!)

Thursday

Aziraphale paced the shop, wringing his hands.

What on Earth had he been thinking yesterday? With any of it?

Crowley would think he’d gone mad. Probably already did.

Had he actually touched Crowley’s arm during dinner? Repeatedly? Let their knees brush together under the table? Ordered a shared dessert? His stomach hurt to think of it.

Not that the cake hadn’t been lovely, but he’d insisted on feeding Crowley a bite and, oh –

He pressed his hands to his mouth, wanting to remember every moment, wanting to forget entirely.

What if Gabriel had come to check-in? He’d said Friday, but it was always a possibility, always. He would have caught them, sharing a table, laughing over cups of coffee about humans they’d known through the ages, leaning close, so very close. Or walking back to the Bentley, hands brushing against each other, smiling like…

He picked up the telephone for the third time this morning, desperately dialing Crowley’s flat. He needed to tell the demon not to come. Needed any excuse to keep him away, or he…he didn’t know what he’d do.

But again, the line rang, and rang, and the foolish machine picked up, asking him to leave a message. He waited for the tone, then snapped, “Crowley. It’s me again. Do not come. Don’t – you need to stay as far from me as possible. I can’t—”

The roar of an engine, the muffled sound of Queen, and he looked up just in time to see the long black car stopping in front of his door.

A moment later, Crowley stepped out, another bag from the bakery. And…were those flowers?

It was worse than he expected. Aziraphale backed away in horror.

“Angel?” Crowley called through the door. Was it too late? Could he hide in the back room? “My hands are full, could you…?”

This shouldn’t be hard. Open the door. Tell him you don’t want to see him today. Don’t accept the lovely flowers. Don’t thank him for the pastries. And whatever you do, don’t pull him through the door, slam him against the wall and –

Oh dear.

He opened the door a crack. “Crowley. I. Oh, did you…change your hair?”

Crowley tossed his head, and now all his hair was loose and free, gleaming in the sun, and of course one strand got caught across his face and Aziraphale wanted to tug it free, to set it in place, to run his fingers all through that dazzling mass of red until—

“Just a bit. Thought I could use a change. Do you like it?”

“I do, I really do.” He slapped his hand over his mouth.

Crowley smiled, and it wasn’t sarcastic, it was genuine and heartbreaking. “Good. I – I thought you might. I, um, I got you these.”

Aziraphale’s eyes fell on the white-and-yellow bouquet. “Daisies? Oh, I adore daisies. So bright and warm…”

“Yeah, I know. And they, um, remind me of you.” Crowley shuffled his feet, still on the doorstep. “I thought, if we’re going to be poring over that book for two more days, might as well brighten the place up a bit.”

“I.” Send him away. “I thought.” Send him away right now. “I don’t believe I…invited you.”

If the smile had been heartbreaking, the way it fell nearly destroyed Aziraphale on the spot.

“You. Aziraphale. You never invite me, I just…come.”

“I know.” He tried to keep his face straight, his resolve firm. “And that’s…that’s very much the problem, isn’t it? You just show up whenever you wish, unannounced, regardless of how I feel, or what I’m doing or – or who might be visiting!”

“Is someone there now?” Was Crowley even aware of the way his whole body tensed when he worried, coiled, preparing to spring into action? He wasn’t a fighter – he always preferred to flee and hide – but somehow any time his mouth pressed into that line of resolve, Aziraphale just felt safe. “Do you need me to cause a distraction? Just say the word.”

It was the perfect out. Tell Crowley Gabriel was here, that he had it under control.

“No. I’m alone.”

“Then what’s the problem? I told you last night I’d swing by as early as I could. Yes, I should have called first, but it’s not that big a deal, is it?” He moved as if to step through the door, though Aziraphale still stood in the way.

“Yes, it is!” Aziraphale pushed the door almost completely shut, so he could see nothing but Crowley, and the flowers. “It is very much a ‘big deal.’ You never think about these things, Crowley, and I have to worry on my own. You never change. What would you have done if Gabriel were here? Hmm? Do you even remember the time you almost walked straight into him, or did you conveniently forget that as well?”

“Of course, I remember.” Crowley’s voice was a low growl. “But you just said he’s not, so it does not matter.” He took a step back at least. “What’s he going to do, anyway? Put a bad comment on your quarter-century review?”

“He might! He might do a lot worse than that! Do you think anything like this—” he gestured between them “—this has ever happened before?”

“I don’t know, Angel. What is this? Tell me that!” But under the anger there was a note of desperation, and Aziraphale had to gnash his teeth to keep from saying something that would make the situation worse.

“Crowley,” he finally managed, sounding half-strangled even to his own ears. “I don’t want you to come in.” There was a strained silence, broken only by the crinkle of the paper around the flowers.

“Angel. Just tell me—”

“No, Crowley. Don’t ask me any more questions.” He was terrified of what answers he might give. “Just leave. Go – go far away, and do not contact me until I ask you to.”

“Fine.” The bundle of daisies tumbled to the step. “Fine.” Crowley strode back to the Bentley faster than Aziraphale had ever seen him move. “And don’t think I’ll be standing next to the phone when you call. I have better things to do with my time than wait for you.”

“I doubt that!”

But he was gone.

Aziraphale let the door drift open, as the flowers scattered and blew away in the wind.

He glanced up from the book, blinking blearily at the light. It must be afternoon by now.

Aziraphale didn’t remember much after the fight with Crowley – he rarely did, not for the serious fights – and the cup of ice-cold tea and stack of notes four centimeters thick were the only real indicators that time had passed at all.

He folded his arms across the book, leaning against them, breathing in the spicy smell. Tried not to think about how much he missed Crowley’s jokes and snide comments, the way he would bend over Aziraphale’s shoulder to look at the page, breath warm on his cheek.

“Don’t think about that. He wasn’t helping.” He scolded himself. But, really, for all his notes, he’d contributed as much to this translation as Crowley. Aziraphale was getting nowhere, and he only had another day.

What would Crowley do, if he were here?

Terrible question. Better to ask what Gabriel would do, or one of the Scribes of Heaven. They would surely have some wonderful idea for a new angle to attack the text from that would force it to reveal its secrets, and not a moment too soon.

But Crowley would suggest going for a walk. Feeding the ducks. Getting something to eat.

It took ten minutes of searching to find a satchel, just the right size for the book. He slid the heavy tome inside and headed out.

“Seven, huh?” Eliza smiled, sliding the last tiropita into the customer’s bag. “Guess you like these.”

“Oh, yes, they’ve been my favorite mid-afternoon snack for the last two millennia.” The customer – she recognized him as the old man from the bookshop down the street, the one that was never open – seemed startled by his own joke. “Only they’ve been rather out of fashion in this part of the world until recently, so it’s nice to have them available again.”

“Right,” she smiled, punching the order into the till. “Well, I hope they’re as good as you remember.”

“Oh, the modern recipe doesn’t use nearly enough honey, but I find I enjoy them nonetheless.”

Weird bloke, she thought, fighting to keep her customer-service-smile in place. Probably harmless, though. “Going for a walk?”

“Yes, I’ve been rather caught up in a project, but I’ve made no progress on my translation for several days. I’m hoping a change of scenery will help.”

“Oh, translation, huh?” she showed him the total, and he handed her a few notes. “I’m taking German this year. Supposed to help with the grad program I want. What’s yours?”

“It’s a text of no known language that foils every attempt at decipherment,” he said as she counted out the change. “Furthermore, there is a curse upon it which could destroy half of London if tampered with.”

“Yeah.” She handed over the coins and bag, trying to make sense of that one. “My sister said the same thing about her Latin class, but she’s always been a bit mad.” Eliza glanced out at the sunny street, wishing her shift would end already. “Enjoy the weather.”

“I hardly think that possible, as I had a terrible fight with a very dear friend this morning, and I don’t believe he will talk to me again for quite some time. I would much rather it were raining, to suit my mood, but the nearest storm clouds are over France. Summoning them now will almost certainly have unforeseen consequences to the regional climate. Good day.”

He backed out of the shop and hurried up the street. Definitely weird. “Can I help who’s next?”

Up and down the streets of Soho he walked, unable to stop himself from talking.

Waiting for the light to change, he told a family how the Trojan War wasn’t entirely his fault, but things had gotten rather out of hand. “I never should have let him tell me the apple would make a good prank. My word, did everyone take it so seriously.”

Wandering past the duck pond, he explained to a confused group of students that, had he really known who Dante was, he never would have given the job to Crowley. “I just thought, poor chap needs a vacation, he’d had a terrible century, might as well spend a few weeks in Italy, all he has to do is go drinking with a poet and cheer him up a bit. And, frankly, if my orders were just a bit less Ineffable maybe I would have seen this coming!”

Sitting on a bench with an older couple, he tried to describe the outfits he and Crowley had worn in that church in 1941, though the couple seemed confused and kept interrupting to ask questions about the flowers or guests. “No, there weren’t any guests, just these awful people I thought I knew. But Crowley arrived and got me away from there, oh it was really something. Dancing all down the aisle.”

Leaning against the wall outside a bar, he pleaded with every passerby: “I wasn’t really thinking, I just – they didn’t have any way to protect themselves, it was going to be dark, and raining, and the lions. So, I handed over my sword. I didn’t mean to disobey. I didn’t mean to, I just – it was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?”

He didn’t pay attention to where he walked. But it was no surprise at all when he found himself in Mayfair, staring at a long black Bentley and a tall, modern block of flats.

His fist pounded on the door. “Crowley? Crowley, please.” Aziraphale knocked again. “Crowley, I just – I need to talk to you, please, I know you’re here.”

The door opened so suddenly, he nearly toppled in. Crowley scowled at him, blocking the entrance, hair slicked back once again. “Oh. Aziraphale. I don’t remember inviting you.”

“I know. I know, please, I – I need your help.”

“Oh, now you need my help? Is that how it’s going to be? I just sit around waiting until you need me—”

“Crowley, this is serious! Will you just listen?”

The demon leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms. “Go on then.”

“In…in the hallway?”

“Yes, in the hallway. Seems fitting.”

Aziraphale nodded, watching his own hands twist and wring against each other. “I deserve this, of course. After the frightful way I treated you, and not just this morning. So many times over the years—”

“Oh, spare me the passive-aggressive speech,” Crowley groaned. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“I am, Crowley. This is what’s wrong. The – the curse. It’s started to affect me, quite – quite frightfully.”

He glanced up, just in time to see Crowley swallow. “Are you dying?” His voice was painfully neutral.

“No, nothing like that.” Yes, it was easier to address this whole conversation to his shoes. “I just…can’t seem to stop talking.”

“Well. It’s a terrible curse, but I’m sure you’ll survive somehow. If you’ll excuse me, Golden Girls is coming on—”

“It isn’t just that, Crowley, I can’t – I can’t lie.” Icy silence. “I’m compelled not just to speak, but to say the truth, the absolute truth. I’m finding it nearly impossible to conceal anything at all.”

He waited for the door to slam in his face.

“Get in, you idiot.”

Head jerking up, Aziraphale found that Crowley had stepped aside and opened the door wide. Nodding his thanks – knowing if he tried to voice them out loud, he’d say something he truly regretted – Aziraphale entered the flat.

He looked around in every direction, trying to avoid Crowley’s gaze. The demon was still tense, still leaning against the wall with arms crossed. “I say, this is the exact opposite of cozy,” Aziraphale commented cheerfully. “You seem to be missing nearly all your furniture. The walls are very white, aren’t they?”

“It’s called minimalism,” Crowley grunted. “You should try it.”

“Oh, is this the modern style of decorating?” There was a black sofa facing a television, a broad plain desk, the top of it a thin plate of glass, and an oddly shaped chair. A few pieces of sculpture were scattered around, though they didn’t seem to fit the general look of the place.

“It was. Bored with it now. Maybe go retro next, I don’t know.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale bit his tongue. He pulled off the satchel holding his book, placed it on the floor next to the sofa, trying to find something polite to say. He failed. “Only, it seems a very strange color choice, as it makes your whole flat rather look like—”

“Don’t say it,” Crowley snarled, pushing off from the wall.

“I can’t help it! I told you, I can’t seem to stop talking. Half of Soho now knows things about me I’ve never said before, and I just…I can’t stop.”

“Really?” he stalked forward. “So, if I asked you a question right now, you wouldn’t be able to lie, or avoid the subject or any of those other things you do?”

“Crowley, your expression right now does not at all make me feel safe.” He stepped back and closed his eyes. “But I suppose…yes, that’s fair. You can ask.”

“Oh, thank you for the invitation. Tell me, did you lie when you said you like having me around?”

“No, I…I think it had already begun to affect me.”

“Interesting.” Crowley’s voice was coming closer, but Aziraphale kept his eyes firmly shut. “Then you lied when you told me you wanted me to leave this morning?”

“No, of course not. I was quite incapable by then.” He stumbled back another step. “I knew letting you in the shop would be disastrous – not that I was fully aware what was going on – so it seemed the best thing was—”

“The best thing was to get rid of the demon, not to tell me that something was wrong? Bless it, Aziraphale, even when you tell the truth, you’re so – so twisted!”

“I didn’t – I don’t—” He stepped back and collided with the table; nowhere else to go. Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered open, and Crowley stood so close, towering over him, teeth bared, and the angel trembled like a mouse before a serpent. “It’s not that I like deceiving you, Crowley. I don’t. But I’m not – I don’t feel safe without them. My lies. I feel…exposed…naked…” He closed his eyes again. The words cut deep wounds across his heart.

“So, that’s why you didn’t trust me this morning? You don’t feel safe around me? What, do you think I’m going to take advantage of this? That I’m going to hurt you?”

“Of course not! I’m not afraid of you I’m—” He struggled to hold on to the one secret he had left. “Crowley, if I can’t break this curse by tomorrow, I’ll – I won’t be able to stop myself from telling Gabriel—”

“Telling him what?”

“That I love you!” The words tore through Aziraphale’s last layer of defense, shredding him, leaving him open to the world. He sobbed, leaning against the desk behind him, practically sitting on it as his legs gave way. “I love you, Crowley,” he repeated, much quieter. “You’re my best…you’re my only friend. And I love you so very dearly. And I can’t…can’t ever let anyone know…not even you...”

He heard something click onto the table beside him, and looked up to see Crowley, glasses gone, eyes brighter and wetter than Aziraphale had ever seen them. “There. Now we’re both naked,” he said softly.

“I’m…I’m sure this comes as – as something of a shock…”

Crowley chuckled. “What, that? I’ve known for centuries. Millennia, Angel. I just…I didn’t think you knew.” His hand slid up and cupped Aziraphale’s cheek, and the angel leaned against it, drawing on Crowley’s warmth and strength.

“I…I hid it, even from myself, for so long. I never let myself acknowledge…but, no, I’ve known since…the church. The bomb. Couldn’t really deny it after that.”

“And you know I…I feel the same.” His serpent eyes almost blinked. “That I have…for so long.”

“I hoped so?” Aziraphale’s voice was tight, straining. In Crowley’s movies, these conversations didn’t hurt. They were always full of laughter and smiles. Instead, Aziraphale felt torn to shreds, he felt raw, and he saw the same pain reflected in Crowley’s eyes. “I worried, every time I lied, that this would be the last straw, the thing that sent you away for good.”

“I’m not going to leave—”

“Sometimes I wished it would be. That you would just – just go. Because it would be…so much easier…”

“They would punish you, if they knew,” Crowley said slowly. “Hurt you. Make you Fall.”

“I don’t care about that.” Aziraphale felt the first tear slide down his cheek. “It’s not – I don’t lie, and hide, and shut you out to protect myself. They would destroy you, Crowley. And I would rather die than…than see you hurt…”

Suddenly, Crowley’s arms were around him, pulling him into a surprisingly strong embrace, one hand cradling the back of his head. “Oh, you stupid, stupid Angel. Don’t worry about me.”

“One of us has to.” Aziraphale pressed his face into the curve of Crowley’s neck, felt his arms slide across Crowley’s back. Pushed himself fully onto the desk so he could wrap his legs around Crowley’s, pull him close, keep him safe. “I will protect you, my dear Crowley. I will. Anything to keep you safe.”

“Aziraphale. I don’t – I just want you to trust me. Talk to me. Let me help you." The angel shook his head, burrowing deeper into Crowley's embrace. "We can keep each other safe. You don’t have to do everything on your own.”

“I…I don’t…I don’t want to be alone,” Aziraphale managed.

“You never will be. Let me be there for you.”

“Crowl—” he tried, but all that he managed was a throttled squeak. He nodded, face still buried in Crowley’s shoulder, and let himself be entwined - engulfed - absorbed in that love.

“Aziraphale,” his demon whispered after a moment. “I want to kiss you.”

“I…want you to…” Crowley’s hands cradled his face again, pulling him back until their eyes met, and oh, that look on Crowley’s face now hurt even more than the sappy, hopeful smile this morning. “But you can’t,” Aziraphale ground out, despite his raw throat, his heart straining to burst free.

“Why not?” He leaned closer, until Aziraphale could feel his warm breath.

“Because…my dearest…if you kiss me, I’m never going to stop.” Crowley chuckled. “No, I mean it. I love you. So much. Every moment that I’m not kissing you is a lie. It’s why I’ve been so blasted affectionate the last few days. I need - I’m compelled - to express my love. To say it. To show you, and it hurts to stop.”

“I can stop us.”

“We can’t risk it. I can’t. Not when it’s your life at stake.”

“That’s my choice.” The lips were so close, he could practically taste them already. If he just leaned forward the tiniest bit…

“Please,” Aziraphale begged. “Don’t.”

The hands holding Aziraphale’s face tightened – and tipped his head down, pressing his forehead against Crowley’s. “Alright, Angel. Anything you want.”

Aziraphale tried to find his breath again. He didn’t think his heart would ever stop hammering.

“And we will find a solution to this, Aziraphale. I’m not going to lose you now.”

“I don’t think you’re going to have much choice in the matter. I will betray us both. By tomorrow I won’t be able to resist telling everyone I’m madly in love with a gorgeous, kind, wonderful demon, whose soul sings like the sweetest music, whose heart burns with the passion of the stars, and – oh, there I go again.”

Crowley growled, playfully. “I’m not any of those things.”

“Well, I hardly could have lied, could I? So, it must be true.” Aziraphale sighed. His heart and head ached, he just wanted to sit here leaning against Crowley forever, but there were things to take care of. He let go, allowed Crowley to step away. “I’ve had no luck with the book at all.”

Crowley pressed his lips into a line. “I…I told you I asked around Hell. Not one word about this raid.”

“Well, it’s entirely possible they’re keeping it from you.” Aziraphale stood, stretching. “No offence, darling, but you’re not exactly a high-ranked demon. According to Gabriel, your side was quite soundly defeated. Perhaps they’re covering it up.”

“Yeah, maybe, but,” Crowley backed away, pressing a hand against his hair, smoothing non-existent fly-aways back into place. “Even then, they’d never keep it a secret for long. Any time one of the lords of Hell weakens, the others swarm like…like…some sort of…blood-thirsty insects…”

“Sharks.”

“Sharks aren’t insects,” Crowley reminded him.

“No, but they do swarm. Quite ravenously. You remember that film we saw.”

“I don’t think Deep Blue Sea is a documentary.” Crowley frowned, but without his glasses, Aziraphale could see how his eyes danced. “Anyway. Maybe someone low-ranked was trying to organize a coup but…doesn’t feel right.”

“Perhaps it was some sort of ruse,” Aziraphale considered. “Pretending to lose in order to get the book captured. That would mean,” he realized with alarm, “the text itself is false, entirely untranslatable. Just a way to lure a researcher in, while the curse takes effect. But who could it be intended for?” He began to pace, struggling to focus through the whirl of emotions. “It might make sense for the target to be one of the Archangels, but they don’t do their own research. And how did the demons plan to capture the angel, once the curse was fully developed?”

Crowley cleared his throat. “I, uh, I have an idea, but I…need to be sure first. I need to see the book.”

Aziraphale picked up the bag, but hesitated. “Gabriel told me not to let anyone touch it. I gave him my word.” His fingers brushed down the leather spine. “What if…being touched by a demon sets it off?”

“It won’t,” Crowley soothed, but didn’t reach for the book. “I know how to handle cursed objects. Do it all the time for Hell. And if I’m right…” He glanced down at the bag. “I’ll be careful, I swear.”

The book felt heavy in Aziraphale’s hands – heavier than any book had a right to – heavy enough to drag them both to destruction.

“I trust you, Crowley.” He held it out, letting the bag fall to the floor. “But. Be careful.”

The moment Crowley touched it, his golden eyes went wide. He quickly placed it on the desk, wiping his hand on his shirt. “Well, that’s…” He glanced at Aziraphale. “I’ll know by morning. Why don’t you get some rest? When was the last time you slept?”

“1941. The ride back from the church, remember?”

Aziraphale never slept, usually. But sometimes, on particularly thrilling days, days fraught with too many emotions, his mind would buzz, overstimulated, until it felt numb. Then, he would lie down and drift away, and wake in the morning feeling himself again.

He’d felt that edge of over-exhaustion as they walked out of the church fifty-eight years ago, terrified by the newly recognized emotion that had bubbled under the surface for so long. Crowley had brushed a finger across his forehead and invited him to sleep, and he’d dozed off in the passenger seat of the Bentley, feeling warm and protected in ways he’d never known, not in all the long eternities of his existence. He woke the next morning on the shop sofa, bag of books resting on the floor beside him.

He felt it again now, that exhaustion, and knew it would only get worse the longer he fought it.

“Come on. This time you can use a bed.” Crowley put an arm over his shoulders and steered him, past a room full of vibrant green plants, and into another as empty as the first. A single bed pressed into a corner, white duvet and black pillows; a plant in a white pot on a black bedside table. That was all.

“Honestly, Crowley, this is where you sleep? It’s so infernally drab I can’t imagine how you manage.” He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling his shoes off.

“Eh, it’s fine. All bedrooms look the same with your eyes closed.”

When Aziraphale was comfortable under the thick duvet, Crowley sat on the edge of the bed, fingers brushing his forehead as they had in 1941. “Sleep, and dream of—”

“I’ll dream of you,” Aziraphale said. “Damned honesty curse. I always do, though.”

“Well, then.” Crowley leaned forward and pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s hairline, just for a fraction of a second. “Too much?”

“No, dear. Never.”

Crowley stood beside the bed in the dark.

He’d found his answer just before midnight. He knew who Aziraphale’s enemy was. A solution had already started to form in his mind, but it was a terrible thought.

Would Aziraphale believe him? Would he agree to what needed to be done?

Could Crowley go through with it?

No choice, he reminded himself. Aziraphale needs you. It was all he ever needed to steel his resolve.

“Angel.” He reached out and gently shook Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Time to wake up.”

“Crowley. C’m to bed.”

His heart rattled in his chest like a busted engine. “No, Aziraphale, we need—”

“Need you.” One eye opened just enough to reveal a gleam of blue. “Just…few hours. Let me have that. Please.”

Crowley wasn’t in the business of denying Aziraphale anything.

He lay down on top of the duvet, curled on his side to watch Aziraphale sleep. “Like this?”

The angel struggled a moment, until his arm came free, groping weakly in Crowley’s direction. “Can’t find you.”

“I’m coming.” Crowley wiggled closer, turning around until his back was pressed as close to Aziraphale as he could get it. The angel’s arm looped around, crossing his chest, pulling him closer, until his breath brushed warm on the back of Crowley’s neck. Until their hearts beat together. “How’s that?”

“Love you,” Aziraphale whispered. “Safe…” but soon he was asleep again.

Not long after, Crowley drifted off, into the best night’s sleep he’d ever had.

Aziraphale woke the next morning with Crowley in his arms.

He held Crowley and cried, quietly, his heart overflowing with love.

(Alright! One more long chapter to come, and it’s going to be another emotional rollercoaster. Look for it on AO3 or comment “tag” so I’ll tag you here!) @black-velvet-roses-tea @witchingwhovian

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lightsupinthenorth · 4 years

Text

A little coffee with your sugar? part 1/2

Here is a Harringrove Coffee shop AU. I hope you’ll enjoy :)

Read on AO3

As the only baker of the Upside-Down Café, Billy usually kept to the kitchen. And he liked it that way. So, when Heather barged into his sanctuary, interrupting him in the process of frosting a three-layer chocolate cake to let him know she was leaving and he had to replace her behind the counter, Billy was not happy.

“Why in the world are you leaving this early?”

She always stayed until closing.

“Are you serious? I told you last week I have a dentist appointment. You said you’d be okay.”

Had he really said that? Well, that had been a big mistake.

The thing was, he had not been listening properly when Heather had told him about her appointment. He had been in the middle of decorating a batch of sugar cookies with rainbow icing (because he was gay and did what he wanted), which was the kind of delicate work he had to focus extra hard on. He had trouble controlling his strength, sometimes, and that could lead to accidents. So, when he’d registered Heather had finished talking and was waiting for a reply, he had nodded and said “okay” without knowing what he was agreeing to. He could have asked her to repeat, but it got on her nerves when he did that. According to her, he was doing it a bit too often. It wasn’t his fault she always tried to make conversation when he had to focus on a complicated task. Come to think of it, maybe she was doing that on purpose to get whatever she wanted from him. Billy wouldn’t put it past her: she was devious enough to come up with such a tactic.

“Okay… well, see you tomorrow then.” He tried to act cool and unaffected, but his dread was hard to hide.

“Oh, don’t be a drama queen. You’ll survive. Have a wonderful afternoon serving our dear customers!”

Billy groaned. She was really laying it on thick.

“I wish you have cavities.” He said meanly.

Heather laughed, showing perfect white teeth that could have starred in a toothpaste commercial. The audacity! Why was she even going to the dentist?

Billy took his time finishing the frosting after Heather’s departure. Tuesday afternoons were slow, anyway. He had to put the last touch in a hurry, though, because the bell above the front door chimed, indicating the arrival of a customer.

Billy exited the kitchen with the cake, so he could put it on display before taking the customer’s order. He had to multitask now that Heather had mercilessly abandoned him. Traitor.

“Hi, welcome to the Upside-Down Café, what can I do for you?” He asked dispassionately, not even looking at the person on the other side on the counter.

He could lay on the charm as well as the next guy, but at the moment his whole attention was on the triple layer cake he was trying to squeeze between the apple pie and the cinnamon rolls displayed behind the glass case.

“Well I do feel properly welcomed, Hargrove. You might even want tone the enthusiasm down a bit. Wouldn’t want you to come off as overeager.”

The sarcasm was nearly palpable. It didn’t surprise Billy, considering who was speaking.

“Buckley, fancy seeing you here.”

She rolled her eyes. It was her default move when she was around Billy. It was all for show, though. he knew she liked him, deep down.

“Heather’s not here?”

“No. Dentist appointment.”

“Oh. She didn’t tell me.” Robin pouted like a five-year old.

Ah! She wasn’t so smug anymore.

Billy would have been amused at Robin’s reaction, but the fact she hadn’t known about Heather’s appointment mainly made him suspicious. She claimed she had told Billy about the appointment the week before, but she hadn’t told her friend, whom she had a big fat crush on? Billy wasn’t buying it. Of course, telling her coworker, who’d have to cover for her, seemed more important than telling her crush she wouldn’t be seeing her, but Billy knew better. Heather was so head-over-heels for Robin it wasn’t even funny anymore. If she didn’t do something about it soon, Billy would go nuts. She was always yapping about Robin, and she was so distracted in her presence that she had once dropped a plate of cupcakes Billy had just worked his ass off to finish before the Saturday afternoon rush. She was a menace.

“Would you like to order something anyway, or?” He asked Robin.

“Yeah, sure, I’m actually waiting for a friend. I’ll take a piece of apple pie and an Earl Grey tea, please.”

Billy had already had an inkling of what she was going to order, because Heather had raved to him about Robin’s favorite food and drinks several times before, but he chose not to disclose that piece of information. He was a good friend like that.

“Coming right up.”

While he was cutting the pie, the bell chimed again.

“Oh, here’s my friend. Hey dingus!”

Billy looked up briefly and did a double take. He had to make a conscious effort to not let his jaw hang open. The man who had just come in was gorgeous, and exactly Billy’s type. He looked so pretty in his preppy knitted sweater, it nearly gave Billy heartburn.

Billy had come out of the kitchen with his dirty apron still on, and he was almost certain there was some chocolate frosting on his left cheekbone. He could feel it itching. He was cursed.

“Hey Rob.” Pretty boy hugged Robin and then turned to Billy.

His warm brown eyes widened, making him resemble a deer caught in the headlights. Billy only then realized he’d been staring at him intensely. You know, like a fucking creep.

Billy looked away and cleared his throat.

“What can I get you?” His voice sounded strained, but it would have to do.

“Er… A Mocha and a piece of chocolate cake, please.”

“Sure thing.”

Billy prepared the order, keeping his gazed fixed on the task at hand. He couldn’t look at Pretty boy, lest he make a bigger fool of himself.

He rang Robin and her friend up, and only then could he bring himself to look up… which ended up being a mistake, considering he had to watch, horrified, as Pretty boy poured a shit ton of sugar in his mocha.

“How about some coffee in your sugar?” Billy asked in a deadpan voice.

He didn’t mean to be rude. Billy was a ‘live and let live’ kind of guy, and he was more amused than offended by Pretty boy’s tastes, even if the mere thought of drinking such a concoction was enough to nauseate him. However, he couldn’t help that his tone was curt when he addressed him. First, Billy had to manage the counter without having had time to mentally prepare beforehand (yes Heather had supposedly given him a whole week to ready himself, but he hadn’t quite caught her warning so it hadn’t been of much use), and second, he was out of sorts because of how hot the guy was. The truth was that, if Billy could usually charm the pants off of anyone, he was absolutely useless when it came to men he really did find attractive. Life was a bitch, sometimes.

“Wh-what?” Pretty boy stammered.

“You’re aware mochas have a fair amount of sugar already blended in them, right?”

Billy feared he’d get diabetes just from watching Pretty boy drink this monstrous beverage. It was basically caffeinated sugar at this point.

“Yeah, and what about it?” He replied, his words sounding like a challenge, before he took a sip and then licked off the whipped cream stuck on his upper lip (‘kill me right now, why don’t you?’ Billy thought).

“Nothing. It’s just… diabetes is a serious issue and healthcare isn’t cheap in this country.”

Billy’s conversation skills had unsurprisingly flown out the window, but it was a new low. Here he was, spewing ominous bullshit and stating political facts. What next? A debate? What the fuck.

“I’m very healthy, thank you very much.”

Billy thankfully restrained from replying “for now”. Pretty boy was scowling a bit, nonetheless. Billy’s chances with him had most probably flown out the window too, right along his aforementioned skills.

Pretty boy took the tray with his and Robin’s order on it and went to one of the tables near the windows, pretty close to the register.

Robin stayed behind and stared at Billy with an arched eyebrow, making him squirm.

“Was there something else you wanted, Buckley?” He asked, just so she’d snap out of it.

“No. I’m all set. Thanks.” She narrowed her eyes before turning away from Billy and joining Pretty boy at the table he had picked.

Billy then proceeded to stalk Pretty boy. He could have gone back to the kitchen, since there was no other customer, but he would have to pass up staring at such beauty, and that wouldn’t do (especially since it was the first and probably last time he got to stare at it). So, he pretended to busy himself with wiping the already immaculate counter clean, like a neat freak, while he threw glances at him.

Pretty boy still looked slightly worked up, somehow managing to make everything he did look aggressive, be it taking a sip of his mocha, putting his cup down, or stabbing the poor piece of chocolate cake with his fork.

Before he could start eating, though, Robin held his hand back. Billy then heard her advise him to cleanse his palate with a sip of her tea so the overly sugary taste of the mocha wouldn’t make the cake taste like nothing in comparison. And bless her for that piece of advice because, after Pretty boy had done as he had been told, when he finally put the first bite in his mouth, his reaction was priceless. His scowl disappeared from his face, his beautiful eyes widened again and he outright moaned.

The sound did things to Billy, and he had to bite his lower lip so he wouldn’t make a noise of his own. That would have been embarrassing, and Billy had embarrassed himself enough with his ineptitude at making conversation like a functional member of society.

When they left, Robin threw a “See ya, Hargrove” above her shoulder, and Pretty boy didn’t say anything, preferring to glare at him. He was still mad, then. Billy pouted. As soon as the door had closed behind them, he fetched a chocolate chip cookie from the display case and took a huge bite out of it. It tasted good (duh, he had baked them), but it didn’t magically dissipate his disappointment as he had hoped it would.

This day really sucked, uh?

The next day, Heather came to work in an overly chipper mood, unlike Billy.

“Damn, what crawled up your ass and died?”

Billy growled “nothing” while tying his apron.

“Why the long face, then?”

“I don’t see what you mean.” He mumbled, before changing the subject. “Why are you so cheerful, yourself?”

“I got tickets for this band Robin likes! They weren’t available on the band’s website, so I had to wait in line yesterday to buy them. I’m gonna ask her on a date to their concert the second she passes this door.” Heather said, gesturing to the café’s entrance.

“So, there wasn’t any dentist appointment! I knew it!”

“Yeah, sorry I lied. I didn’t want you to mention it by mistake when Robin was there, so I came up with the appointment thing. I shouldn’t have bothered, though, since you weren’t listening to me anyway. But whatever.”

So, that explained why Robin hadn’t known Heather wouldn’t come to work, even though they were texting almost constantly.

Billy was glad Heather would finally get it together and ask Robin out after months of pining. He was also jealous that she had more game than he did, but he chose to ignore that part.

“Robin will be over the moon, I’m sure. She was here yesterday. Asked for you.” Billy informed, as he was taking the ingredients out for a millionaire shortbread.

“I know, she called me in the evening to ask me how it went at the dentist’s. I felt bad about lying to her, but it was for the greater good.”

“Mmh.”

“What was that with Steve, by the way?”

Billy briefly wondered if he had missed part of the conversation again.

“Who the hell is Steve?”

“Robin’s friend? The one that was here with her yesterday.”

Oh, so Pretty boy’s name was Steve.

“Right. Steve. What about him?”

“Well, you tell me. Robin said you were acting rude, and now Steve thinks you hate him. Steve is a sweetheart, you can’t hate him. Plus, it’ll make him all sad and miserable, and then Robin will be in a bad mood because of it. So, behave!”

“Okay, so I wasn’t the nicest. I was pissed off that you had abandoned me. But I don’t hate Steve. That’s a gross overstatement. I don’t even know him.” Also, Billy thought Steve was the prettiest thing he had ever seen and was pretty certain he had a crush on him, but he certainly didn’t say THAT to Heather. He would never hear the end of it.

“Yeah well, be nicer next time he comes by. Or stay in your kitchen like the goblin you are.”

“Sure, whatever. Don’t you have some work to do?” Billy asked so she would lay off his case.

When she had finally left the kitchen, Billy thought about Steve, as he had been doing non-stop since he had met him the day before. He couldn’t believe he had already ruined everything. They had said like… four words to each other and now Steve thought Billy hated him. How had he fucked up that quickly? That must have been a record.

He groaned and poured the flour in the mixing bowl with such aggravation that he spilt about a third of it on the table. He was useless!

Billy kept dropping ingredients and kitchen tools all over the place, and bumping into everything, until Heather interrupted the disaster that was his day, asking him to manage the counter while she talked to Robin.

When he exited his cave, he was surprised to see that Steve had come with Robin again and was the next customer in line.

Billy was silently trying to come up with an apology. It couldn’t be that hard. He’d say: “Pretty Boy…” no, “Steve”… no, he wasn’t supposed to know his name… Er… “Man”. Right, Billy would say. “Man, I’m sorry about yesterday, I was in a bad mood.” And that would be all. Easy.

Billy reached the counter and opened his mouth to apologize, but Steve didn’t let him.

“Hi. I’ll take a snickerdoodle and a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and marshmallows, please and thank you.” He was staring right into Billy’s eyes when he gave his order. His own brown eyes were glinting. His left hip was cocked and his arms were crossed over his chest, his fingers tapping rhythmically on his arms.

Oh, so that was how Pretty boy was going to play it.

“No problemo.” Billy nearly cringed at how lame he was. Why was he saying stuff like that? It wasn’t even correct Spanish. He was nearly fluent in the language, so he knew that perfectly well. He sounded like a lame dad, which was not really the vibe he was going for.

Once he got his order, Steve proceeded to pour an insane amount of sugar in his hot chocolate. Billy was not surprised, but still disgusted. This was indecent.

Billy took care of the next customer, and the one after that, and the one after that. He was starting to wonder what was taking Heather so long with Robin. She was keeping her from Pretty boy, who was all alone at their table. The poor thing.

When there was a lull, Billy went to the break room and found Heather and Robin making out. Of course, they were. Billy rolled his eyes but didn’t interrupt them, choosing instead to go back to the counter. Let it not be said that he was a bad friend, after that.

Steve had chosen the same table as the day before, and was facing Billy, just as he had then. At first, he wasn’t touching his drink or food, certainly waiting for Robin. A good fifteen minutes passed before he called it quits and started eating. He moaned again, not giving a fuck that he was in public (which made the noise that had just come out of Steve very inappropriate). Why was he torturing Billy like this? And he’d said to Robin that Billy hated him? Uh, uh, no sir. It had to be the other way around.

When Steve took his first sip of hot chocolate, the extra whipped cream painted his upper lip white. But, this time, he didn’t wipe it away with his tongue, and Billy so badly wanted to lick it off himself. Pretty boy would be the death of him.

When Robin and Steve left, this time, the latter wished Billy a nice day. Well, Heather was there too… so maybe it had just been addressed to her. At best, it had been for the both of them. Still, Billy would take it.

While they cleaned the shop after closing, Heather waxed poetic about Robin. That was nothing new, however. She had already been doing plenty of that in the pining stage of their relationship. Billy listened absentmindedly, with his own head full of Steve and his lush hair and his pretty lips and his eyes, which had been full of mischief earlier that day.

He only regained awareness of his surroundings when he got hit in the chest with Heather’s balled up apron.

“I’m leaving, dumbass. See you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

Steve came to the Upside-Down regularly, after that, with Robin but also on his own. Billy was often in the kitchen when Steve came by, so he always had to find an excuse to get behind the counter, even if only for a brief moment, in order to catch a glimpse of him.

Heather caught up pretty quickly, of course.

“You like him.”

“Uh. What? Who?”

“Steve. You like him.” She whispered.

Billy had just come out of the kitchen, in the pretense of bringing a batch of muffins to the shop. In fact, the batch had been ready for an hour, and Billy had waited for Steve to arrive (he came almost every Wednesday) to bring it out.

And now Heather was saying Billy liked him when he was sitting a few meters away.

Billy shushed her without even trying to deny her claim. He knew not to fight a losing battle.

“Don’t worry. He’s grading his pupils’ papers. He’s like… in another world.”

Steve indeed looked engrossed by the sheets that were in front of him, holding a red pen in his right hand, ready to annotate them. And, oh God, he was wearing thick black-rimmed glasses. Billy couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Jesus. You’ve got it bad!” Heather sounded delighted.

“Shut up”, Billy whined, still not denying it. The truth was what it was.

“Why didn’t you say so sooner? I would have helped you out.”

That was precisely one of the reasons why he had not told her. He didn’t need a wing-woman. Well, he did. But, he wouldn’t be caught dead asking for one.

He ended up with one, anyway. Now, every time Steve came by, Heather would make Billy get his order. Thankfully, Steve didn’t seem to notice the stratagem.

He must have been too occupied coming up with more and more outrageous drink choices. One day, he went as far as to ask for a white hot chocolate with extra whipped cream, marshmallows, and caramel drizzle. Billy all but gagged while making it. And Steve had the gall to add sugar. He was deranged! An honest to God maniac!

Billy was surprised Steve’s blood hadn’t yet crystalized with all the sugar he consumed.

“Anything else, pretty boy?” He asked, only noticing his slip-up when he saw Steve’s eyes get wide as saucers.

Billy couldn’t be held accountable for his mistake, alright? Steve really was pretty. Extremely pretty. Also, Billy kept calling him Pretty boy in his head ever since they had met, and he was so appalled by the drink Steve had just ordered that his brain-to-mouth filter was momentarily out of order. Sue him. He was only human.

“I… er… well… I… I’ll try today’s special. Thanks.” Steve stammered.

Everyday, Billy baked something that wasn’t usually on the menu. Today, it was a banana-chocolate cream pie.

As he put the piece of pie on Steve’s tray, Billy added:

“Here you go, sweet thing.” Because he had noticed Steve’s cheeks going beet red when he had called him pretty boy, and therefore he couldn’t help but think he might have a chance, after all.

Steve opened and closed his mouth a few times, apparently at a loss, before he thanked Billy and went to his usual table, nearly tripping on thin air on the way.

Billy was exulting, until he heard labored breathing and saw Steve struggling. What the hell was going on?

Billy went to him as fast as he could.

“Steve, what’s wrong?”

“I’m allergic to bananas.”

Oh God. Oh God, this was bad. This was so bad.

Billy took his cellphone out of his right back pocket and immediately dialed 911.

***

Thanks a lot for reading!

I’m new to the fandom so I’d be super happy for some Harringrove shippers to come talk to me (I need people to talk about these dumb boys with ^^).

#harringrove #Billy Hargrove #Steve Harrington #Harringrove fanfiction #Coffee shop AU #fluff #Billy's POV #Stranger Things #Heather Holloway #robin buckley #buckleway #as a background pairing #Baker Billy #Teacher Steve #Billy is a disaster and has a big fat crush on Steve #I might switch to Steve's POV in the second part #let me know what you think #if you want

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nxrthmizu · 4 years

Note

How about writing a Hiro x Tadashi fic with prompts 2, 3, 4, 5, 11, 15, 18, 28, and 29? I'll understand if you won't do it for any reason, not a problem 🙂

Prompt(s): Cuddling, Rainy day, On a date, Stealing each other’s clothes, Watching the other sleep, Feeling lonely, ‘Pretending to be a couple and this is a big mistake’ AU, Height differences.

Pairing:

A/N: Sorry it took so long~ Enjoy! [I really hope I incorporated all the prompts...]

- Cady

—

Rain pattered on quietly outside the bakery as Hiro typed furiously into his laptop, working non-stop to try and find that one error he made in the configuration of his new robot programming. Tadashi watched, amused as his brother huffed in frustration, unable to find the mistake in his work.

“Stop laughing!” Hiro complained, overhearing his brother’s chuckles, swinging around his chair to face his brother, who was standing in the middle of the garage that had been re-designed to become Hiro’s little ‘lab’.

“You need a break.” The older of the two proclaimed, shaking his head as he eyed the frown on his little brother’s face. “Hey- Are you wearing my sweater?” Tadashi accused, noticing how the fabric was clearly three sizes bigger than Hiro’s tiny frame. A blush flitted over the messy-haired boy as he was found guilty.

Hiro pouted. “They’re comfortable to work in!” He protested, reasoning with his brother. “Besides, you have tons others just like this…”

“That does not mean you can steal them!” Tadashi refuted, crossing his arms, pretending to be angry. It was fun to watch his brother fumble for a reason, but at last he burst out in a laugh, relishing in the embarrassed look that crossed the younger’s face as he realised he had been played. “Come on.” Tadashi grinned, ruffling Hiro’s hair as he dragged the younger boy away from his swivel chair and laptop. “I know what will make you feel better.”

“I feel very well, thank you.” Hiro replied dryly, still getting dragged nonetheless. “Where are we going?”

Tadashi turned to look at him with sparkling eyes. “We’re going on a date!”

—

San Fransokyo flew by in a thousand neon colours as the train buzzed through the city, weaving between buildings on the rail. Due to Hiro’s shorter stature, he was forced to hold onto his brother’s arm as he couldn’t reach the handhold provided for standing passengers. Tadashi had that smug, amused grin that he always wore when their height difference was accented by Hiro’s inability to reach high objects, which, for your information, did nothing to soothe Hiro’s already-sour-mood.

“Where are we going anyway?” He grumbled.

“You’ll see~” His brother replied, drawing out his voice in a sing-song voice. An elderly woman, who was sitting in front of them, watched the two in amusement.

Hiro grumbled sourly. “Come on, Dashi! I could be figuring out the mistake in my program by now…” Seeing the crestfallen expression on his brother’s face, he sighed. “Okay, I guess I do need a break,” He admitted, marvelling at how fast Tadashi changed his expression is to a beaming one. “But how many stations do we need to go by?!”

“Err…” Tadashi smiled meekly. “At least 15 more…”

A groan reverberated from the younger boy’s throat as he slammed his head against his older brother’s chest, nearly losing his balance when the train turned a sharp corner. Tadashi caught him by his hoodie, wrapping his arms around the smaller boy and holding him close to his chest, making the younger of the two blush and continue grumbling incoherently.

—

“Tada!”

Tadashi was beaming as he gestured to a modern, robot-themed coffee shop that they had to travel seventeen stations for. “So…?” He was practically jumping around as Hiro stared, baffled. “They have a really good discount too, it’s-”

It was only then that Tadashi realised what his younger brother was gaping at. He wasn’t wrong about the discount- There was a giant, pink sign advertising the 50% discount that would be taken off couples.

“That… Promotion?” Hiro cleared his throat dryly, raising an eyebrow at his brother. “Well, since we came this far, we might as well try the cafe but I don’t think we’re getting the promotio-”

“Hi! Are you two a couple? Come straight in!” A lady dressed in a grey apron and very upbeat, robot-themed waitress dress greeted them as she pushed the door open. She smiled brightly. “Well? What are you waiting for? It’s 50% off for couples!”

Tadashi gave his brother a wide grin, resulting in Hiro groaning loudly internally. “Yep! We’re totally a couple.” Tadashi grinned, lying horribly through his teeth. “Let’s go, Hiro.”

After they’d settled down and admired the tech-y decor of the cafe, they were handed two menus, which piqued both their interests. Tadashi immediately flipped towards the cake section while Hiro browsed through the chocolate and cookies section.

“I’d- Uh- Like the chocolate milkshake. And butter cookies.” Hiro added, flipping through the menu. “Tadashi wants a cup of hot lavender tea and a red velvet cake.”

The waitress nodded attentively, smiling warmly at the siblings couple. “Your order will be here shortly.”

Tadashi thanked the waitress with a kind smile, but as soon as her back was turned, he gave a grin worthy of the Cheshire Cat. “We totally convinced them that we’re a couple!” He said, oddly delighted.

A drink and a desert later, the two were sighing in satisfaction as their stomachs murmured their agreements at the good food. “Let’s get home before Aunt Cass starts worrying.” Hiro mumbled, not wanting to hear his aunt yell at him and then ‘stress eat’ donuts again. The sun had started to retire outside, letting the neon signboards take over keeping the city lit. Overhead, the moon watched over her city, her glow protecting those that were astray.

Rain begin to fall onto the glowing city of San Franksokyo as Hiro and Tadashi boarded the reverse train that was going back to the station that was a few minutes’ walk from their home. The passengers of the late train was generally less than the afternoon train they had taken on their forward trip, so the two found a quiet seat in the back of the train as it buzzed through the city.

Hiro yawned, feeling his eyelids fluttering close. As if Tadashi was an oppositely-charged magnet, Hiro was instantly attracted to lying his head on the taller of the two, slowly slipping into slumber. The rumble of the train was soothing, vibrations trickling down through your spine as it lured you into giving in to exhaustion. Lines of code swept past Hiro’s brain as he dreamt quietly of finally discovering the error he made in his twenty-paged programming.

—

[Oh my god I had so much fun with this I hope you’re happy with it!!! Thanks for the request, sorry it took sooooo long, my life is the dimension of chaos :D ]

- Cady

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mor-beck-more-problems · 5 years

Text

Friend Fail || Skylar and Morgan

@theskyeandsea

Don’t do blood magic in front of the baby seal.

Morgan stopped her work for the third time this hour to make sure she really did have everything she needed. The crystals were all made, the bath salt jars were freshly clean and ready. She had her measuring cups and postage boxes so Skylar could help. She had even gotten through half her grading. There really was no reason not to make use of her new chalkboard and try another summoning. She’d gotten Sean with a birthday cake--sort of. Who was to say she couldn’t get Constance with a proper circle and a little blood? At least, practice getting the circle, right? The board had even come with chalk in three different colors, just waiting, begging to be used. Morgan checked her phone to see where the planets were. Still Aquarius season, so not great for her, but her Mercury was almost in a water sign. It was all so...promising. Enough to give her pause and make her look around the room once more. It didn’t feel very much like skirting around the curse if the universe was setting everything up so nicely for her. But if she waited until things were more dire, what would that achieve? Morgan pulled up the spell on her phone again. This was not Cassie approved, but at least she had salt this time. She could line the place if she decided to get serious. Which, she wouldn’t. Probably. (What if this was her one door and she was missing the good kind of signal? Or what if that was just what the curse wanted her to think?)

A knock at the door startled her out of her thought loop. Right. Skylar was stopping by the house to visit. Good for her! Making friends with grownups was kind of pitiful, but she’d been there before herself. Sometimes you had to take what you could get. “Hey, come on in!” She stepped back and signed, Good afternoon! Happy to see you. She’d watched a couple of videos online and had mostly memorized the greeting, plus two other words. Work there, Magic there.

Skylar really, really, really didn’t want to be here. Her head had been aching all day, she’d barely been able to eat anything, and her body just felt run down, even though she’d slept ten hours the previous night. And… what made it worse was she knew exactly why she was feeling this way. Ricky had told her as much. It was because she hadn’t transformed. Apparently, all her problems were a direct result of not turning into a seal, which she didn’t quite follow. She wasn’t a seal who could sometimes be human. She was a human, a normal human. With… quirks. Taking a long drink from her thermos of coffee, Skylar sighed as she walked up to Morgan’s house. This was going to be good for her. This was going to be something good and helpful and nice. Because Morgan had been nothing but nice and helpful, even after Skylar had been dismissive of the whole magic situation. Knocking on the door, Skylar offered what she hoped was a bright smile as Morgan opened the door.

The signing threw her for a second. For one thing, she was going way too fast for her fingers, so they came out garbled. Skylar could tell what she meant, but it wasn’t the best use of sign. “Hi! Thanks for having me.” She said. Setting her coffee down, she let out a small laugh and signed, What do you mean by work there, magic here?

Oh, thank god Skylar could talk just fine, maybe (probably) even read lips! Morgan saw the two whole words she’d learned outside of the basic greeting repeated in a new way, one she had no idea how to answer. She winced. “Sorry. Just--different tasks I have going on today! Um, I’ve got some bath salts that need to go into those very uh, hashtag aesthetic jars, and I have this shiny new chalkboard that has a lot of magic potential! I’m not going to do anything to it, I should clarify, I’m going to use it to make some more elaborate circles that I’m using right now.” Only after she finished did she realize just how fast she was prone to talking sometimes. Sorry, she signed, the only other word she’d thought make handy use of. “I talk fast sometimes, and I don’t always realize. Can I get you some sweet tea?”

“No problem.” Skylar said, waving it off with a laugh. “I was joking. Sorry, I didn’t mean to make fun.” She said as she took look around Morgan’s house curiously. There were a lot of odds and ends, and a lot of jars as well. What were the jars for? Watching Morgan intently, Skylar did her best to match the lip movements with what she was hearing, but it wasn’t easy. Morgan was speaking just a bit too quickly for her. “Ah. It’s okay, really! You said something about aesthetic jars? Is that what these are for?” She said, gesturing to the mason jars that were set up. “Tea? No, no, I’m good. Thank you though.” Skylar said as she picked up her thermos from where she’d set it down. Being around other people usually helped take her mind off what troubled her, so hopefully helping Morgan would do the same.

“No, I think you earn the right to tease,” Morgan said, trying to reassure her. “I tried to be competent in your language over the course of forty-eight hours maybe, with nothing but youtube and willpower. But, grab a pillow! Make yourself cozy!” She grabbed some tea for herself and sat on the floor with her shiny new board. It was so smooth it didn’t even look real. Morgan broke the seal on the chalk. It was good to practice, right? “You can put the TV on and make yourself at home if you want, but if you really want to help, You can use the measuring cup to put two scoops into the jars.” Morgan beamed over at the girl,who, now that she wasn’t moving quite so fast, really did seem in need of some kind of pick-me-up, poor kid.

Shaking her head, Skylar shrugged. “I appreciate you trying at the very least. It’s more than a lot of people do.” She said, the thought making her slightly melancholy. Ack. No, no, no. Watching as Morgan picked up a neat little chalkboard, she settled down on the proffered pillow, her legs curling under her. “Oh, that’s okay. I’d much rather do something productive than just use your cable.” She said with a smile. Looking at the set up in front of her, Skylar set to work doing as she was told, putting two scoops of… stuff into the jars and screwing the lids on. “What are these jars full of anyways? Magic salt or something?” She asked curiously.

Morgan began drawing the circle. After so many years of alchemy, she was pretty good at freehand, though everything that went in would need more precision. She couldn’t help but smile at the tingle that went up her hand from that new-supply feeling. She looked up at Skylar to make sure she could see what she was saying alright. “Salt, lavender oil, dry roses and yarrow, and ground crystals. Very relaxing, but less real magic and more mind over matter fluffy magic,” she admitted. She got up and went for her chalk compass. “This, on the other hand, will hopefully be real magic someday. Thank you for deciding to help me out, by the way.”

All of the things Morgan rattled off sounded just like normal herbal stuff that you could find in any shop, which Skylar realized was exactly the case as the woman finished speaking. Hm. So there were still some parts of “magic” that weren’t exactly flame throwers and turning garbage into candles. At least some things still made sense. Lavender was just relaxing because it smelled nice, not because it had any crazy property to it. “No, don’t worry about it. I needed to get out of the house anyways.” She said as she filled another jar with salt mixture. She watched as Morgan grabbed a small instrument and tilted her head, intrigued. “What’s all of that for? The chalkboard and things.”

Morgan hesitated, compass in hand, as she started to section off her array, making room for each of the runes and sigils she would need to make this work. And, terrifying as the feeling was, she couldn’t help but feel excited. She had a name. Constance Bachman. She had to be related to Sean and Agnes, even if she hadn’t been able to find her name in the geneology list. Maybe a spinster aunt? Or a lost sister? Either way, she was findable. And if Morgan actually managed to hack herself a successful, specific, ghost summoning with this, it would be the craziest and most amazing feat of magic she’d ever accomplished. Which meant she definitely wouldn’t today. Or that if she did, she’d get some static-y bitter brother of Sean’s. Or maybe some minor pesky demon. But she had to thread the needle between knowing the curse wanted to screw her over and manifesting some progress. It could work. And, well, who was Skylar going to talk about it with anyway? “Reason A for getting a big board is so I can make my crystals faster. The more material I can fit and work with, the more I can pop out at a time. My pop socket lid is great, but really not practical. But this,” she explained. “Is something different than my normal bag of tricks. I’ve got this project about spirits and their living descendants.” She began marking out the basic runes for summoning, then constructing the smaller circle she had designed to get Constance. Hopefully, anyway. She reached over for the version she’d sketched out on paper. She smudged away one of the sigils and drew it over again, clearer this time. “If it works, I might be able to bring someone over. Wanna see?”

Skylar watched as Morgan divied up the board with chalk, still not quite sure what she was looking it. Magic seemed to be a bit different than she thought it was. Winston had just kinda… done magic when they’d done it. But, she supposed that there was probably some method to the madness. Continuing to screw the lids on jars, she listened as Morgan offered an explanation. She wasn’t really sure what she meant by pop socket lid-- was she talking about the thing on the back of phones? Not wanting to interupt, she continued to listen. “So… you’re using a chalk board to summon a ghost?” She repeat, just trying to wrap her head around all of that. Ghosts. Ghosts were real. Okay. And you could use chalk and weird little doodles to make them appear? Mmmm, that was less okay. Even though she didn’t really want to see the odd little circle, Skylar scooted closer, “That’s interesting. They look like something out of Skyrim, honestly.”

Morgan was almost finished. She laid it down on the floor and examined her handiwork, then knelt down to add in the minor markings of the array. “What’s a Skyrim?” She asked. “Wait, don’t tell me--it’s that new show on Netflix right?” No, that sounded wrong. Morgan was more preoccupied with getting all the connecting lines just right anyway. “Sorry,” she said, looking up again. “I’m old. Like way old. I follow Grey’s Anatomy, and I have my supernatural crime shows, and food network. But tell me about Skyrim! I’m just going to grab some salt from the kitchen real quick.”

Raising an eyebrow, Skylar tilted her head in surprise. Mm. Well, after Alain had sent her the weird old French music, it shouldn’t be that surprising that some people weren’t as in the know with video games and stuff. “It’s a video game. You play as a Dragonborn, someone who’s got the spirit of a dragon, and can read and speak the ancient language of dragons. It’s…” She paused, realizing that she had no idea if dragons were a real thing. Were they real? Was Skyrim real? “It’s a fun game!” She finished, offering a slightly stressed smile. Oh dear. “Are you using table salt..” She asked. So, magic consisted of weird little runes on a chalkboard and table salt. Good to know, good to know.

Video games. Morgan probably should have guessed something like that. There hadn’t been time or money to that when she was a kid, and though now, as far as she could tell, you could download one off the internet for thirty dollars, it seemed like an alien existence. “It sounds like fun!” She said brightly. “Fantasy conception is one of my favorite interests. Oh--and it’s not table salt, or not just table salt. It’s a mix this exorcist friend of mine told me about.” She came back out with the mix and started shifting around some objects in the room. She would need to get the real estate for this eventually. And maybe--maybe this could happen. “Hey, Skylar, do you think you can write the alphabet out for me real quick?

“It’s a neat game, mhm.” Skylar said with a smile before taking a long sip of coffee. Thank God for this new thermos, honestly. Alain had been right about investing in one of these. And she honestly needed it now more than ever. As Morgan explained the mix of salt, Skylar watched with interest as she moved things around. Was this a big spell..? She had been under the assumption that the… spirit would just pop out of the chalk board kinda like a hologram in Star Wars or something. But then again, what did she know about magic anyways? “Huh? Oh, sure. On the chalkboard or somewhere else?” She asked, picking up one of the pieces of chalk from where Morgan had left them.

“Huh?” Morgan looked up from her work distractedly. “No, just grab a pen and paper from my grading pile over there. If I do, hypothetically, get a ghost in here, it’s going to need a way to talk to me. Especially, uh, since I can’t see them!” She was finished. She was finished and she felt like she’d stolen a cookie from her mom’s jar. Like she should run and enjoy her spoils or stay and get as many into her hand before she was caught. Morgan started to work on the salt circle, was going to fetch her dad’s old athame, just cleaned, before she realized just how this might look to someone who just learned that half the mythical creatures they’d read about as a kid were real. “Um, you don’t have to stick around for this part if it’s too much,” she said. “My cat is around somewhere if you’d like to meet her, or I can take it from here,” she offered. “Unless you can secretly see ghosts, in which case I will literally pay you to stick around.”

The back of her neck burning in embarrassment, Skylar nodded and did as Morgan told her. “Sure! Will do!” She said, hoping her tone sounded bright and not mortified. Mmm, yeah the alphabet made more sense to be written on a piece of paper. Writing out the alphabet in clean, large letters, Skylar tilted her head in surprise. “You can’t see ghosts? I thought that if you summoned them you’d be able to see them. But, um, sorry. Dumb assumption, I guess.” She said as she printed out a large Z. When Morgan offered her an out, Skylar chewed on the inside of her cheek. A big part of her wanted nothing more than to just… pretend that this wasn’t real. She wanted to forget everything about this. But, she couldn’t just run away from magic. It was here and she should know more about it. “Um, sorry. I don’t think I can see ghosts, but… I’d like to stay, if that’s okay. I just, I want to know more about all of this.”

“Oh, gosh, I wish,” Morgan confessed. “I honestly thought that too, but as it turns out you need some kind of special ability for that. And, for the record, not a dumb question. Didn’t you only learn all this weird shit was real two weeks ago? You’re harder on yourself than I am on actual students. There’s a lot to learn. Too much, really. I’ve known magic was real my whole life and I just figured out the ghost thing a while ago.” She smiled brightly at Skylar, hoping she felt better and went for the athame. She’d laid the salt thick. If, even, anything happened, they would be safe, and she could vacuum away the evidence before Cece came home to ask questions. And maybe if she was lucky Skylar would be willing to help with that too. She grabbed one of her novelty bowls, a tragic indulgence from the dollar store during her Traveler’s Rest stay, the happy faces of the Disney princesses already peeling away, and positioned herself over the circle. Then she put Skylar’s alphabet paper and pen in where it wouldn’t disturb the runes. “Let’s just hope this doesn’t turn out really anticlimactic, huh?” She raised the ritual knife and began to chant. So far so good. Then came the time for her blood offering. Morgan pressed the knife into her arm, voice hiccuping only a little as the pain sliced into her. So far, so good. Then she looked down into the bowl to make sure she had enough and the world shrank down to the size of a single drop of blood. She went silent and the rising magic and the knife both went whizzing away from her.

“I… Yeah, only the last two weeks, with the karkinoids.” Skylar said with a shrug as she moved over to the side, letting Morgan do all the final preparation work on the spell that she had laid out. But… No, Morgan didn’t need to know about her situation. Not after she mentioned how there were people going around trying to steal teeth for potions and stuff. Skylar watched, curiously as Morgan pulled out a weird little disney princess bowl and set it down. Were princesses important for this? Fingers curling up at her side, she forced herself to watch as Morgan began to say words she’d never heard before and then draw the knife blade-- What the fuuuuuuck was she doing? Before Skylar could react, tremors began to fill the room, the bowl of blood shaking violently-- A sharp pain lanced through her right shoulder, searing and hot, as the knife flew towards her and lodged itself into her body. Letting out a scream of pain, Skylar fell to the ground, a large spout of blood splattering across the room. “MORGAN!” She cried out, panic threatening to overwhelm her as she stared at the knife sticking out of her.

Morgan didn’t hear or notice anything except the blood in the bowl. She shoved the plastic into her mouth with both hands, guzzling the liquid ravenously and licking the sides where it had stuck. And there was more, streaks puddling on the floor and the coffee table. Morgan dropped the bowl and threw herself down to lap them all up. When she pulled away at last, panting and dizzy, her face stained from nose to chin, and saw her dad’s knife lodged in Skylar’s arm. “Oh fuck.” She licked her lips in spite of herself and scrambled to her feet. Keys. She needed her phone and her keys so they could get to the car so they could drive to the hospital. Fuck. The fucking blood clinger. She should’ve known it wouldn’t have worn off that quickly. “It’s okay, it’s okay!” She cried, her voice jumping higher each time she said it. The edges of her vision felt blurry and she grabbed an empty mason jar while she was at it. “Come on, we’re taking you to the hospital, okay! Also, hold this to collect any blood you lose! This is fine, you’re gonna be fine!” She, on the other hand, looked like a walking crime scene, but maybe if she bulldozed ahead on the knife inside the girl’s arm they wouldn’t have to go into it.

Skylar began to hyperventilate as she stared at the knife in her arm, her vision narrowing at the edges as she tried to focus on anything other than the knife-- “What the fuck are you doing?!” Skylar screamed, pointing at the bowl of blood that Morgan had just drank from. Scrambling away across the floor, she let out a cry of pain as she tried to put as much distance from her and Morgan, who was apparently some kinda vampire? “G-get away from me!” Skylar said, rivulets of blood running down her arm to pool on the floor. The more she struggled, the more and more blood poured from around the knife still lodged in her arm. “I’m not going anywhere with a vampire! An-And I’m not,” She let out a groan of pain as her arm screamed in pain, “Going to make you a to-go cup!”

“Oh my god you’re making it worse!” Morgan shrieked, starting to panic herself. She screwed her eyes shut. Maybe if she didn’t see the blood she wouldn’t have some weird blood-clinger blackout. “I’m not a vampire, it was a magic tick! I thought it had worn off but apparently not! I mean, would you rather be the juice box? Come on!” But no sooner did she settle this in her head than did she slip on the floor and come face to face with the fresh streams of blood from Skylar. Morgan forgot everything she was talking about and licked them up like her life depended on it.

As Morgan tried to convince her that she wasn’t some kind of vampire out to suck her blood, Skylar remembered what Ricky had told her. Selkies had more blood than other people, making them prime targets for vampires. “A magic tick? That’s, that’s a thing? WHAT THE FUCK!” Skylar screeched as Morgan dropped down and began to lap up her blood from the floor. Skylar watched in horror and reached behind her to pull herself up to her feet-- she needed to get out of her, she needed too… As she stood up, what blood was in her head, immediately rushed out and her vision went white around the edges as fell back to the ground, woozy. “I… I… I’m…” She couldn’t fully make out words any more, all she could do was grasp at a nearby mason jar and hold it to her still bleeding shoulder.

Morgan slithered her way over the floor, lapping every drop until her tongue felt rough and every drop had been siphoned. She groaned, still thirsty, and made a grab for Skylar, but missed as the girl stood up. Her head hit the wall and she lost her balance, going splat and rolling onto her back Slowly, her brain cleared again. Maybe anticlimactic would’ve been better after all. “Skylar??” She asked. “Are you still there? Can you drive yourself maybe? Or, I don’t know, call an Uber? There’s Uber in White Crest, right?” She was afraid to get up again. Afraid the floor would fall out from under herself. Afraid of the red, tangy blood. It was still on her rough-scraped tongue and in the back of her, hateful and terrifying. But in the moment it hadn’t been. God she was so screwed. “Skylar--?” She croaked.

“Mmmnot good. No’ good.” Skylar said thickly, her head heavy as she continued to try and get away from Morgan. Holding the mason jar in her hand, she did her best to siphon some of the blood that clung to her skin into the jar. “Don’ eat me… ’m… fishy. Wouldn’t tas’ good.” Her words slurred together as she slid the mason jar towards Morgan. Uber? Her phone. Her phone! Pulling her phone out of her pocket, Skylar swiped her thumb across the screen to send a garbled text before setting it down on the ground, “Please don’t eat me.” She mumbled.

This was not going to be a good day. And really, Morgan should’ve known better than to hope for getting away with anything for long. She reached across the floor and grabbed the jar, stomach-lurching at the precaution and inched, achingly, to a sit. “I promise on whatever will make you feel better I do not want to eat you!” Never the less she sipped the blood. It didn’t soothe her like it did earlier, so maybe she was past the worst of this. “Come on, Uber’s going to take too long and you need help.” She was unsteady on her feet, but she had what she needed and she could just about make it to the door, to-go cup in hand as Skylar had so kindly put it. She staggered out and took a deep lung full of fresh air. She had no idea how she was going to explain this to Ricky, or anyone else for that matter. How far was the hospital again?

“Not an Uber… Ricky, he’s gonna… gonna help me. Can’ go hospital.” Skylar said, shaking her head back and forth. As she continued to struggle away, she fell flat on her back onto Morgan’s floor, the knife still sticking out of her shoulder. Fatigue and blood loss overtook her and Skylar passed out right in the entryway of the front door.

Morgan heard the thump of Skylar’s body on the floor and went more or less splat herself on Cece’s porch in defeat. The was no way she was getting her in the car by herself, or answering any questions EMTs might have. And Skylar didn’t want that stuff anyways, though whether it was because health insurance was a curse on everyone, or because of some supernatural bullshit she didn’t know about yet, she had no clue. But in the end, it didn’t matter. Morgan sent off some messages and waited for everything, as usual, to get worse.

#wr skylar #wr chatzy #wr skylar chatzy #wickedswriting #friend fail #alas i had to name this all by myself #woe

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artlessictoan · 5 years

Text

this one’s actually a request I got on the ao3 version of this drabble collection, butch!sak/tomboy!hina coffe shop au! and is this the first coffee shop au I’ve ever done?? I think it might be!

(requests open)

(ao3 mirror)

---

It had been a long morning and Hinata desperately needed caffeine.

She’d had to wake up hellishly early – which might’ve been fine if she hadn’t been up until three in the morning desperately trying to finish her thesis in time for her first class – then spent almost an hour being jerked around by the aggressively indifferent receptionist of her school’s laboratory, before learning that the time she had booked for her vital preliminary experiments, had in fact been given to another student and the next available slot wasn’t until the end of the week. Handily throwing a wrench in her entire year’s calendar that she would be trying to work around for months to come.

And, on top of all that, the heavens had opened up the second she stepped outside, releasing several days’ worth of water all at once, leaving her to trudge home through a downpour, or hang out in the waiting room of the lab until it passed.

With the smirking receptionist, who she was too polite to tell to fuck himself, but who she dearly hoped would suffer several minor inconveniences for the rest of the day.

She chose the cold, wet walk instead.

Perhaps it had been a mistake, she could probably have found an empty classroom to quietly study in for an hour or so if she’d tried, but with her mind only lightly tethered to reality in her current state, it was more likely she would’ve just had a cry-nap instead.

It wouldn’t be the first time, but if a lecturer found her like that again, someone was bound to try and contact her father to inform him of her struggles, and he would wield that knowledge like a sledgehammer against her dreams of a career of her own; one without constant parental oversight and criticism.

She was absolutely not going to let that happen. Right now, however, what mattered most was getting out of the rain.

Squinting against the water running off the hood of her coat, she searched for somewhere – anywhere – that she could duck into and while away the time until her next lecture in a few hours. When she spotted a small café tucked away between a derelict bookstore and a corner shop that proudly called itself ‘Cheap-mart’ she didn’t care how dingy it looked, she just threw open the doors and shook herself off like a dog the second she was inside.

The barista leaning against the counter with his head in his hand glanced up at her; she offered him an awkward smile as she tried to brush down her damp hair. He returned with his own smile, one somehow even more awkward than her own, but straightened up and waved her over.

“Welcome, what can I get for you today?”

She didn’t bother to peruse the blackboards painted up behind him. “Black coffee, thank you.” Definitely not a drink that fit her usual tastes – she was more of a tea person – but she was about five seconds from collapsing on the cold, hard floor and wanted as little diluting the terrible, life-giving substance as possible.

If she’d had a syringe with her, she would have injected it directly into her bloodstream.

“Can I interest you in something to eat?” he asked, voice robotic and smile unnaturally fixed in place. “A sandwich, perhaps even one of our homemade cakes?”

The word ‘cake’ immediately caught her fraying attention and she stared into the glass display to scrutinise the options available with the same keen eye she would use for chemical analysis. It was actually quite impressive how… unappetizing they all looked; sponges were wonky, frosting looked like it had been applied with a slingshot, one was painted in the garish colours of a toddler given free reign of the crayon box and they had apparently all been cut with a chainsaw, she had no other explanation for the crumbling edges and uneven slices.

“I’ll have the coffee and walnut.” She glanced back outside, noting that the storm didn’t look like it would be passing any time soon and she had already skipped breakfast. “Actually, make that two slices.”

Dark eyes blinked at her in pure shock, before the man wordlessly fulfilled her order, only breaking his silence to tell her the cost and exchange cash.

She barely noticed, taking her plate and her cup and her sopping bag, she stumbled to the nearest table and sank down into the wooden chair like it was a plush, feather pillow. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the barista slipping through a door that presumably led to a kitchen; she might’ve found that a bit unprofessional, if it weren’t for the fact that she was literally the only customer in right now.

As she gulped down half of her coffee – grimacing at the taste, but pushing through it regardless – she wondered if the place was always this quiet. Sure, it was a little out of the way and if she hadn’t been looking for somewhere to escape the weather, she probably wouldn’t have noticed it was even there, but it had a stylish interior, wall painted with abstract ink patterns and rustic furniture.

And, when she shoved a generous forkful of cake into her mouth, she had to wonder even more about how a café with such incredible goods had flown so completely under the radar.

She literally closed her eyes and moaned.

Her fatigue was completely forgotten as she eagerly shovelled another mouthful between her lips, then another, and another. She was onto the second slice in about thirty seconds.

“Holy shit, I didn’t actually believe it…”

Hinata glanced up, absolutely no clue who would be disturbing her mid-meal and, even if her mouth hadn’t been full of soft, melting deliciousness, she probably wouldn’t have been able to say anything.

The short, stocky woman, with arms practically bursting out of the sleeves of her chef’s jacket – which presumably had been white at one point, but was now littered with so many stains in basically every conceivable colour that it was basically tie-dye – pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down heavily, crossing her arms on the table and leaning forwards with a slight frown. “Someone actually bought a cake.”

She was still chewing and had to wash down her bite with a generous gulp of coffee, just to respond.

“Huh?”

Very eloquent. Her father would be proud.

“No one buys the cake, we get about fifteen customers a day, I would remember someone buying the cake before-” she jerked a thumb in the direction of the barista leaning boredly against the counter “-Sai was so shocked he immediately came into the kitchen to tell me about it.”

That a customer actually choosing to eat the food on offer was such an anomaly that the chef had to come out of the kitchen, just to see if it was true, was a damning report on the state of their business. “Really?” she asked, looking down at the slice on her plate. “I can’t imagine why, it’s delicious.”

Dark brows narrowed over her green, green eyes. “Are you making fun of me? Did my mother send you here? Are you an EHO?” The woman was standing up now, leaning ever further into her personal space, flour-covered hands steady on either side of the table. With her face only a few inches away, Hinata could pick out individual pores on her nose and several old, faded scars. “I assure you; all my paperwork is up to date,” she said slowly, in such a low, threatening tone that left Hinata less assured than ever before.

She waved her hands in front of her face and backed away as far as the chair would let her. “I don’t’ know what that means and I came here on my own, I just… really like the cake?”

The speed at which the chef’s entire demeanour switched left Hinata feeling a little dizzy. Suddenly her bright eyes were sparkling and she had a wide, toothy grin stretching across her face as she asked, “For real? Even though it looks like absolute dogshit?”

“Well, as long as it tastes good, I don’t think the appearance really matters that much.” A statement easily reinforced by the fact that she was wearing an old, faded hoodie and some leggings she’d technically bought just for the gym, but were so comfortable that they’d wormed their way into her everyday wardrobe anyway.

Also, she was still soaked through and probably looked like a bedraggled cat, but she was trying to ignore that right now.

“Finally, someone who appreciates my genius!” Slapping a hand against the table hard enough to make it rock on its uneven legs, she turned around to shout at her co-worker, “You hear that Sai?”

“As glad as I am to have a satisfied customer, I would point you to the forty-seven other slices of cake that have been consistently rejected by everyone else who’s come in today.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but Hinata got the feeling that he really was trying his best. “You can’t decorate cakes for shit and no one wants to eat them.”

The scoff and dramatic rolling of eyes suggested that this was a regular argument for these two. “Ignore him, he just thinks that he’s a better artist than me-”

“I am an objectively better artist than you.”

“Anyway-” she displayed a middle finger at him over her shoulder, all while keeping her gaze fixed on Hinata “-I’m really glad you like the cake, I know my presentation’s a bit… rough, but I know what tastes good, just wish more people would give it a chance.”

Hinata had to give a wobbly smile at the woman’s childish pout; ohhh she was in trouble. “You do have a talent for flavour, I must admit,” she said, “I think this is the best coffee cake I’ve ever had.”

“Right? I’ve been playing around with some ideas for new recipes- actually wait here a sec, I’ll go cut you off some samples.” She was charging through the door leading to the kitchen before Hinata could object, but, looking at the rain still hammering down against the windows and taking another bite of beautifully soft cake… she could think of worse ways to spend an afternoon than being fed a selection of baked goods by an incredibly handsome woman with biceps that could probably crush steel.

Maybe she could even come up with an excuse to touch them. Just to satisfy her scientific curiosity.

---

By the time the rain had settled down to a slow drizzle, she had completely forgotten everything that led her to the café in the first place, so distracted was she by chatting to the charmingly exuberant chef – who was called Sakura, she quickly learned.

They had shared several slices of experimental cakes and, while none of them looked very pretty, Hinata had been blow away by the taste each and every time.

If her alarm hadn’t started buzzing insistently, she would’ve happily spent the whole day getting lost in sugar and soft pink hair and distractingly shifting muscles and a boisterous, snorting laugh that had absolutely no right being as cute as she found it. Alas, she still had classes that she could not afford to skip and she really shouldn’t keep Sakura from her work for any longer. Even if she didn’t seem to have much to do.

As she gathered her things and pulled on her coat, she glanced down at the woman with a soft smile. “Thank you for all the wonderful food, and conversation.” She rummaged through her bag and drew out her wallet, dropping a few notes in the tip jar as she passed. One benefit to coming from a wealthy family, she afford to be very generous.

Sai grinned at her, slapping a hand over Sakura’s mouth before she could object to the payment – and judging from the look in her bright eyes, that was almost certainly what she was planning.

Rolling her eyes as she pushed his hand away, she leaned over the counter to grin widely at Hinata. “Please, come again!”

“Yes, and bring friends with you next time, as you can see, we’re pretty desperate for business.”

“Idiot, don’t tell that to the customers!” Sakura yelled, slapping a hand to her forehead hard enough to leave a red mark there.

He gave her a Look. “It’s advertising.”

“No, it’s desperation, you better not have been telling that to everyone who comes in here.”

“Are we not desperate?” He asked, voice completely even and reasonable. “Do I have to show you our account books again? Maybe you should focus on trying to find a cake decorating course, before you start criticising me.”

Hinata laughed softly to herself, but not quietly enough that she didn’t catch the attention of both workers. She smiled at the pair, marvelling at their bizarre friendship that she wouldn’t mind seeing a bit more of. “I’ll tell everyone I know that the food here is delicious and they need to come try it-” she glanced at Sakura, who was almost glowing at the compliment, and had to duck her head to hide her blush “-and I live pretty close by, I’m sure I’ll be coming in here a lot more too.”

Before she could rush out of the doors, a voice called out to her, “Hey, what’s your favourite kind of cake? I wanna make it for the next time you come here.”

She stopped and had to take several calming breaths before turning around. “Anything with cinnamon,” she said, not wanting to give herself too much hope, but unable to deny the rush of excitement fizzing through her veins at the thought of spending more time – much more time – with the wonderful, strange, charming baker.

Sakura nodded, eyes already sparking with ideas. “Alright, I’ll make you something amazing, you better come back to taste it soon!”

“I will,” she said, stepping out into the damp afternoon, feeling lighter than air and ready to take on the whole world.

---

#ictoan writes #sakuhina #hinasaku #hinata hyuga #sakura haruno #naruto #hinata is Relatable and sakura is a Disaster and all is right with the world

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