#also i was grinning so big listening to the whole podcast i had people asking what i was listening to

[littlemisslipbalm]

“you get me” (famous!y/n x harry)

Famous!y/n x Harry Styles

First Harry fic so please be kind, but feedback is SUPER appreciated

Initially inspired by the picture of Harry leaving the Gucci store with 15 bags but barely has anything to do with that lol

Definitely thought of Ellen for the interview idk why tho - also I struggle with writing Harry’s dialogue because I really want to get it right, but hopefully the more practice I get, the better/more natural it will sound. ALSO i have like no music or music industry background lol. Somewhat proofread, but its 2:30 am so it could be shit

Fluff!

Warnings: maybe some angst over being famous per say, past loneliness

Word Count: 3.7k literally howwww, i’m going to do a pt. 2 though because it was kind of a long set up and feelingsssss

---

Interviewer: Please, welcome our next guest, a woman who’s sure to have her name written up beside the music greats someday, Ms. Y/N L/N!

You can’t contain the grin that spreads to your face as you carry yourself out onto the stage and see the audience cheering for you. It was your third big interview since your first album had been released and you’d seen your fame skyrocket over night. This being the third one this week meant you’d gotten comfortable getting asked questions, but you also weren’t bored of it yet. It was exhilarating being the center of attention, especially for something that had been your life’s work up until this point. You always had to fight for whatever you got and the recognition you were starting to have was reassurance that you hadn’t been a fool to risk a safe and certain life for your dreams.

The interview begins as the rest had, a few pleasantries, how you were feeling, and then the introduction of the album. The host asked you what your inspiration was for some of the songs and the album name and cover. You loved to talk about the music, it was the whole reason you were there. The meaning, the sound, the name, it all meant so much to you and you talked about how music can be interpreted differently by everyone and even the shifts in someone’s mood can change a song’s meaning, but what it meant to you at the time of writing was always something specific. You practiced those answers in the mirror before the interviews because they were important to you and you didn’t want your words on your art to ever be misconstrued. The host then complimented your style and you were at the point where you thought your interview should be wrapping up when they asked you one more question, and it threw you for a loop.

Interviewer: So Y/N, we’ve been hearing some rumblings around, about you and another famous musician, Mr. Harry Styles. Anything going on there?

Your face heated up, you hadn’t been expecting a personal question about possible relationships. Nothing like this had been asked of you at your previous interviews. It’s about the music, the art, and who you were, it’s always about that and nothing more. To be honest, you were a bit annoyed the host had chosen to stray from those topics. You didn’t care for the celebrity side of being a famous musician, the lack of privacy, the prying eyes of media and the general public. They saw enough of you through your art, you bore your soul through music why did they want to peak into your heart as well?

Y/N: I don’t know if I’d rather be with Harry Styles or actually be Harry Styles. Like, he’s literally such an icon, I want to be able to walk out of a Gucci store after spending hours there with 15 bags full of my purchases and helpers to carry it all out c’mon… He’s also an amazing songwriter, musician, and performer, of course. Didn’t mean to sound superficial, but I’d also love to own even half of his closet.

You hadn’t really answered the question, but the audience laughed and the host obviously got the hint that you weren’t interested in fanning any flames of romance with Harry Styles or anyone else. For one, you didn’t even know the man, but you had always been a loving fan of his. You cited him as one of your role models when you were first starting to try and break into the music world. Second, if you did know him, that wouldn’t be an appropriate topic for your album press junket going on, even if it meant more publicity because of Harry’s big celebrity status. The host decided to qualify their original question with a final sentiment.

Interviewer: I totally feel the same way! I only ask because the outpouring of support you’ve received seems to be from similar groups who also follow Harry. Many have been comparing your sound to his solo career work.

Y/N: Ah...well that’s very kind of people to say. He’s definitely a big inspiration, his creativity and drive is incredible. I’d love to be as successful as him someday.

The interview ended. You and the host shook hands and you waved and sent kisses to the crowd before retreating backstage. You were exhausted, but happy. You hoped to avoid anymore stressful interview questions that didn’t truly revolve around music. Of course, life is never that simple.

-

One month later

You had done countless more interviews and talk shows as promo for your album and the buzz around it had continued to grow. Your fame continued to rise as well and that one question you had dodged at your third interview had come back around to bite you, naturally. Daily Mail’s dumb headline read: “Y/N can’t decide! Date Harry Styles or Steal His Closet?” The Sun was also running with your response and miscontruing it completely, something about how you were madly in love with Harry but jealous of his designer partnerships, you couldn’t even stomach reading the garbage. This was your worst nightmare. Not only was it taking away the focus from your album, but you were also sure this dumb gossip had reached the very set of ears that the gossip was allegedly also about.

You had signed with Columbia Records for your first album, the same record label as Harry Styles, so managers had been in contact with one another about the whole fiasco trying to get the actual truth - which was that the two of you didn’t even know each other and there were no problems whatsoever. Your manager also brought along the good news that Harry had actually listened to your album and loved it, “He said ‘Congratulations’ by the way, loved the sound. Said he’d heard you were very music focused and be open to do some mentoring on songwriting and vocal specifics, if you wanted. It’d have to be in private though, obviously.” She had added the last bit, but you understood why. To have the opportunity to discuss your music with one of your longtime role models, heroes even, was beyond anything you could have imagined coming from your album’s success. And it made the drama all the more palatable because now you at least got to talk to Harry like the media was so adamantly saying you were doing already.

You nodded quickly and agreed, while trying to keep your teenage fangirl excitement hidden below your mature now-famous musician facade. Like you said, Harry was your hero, he’d been your hero since you were in middle school and had Up All Night downloaded on your iPod touch, blasting it as loud as possible, sound hitting your poster-filled walls. You weren’t the same girl as you were then, obviously, you had grown up to be a strong, independent, and confident woman. But, you still smiled at the thought of your younger self with your baby face squealing in the nosebleeds at the Take Me Home Tour (where you swore Harry had looked straight at you) and her seeing you now, dressed in a sleek outfit setting up an appointment to meet with Harry to discuss your first album, a success.

-

The next Thursday evening

You took a deep breath, in through your nose and out through your pursed lips. You were anxious and excited at the exact same time. Your meeting with Harry was tonight, right now actually, and you hadn’t been able to think about much else since your manager had confirmed the meeting last week. She got you the details a couple of days ago, the location: his house in Malibu, the time: 5:45 P.M. You had brought along a copy of your album on vinyl because you thought it sounded best this way, second only to performing it live.

Choosing your outfit for tonight was probably the toughest decision you’d ever made, harder than choosing between an education and following your dreams, harder than choosing your favorite Beatles song. You didn’t want to worry so much, this wasn’t a date you kept reminding yourself, but everything you tried on earlier kept having something wrong with it, too dressy, too boring, too ‘not yourself’. You had settled for these blue high-waisted pants that you’d worn to your first ever podcast interview, a thin black long sleeve, and a brown leather coat that fell below your hips with vans sneakers, casual, simple, yet still true to you and your vibe.

You raised your free arm and formed a fist, hesitant to knock, as if you’d damage Harry’s seemingly perfect Malibu beachfront home by knocking too hard on the wooden front door. You waited a few moments and could here some shuffling behind the door, some incoherent words were seemingly said, but the walls muffled them before they could reach for ears. Soon enough, Harry Styles in the flesh was before you. He beamed down at you, huffing, slightly out of breath as if he had been clear across the house when you knocked. His strong figure towered above your far smaller stature. He was hanging onto the door since he had opened it only slightly. “Hello, Y/N?” he greeted and questioned simultaneously. “Hi,” you responded and extended the same hand that had just rapped against his now open door. He gripped it, ushering you into his home, “Come in, come in, it’s nice to meet you, don’t want you to catch a cold now do we?” He took note of your strong handshake and ring clad fingers.

He walked you into an area between the kitchen and a sitting area. The kitchen was open aside from a bar high top between the two rooms. You sat down at his prompting and made yourself comfortable. “I brought my record on vinyl, sounds best in my opinion, otherwise I’d recommend seeing it live,” you laughed as you handed the vinyl to him and took off your coat. “Technically, y’know, I could hear it live right now, if you were willin’ f’course,” Harry had responded over his shoulder as he placed the vinyl by his idle record player, “Anything to drink?” “Just water for me, please.” His accent was even stronger in person, especially since he had moved back to London and seldomly stayed in California, except for business and quick trips. As far as you knew, he had already been here on business for the week and was able to pencil you in.

You two settled in, with your waters, seated at the bar top beside each other, but swivelling the chairs to face one another more. Again, you were overwhelmed with the reality of the situation, sitting beside Harry Styles as professionals, peers even. He had heard your work and liked it enough to want to discuss it with you. It was a day you never thought would come to pass. He started off not by asking about the music right away, but about how you were doing with the whirlwind that stardom is. “How are you, Y/N? It’s been somewhat of a out of the frying pan into the fire kind of moment for you?” He stared at you intently, caring to hear your answer.

You couldn’t help but chuckle again and contain your smile, “Thank you for asking, Harry. Yeah, its been definitely stressful, but it’s everything I’ve ever wanted and more so the good is still outweighing any bad. Definitely, fucking exhausted though, dunno how many more interviews I can do before my jaw goes completely rigid from talking so much.” It’s Harry’s turn to laugh, his eyes shone with intrigue at what you said and how you said it. You were gorgeous, but it was how your hands helped you through what you were trying to say and the small laughs you tried to keep in while you amused yourself with your words that really made him want to hear you talk all night long.

He agreed about how the promo junket for an album can get tedious and tiresome, but also the absolute fulfillment you get from people loving the music you’ve made. The two of you chatted about surface level personal matters for a little more, but quickly moved to the music. “I took a listen a couple weeks after the album was released. I especially loved the last track. It reminded me so much of a song I never released, actually…” he trailed off.

Your final track had been a ballad, an homage to George Harrison with your use of guitar and sitar, but the lyrics were a story based off of a poem you had written one night in high school. It surrounded a girl never feeling quite good enough for the person she wanted to be with and how it happened everytime, everytime she was ready to giver herself to someone, they were always closed off. Of course it held some truth to your own life and feelings, but you wrote this girl as someone with a seemingly perfect life - when yours was obviously far from any semblance of perfection.

You wondered what Harry’s song would have sounded like, had it been about a seemingly perfect girl or a guy with a seemingly perfect life, always giving himself to the wrong person and getting destroyed by that very fact because he was impatient as the girl in your song had been. “Can I ask, how so? How’d it remind you of your own song, the words or the music?” “Oh, the story, I felt like that for a time in my life and I like to be vulnerable in my songs because it helps me process, but listening to it back has always been too painful. Could never release that or perform it, it’d wreck me.” You nodded, you completely got where he was coming from. You noticed his downcast eyes and his somber tone, you knew not to push it any further.

It was quiet and you decided it’d be okay to take his hand resting between the two of you. “Harry, I understand,” your sincerity spilled into the words, filling the quiet house, “It’s not easy. Feeling that way. Thinking you’re the only goddamn one and why the fuck does it always happen to you? I used to ask my ceiling ‘why me?’ every night of high school” you smiled then. “But you know how it is,” you rubbed your thumb over his large warm hand and he lifted his head, “it gets so much better - c’mon look at us now! It can get hard, too, all this, I’m sure. But our lives? They’re amazing!” He beamed as he had when he had first seen you at his door and when you’d first really spoke. He moved his hand from under your palm to weave your fingers with his, both of your hands with covered in rings and they clinked to fit together, finally resting perfectly fitted. He shook your two hands up and down, “God, you’re so right! That damn song, m’sorry always puts me in a mood,” he shakes his head, “not yours though, f’course, s’lovely, better than my sodding song” he finishes quickly.

After that, the mood lightened right back up. It filled you with such appreciation for Harry that he would trust you so much with such a personal detail since you two had just met. But maybe, he had trusted you because he had felt that same spark between you. It wasn’t necessarily a romantic spark, but it was obvious the two of you were kindred spirits. Besides your album, the two of you talked about everything. You loved the same bands, movies and books, you both loved to cook and had similar fashion taste, you even had the same person type - something you found out late into the night.

At the end of the Side B of your album, Harry switched to a Bill Evans record that had ‘Peace Piece’ on it. You loved that song. So did he. “So...planning to raid my closet?” Harry raised his brows from the record player and walked back to you. You almost sputtered the water in your mouth. Luckily, you got it down. “Pardon?” “All that bad press the two of us have been getting...I watched the interview that kind of ignited the tabloids. You’re obviously not used to those overstepping personal questions.” You nodded. “It’s fine, even if you’d completely shut it down, the tabloids probably would have picked it up still, they snap up anything and everything, true or not.” You softened at his reassurance. You hadn’t expected Harry to bring the interview up, but you were sure he wasn’t happy about it, he was so private, especially about his love life. “Thanks, I’m sorry I tried to laugh it off, kind of made it worse, didn’t I?” “No! Thought it was hilarious and I totally appreciated the sentiment. Little ol’me, an icon? And an amazing artist? All I gotta do is watch that clip and I’ve fed my narcissistic side for the week!” You giggled and replied slyly, “So does that mean I can raid your closet? As compensation, of course.” Harry threw his head back in an all consuming laughter, when he’d composed himself he looked in your eyes again and said, “You just...God, you get me.”

Harry had continued to put records on throughout the night, diligently flipping sides and asking for requests, he of course had an extensive collection. The two of you had moved onto his plush couch that looked out his french doors to the beautiful ocean view. Finally, your exhaustion caught up to you, mid-Harry describing his latest travel fiasco, you glanced up at the clock. You gasped. Harry stopped. “When did it get to be half 12?” you questioned almost incredulously, “I’ve gotta get home, Harry, but this has been truly amazing, more than I could have asked for, so thank you.” Your speech began to rush as you started to get up and gather your things, that had slowly scattered as you’d gotten more comfortable, jacket by the table, shoes around the back of the couch, your phone forgotten somewhere in the couch. You couldn’t believe you’d spent almost seven hours just talking with Harry Styles.

Harry quickly stood up from his relaxed positioned on the couch and asked if you were alright to drive this late. You scoffed, “Oh please, I’ve driven around at 3 am before, I just have to turn up the music and I can cruise.” He smiled, “This was great, Y/N, I know we didn’t really go super in depth into your writing process, but I’d love to write with you sometime or just hang out again f’course. Your seriously talented and obviously a wonderful person.” He didn’t include that he felt like he’d never met anyone like you, never met someone so perfectly matched to himself, in passions but also in work ethic and demeanor - compassionate yet confident. He felt like you got him perfectly and he got you. You had stopped your scramble to gather yourself and now you were both smiling at one another.

This had really been an unforgettable night, you couldn’t believe how well you two had meshed, like childhood friends reconnecting after years apart. “Can I give yeh a hug before you go?” Harry’s voice had grown raspier as the night had progressed. He had grown rather tired an hour ago, but had pushed through because they had been having so much fun and you hadn’t noticed his physical fading or the time, obviously. You stepped toward him and his large tattooed arms enveloped you into his body. His body truly dwarfed yours now as he held you to his chest. You both were warm and soft. He tucked his head on top of yours that rested on his chest. Your arms were loosely resting where his back met his waist because you would have had to strain to get them to encircle him. His arms rested around your small frame. “Love your jacket,” he mumbled into your hair. His rough voice was quiet, but the house was silent otherwise, Tusk Side C had finished around when you had noticed the time. The embrace lasted long, but it felt so amazing you had a hard time pulling yourself away, but you had to get back home.

“G’night Harry” you said softly at the threshold of his home. He had insisted on walking you to the front door at least, since you had declined his offer to walk you out to your car on the street. “G’night. Safe travels.”

You got in your car and headed to your apartment in the city. You didn’t bother digging for your phone so you turned on the radio and drove home singing whatever came on, including your own song at one point. The whole time you drove with a grin. Harry was the nicest person you’d ever met and you were confident that the two of you were friends now. As you pulled into your parking garage it dawned on you why you hadn’t connected your phone immediately when you got in your car. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” you put the car in park and rested your palms in the depressions of your eyesockets, over your closed eyelids, and rubbed hard. “Fuck!” It was far too late to drive back out to Malibu for your phone and you obviously couldn’t text Harry that you’d left your phone at his place, despite the two of you exchanging numbers during the night for future hang outs, so they didn’t have to be arranged through your managers, like playdates. Even if he found your phone between the cushions, he couldn’t drop it at your place in the morning because he didn’t know your address. This was a whole mess, you thought. You’d have to drive over in the morning and hope he was still there or email your manager from your computer. The former meant you got to see Harry sooner and likely your phone, too.

part 2

-

@berrynarrybanana​

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #har #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fan fic #I DID IT #I sat down and wrote it #and it took forever #and I need to write a second part but I made something coherent #one direction fanfiction #not my gifs #my writing #I love you h #you get me #my writings

[heartofether]

Bonus Episode #5 - Cherry on Top TRANSCRIPT

[You can listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts, or go to our “Listen” page if you’re on desktop.]

VAL

Hey folks, Val here! So, by now you’ve probably figured out that this isn’t Episode 16 of The Heart of Ether. Due to some technical difficulties—and also just the fact that our schedules are all one collective dumpster fire—Episode 16 has been, unfortunately, delayed. It’s a big episode, and we didn’t want to rush it.

It will either be coming out next week, October 1st, aka when Halloween begins, or the week after. At the time of recording this, I’m aiming for October 1st, but we will see how it plays out. Thank you all so much for your patience, and if you’d like updates, you can follow us on Twitter and Tumblr @heartofether.

In the mean time, this one is actually a fluff episode, I’m not joking this time. Enjoy!

AUTOMATED VOICE

[SLIGHTLY SLOWED & PITCHED DOWN] Please state your message.

[THEME SONG PLAYS.]

[PHONE BEEP.]

[INT. CHERRY ON TOP DINER, EARLY EVENING.]

[THERE IS THE SOUND OF CLATTER, CHATTER AND 50’S ROCK MUSIC IN THE BACKGROUND.]

AGENT MAY

Agent June, may I ask why you were so insistent on coming here?

AGENT JUNE

We’re supposed to be investigating the whole town, right? This diner seems to be pretty popular. Never know what might happen. [OVER-THE-TOP] Might see a monster pop out of the shadows! [HE LAUGHS.]

[A BEAT AS AGENT MAY ROLLS HIS EYES.]

AGENT MAY

They’re definitely playing up the whole 1950’s Americana theme.

AGENT JUNE

That’s kind of the point, yeah. No way in hell I’d survive living in the 50’s, but the retro aesthetic does have some charm to it, you know?

AGENT MAY

I suppose.

[THE WAITER IS HEARD WALKING OVER]

WAITER

Hey there! Can I get you folks started with anything to drink?

AGENT JUNE

One Cherry-On-The-Top Signature Float, please!

[TO AGENT MAY] Okay, May, hear me out: so, I heard this place has bomb cherry floats. I think they get their cherry cola from this special local place. You’ve gotta try it.

AGENT MAY

Thanks for the offer, but I don’t do ice cream floats. Hardly have time to eat as is, I don’t usually indulge in…dessert.

[A BEAT.]

AGENT JUNE

Well. That’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard.

WAITER

You could always get the Sweetheart Special and share it.

AGENT MAY

[FLUSTERED, STUTTERING] We’re not, uh—

[THEN, MUMBLING] I’ll have my own, thanks.

AGENT JUNE

[TO WAITER] Two cherry floats, please!

WAITER

Coming right up!

[THEY ARE HEARD WRITING THE ORDER DOWN BEFORE WALKING AWAY.]

AGENT MAY

Well, I hope you’re pleased with yourself.

AGENT JUNE

[SMUG] Worst case scenario, I get two floats, right?

AGENT MAY

Then I don’t want to hear it when you get sick later.

AGENT JUNE

Maybe if you simply allow yourself to enjoy a cold cherry delight, I won’t have to eat so much ice cream.

AGENT MAY

[HUFFING, THEN, CAVING, HESITANTLY AND ALMOST GUILTILY] I will admit, it doesn’t sound half bad.

AGENT JUNE

[GRINNING] That’s the spirit!

[AS THEY TALK, THE WAITER WALKS BACK OVER. GLASS CLATTERS AS THEY SET THE FLOATS ON THE TABLE.]

WAITER

Two Cherry-On-Tops.

AGENT JUNE

[SURPRISED] Oh, wow, that was fast. Say, how did you—?

WAITER

[CUTTING HIM OFF] Can I get you folks started with some food, or do you need a moment to decide?

AGENT MAY

We’ll just start with the floats for now. Thank you.

[THEY WALK AWAY. THERE’S A PAUSE.]

AGENT JUNE

So, I’ve been thinking.

AGENT MAY

That’s never a good sign.

AGENT JUNE

You haven’t even heard what I have to say yet!

AGENT MAY

[HE HUFFS] Alright. Spit it out.

AGENT JUNE

[EXCITED TO GET RIGHT INTO IT] So, one of our main missions while we’re here is to find the Heart, right?

AGENT MAY

[WARY] …right…

AGENT JUNE

Only, I think we’ve been going about it the wrong way. Because, I mean, we’ve been looking for it as if it’s some sort of landmark; As if we could just plug “123 Ether Street” into Google Maps and find out it’s x hours away if we take the highway. Look how far that’s gotten us, though.

AGENT MAY

Are you saying that you don’t think the Heart has a set location?

AGENT JUNE

What I’m saying is I don’t think we’re going to find it just by wandering around and hoping we get lucky! Like—okay, wait, let me borrow your float.

[AS AGENT MAY BEGINS TO SPEAK, JUNE IS ALREADY TAKING THE FLOAT. IT’S TOO LATE.]

AGENT MAY

Hey, give that back!

AGENT JUNE

Relax, I will! So, look at this glorious monstrosity of sugar and carbonation. What do you notice about it?

AGENT MAY

That it looks like a stomachache waiting to happen?

AGENT JUNE

The bare essentials, May. Tell me about the ingredients.

AGENT MAY

Um…it’s vanilla ice cream…

AGENT JUNE

[IN ANTICIPATION] Yes…

AGENT MAY

[CONT.] …with cherry cola and a sticky red syrup poured over it.

AGENT JUNE

Exactly!

AGENT MAY

Do the cherries on top factor into this equation?

AGENT JUNE

Mm, let’s call them the decorative flare of life and all its drama. They’re distractions from what really matters, though.

AGENT MAY

And what’s that?

AGENT JUNE

The ice cream! We’ve been swimming through this sea of soda for so long, looking for answers, and we’ve come up with jack.

[POINTING] We’re here right now: the thick, delectable foam on top. We need to go deeper, but how?

AGENT MAY

What are you suggesting, then?

AGENT JUNE

We have to get rid of all of the distractions. Get rid of the soda entirely and look at it as simply as possible. If we look at it for what it is instead of what we’ve made it out to be, then maybe we’ll realize how easy it’s been to find all along.

AGENT MAY

And how do we do that?

AGENT JUNE

We have to pour the soda out!

[THEN, HE GRABS THE FLOAT AND TURNS IT UPSIDE DOWN. IT SPILLS ACROSS THE TABLE IN A MAGNIFICENT SPLAT. MULTIPLE PATRONS GASP OR WINCE.]

PATRON

[MUMBLING, TO THE LEFT] Oh, god.

AGENT MAY

[SLOWLY] Now, June, I want you to look around and think about what you just did. Slowly.

[A PAUSE AS AGENT JUNE LOOKS AROUND.]

AGENT JUNE

[SUDDENLY SMALL, GUILTY] …I’m sorry?

AGENT MAY

[HE INHALES SHARPLY.] You had your own float! Why did you have to dump mine all over the table?

AGENT JUNE

It was a metaphor, dude! I just—got a bit too into it!

[AS THEY BICKER, THE WAITER WALKS BACK OVER.]

WAITER

Would you like me to make you another one?

AGENT MAY

Actually, I think I’m okay. We’ll take the bill now.

WAITER

No food, then?

AGENT MAY

[GRUMBLING] I had a late lunch.

WAITER

If you insist.

[THEY WALK AWAY. THERE’S A PAUSE.]

AGENT JUNE

[STILL GUILTY, BUT SINCERE] Do you wanna share mine?

AGENT MAY

I appreciate the gesture, but—

[HE STOPS HIMSELF, SIGHS, THEN, ALMOST SOFT, IN A WAY] You know what? That would be nice.

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

Today's quote is: “To be careful with people and with words was a rare and beautiful thing.”

Benjamin Alire Sáenz in Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe, 2012.

[OUTRO MUSIC AND CREDITS PLAY.]

[iam93percentstardust]

I'm bombarding you with those prompts, so I fully understand if you just ignore all those you don't like, lol. Would WinterIronFalcon be an OT3 you're intrested in writing? Some established WinterFalcon with Tony pining helplessly after them, not believeing he could have a chance? With a dash of angst in it? Thank you ♡

There isn’t much angst in this but there is hopeless pining so yay?

Also on ao3 here

~

“Share Bear, it’s not fair,” Tony whines into the phone.

“What isn’t?” his cousin asks, sounding patient but also kind of amused. He takes the phone away from his ear and squints at it. Is she making fun of him? She probably is, Sharon always makes fun of him. She’s mean like that; he’s pretty sure she gets it from Natasha.

“They’re so fucking gorgeous, I can’t stand it.”

“Oh. Them again. Seriously Tony, didn’t you used to have better taste?”

“Excuse you,” he says, offended. “My taste is perfect.”

“They think arguing is foreplay.”

“It’s bickering! And it’s cute!”

“Gross,” Sharon says cheerfully.

“God hates me,” Tony says dramatically, flinging his hand over his eyes. “That’s why he cursed me to work with two such beautiful humans who are already dating each other.”

“Tony—”

“I know Bucky stays up to date with the fandom,” he continues, going a little quieter. “He’s gotta know that tons of people ship the three of us. But he doesn’t say anything about it. Share Bear, why doesn’t he say anything?”

“Probably because for every person who ships all three of you, there’s twice as many who ship just you and him,” she admits. “I know that if someone were shipping Maria and Nat and ignoring that I even exist, I’d be pretty upset.”

“Yeah,” he says glumly.

“What’re you filming today anyway?” she asks.

“True Crime. We were supposed to be doing an episode of Supernatural at the Odinson Mystery House, you know, over in Norway where the son found out he was adopted and then got super into Norse mythology and supposedly disappeared into a rainbow?”

“Oh yeah, that guy was crazy.”

“Wasn’t,” Tony insist stubbornly. “There are three different eyewitnesses and they all saw the same thing.”

“All three eyewitnesses tested positive for meth.”

“It was trace amounts and ruled irrelevant to the case. Anyway, there’s some sort of blizzard so our flight got canceled. We figured we’d get a jump on this season’s True Crime episodes instead.”

“What are you doing this week?”

He scowls into the phone. “Fandom episode. They voted for Captain America.”

He can practically hear Sharon wince. “I’m sorry. That fucking sucks.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, not least because both of them know exactly what happened to Captain America. He was recovered from the Arctic back in the 50s and went on to live a very happy and fulfilling life with Aunt Peggy. But that’s a very closely guarded state secret; the U.S. government can’t let it get out that Steve Rogers survived nearly a decade in the ice. Technically, Tony and Sharon aren’t even supposed to know but Aunt Peggy had insisted she be allowed to tell them after she took custody of Sharon and Tony moved out of Howard’s and into her home. It’s kind of cool actually, knowing that Uncle Steve is really Captain America. He’s a pretty great guy. It just kind of sucks that he can’t tell anyone about it and now he has to do a whole episode about it when everyone knows he’s a shitty liar.

He’d talked it over with Uncle Steve and Aunt Peggy when the results of the vote had first come in. Aunt Peggy’s advice had been to act more manic than usual, throw even more outlandish theories into the mix, and really make this episode about the banter between him and Bucky. “Direct their attention away from Steve,” she’d said. “They’re already going to be looking at you. Just make sure they’re doing it for the wrong reason.”

He kind of wants to kiss Bucky. That would definitely draw attention away from the episode. But that’s not fair to either Bucky or Sam, who are very happy with their relationship and don’t need a homewrecker like Tony throwing a spanner into the mix.

“Good luck,” Sharon tells him before they hang up. “You’re gonna need it.”

“Wow, thanks,” he mutters but she’s already gone.

~

Marvels Unsolved was never supposed to be this popular. It started off as a novelty webseries about Tony trying to convince Bucky about the existence of the supernatural—he firmly believed that if science could turn Uncle Steve from an actual shrimp to the god of muscles, then magic had to be out there—and then they’d started talking about an unsolved crime from the early 20th century after filming an episode one day, forgetting that the camera was still rolling, and had ended up with enough footage to make a second episode about real crimes. They had stayed pretty unknown throughout that first season but then true crime podcasts had exploded in popularity and Unsolved along with them.

Now they have a fandom and merchandise and actual fanfiction written about them, which is the craziest thing. They both have several often-quoted gifs floating around the Internet and Bucky has somehow become the poster child for being unimpressed by literally everything (he actually makes some of the best faces when something genuinely scary happens but they always end up editing those parts out—he has an image to maintain after all).

They brought Sam on once they started gaining in popularity. Tony, by that point, already had a pretty well-established crush on Bucky. He’d even thought that he had a chance with his co-host, small as it may be, and at first, it hadn’t seemed like Sam was going to change anything. He and Bucky argued all the time so Tony had been absolutely stunned when he’d stumbled upon them making out like it was the end of the world.

They had just finished filming their second season. Sam had suggested going out to a local bar. He’d suggested it for all three of them but Tony had, inexplicably, felt like a third wheel all night as Sam and Bucky bickered. At one point, Sam had disappeared off to the restroom and a couple minutes later, Bucky had followed him. Tony doesn’t know how long he had sat there waiting for them but he’d eventually gone looking for them only to find Sam pressing Bucky up against a wall.

And that had been that.

Three years later, Sam and Bucky are still going strong, Tony is as smitten with Sam as he is with Bucky despite knowing how hopeless both crushes are, and the fandom seems convinced to either write Sam out of Tony and Bucky’s relationship or write Tony into Sam and Bucky’s. He wishes they would stop. He stays pretty up to date with the fandom as well and they have all these meta posts about the way Bucky looks at him or something. It just keeps giving him hope but, well, it’s been three years. If Bucky wanted him, or if Sam did for that matter, they would have done something long ago.

~

“Hey, you doing okay?” Sam asks him as they’re setting up.

“Sure, why wouldn’t I be?” He avoids meeting Sam’s eyes, focusing instead on adding creamer to the coffee. Marvels had presented them with these mugs last year to congratulate them on four years of Unsolved. They’ve got their most iconic quotes printed on them, Bucky’s with “Obviously I killed JFK” and Tony’s with “I’m the dramatic bitch your mom warned you about.” Sam has one too with his one and only line in the entire show printed on it (“Why did I agree to work with you?”) but since he’s always behind the camera, he doesn’t have to use the same mug for each episode.

“You just seem a little off.” The worst part is that Sam genuinely looks concerned. If they didn’t care about him, he thinks his crush might be easier to manage but they do because they’re just nice guys like that. “I know you weren’t too thrilled when we announced this week’s case.”

“Howard worked with him, practically hero-worshipped the damn guy. Of course, I’m not excited.”

Sam winces. They know all about Tony’s shitty relationship with Howard after his dad called Marvels furious that his son was hosting a webseries instead of coming home to grovel at his feet and take over the business. The whole team had been brought in to listen as Fury tried to placate him. By the end, Bucky had been furious on Tony’s behalf and Sam had berated Fury for twenty minutes for making Tony listen to the vitriol his dad had spewed. It had cemented his crush on Sam, then just a passing fancy, into something real and permanent.

“Seriously, Sam, I’m fine. Might be a little off today but I would have said if I didn’t think I could do it.”

Sam doesn’t look convinced but he agrees anyway. Tony sits down next to Bucky and passes him his mug. Bucky shoots him a grin and murmurs, “Thanks, doll.”

Tony doesn’t blush but that’s only because he has five years of practice. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Sam counting them down and he turns to face the camera, settling his hands in front of him.

“This week on Marvels Unsolved True Crime and in celebration of our 100th episode,” he begins, “we asked you what you’d like us to investigate and you came back—”

“—overwhelmingly,” Bucky interjects.

“Many, many times,” Tony agrees, “with a topic near and dear to my own heart: Captain America.”

“That’s right,” Bucky says, sounding surprised though Bucky had been the first to point out that maybe they shouldn’t do this episode because of Tony’s connections to Project Rebirth. “Your dad helped turn Steve Rogers into Captain America, didn’t he?”

“And he never let me forget it!” Tony says cheerfully.

“One hundred episodes,” Bucky says slowly, enunciating each word. “Can you believe that, doll?”

Sometimes, he wonders why the fans ship them when Sam is right there. Other times, Bucky says things like this and he understands completely.

“Not even a little bit, Bucky Babe.” Okay, so maybe he doesn’t help.

“One hundred. The big one zero zero.”

“We tried to do something extra special and get Sam in front of the camera for you guys—”

“—so you could see what a hunk he is—”

“—but Sam said that he didn’t trust anyone else to film us properly—”

“—which makes sense because Tony? If you put him in the wrong light, he’s practically a gremlin—”

“Hey!”

“I’m just telling the facts.”

“Well, the facts are wrong.”

“They’re facts, sweet thing, they can’t be wrong.”

“Can too. Anyway, since Sam refuses to join us—”

“—and that just breaks my heart because Sam, he’s one of my favorite guys, you know?”

Tony pauses. It’s not like Bucky to say anything nice about Sam. Usually, it’s all good-natured insults and bickering. He must really be fed up with the Starkbucks shippers to say something like this when they’re still this early in the show.

“Only one of?” he asks curiously.

Bucky shoots him one of those filthy grins that their audience loves so much. “Well, it’s hard not to include you on that list,” he drawls.

He’s not going to blush.

He’s not going to blush.

He’s not going to—

Damn it.

Whatever. It’s no big deal, that’s what editing is for. So what if Sam has never edited out one of Tony’s blushes yet? Maybe Tony will get lucky and he will this time.

“You know, I was actually named for Captain America’s sidekick?” Bucky asks, getting them back on track.

“Wow, that is deeply unfortunate,” Tony deadpans.

“Yeah, Dad’s a fanboy. His whole troop was pinned down and rescued by the two of them. He tells the story all the time—kind of like your dad.”

“Except my dad goes straight past into fanboy and directly into obsession territory.”

“…Fair enough.”

“Really? That’s all you’re going to say?”

Bucky shrugs and takes a sip out of his mug. “I’ve been inside your house. I’ve seen the Steve Rogers shrine. I’m not going to argue with you.”

Tony thinks about that for a moment. “It is kind of a shrine, isn’t it? Anyway, we’ve got some great stuff for you today. We’re going to crack open this cold case, show you some never-before-seen footage courtesy of my mom sneaking my dad’s old war tapes out of the mansion, and then we’ll talk a little bit about the theories out there.”

“How many of them are going to be ridiculously outlandish and physically impossible?”

Tony glares at him. “None of them. I have never once presented a ridiculously outlandish and physically impossible theory.”

“Right because alien abduction is a valid—”

“Aliens are real!”

“You said that crabs might have eaten Amelia Earheart!” Bucky shouts over him.

“It’s a valid theory!”

“I take it back, you’re not one of my favorite people anymore.”

“That really hurts me, deep inside,” Tony says sarcastically, trying to cover up that maybe that does send a small pang shooting through his chest. He likes the thought of being one of Bucky’s favorite people. He doesn’t want to lose that.

“How deep?” Bucky asks and winks.

“Very deep. Way, way deep down. Practically in my—”

Bucky’s eyes widen and he nearly chokes on his coffee. “Okay, that’s enough of that. Let’s get into the facts.”

“Hey, that’s my line!”

~

“With a missing plane and pilot and so much redaction in the files, we’re lucky to even have a name, let’s get into the theories.”

“Actually, wait, before we do that,” Bucky says, “I want to ask if you’ve ever noticed that your voice changes when you’re doing the voiceovers.”

“Wait, what?” Tony asks. He glances at him, to one of the cameras, then back to Bucky. “What do you mean?”

“You know, it gets all deeper like you’re trying to voice movie trailers or something.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Sure it does.”

Tony shakes his head. “There’s no way.”

They both turn toward Sam, who thinks about it and then makes a ‘sort of’ motion with his hand.

“Told you!” Bucky says triumphantly.

“You’re such a child,” Tony sneers.

“Yeah, that’s why you like working with me so much.”

Behind the camera, Sam silently snickers and Tony glares at him before telling the camera, “If you’re watching, let us know in the comments. Is my apparent movie trailer voice okay or does it need to go like Bucky clearly thinks?”

Bucky goes paler. “Hey, wait, I didn’t say it had to go.”

“It was implied when you brought it up,” he argues.

“No!” Bucky insists. “I was just wondering if it was on purpose.”

They both turn toward Sam, who thinks about it and then makes a ‘sort of’ motion with his hand.

“Aha!” Tony says triumphantly.

“Traitor,” Bucky mutters into his coffee.

Sam signs, “I’ll make it up to you when we get home tonight.”

“And that was more than I ever wanted to learn about Sam and Bucky’s love life,” Tony lies through his teeth. “Let’s get into the theories. I only have two for you today, one of which I think Bucky will particularly like.”

“Oh no.”

“Our first theory is that Steve Rogers died in a plane crash on December 16, 1944. Winter months in the Arctic are known to be particularly stormy. There would have been low visibility due to the high latitude and time of year and with the waters and surrounding land being well below freezing, it’s possible that, even if Captain Rogers survived the impact, he would have frozen to death in the stormy seas.”

Bucky thinks about it for a second. “Yeah, that seems plausible.”

“In addition, Howard Stark, a known Captain America aficionado and the father of Marvels Unsolved’s best host—”

“You lie like a rug!” Bucky howls.

Tony snickers and then when Sam signs, “He’s really not,” bursts out into full-out laughter.

Once he’s recovered, he continues, “Howard Stark has spent the first fifty years after the crash of the Valkyrie and the last twenty funding searches in the Arctic in the hopes of recovering Captain Rogers’ body. He has found no evidence that Captain Rogers survived the crash although he did find part of the remains of the Valkyrie and has since stated that, ‘No human could have survived that crash.’”

The expeditions are a scam and have been since Howard first found the Valkyrie crash site and Uncle Steve along with it. He hadn’t been planning on continuing the expeditions—too costly, as he claims—but when Aunt Peggy had told him that Uncle Steve’s survival had to remain a secret, he’d kept them up for pretense’s sake.

Bucky is saying something about how it sucks that the first superhero is gone and when he finishes, Tony grins and says, “Then you’ll like our second theory.”

“Somehow, every time you say that, I end up completely hating it. Wonder why that is.”

“Our second theory is that Steve Rogers survived the crash and is still alive but cryogenically frozen in the ice. There—”

“Bullshit!”

Tony starts laughing but he tries to continue on over Bucky shouting that it’s complete nonsense. It’s hard and he knows that Sam will probably have to do some editing and maybe make Tony do some voiceover work in order to make the theory audible but he thinks he manages to do a pretty good job.

Bucky is pouting by the end of it, arms crossed over his chest. “What fucking bullshit,” he mutters.

“The supersoldier serum—” Tony starts to point out.

“Isn’t a miracle drug.”

“That’s exactly what it is.”

“No, it just made him big and strong. It doesn’t just magically keep people alive when they should have died.”

And then they’re off into familiar territory, arguing about the merits of either theory. Tony’s actually feeling pretty good about himself, convinced that he’s doing a decent job of steering the conversation away of anything classified, right up until Bucky says, about halfway through the episode, “I’m surprised at you, Tony.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Surprised?”

“Usually, you have some absolutely batshit, off-the-walls crazy theory but these have actually been pretty normal for you.” He pauses and then adds for effect, “And you’re usually much better at your research than this.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh come on, even I know that there’s one more theory.”

He starts tapping at his chest nervously, almost wishing that he had a pair of sunglasses. Aunt Peggy always said that his lies are in his eyes, that they’re too expressive to hide the truth. When he was living with Howard, in the spotlight, he always had a pair of sunglasses to hide his eyes but he hasn’t wanted to use those since he moved out. He wishes he had them now.

“And what’s that?” he asks, feigning a casualness he doesn’t feel.

“That Steve Rogers lived and came out of the ice at some point and has been living out his life in anonymity.”

He barks out a nervous laugh. “I didn’t mention it because even I know that that theory is completely impossible.”

“Hasn’t stopped you before.” Sam nods agreeably. Bucky nods back at him and adds, “Even Sam agrees with me.”

“He’s your boyfriend, he’s practically required to.”

Both Sam and Bucky laugh at that one and yeah, okay, it was a pretty ridiculous statement. Anyone who knows them knows that being boyfriends is less likely to make them agree with each other.

“Look, Steve Rogers didn’t come out of the ice alive. Howard would have known for one thing and if you think, he could keep something like that quiet, then you don’t know him very well.”

“Maybe the government insisted it be a secret,” Bucky suggests, shrugging. “There have been plenty of people who have claimed over the last couple decades to be Captain America.”

Tony scoffs. “Oh come on, by that logic, anyone could be Captain America.”

“Maybe they could be.”

“No,” Tony says flatly. “It’s like that crazy conspiracy theory guy over on Reddit who’s convinced that Bruce Wayne is Batman.”

“Maybe Bruce Wayne is Batman.”

“Ooh do the butts match?” Tony says mockingly. “I mean, really, Bucky Babe, if we’re going off of lookalikes, then my fucking Uncle Steve is secretly really Steve Rogers, which is ridiculous because the guy’s like practically ancient and faints at the sight of blood in PG-13 movies.”

That sets off another round of arguing that lasts the rest of the episode until finally Tony wraps it up with, “Whether Steve Rogers died in 1944 or is still alive today is a mystery that will remain unsolved.”

They both pause for a moment to provide time for Sam to edit in the theme music and closing title. Usually, there would be some lighthearted bantering afterwards, maybe a joke about something they said earlier in the show. This time though, Bucky says thoughtfully, “The thing is, though, I’ve met your Uncle Steve—”

Tony goes cold.

“—and he really does kind of look like—”

Tony panics. That’s the only explanation that he has for declaring, “I’m done waiting,” reaching across the tables and grabbing hold of Bucky’s shirt, and yanking him forward to kiss him.

For a moment, Bucky is too startled to do anything but then he melts into Tony, mouth opening under his, tongue pushing forward to meet his. Bucky’s arms come around him, pulling him up and out of his chair and settling him into his lap. Tony makes a small greedy sound, swallowed by Bucky’s kiss, and then they’re both pulling away. Bucky’s lips are very red; Tony can’t stop staring at them even as he’s filled with dismay.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Why not?” Bucky demands.

“You—Sam—” He glances toward the camera but Sam isn’t standing there anymore. His heart drops into his stomach—has he just ruined Bucky and Sam’s relationship? But then he hears someone drop to their knees behind him and when he turns slightly, Sam’s fingers are on his chin, gently turning his head.

“How long?” Sam asks.

“How long what?”

“How long have we been wasting our time when we could have been kissing you instead?”

Three years, two months, and fifteen days. “Too long.”

Sam kisses him then, mouth gentler than Bucky’s but no less consuming. Bucky is a hard, hot line against his front; Sam is warm against his back and Tony? Tony loses himself in the storm that is the two of them, sparks shooting through him as Bucky’s hands find their way to his hips, as Sam’s tongue slips into his mouth, as Bucky whispers into his ear, “We’re not wasting any more time.”

~

Marvels Unsolved’s 100th episode shoots to their most watched, most liked video in less than a day and when asked, maybe the smallest handful of viewers could have said what it was about.

The day after it posts, only a week after it was filmed, Tony’s phone rings.

“Kill it with fire,” Sam says sleepily.

Tony, however, recognizes Aunt Peggy’s ringtone and he rolls over to grab it before Bucky can throw it at the wall. “Hello?” he asks groggily.

“Congratulations on not blowing Steve’s cover,” she says.

“Oh yeah,” Tony mutters. “Can I go back to bed now?”

“One more thing, duck.”

“What’s that?”

“Congratulations on the new boyfriends.”

#winterironfalcon #alle writes #alle answers #ooh boy this got long #if you like please consider reblogging #justsomeoneunordinary

[lydia-bell]

The Twelfth Time’s the Charm

Happy TBTP Holidays, @mysugarglidersrox​! I wrote you a bit of AU Stragan fluff (mostly). I hope you enjoy it!

[Edit: now with AO3 link!]

The Twelfth Time’s the Charm

Alex finally made it to the front of the line for signings. She'd let everyone else go ahead of her because she wanted to have a bit of fun without worrying that she was holding anyone else up. Handing the hardcover to the author, she said "I'm really looking forward to reading this. The chapter you read was pretty compelling."

"Thank you," he said, giving a small nod of acknowledgement. He was even prettier up close, those bright blue eyes catching and holding her attention. 

"So, to whom shall I make this out?"

"Alex Reagan." She waited to see if he would make the connection.

"Is that spelled with..." his voice trailed off. He looked up at her, his brow slightly furrowed. "Alex Reagan. Have we met?"

"No, we never did quite manage it," she replied lightly. Maybe if I'd called a twelfth time."

He actually looked abashed. It was a good look on him. "Of course. The reporter." Then his eyes narrowed a bit and he said, "I hope you aren't still trying to get me to agree to an interview."

"Nope. We wrapped on that story months ago. I just thought it would be fun."

He relaxed then and started to sign her book. "Is 'Reagan' spelled with or without an 'a'?"

"With. It used to be pronounced like the president but I guess my dad's family decided they didn't want the association. It was easier to change the pronunciation than the spelling."

He laughed, signed the book, and handed it back to her. 

"I hope you didn't take it personally when I didn't call back, Ms. Reagan. But at the time, I was very much focused on finishing this book, and in any event I'm afraid I've never enjoyed talking with the press."

"It's OK, lots of people don't."

"I presume you were able to find someone else to talk to."

"Oh, sure. Though the whole 'paranormal investigator' well ran a little dry after that. Maybe if you'd returned my calls, we could have done a whole series on it," she teased. 

"I'm sure I'm not that fascinating," he demurred.

"Oh, I don't know."

He chuckled. "You have a way with flattery, Ms. Reagan."

"Alex."

"Alex. I haven't had dinner yet. Would you be interested in joining me?"

"I think I'd like that a lot, yeah."

***

Strand—he'd said to call him Richard but she was struggling a bit to adjust—wanted some good, fresh seafood because "it's not the same in Chicago." That was fine with Alex, so they found an oyster bar a couple of blocks from the bookstore. Once they'd placed their orders, and thus run out of obvious small-talk fodder, she wasn’t sure what to say next. She was feeling oddly nervous, like this was a date with stakes instead of a spur-of-the-moment meal with a (granted, hot) former prospective interview subject.

She decided to ease into the conversation by asking about something she knew he would want to talk about.

"So, what inspired you to write your book?"

"I'm trying to do my part to encourage rational thinking in the world, against the tide of all of the forces that seem to be pushing in the opposite direction."

It was really unreasonable, Alex reflected, to be attracted to someone who talked like that all the time. But here she was. "Sure, but I meant more like, why this particular book, and why you?"

"Let's just say that I have experience with," he paused, "family members who have turned to the occult in times of crisis. It didn't provide the answers they were looking for, and it probably prevented them from doing something more useful."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thank you."

They both fell quiet for a moment as the waiter brought their food. When he'd gone, Richard continued as if he'd never stopped.

"The impulse to turn to paranormal explanations is understandable in some ways. Especially for people who have suffered trauma, or who lack a proper understanding of science and statistics. Other people have a psychological need to feel that they're special, that they have secret knowledge of some hidden aspect of the world. Some people are just looking for a break from the mundane. Of course there are other outlets that for these impulses—things like conspiracy theories or radical political movements, for instance. Either way, if people aren't careful about how they get their needs met, they can become targets. They can delude themselves. I want to prevent that, as much as I can."

"Wow," Alex said. "I guess that's...I don't know, deeper than I expected it to be?" Off his raised eyebrow she added, "That may have come out wrong. I guess I just expected something more along the lines of the videos I've seen you in."

"Ah, yes. Less human nature, more ripping apart the claims of charlatans."

"Something like that, yeah."

"Well," he admitted, "there's some of that too."

Alex laughed.

"Speaking of charlatans," Richard continued, "I certainly hope you found someone to represent the rational point of view on your show."

"We couldn't really find another person with your particular profile, but we did talk to a couple of skeptics. And a woman named Arianna Asadi called me..."

Richard groaned softly.

Alex laughed. "What? She said she heard I'd been calling around to paranormal researchers, and she wanted to make sure I didn't get the wrong idea. She warned me off of them!"

Richard huffed. "Ms. Asadi is an odd case. She purports to be a serious researcher. She even offers very well-founded debunkings of the ghost hunters and so-called psychics who prey on people looking for answers and meaning. And then she publishes books about 'historical hauntings'. I believe she's actually sincere, but it's all very frustrating."

"Well, she thinks highly of you."

"And what makes you say that?"

"That she said she admires your body of work." He actually blushed a little. Alex grinned and continued. "Anyway, you're right about the debunking. She asked who I'd talked to so far, and when I told her, she immediately listed off all these tricks they do to make it seem like lights are going out on their own and things like that. It was amazing, she basically described everything that happened with Emily Dumont and the old psych hospital. I think Dumont must do the same stuff a lot."

"Oh, I assure you, she does."

"See, it could have been you, explaining all this to our listeners," she teased.

"It could. But to be honest, knowing that you'd been talking to people like Dumont and Abruzzi, I wasn't sure what kind of show you were making or whether I wanted to be part of it. And anyway, I needed to focus on my book. I'm trying to reach as wide an audience as possible."

"Well, that episode was only downloaded 100,000 times, so I can see how that might not be a big enough audience."

His eyes widened. "I apologize. To be honest, I have no idea how many people listen to shows like yours. I'm not really familiar with the podcasting medium."

"I'd noticed."

"I shouldn't have assumed."

It was fun having him a bit on on defensive, a bit flustered. "It wasn't very intellectually rigorous of you."

"It wasn't," he agreed.

"It did help that we got a big boost from the mothership—from Pacific Northwest Stories," she admitted. "But yeah, the show's doing pretty well, and we have enough sponsors these days to keep us in plane tickets and free socks, so I have no complaints. Well. I might want to do something a little more substantial at some point. But this is fun."

"So if you were to do something a little more substantial, as you say, what would it be?"

"I don't know. Maybe people who are working on climate change mitigation. Like, we still have to think about reducing emissions, but there are lots of people who've just basically decided that's not going to work or it's not going to be enough and are figuring out how they're going to live in the new climate. It's kind of depressing? But also kind of hopeful. There's a lot of people doing that work around Seattle. A lot of Indigenous people, in particular. I don't think it would be hard to at least get a mini-series out of it."

"That's a big departure from interviewing Emily Dumont."

She laughed. "It is! Don't get me wrong, I definitely think there's room for both kinds of stories in the world. All kinds of stories. But I just feel like I want to branch out a little."

"Well, I hope you get a chance to do that show sometime soon," he said. "It sounds like a subject worthy of your talents."

OK, wow. And he'd said she had a way with flattery. "Thanks. So, um. What about you, what's next for you?" she asked.

"I had to basically put the functions of the Strand Institute on hiatus while I finished the book, so I'll work on getting that running again," he said. "Also, as it happens, I'll probably be back in Seattle a few times in the next few months."

"Oh?"

"Yes, my father lived here before his death. No condolences necessary," he said, pre-empting her, "it was almost 20 years ago now. But there are still some aspects of his estate that need to be dealt with, including the sale of his house."

"Oh, well. I can show you around, if you'd like. When you come back."

"I would like that very much."

The waiter came with the check. Alex started to say something about paying her share but Richard said "Please, allow me. I did invite you to dinner, after all." She had to admit to herself, as she watched the waiter show Richard how to settle the bill on his iPad, it was something of a relief; the prices had been frankly terrifying on a journalist's salary.

As they were walking back to her parking spot, they passed a quiet-looking bar. Richard stopped in front of it.

"Would you like to get a drink?" he asked.

Yes. She took a deep breath. "It sounds nice, but, I don't think that's a good idea. I had that beer with dinner, and it was a while ago so I should be OK, but I have to drive."

"Of course." He hesitated for a moment. "Although, if you don't want to drive home...you don't have to."

"Ah." It wasn't a complete surprise, but—OK, yes, maybe she was stereotyping because of his age and his manner, but he hadn't struck her as a sex-on-the-first-date kind of guy.

She must have come across as pretty unenthusiastic, because he added, "That's not why I paid for dinner."

"I know." And she did. He wasn't really smooth enough to be a manipulator...unless, of course, he was such a good manipulator that he was only faking the bluntness and questionable social graces in order to lure her into a false sense of security.

It didn't seem likely.

Did she want to have sex with him? (Well, yeah.) Did she even like him? Everybody had said he was kind of a prick, and they weren't wrong. But he wasn't just that, either. Maybe it was his obvious passion for his work, or maybe it was just that she'd seldom known anyone quite so confidently, exasperatingly himself—even if that self might be, well, a little stuffy and self-important. He wasn't even a little bit charming but he was somehow still endearing. (He'd also been very respectful to the waitstaff, and that was always a good sign.)

She was pretty sure she liked him. He was a challenge, no doubt—but Alex was never deterred by a challenge. But she had a stupidly early morning tomorrow and also, God, she hadn't worn her pretty underwear or shaved or anything, and it was silly, yes, but she liked to make a good first impression.

And then she imagined saying that out loud and how ridiculous he would find it. "The male libido," she imagined him saying sternly, "isn't deterred by those things. Women are far more concerned about their body hair than men are."

God help her, the thought made her giggle. She suppressed it, though—it didn't seem polite to start laughing right after someone asked you to sleep with them. "I'm very, very tempted," she said. "But it's late, and I have an 8am meeting for some ungodly reason."

"I understand."

"But," she continued, poking him gently in the chest, "I'm going to hold you to that promise to look me up the next time you're in Seattle."

He smiled, probably the warmest smile she'd seen on him all night. He really was very attractive, damn it. "Good."

In a couple of minutes they were back at her car. Neither one of them seemed to be sure what to do next, so she unlocked it, but didn't make a move to get in.

"Do you want me to drive you back to your hotel?" 

"What? Oh. No, thank you. I'll be fine." He seemed very distracted all of a sudden, like he was looking past her, or just a bit over her head. She turned around, but there was nothing there. Just deep shadows.

"Everything OK?"

"Of course. I just thought I saw something." 

"OK. Well. Good night?"

"Good night." A bit hesitantly, he bent toward her.

He was so tall, she had to almost get on tiptoes to kiss him. It started out light, but they both lingered and it quickly became intense. Not sloppy, do-me-right-here-right-now intense, more like... like there was a lot of feeling under that buttoned-down exterior. They stepped further into each other's space; he was so much bigger than her that his embrace was like being wrapped up in a cloak, and it could have been intimidating but it wasn't, it was warm, it was hot. He ran one hand through her hair and gently cupped the back of her head to pull her closer. Fuck, it was good.

To hell with 8am meetings, she thought. To hell with next time. She deserved some fun.

She pulled away, not far, but far enough to look him in the eye and say, "I think...I think I'd like to take you up on your offer after all."

His hand was still in her hair. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

They got into the car to drive back to his hotel. She fumbled her keys a bit, making them both chuckle in that high-strung way of people who know something's about to happen. As they pulled away, she noticed that Richard was looking back at that same spot.

It was weird—all she could see were shadows.

#the black tapes holiday fic exchange #the black tapes #the black tapes podcast #TBTP

[gotta-get-back-to-hatchetfield]

The Gang Peddles Horse Pills

It was a quiet morning in Paddy’s Pub when Dee, Charlie and Mac found themselves sat round the bar chatting, while Dennis poured them out shots as a reward for their hard labours of scaring off any potential customers.

Just as he was beginning to pour out another round of some forgotten, nasty liqueur they had ordered for Halloween several years back, Frank Reynolds walked into the bar with a wide grin on his face and a literal skip in his step.

"What are you so happy about?" asked Dee, as he dragged round a stool to sit with them.

"I just came up with a brilliant scheme that's gonna make us a boat load of cash!” Frank announced expecting excited faces and rapturous applause, but instead was met with sighs and eye rolls.

“So I accidentally bought a bunch of these pills called Ivermectin off my friend Duncan,” he began to explain, undeterred by their scepticism, “I was trying to buy cocaine, it’s a long story, but anyway there I am thinking what the hell am I gonna do with all this crap, and then it hit me. You see I’ve been going around on all the local news stations and ‘free thinking’ podcasts, you know the sort, telling them that this shit cures covid but the liberal yahoos and deep state don’t want you to know about it, and people have started buying it like crazy. So, I bought up all the supply in town, now I control the prices and I am making big, big money off this thing.”

"Okay Frank, and what is this Ivermectin actually?" Dennis asked pointedly.

"Horse dewormer!” Frank answered as he helped himself to a shot from the bottle on the table, “yeh, you give it to horses to make them shit themselves. It’s really nasty stuff actually.”

"Frank, no one’s going to want to take a literal horse shit pill to cure coronavirus, when the vaccines are literally free,” Dee exclaimed turning back to her drink.

"Oh yeh wanna bet?” Frank turned to Charlie, who seemed more open to the concept than Dee and Dennis, largely because he’d been struggling to follow the conversation. “Hey Charlie, you wanna try some Ivermectin?” Frank asked.

"The horse stuff? Nah you're good man, I've already got a ton back home, I’m actually struggling to get through it all."

Dennis did a double take, as he was once again blown away by the state of his friends. "This is insane, Charlie do not take that stuff it doesn't cure covid and it’s almost certainly bad for you."

"Nah it’s fine man, I've been taking it for years now and once you get over the chest pain and excessive bleeding it’s actually a very positive experience."

"I'm sorry, you've been taking horse dewormer for years?!" Dennis snapped back, as Frank began to do a little jig and rub his hands with glee.

"Well yeh!” Charlie answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “You know how like ketamin is horse tranquiliser and that works really well on humans, I thought hey why not try out other horse medicine, and so far it’s worked out pretty well for me.” He looked at the ceiling with his brow furrowed in concentration before concluding, “you know maybe man is horse."

"Man is horse? What the fuck are you talking about Charlie!” Dennis retorted before taking a deep sigh to try and calm the rage of the golden god that was burning within him. “Okay just as long as we're all vaccinated and none of the rest of us are drinking horse dewormer," he looked pointedly at Charlie who simply shrugged, "then we should be fine, you are all vaccinated right?"

"No dude what the fuck of course I'm not," Mac answered looking disgusted at the very thought, causing Dee, who has been sitting next to him, to move over a stool to distance herself from him.

"What do you mean you're not vaccinated?" Dennis asked incredulously.

"Dude those things are really dangerous!"

"What are you talking about?” Dennis snapped back, “Is this about 5G because you definitely don't even know what that means."

“No they literally give you covid," Mac answered defiantly.

Dennis rolled his eyes, as he began to explain the very basic premise on which a vaccine operates. "Yes that is literally the whole point, they give you a weakened form of the virus so your immune system can learn how to fight it off, that's why I make a point to take every vaccine I can. The golden god must always have a perfect immune system, and thus I must consume that which would seek to destroy me so I may absorb its strength."

"No dude," Mac said shaking his head, "Vaccines give you covid because when you get a vaccine you are telling the lord you no longer trust his almighty power, thus incurring his wrath so that he may well see fit to smite you down with covid.”

Even Charlie seemed confused at this point as Dee responded, "well I don't even know where to begin with that one."

Frank sensed an opportunity to peddle his horse pills, so put his hand on Macs shoulder in order to exploit his weakness for fatherly affection. "Listen if you're worried about covid you can always take some Ivermectin to help make sure you're protected from God's wrath. Plus, I'll give you a discount if you can sign up a friend too.”

"So this is a pyramid scheme too now! Great!" Dennis exclaimed sarcastically.

"I don't know is that stuff safe?” Mac asked, “It is supposed to be for horses."

"Anything that's safe for horses is also safe for humans,” Frank reassured Mac “I used to have a friend who was a top lawyer, and he always used to say to me 'you know Frank, man is horse'." Mac still looked sceptical, so Frank added "Also, I heard it helps you build muscle.”

"Oh really, where can I sign up?" Mac responded instantly, looking around for a clipboard.

"Oh come on Frank that's my trick," Dennis declared smashing his hand against the table.

"You know what Mac?” Frank asked, ignoring Dennis and massaging Mac’s shoulder with his hand, “How would you feel about becoming a social media star?"

Mac, who craved validation from father figures above all else, grinned at the prospect as he excitedly confirmed his interest.

"Oh Mac come on, he's obviously just going to make you peddle his horse laxatives for him. And seriously Frank? The people don't want to see someone hideous like Mac, they want someone handsome and charismatic like me!"

"He'll play well with the evangelicals. Come on Mac, I've got us a 2pm slot, we better go and get ready,” Frank said as he dragged a very excited looking Mac out the door.

Dee moved back to her original seat, feeling relieved Mac and any germs he may have been carrying were now gone, as Dennis stared at the door they had left through with his lips pursed in anger.

"Okay whatever, and you two?” he asked turning his attention back to Dee and Charlie, “You two better be vaccinated, because I cannot have unvaccinated people running around threatening the golden god's immune system."

"Yeh of course I’m vaccinated," Dee said sounding affronted.

“Okay well I'm surprised the needle wasn't snapped by your stupid pointy bird bones. And what about you Charlie are you vaccinated?"

"Against what?" he asked innocently.

“I'm sorry, 'against what'?” Dee asked incredulously, “Charlie why do you think you’ve had to spend a year locked in the house with Frank?"

"I'm not sure, I saw something about people were trying to inject us with bleach so we had to stay inside so they couldn't get us, and maybe the nightman was behind it all or something."

"Charlie please tell me you have at some point this whole entire year watched the news?!" Dee asked in abject horror, as Dennis looked seconds away from giving up.

"Listen a lot of things happen on the news, I can't be expected to keep track of it all. Besides, it literally changes every day, so there’s not really any point watching it because tomorrow it’ll be about something different"

They both starred back at him blankly for a while, as Dee wondered why the hell she still hung out with these guys and several options for ways to graphically murder him passed through Dennis’ mind.

"You are going to get vaccinated now, and I don't want to see you back here until you've done it." Dennis declared, as Charlie began to walk towards the door.

He paused looking back in confusion, so Dennis said, “Go on, shoo!” as he and Dee mimed shooing gestures, and Charlie tentatively made his way out of Paddy’s Pub in search of a vaccine.

#iasip #its always sunny in philadelphia #ivermectin #(real talk tho this is just banter and if you live in a country where you're lucky enough to be able to get the vaccine holy shit do) #I have more parts to this but it's a thing on its own

[ussjellyfish]

fic: hold to the now, the here pt 14 | philinda | AoS | mature

So this is the end, and I've been writing this for over two years, which is the longest I've ever written anything (though there was a huge break) I finished it, and it's an amazing feeling.

Many many thanks to @meanderings0ul, because without your nudge I wouldn't have met the podcast folks and they're so supportive and it's just...everything. I'm so happy in fandom again.

Summary: Daisy visits Coulson to help look after baby agent Iris while May’s in Europe with FitzSimmons.

Notes: set about one year after the wedding. (because one year laters, should be happy, show, and have hugging)

"Hi Daisy, thanks, here." Coulson deposits a slightly sticky toddler in her arms the moment she has her coat off. "Iris, say hi to Daisy."

The tiny little being in her arms stares for a long quiet moment. "Oh you look just like mommy now, with the face."

"Mama," Iris repeats and Daisy looks to Coulson.

"Everything okay?" 

He sounded kind of frazzled on the phone as he'd tried to give her directions from the nowhere airport Bobbi had dropped her off at to the nowhere town he and May were living in. GPS found it no problem because there wasn't anything to find but pine trees.

"Mama's okay," Coulson says, kissing Iris' head and meeting Daisy's eyes for a moment. "She'll be back later, I have to get some work done, can you amuse her for a while?"

"Yeah, I'll try."

"Thanks." Coulson touches the baby again then he disappears into his office and it's just Daisy and the kiddo. 

"No," Iris says, staring at the floor. "No."

"No means down or no means not down?" 

Kid could really squirm when she wanted to. 

"No!"

Daisy sets her down and that seemed to be what she wanted. Iris crawls over to a bookshelf and starts pulling all the books off one at a time, looking at them for a moment before making a little mountain. She seems happy enough so Daisy sits on the floor next to her, watching. 

Books with bright covers stack on top of each other. Daisy picks them up, looking at the dinosaurs and planes, then one is shoved into her hands. 

"This one?"

Iris doesn't nod. She stares, and it's disconcerting getting a May death glare from someone who only weighs twenty-five pounds. Can she say yes? Is yes harder than no?"

"No."

"No, I don't like this one or no- please read this to me?"

Iris squinches her chubby face then crawls into Daisy's lap. She makes an expectant noise and hits the book. 

"Okay, I got it."

The book seems to be about a pigeon who is a private eye, except it's full of puns that are actually really funny, but Iris turns the pages as soon as she gets bored of them, which is fast, so Daisy's not really sure what's going on. The pictures are nice. She can't really read it because the kid doesn't have the patience so she comments a few things. 

"Bird."

Iris looks back, waiting. 

"It's a bird, kid. I don't know what kind. Red."

"Bye."

"Bye is like bird."

"No."

"No?"

"Oh no." Iris turns the book to the beginning and waits. When Daisy doesn't start reading, she makes a noise. Iris makes a noise again, more insistent and hits the book. 

"Sorry kid," Daisy starts, "where were we? Right, the pigeon is sitting in his office, wearing a tie like daddy's because of course a detective would wear a tie."

Iris makes a delighted noise and hits one of the illustrations, a brightly coloured bird. She looks back at Daisy, almost hitting her in the nose with her dark little head. 

"Yeah? That's good?"

And then they're at the beginning again. Daisy's not sure how many times they read the book, but she's made up her own plot by the fifth time and decided there should be a sequel later. 

Bored of that, Iris shoves off Daisy's lap and skips the pile of books to start pulling down toys. No toddler needs this many toy airplanes, and yet, kid has quite a collection, also a really nice toy version of a Zephyr and two SHIELD badges that look a little chewed on. 

"Is she supposed to have your badges?" Daisy yells up towards the office. No response. Figures. Walking over she tries to listen for what Coulson's doing, but maybe he has headphones on. When she looks back, Iris is gone and Daisy's heart jumps into her throat.

Fuck. Where could she?

Daisy jogs into the kitchen and Baby Agent is sitting in front of the fridge, legs crossed, looking expectant. 

"Hey, sorry, I didn't know you were so fast."

Iris hits the fridge with her hand and makes the 'read my book' noise. Kind of like an excited puppy. 

"You need something?" What time is it? Should she feed her? Does she need a snack? What do kids eat? Daisy has to scoop her up to open the fridge and they stare into it together. It's healthy, of course, because it's Coulson and May's fridge, but she can't just hand the kid a carrot. 

Can she?

Iris pulls a bag of salad and an onion out of the drawer before Daisy can stop her. She takes a big bite of the onion and looks immediately offended.

"Okay, you want to bite something?"

"Abyye." Iris says, like Daisy speaks baby. 

"Apple?"

"Up-ah."

"Apple?" Daisy asks again, grabbing one from the counter. "This?" Holding it up gets two hands in the air, reaching for the fruit. "Okay, here."

She hands over the apple before it occurs to her that she can't just hand a kid a whole unwashed unpeeled apple...and it's too late because the kid has the apple in her mouth and she takes a huge bite, but Iris has tiny teeth and it's a little mouthful of apple skin she spits out before taking another bite. 

"Good?"

Iris smiles over the apple and keeps biting. She chews and spits out a lot of it, but at least she's entertained. Daisy grabs the kid and her apple and heads to the stairs. Lugging Iris up the steps with her, she pauses outside the door to the office. She shouldn't listen, but it sounds like Coulson's on the phone.  They should leave him to it, maybe it's May, or FitzSimmons, wasn't she going out there to help them with something? 

"Ap-uh," Iris repeats, holding up the partially gnawed apple. 

"Apple," Daisy echoes. "You'll get it."

Holding her apple up to Daisy, Iris grins. "Uh."

"Apple."

"Um," Iris says, holding up with more intention. "Um!"

"Yum?" Daisy tries, pretending to take a bite. 

"Um." Iris agrees, delighted. She mashes the apple into Daisy's face. "Um." 

"Thank you, no thank you."

"No, um." That seems to mean, yes, eat my sticky, slobbery, mangled apple.

So she does. What else can she do. Daisy takes a bite of the least sticky part and Iris laughs. 

"Glad you're happy. Come on, let's see what else we can do."

All the airplanes are sticky and on the floor after they've done that for five minutes. Pieces of apple cling to Daisy's hair, there's water and a squished cracker inside her bra somehow but Iris thinks it's the most hilarious thing if Daisy builds a tower and then quakes it down so they start stacking the blocks again.

Tower six has died for Iris' amusement when Coulson finally comes down the stairs. 

"No," Iris yells at him. "No, no."

"Yes, yes, daddy," Coulson teases her, scooping her up so she squeals. "What are you two doing?"

"Pulling everything down from everywhere."

"That happens."

"We shredded an apple."

"We have a good vacuum."

"But we found a good game, watch." Daisy indicates the blocks, then quakes down tower number seven. 

Iris laughs and squirms and immediately wants down so she can build tower eight for sacrifice. 

"How's it going?" Daisy asks while they watch Iris stack.

"Oh you know, May's stuck doing field work with FitzSimmons somewhere in Finland and Mack swears none of them are actually on this mission he just really needs trustworthy people. 

"Sounds great."

"Sure." Coulson takes a breath, then sits on the sofa, dropping his head in his hands. "I'm sorry, do you need anything?"

"Me?"

"Yeh, you came all this way and I don't have coffee or anything."

"I can make coffee."

"Right, you could do that."

"Sit, watch Agent Danger here and call me when she's ready for me to destroy her tower."

"You're sure?"

"I'll make coffee, I need it, you look like you need coffee injected." 

"If only that worked." Coulson shuts his eyes, leaning back. 

"How long are you stuck doing the single dad thing?"

"A few more days, she's trying to get back."

"She must miss Baby Agent terribly."

Coulson nods, smiling at Iris. "She does, they haven't been apart this long Iris' whole life, but FitzSimmons really needed her."

"Well, of course. She does everything." 

Daisy makes coffee, listening to Iris and Coulson's strange conversation. His side has words and sentences, Iris' side seems to consist of "No" and little screeches. She sets black coffee on the table next to the sofa and Coulson grins.

Coulson and Iris yell "Oh no," in union as Baby Agent knocks down the tower. This is what he does all day? Build and destroy, read the same book fifty-nine times?

"So she gets back when, Tuesday?" 

"Maybe Wednesday."

"Wow." Daisy sits next to him with her own coffee, shaking her head. "That's a lot."

"Free for the weekend? Iris and I would love to have you." 

"Yeah," Daisy agrees. She has plenty of leave saved up and she doesn't get to do domestic very often. Kiddo's pretty sweet too and it seems like Coulson needs the help. "Seems like you need some help with towers."

Iris crawls to Daisy and pulls herself up on her knees, bouncing a little as she babbles. 

"I think that means she wants you to stay."

"Okay. You've got me. Can't say no to baby May face."

"Doesn't she look just like her?"

"Yeah, it's almost creepy."

It's a whirlwind of time with Coulson and Iris. There's constantly something they need to be doing, where is she, is the kiddo okay, what is she into? Does she need a diaper, where are her extra clothes, going to the grocery store is a full on mission and Daisy's not sure how much help she is, but he definitely needs back up. Even if she's just moral support. 

And it's nice to see him laughing while they try to get shampoo out of Iris' hair and how far the kid can throw noodles (definitely some Mamma May in there). So she and Coulson trade off making coffee and picking up take out and reading and it feels like she's been there forever by the time it's finally Wednesday. 

Coulson rocks and sings (Daisy did not know he sang) but Iris is out for a nap and Coulson's trying to get work done and Daisy sits and plays with her phone because it feels like she hasn't done that in hours.

Maybe hasn't, Iris is a lot. 

She doesn't remember falling asleep, but she did, sitting on the sofa in the warm sunlight. Coulson touches her arm, shaking her gently.

"Hey, sorry, could you go get May from the airport? She's going to be back and I don't want to wake up Iris or have her wake up while I'm gone and be all difficult for you."

"Good call."

"She's back?"

"About an hour. You have time to get coffee, it's a tiny airport." 

"Where's the coffee?"

"Down to the main road, turn left twice. It's a drive through with a moose."

"A moose?" Daisy shakes her head. "You do live in the middle of nowhere."

"It has perks."

"Never waiting in traffic?"

"No one notices the quinjets."

"See, I knew it was something." Daisy drags herself up as Coulson hands her keys to the really nice BMW SUV thing they got because carseats don't fit in Lola. "This one I'm allowed to drive?"

"It's May's."

"Great."

"You'll be fine, just don't spill coffee in her car." 

Daisy shakes her head and leaves him to finish lesson planning or whatever it is he's working on. The coffee shop with the moose is exactly where Coulson said it was, and she grabs a cup before driving to the nowhere airport by the lake. There's only one flight coming in that hour. It's a little connector flight from Chicago with only a handful of people on it. 

Coulson would probably get a May a tea or something so Daisy grabs a green tea from the little kiosk in the airport and holds it with her arms crossed over her chest, waiting for May to come off the plane. 

May's third from last off the flight, her bag over her shoulder. She looks across the handful of people, then smiles at Daisy. 

"I was wondering if he'd send you."

"Got you tea. Baby Agent was napping so you get me."

May hugs her, warm and strong, and then takes her tea. "It's nice to see you."

"How was Scotland?"

"Wet, and rainy, in Finland it snowed." Her smile fades a little and she touches her forehead. "It was good to see Fitz and Simmons. They're happy."

"Annoyingly so?"

"A little." 

Daisy takes the keys out of her coat pocket and hands them over. "Coulson let me drive your car."

May smiles and shakes her head. "You can drive."

Taking the keys back, Daisy tries to hide her surprise. "Okay..."

"I have a headache."

"You don't have to have a reason, you just always drive and I--"

May smiles at her. "You're a good driver." 

"You've let me drive literally once because you were pregnant and something-" she pauses, trying to remember, "-was it paint? Something set your stomach off."

"Wet paint."

"Were they painting the plane?" Daisy teases, leading May out of the airport towards the parking lot. 

"N, sometimes I get headaches."

"Like a normal person?" Daisy touches the door handle and it opens. May sets her bag in the back seat and climbs into the passenger seat. 

"I don't get to be a normal person?"

"You pulled a piece of pipe out of your leg and fought aliens, flew a plane when you couldn't stand up and were in labor for what, like half a day before you admitted it hurt?"

May laughs, leaning back in the seat. "Don't see why any of that means I can't have a headache." 

"I don't mind driving, it's just, weird."

"I'll let you drive more in the future."

"So I don't think it's weird and you're knocked up whenever it happens?"

"Is that really the only time I've let you drive?" 

"Yes, that's really the only time you've let me drive. I mean, Coulson let me drive Lola when he didn't have a hang so I'm used to it." 

May reaches over and pats her shoulder. "We're both just stuck in our ways, getting old and stubborn."

"You're both stubborn, but your're not old."

"Thanks." May takes a sip of her tea and shuts her eyes. 

"Do you have painkillers in the glove box or anything?"

"It's fine."

"You have a headache, normal people take things when they have a headache because they don't like suffering."

"Home is twenty minutes away." May holds her tea against her forehead, then sets it in the cupholder. 

"We can stop."

"You sound like Phil."

"I guess you need him to look after you."

"You do fine, Daisy." 

She can't win this argument, so distract May, tell her nice things. "So Iris made me read the same book a billion and seven times."

"Sounds like her."

"And then she destroyed an apple."

"Eating with teeth is hard."

"I guess so."

"And we made towers."

"Good." May sighs, keeping her eyes closed. "Thank you for coming, I bet Phil appreciated having you."

"Sure, Coulson sounded like he needed back up."

"He did, I dropped a lot in his lap to help FitzSimmons."

Daisy reaches over, squeezing her hand. May's hand is warm and damp against Daisy's fingers, and she squeezes back as if she were hugging her tight. "It was nice for me to help."

"I'm glad."

"Baby Agent's adorable, it's peaceful here. We took her for walks and watched the stars come out. When she's bigger, she can play in the woods and all you'll have to worry about is moose."

"There aren't actually moose here."

"What about the coffee shop?"

May opens her eyes again and smiles. "That one doesn't move." 

Chuckling, Daisy takes a breath and just enjoys this moment. She missed May too. Being with her is comfortable and familiar, and Daisy missed her over the last week. Being with Coulson and Baby Agent was great, but May was missing and now that she's back it just feels like coming home. 

"So any news from FitzSimmons you're allowed to say?"

"The published some new papers, remodelling a cottage."

"No playmates for Iris yet?"

"Not yet." May looks forward for a while, staring at the road, then turns to Daisy. "But soon though."

"Soon? Jemma's pregnant?"

"No, no." May stares straight ahead, but she smiles, Daisy can hear it in her voice. "I am."

"Wait, what?"

"Eyes on the road." 

"Yeah, I got it, not going to smash your car, but what?"

"We had another embryo frozen, from when we got pregnant with Iris.  We were near the clinic on the mission for Simmons, and I wanted to surprise Phil." 

Surprise? "I suppose that's the fun part of having medical help. You can surprise the dad when you end up pregnant." The world tastes like an alien concept, as weird as Kree or Asgard. "Shit, congrats, I mean."

"Thanks Daisy." May turns, leaning against the door so she can look at Daisy better. . 

"You okay, really?"

"I'm thrilled." 

Yeah, that's what thrilled looks like, kind of pale and really tired, except May is happy. She radiates it. "That's wonderful. Second kid, huh? Everyone's going to lose it."

"You think so?"

"I can just picture Jemma and Fitz, Mack and Elena settling some bet."

"Which side did you bet on?" .

"Should have bet yours." Fuck. two tiny little field agents destroying everything? They should unretire just to get some peace. Yet they're both so fucking happy, and they're good parents. Iris is great, and she's so smart, and this one. 

They sit in silence for a while, and if possible, May's even more pale when Daisy looks at her. "You okay? 

"I forgot how brutal the hormone shots are." May shuts her eyes again and Daisy remembers how much time they spent trying to keep her from throwing up when she was pregnant with Iris. She knew what this was going to be like and she did it anyway. 

"You're a really good mom." 

May opens her eyes, surprised. "Why do you say that?"

"Iris is the cutest little person and sure, she screams and throws things sometimes, but she's so content and trusting. I remember seeing kids who had bad parents in my foster homes and they were so broken already, even the little ones. I'm not used to happy toddlers."

"Daisy-"

"And you know how much it sucks to be pregnant and having a baby hurts-"

"-It's not that bad."

"And you can say that!" Daisy pulls into the driveway and stops, shaking her head as she turns off the engine. "You're a great mom."

May pauses, looks at her and doesn't say anything for a long time. She smiles, her eyes impossibly soft. "Thanks Daisy."

Daisy gets out of the car, grabbing May's bag as she comes around. May moves a little slower, holding the car for a moment, so the headache must be bad. 

Daisy touches her shoulder, then hugs her again. "Iris is lucky, the new baby agent is really lucky too." 

"We're lucky we have you." May's hands hold her tight and it's like that mom energy's rubbing off. She's loved, and it's so easy that Daisy just stands there in awe for a moment. She didn't have a family before SHIELD, and now she's loved. 

They walk in together, still holding hands because that's cool, that's something they do. Coulson's on the floor, playing with Iris, who looks up when the door opens with the biggest smile. 

"Mama!" 

"Come here, Li." Iris crawls over and May grabs her before she's gone a few feet. They spin around, May laughing as Iris pats her face, babbling happily about Mama, over and over. Coulson watches them with the softest expression she's ever seen and that's what love looks like, not that silly romance novel kind, but the exhausted, will do anything for you, this is everything kind of love. It's just his face, and Daisy touches his arm, then hugs him. 

"Pretty cute, huh?"

"Iris looks so much like Melinda, luckily."

"You're in there too, dad."

"I know, but the two of them, they're everything."

Daisy raises her eyebrows because fuck he's going to freak and she should like, give them space, but she'd also love to see what he's going to say. He's totally going to cry. 

"Did you have a good time with Daisy and daddy?"

"Aysee," Iris repeats, waving her arm towards Daisy. "Aysee."

"That's pretty close," May says, kissing Iris's head. "What a smart girl."

"She was great, they both were."

"I was telling Daisy in the car how much it meant to us that she came to help." 

"She let me drive and everything." 

"Oh?" Coulson tilts his head, and takes a moment to welcome May back, hugging her and Iris, then kissing her forehead. "You okay?"

"I can let Daisy drive without something being wrong."

"Uh-huh," Coulson teases, as unconvinced as Daisy was. "Jet lag?"

"Headdache."

"I'll make tea."

"I've got it," Daisy says. "You have to welcome her back and stuff."

May kisses Iris' cheek once more and sets her down when the toddler starts to squirm. "She means do the kissing while she's in the kitchen."

"Oh, I see, I can do that." Coulson leans in, kissing her deeply and yeah, it's a good time to make some tea. 

Iris babbles to herself in the living room, hitting her blocks together and making some kind of running commentary while her parents are totally making out. 

Daisy puts the kettle on and waits, watching the comforting blue light. There's a green ginger that's probably good. Coulson will need coffee. She's grinding beans and setting up the pot when Iris crawls into the kitchen, dragging a toy kangaroo. She holds it up, then flings her arms up to be picked up. 

"Hey kiddo."

"Aysee!"

"That's me I guess. Mom and dad okay?"

"Mama," Iris repeats, delighted. 

"Yeah, Mama's home."

"Iris is in here," Daisy calls, just in case they're worried. "We're just making coffee."

"Don't turn her to the dark side, Daisy," May calls from the living room and then she laughs, really laughs and Daisy's both curious and grateful that she's not in the living room, watching whatever's happening. 

They seem to be done by the time she's back, and they're just sitting on the couch, hands wrapped around each others, May's head on his shoulder. 

"Mama," Iris says again, reaching her arms out and Daisy hands her over. 

"I missed you."

"She missed you too."

"I swear she's bigger." 

"Not much taller, must get that from you."

May laughs and shakes her head. "Don't listen to daddy, he's silly."

Iris pats Coulson's face with her fingers, and just beams to be between both of them. It's cute, like painfully cute and Daisy brings drinks and sits on the floor next to them and just watches. 

"Aysee," Iris pleads, reaching for her. 

"Daisy, come up. We're not going down to the floor."

Daisy sits next to May and Iris crawls over her legs, peering at her coffee before deciding to crawl back to Coulson. 

"I think I've actually finished  Ulysses-- " Coulson starts to say, still toying with May's hair. 

"I'm pregnant."

"What?"

The house is completely quiet, even Iris stares, chewing on her toy kangaroo. 

"Really?"

"Simmons and I were near the clinic in Sweden and I thought--"

Coulson laughs, rubs his chin, and then kisses May hard enough that Daisy pulls Iris out of the way before she can interrupt them. 

"Surprise."

"I love surprises."

"I know."

"Not as much as I love you." He rests his hand on her belly and there's the tears. His eyes shine and dammit, Daisy's the last person who should be crying but it's just really nice. 

Kind of wonderful. 

"Good."

"Good?"

"Life without surprises would be dull, life without me would be-"

"Absolutely unbearable," Coulson interrupts, then kisses her. "Baby Agent the second. You're amazing."

May touches his cheek and smiles. "I know, you can show me later."

"You're going to be a big sister," Daisy tells Iris, who shakes her head because she's still much better at no than yes. "That's a big responsibility."

"She has a great role model," May says.

Fuck, that's not fair. Daisy was close to crying, but she wasn't, and she's not Iris' big sister, except, maybe she is, and maybe that's okay and maybe they all love her just as much as she loves them. 

It's all pretty fucking amazing. 

"We love you," Coulson whispers, patting her shoulder. Iris gets way too into the patting and it's basically swatting but she's little.  "We'll love you more if you can take some time off next summer, about eight months from now." 

May laughs and nods. "You'd be a big help."

"Yeah, yeah as long as you need."

May hugs her with one arm, and she curls in because May's warm and she's home. They all are. 

#philinda #fic: hold to the now the here #wow it's been a ride #but I made it! #thanks so much to philindacast #you are the best dears #and meanderings0ul

[queenofbaws]

Day 5: Storm

Fandom: Until Dawn Characters: Josh Washington, Ashley Brown, Chris Hartley Words: 1,670 Rating: G (Some discussion of cults, but like...it’s these three, what do you expect?) Author’s note: The daily writing challenge continues! This one should be familiar to my bud (and fellow challenge-taker) @unicornaffair...Remember kids: Don’t forget to check those weather reports before heading out for the day.

“Do you guys ever sit back and think about just how easy it would be to start a cult?”

“Oh my God.”

“Uh, no dude. Can’t say that I have. Not recently, anyway.”

Josh let out an airy sigh, poking at what was left of the frozen yogurt in his cup with a little plastic spoon. “I do.”

“Total shocker.” Ashley leaned herself further into the sunlight. She raised one of her hands to her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun, using the other to lightly fan herself. It was turning out to be one of those summer days she’d call ‘balmy,’ only to have the guys raise their eyebrows and repeat the word in increasingly higher pitches until she finally gave in and smacked one (or both) of them. “Just FYI? Please remove me from your list of potential cult members, would you? I don’t do well in big groups.”

“Hey, at least hear the guy out before you say no across the board!” Chris set his elbows onto the table, leaning in closer to the veritable cemetery of syrup-sticky napkins they’d crumpled up during their little fro-yo frenzy. “What kinda cult we talking here? Weird religious cult? Freaky sex cult? Some sort of…eldritch…Lovecraftian deal? Because I gotta level with you, I think I could probably get on board with some Cthulu raising.” As he said it, he stuck his hands into Ash’s face, wiggling his fingers like tentacles until she pushed him away.

“No cults!”

Almost mimicking her posture, Josh too leaned backwards in his chair, head lolling onto his shoulders so he could get a bead on where the trashcan was. He took aim as best he could, essentially being upside down, and with a flick of his wrist sent his empty cup flying. It tumbled through the air, and… “Boom!” He clapped his hands together once to congratulate himself before sitting upright again, the metal legs of the park chair clanging loudly against the ground. “Also, you guys aren’t thinking big enough, okay? Look, we had this whole big lesson in my abnormal psych class earlier this week about this stuff—”

Ashley’s eyebrows shot up so high that they threatened to pop clean off her face. “You talked about how to start cults. In class.”

“The professor has tenure and she literally does not care anymore. It’s absolutely beautiful. Anyway!” He slammed his hands down onto the table, making both of the other two jump. “One of the super important first steps is to have people who are in on the whole deal with you. So please rest assured, neither of you will be asked to drink the Kool-Aid, okay, because—”

“Flavor Aid.”

A lesser man could’ve let it go. A bigger man probably could’ve let it go. Josh, however, could not. He rolled his eyes in Ashley’s direction, silently watching her scroll through her phone. He met Chris’s eyes over the table for a moment before he took to drumming his fingers on the tabletop, waiting for what he was sure would be an oh-so-intriguing clarification.

But Ash just kept looking at her phone, frowning.

He cleared his throat as obnoxiously as he was able to (which, as it turned out, was pretty darn obnoxiously), flaring his fingers out when she looked his way. “Flavor Aid?”

“Oh, yeah. The whole Jonestown thing? They drank Flavor Aid, not Kool-Aid. God, listen to a podcast.”

Chris let out a long, low whistle, shaking his head as though in mourning. “What a PR nightmare they avoided. ‘Oh, uh, that wasn’t us! It was, um…it was Kool-Aid!’” A grin didn’t creep so much as shoot across his face, nearly as wide as his eyes. “Oh holy crap, do you guys think after all that, Kool-Aid did commercials where the Kool-Aid man burst into people’s houses, and instead of yelling ‘OH YEAH!’ he sort of like went ‘OH NOOO!’? Because that would’ve been…so good.”

Josh turned to him only briefly, waving a decisive finger his way. “You absolutely just flunked your interview for being our cult’s PR manager.”

“You know what? That’s fair.”

He angled himself back towards Ashley, going so far as to actually knock on her third of the table when she continued to care more about her phone than his planning session. “What’s going on with you, huh? Cochise ‘n I are the only ones who text your boring ass—what’s got you all up in a tizzy?”

Her eyes slid to him with a glare that was nothing short of withering. “You’re not the only ones who text me.”

Again, Chris and Josh locked eyes across the table. Their looks of disbelief only lasted for a second before breaking into teasing snickers. “Uh huh.”

“Sure we’re not.”

“Ugh! You’re not!” She stuck her tongue out at the two of them before shaking her head, finally darkening her phone screen and setting it onto the table again. “I just got the weirdest message from my mom.”

“Ah,” Chris nodded sagely. “We forgot her mom texts her too.”

“Shoot. Rookie mistake.”

She pretended she hadn’t heard them. It was easy enough to do—she did, after all, have years and years of practice. Instead, she leaned further back in her chair, hand shading her eyes again as she searched the sky. “She was like ‘Are you guys somewhere safe?’ and when I asked her what she meant, she was like ‘The storm!’ But…” The frown resurfaced. “IIIII sure don’t see anything, um, stormy going on here.”

All three of them tipped their faces up to the sky, which was by all accounts, perfectly lovely. Definitely nothing even storm-adjacent hiding up there. It was bright blue and clear, without a cloud to be seen, the sun beating down on them like in a kid’s drawing (all it was missing was a sweet pair of sunglasses). The park, in general, was gorgeous, and that was exactly the reason they’d ventured out in the first place; to soak up the sun and enjoy the breeze.

“I think maybe your mom needs to chill on the incense and tarot cards, Ash.”

She didn’t argue. “Just weird, that’s all.”

“Yeah, well, the day your mom being overprotective qualifies as ‘weird’ is the day I know we’ve successfully raised Cthulu.”

“Cochise. My dude. Please. We’re not going the Cthulu route.”

“Why not?!”

“Because I don’t want my cult to be full of weird sci-fi nerds, okay? I’m a patient man, but Jesus Christ above, not that patient.”

“Okay, wow, weird sci-fi nerds, huh? Look who’s talking,” Ashley piped in. “I’m sorry, who do you think would join a cult that you’re the leader of?” She held her arms out to her sides, waiting for an answer she knew wouldn’t come.

And while he did dodge the question (one of his special skills), he still reeled backwards in feigned indignation, fixing her with an incredulous glare. “I will have you know, Ashley Brown, that I am incredibly charismatic—”

“Oh my God. Humble, too!”

“—and anyone would be lucky to be accepted into my prestigious cul—”

Crack!

Stunned more than anything else, the three of them went silent, looking not at each other, but the strange…thing that had plunked itself down onto the tabletop between them. They stared, and stared, and stared at the nickel-sized chunk, the mental math simply not adding up until finally Chris spoke up.

“Hey, so, uh…is it just me, or does that look like ice?”

There was a beat where Josh and Ashley seemed to take those words in, both narrowing their eyes.

“It does kinda look like ice,” Josh agreed.

“Oh crap,” Ash said immediately after, already getting to her feet.

That was the moment the sky opened up.

There was no warning, save for the bizarre, prophetic text; one second the weather was beautiful and clear, the next they were being pelted by a horrendous mix of hail and fat, sluicing raindrops. With next to no athletic ability between the three of them, their retreat was almost comical, Josh getting tangled in his chair, Chris not able to find his keys, Ashley tripping over herself while futilely trying to protect her head with the hood of her pullover.

It was only through some kind of miracle that they (1) found Chris’s car in the parking lot, (2) managed to get the doors unlocked just before they reached it, and (3) flung themselves inside without causing any sort of head trauma to each other. They piled in and slammed the sliding doors shut before collapsing in a winded heap, Ashley throwing one of her arms over her face like a Victorian lady with a case of the vapors, Chris shaking pieces of hail out of his hair, Josh pressing his face against the window to watch the storm rage on outside.

For a while there was only the sound of their breathing, occasionally giving way to nervous laughter at the sheer improbability of the sudden summer storm. But like all good things, it came to an end as Josh rapped his knuckles against the window once, the noise decisive and somehow victorious. “I take back what I said earlier. The universe has spoken. I think we gotta go Cthulu cult.”

“Yes!” Had he been sitting up, Chris would’ve punched the air; however, lying down as he was, he just sort of came very close to punching Ashley in the face.

She rolled away from him before that could happen, smoothing her hair out as she sat herself back up. “Running a Cthulu cult out of a hand-me-down minivan. Yeah. Yeah, that does seem right up your alley.”

“Right?” Josh grinned as hail continued to ping! off the roof of the car. “I think it’s perfect. So, first thing’s first…brainstorming session. Let’s get some names going, people, the catchier the better! And by ‘people,’ I do mean you, Ash. Cochise is absolutely not permitted to be part of this little exercise.” 

“Again, that…that’s fair.”

#my fanfiction #until dawn #josh washington #ashley brown #chris hartley #queenie writes supermassive #queenie writes challenge stuff

[welllpthisishappening]

To Be Totally Locked Up By You

It’s not a big deal.

So, Clarke and Bellamy are sharing a Spotify account. They share plenty of things already. An apartment. A school. Buying rounds at the bar four blocks away. This is basically the same thing.

Until. Octavia tells them about the playlist. Joint music and both of their listening habits on full display, some ridiculous algorithm that leaves Clarke, quite suddenly, feeling more exposed than ever, sharing emotions and feelings, all set to a soundtrack.

—-

Rating: Teen Word Count: Nearly 8K AN: It’s happening! Admittedly sooner than I expected (I’m still only in season five, but the feelings. I’ve got them) and this is almost too autobiographical to be entirely fair, but I wrote this in like…four hours. So, here it is. Long-time Bellarke fic-reader, first-time Bellarke fic-writer. With lots of thoughts on Bellamy Blake’s curls. Joining a new fandom is exciting and terrifying.

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll ||

—-

“Why are you and my brother sharing a Spotify account?”

Clarke nearly breaks the pencil in her hand. She lifts her head slowly, not entirely surprised to find Octavia staring expectantly at her, arms crossed tightly enough that it’s very likely doing permanent damage to her ribs. 

Possibly her lungs. 

It’s been a very long time since Clarke took those anatomy classes. 

“Well,” Octavia prompts, one eyebrow arching perfectly. “Yes or no question.” “How did you get in here?” “Did you not hear me come in?”

Clarke makes a contrary noise in the back of her throat, tugging her legs closer to her chest so she can rest her chin on her knees. She’s genuinely impressed with the state of Octavia’s right eyebrow. It appears to be defying gravity. 

She doesn’t really know enough about gravity either. 

Maybe she should make a list of the things she doesn’t know. 

That seems inevitably depressing. 

And Octavia is very clearly not going to move until she gets a response she wants, that stupid eyebrow and a pile of papers resting against her hip. Her phone is just barely hanging on in her back pocket, the soft vibration barely audible over the music coming from Clarke’s laptop speakers and the creaky pipes in their bathroom. 

Bellamy is in the shower. 

Clarke is at least sixty-seven percent positive Octavia planned her ambush that way.

“How do you even know about Bellamy’s Spotify account?” Clarke asks, burrowing further into the corner of the couch. “And seriously, did you pick our lock?” That eyebrow should be studied. 

“I have a key,” Octavia drawls. “Obviously. So, your lock is fine and you can stop trying to deflect the important part of—” “—Why are you here?” Octavia gnashes her teeth, but there’s not really any threat there and Clarke only huffs slightly when she tosses her sketchbook on the coffee table. Because she knows that expression. The phone stops ringing. Only to start again. 

“How many places are you going today?” Clarke asks knowingly, pointing at the open spot next to her. 

There’s another round of huffing and flailing legs, Octavia’s left foot nearly colliding with both of Clarke’s knees, but that’s also impossibly familiar and nearly comfortable and—

“He thinks I should have a wedding cake,” Octavia mumbles. “Like an actual cake. Apparently it’s very historic—” “—Oh my God what an idiot.” “—There’s ancient nonsense involved and something about how that proved you were rich or something—” “—In Rome?” Octavia hums, eyes falling closed like she’s resigning herself to the horrendous ordeal of her older brother buying her a wedding cake. And, really, it’s almost nice. That’s a lie. It’s better than nice and just as expected as Octavia’s flailing limbs. 

Because for as long as Clarke Griffin has known Bellamy Blake, since she met Octavia in an intro to stats class they both hated, she’s known several things about him. 

One, he loves his little sister. More than anything. Two, he likes taking care of people. Octavia, especially, but at some point that also started to include Clarke, which is another nice thing and another vaguely overwhelming thing and—she doesn’t think about that. It is fine. Three, that same protective streak makes him certain he has to do things and provide things and that means driving Octavia crazy with possible wedding ideas. 

And that leads to thing four: he’s an idiot and a nerd in an endearing sort of way that makes Clarke sure he didn’t have to look up that fact about Roman wedding cakes. 

It also makes Clarke smile. 

She ignores whatever happens to Octavia’s face. 

“In Rome,” Octavia echoes. “Anyway that’s what we’re doing. Traipsing around the city and taste-testing cakes and—” “—That doesn’t sound too bad, honestly.” “Stop interrupting me, it will not distract me from my ultimate goal.” “Which is?” Octavia props herself up on her elbows, ignoring Clarke’s groan when she moves. “Do you know how expensive real wedding cakes are?” “That feels like a trick question. In Rome or—” Octavia sticks her whole tongue out when she responds, a noise that Clarke is sure will get stuck in her head for the rest of the day, The shower shuts off. 

And Clarke’s mouth doesn’t go dry, per se, but she’s only momentarily worried that everyone in the apartment can hear the way her heart speeds up, falling into rhythm with her perfectly curated Spotify playlist and it hadn’t been much more than a suggestion, a monetary decision that made sense because—

“Jesus fuck Bell, put clothes on!”

Bellamy grins, another shift of eyebrows that Clarke is genuinely starting to resent, rivulets of water falling down either side of his face and dripping towards the towel wrapped around his waist. “Did you break in here, O?” “Used her key apparently,” Clarke mumbles, hoping the heat she can feel rising in her cheeks isn’t obvious. 

Because thing number five Clarke has always know about Bellamy Blake is that she’s kind of..into Bellamy Blake. In a passing sort of way. That’s just happened to linger for years.

It’s his hair. 

It’s far too curly. 

It’s not—it’s more than that, it’s things one through four and a whole slew of other numbers she hasn’t come up with yet and how easy it’s been to live in the same space, both of them looking for roommates at the same time, mixing lives and remembering to buy creamer and always keeping an extra box of strawberry Special K in the back of the cupboard for breakfast-type emergencies, but Clarke likes to lie to herself and—

“Right, right, right,” Bellamy chuckles. “Well, she’s also ridiculously early.” Octavia scowls. “And standing here. Having a conversation you’re not actually a part of. Or invited to.” “Wow. Scathing.” “Do you wander around your apartment naked all the time?” “That’s not what’s happening. Obviously. Also, I live here. Why are you here so early?” “Just super psyched about cake.” “You’ll want to practice that some more before we leave. You might insult the baker in Brooklyn.” “You’re going to Brooklyn?” Clarke balks before she can stop herself, another noise out of Octavia that cannot possibly be good for her throat. 

“The bakery got really good reviews.” “Oh my God you looked up bakery reviews.” Bellamy tilts his head, more drops of water that are equal parts horrible and far too distracting to be fair. “Was that supposed to be a question?”

“No, no, I am not even remotely surprised that’s exactly what you did.” Endeared, maybe. Perpetually. But not surprised. 

Clarke doesn’t say that. 

Octavia is far too busy swinging her feet back on the floor, a slightly different look than earlier and Clarke glances down to make sure her stomach hasn’t actually dropped. She’s still retained enough anatomical knowledge to know that it is supposed to stay in her body. 

No drop. 

And yet. 

She can’t stop the butterflies or the nerves that rise up the back of her throat, another expression she’s far too familiar with. 

“Fine,” Octavia snaps. “We will go to Brooklyn. We will taste test all the cakes—there better be hummingbird cake—” “—Who do you think I am, O?” Bellamy mumbles. It gets him a well-deserved eye roll. 

Clarke’s going to bite her lip in half. 

“You and Clarke are sharing a Spotify account!” Bellamy blinks. Once, twice, runs his fingers through his hair and maybe it’s just a Blake thing, this seeming ability to twist their bodies in wholly unnatural ways. “Do you know what that looks like?” “Like I wanted to save a couple bucks a month? So it would be easier to do cake-type things?” “Phrase that differently,” Clarke suggests, but Bellamy just smirks and the towel thing is really starting to become a problem. The whole liking him is becoming a problem. But she’s just as unsurprised that this is what Octavia wanted to talk about as she was that he looked up bakery reviews, so. 

“Also,” Bellamy adds, “Clarke already had Spotify premium. It made sense.” Octavia shakes her head. “You’ve got to live together to be on the same account.”

“I thought we already covered that you have a key to this apartment. The one where Clarke and I live. Together.” “It looks romantic. It looks—” Octavia waves a pair of clearly frustrated hands through the air. “—Domestic. Partnered and, like joint playlists and—” “—You know he gets unlimited skips now, right?” Clarke interrupts, a desperate attempt to end this conversation and, maybe, get Bellamy to put a shirt on. 

“Don’t forget the no ads,” Bellamy grins. “That’s been a godsend.” “What an old sentence. Also, you’re a podcast dweeb.”

“Informed, princess. There’s a difference.” “Yuh huh. Whatever.” “As always, your arguments are well-structured and articulate.” She flips him off. He grins. Octavia makes a noise previously unheard by human ears. 

“You two do know,” she hisses, “that everyone is talking now and—” “—You all need to find a hobby,” Bellamy groans. “And I did not tell you this to make you lose your mind.” Clarke perks up, something in the back of her brain startling at that particular string of words. “You told her?”

“Yeah. I mean—well, I know it’s not a ton of money saved, but it’s something and…” He trails off, dots of color on his face and eyes that are suddenly very preoccupied with the floor. “It was nice of you to offer. So, I looked up Brooklyn.”

The music gets louder. 

Clarke is sure. She’s not sure how, but it seems to swell, the beat settling under her skin and in between her ribs, wrapping around a stomach that refuses to stay where it’s supposed to, flipping and flopping and feeling and, for a moment, she forgets Octavia is there. 

For a moment she smiles at Bellamy and he smiles at her and there’s no smirk, nothing except the way his eyes crinkle slightly, half a head tilt and damp curls falling and it’s good and great and then—

Octavia coughs. Pointedly. 

“Alright,” she sighs. “Well, I think it’s dumb and you guys should opt out of the joint playlist. It’s the absolute worst and definitely embarrassing.” “What?” Clarke asks. 

“Do you not know?” “You’re enjoying yourself.”

“Does Bell know about your secret Jonas love?” “What?!” Octavia throws her whole head back when she laughs, a sudden shift of emotion and the water falling off Bellamy’s elbow is starting to leave a small puddle on their floor. “Lincoln and I had it at first,” Octavia explains, “when we got it.” “You don’t think it’s a little hypocritical to be judging our Spotify purchases when you’ve got your own family plan?” Bellamy mutters. Octavia ignores him. “It’s some algorithm or something. I don’t know how it works, only that it takes all the songs you listen to all the time and turns it into a playlist that the entire family can listen to. In this case, that’s you guys. It’s very telling. About you know—you personally.” “I know Clarke personally,” Bellamy reasons. 

“Do you, though?” “I really don’t know how many times we can talk about this apartment.”

“You don’t have to. Because you didn’t know about the Jonas Brothers, did you?” “I really don’t—” “—Exactly,” Octavia says. “Music is...emotional. Certain songs for certain feelings, things that were playing in specific memories. It’s—it’s a whole new avenue to getting a person. Listen to this. Clarke, tell me the truth, how long did you spend making this playlist?” Clarke shrugs. “I don’t know. Not long, but it’s all kind of the same theme...Fleetwood Mac, Clapton, Jefferson Airplane. Good music to draw to.” “What’s the name of it?” “Of the playlist?” Octavia nods. Clarke scrunches her nose. “Music to sketch and avoid stress to,” she grumbles. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Bellamy’s staring at her. Gaping. Like he’s never seen her and it would be overwhelming even with a shirt on. As it is, Clarke swallows back the emotion taking up residence in the back of her throat, ignoring just how exposed she feels and— “You’re stressed?” he asks softly. 

“Not really. Just end of the quarter and you know parents at the school—always think their kid deserves a better grade and I’ve got meetings all next week. So. It’s—” God, she’s going to kill Octavia. And write a strongly worded letter to Spotify. “I knew you guys were going out today. The music is a lot of my dad’s favorite stuff. Calms me down.”

Bellamy doesn’t say anything else, a blessing and the single worst thing in the world, but the ends of his mouth curl up slightly and Clarke should stop looking at his mouth. Octavia grins like she won something. 

“You should put clothes on Bell,” she says. “Don’t want to miss the baker in Brooklyn.” He salutes, all sarcasm and snark, eyes flitting back towards Clarke’s before he and Octavia leave and she lets the playlist repeat three times. He brings her back a slice of cake. 

Octavia texts them both the next day. 

Bellamy grumbles, cursing under his breath about the sanctity of Sundays and Clarke resists the urge to make jokes about the New York Times crossword puzzle or his obsession with finishing it every weekend. 

She reads the text instead. 

Octavia Blake, 11:42 a.m.: I think you guys should stage a bet. A music bet. About the joint playlist. 

Clarke Griffin, 11:43 a.m.: Stop calling it that.

“Now, you’ve done it,” Bellamy murmurs, not lifting his eyes from the newspaper. There’s a pen stuck behind each one of his ears. 

Octavia Blake, 11:45 a.m.: No. I won’t. It’s weird and you guys are weird and if you're going to commit to Spotify, then I think you should bet to see who can control the playlist. 

“Don’t answer,” Bellamy suggests. 

Clarke grunts. 

Clarke Griffin, 11:46 a.m.: What kind of bet?

Octavia Blake, 11:47 a.m.: You guys can set terms. But basically see who can annoy who first with their musical tastes and seize control of the playlist. 

“Why is your sister so violent at all times?” Clarke asks, but Bellamy just fills in another clue and it’s an admittedly interesting idea. She’s nothing if not perpetually competitive. 

Octavia Blake, 11:47 a.m.: One musical genius to rule them all.

She kind of forgets about the bet. 

Or, whatever. 

Clarke’s too preoccupied with those meetings and the Wallace family continues to be the worst family at Mt. Weather, old money and far too many expectations, even for art elective classes that she promises won’t affect your child’s changes at the Ivy League, I swear, and her spine does not appreciate the way she’s sitting in her desk chair. 

She’s got a free period, is seriously considering slumping forward and taking a nap when she hears footsteps moving through her doorway. And Clarke’s got every intention of telling whoever it is to fuck off, but she also knows those footsteps and she can hear a soft beat playing in the background, so her curiosity is piqued. 

“Have you listened to it?” Bellamy asks, brandishing his phone and his tie is a little crooked. 

“What are you doing here?” “Isn’t this the same conversation you had with Octavia?” Clarke rolls her eyes at the same time he drops onto the corner of her desk. She lets out a noise — a warning about paint and half-finished projects she’s got to move to the back of the room, but Bellamy just gives her a steady look and the beat is coming from his phone. “Plus,” he continues, “we just got back from the Museum—” “—Did you geek? “I was a responsible adult figure, princess.” She hums, doing her best to infused as much disbelief into the sound as she can. It’s an old nickname—older than the joint lease and breakfast emergencies, a past Clarke doesn’t always like to think about because they hadn’t always gotten along, but at some point the word had lost its sneer and gained its own look she’s started to covet just a bit. 

She really needs to move those eleventh-grade acrylics. 

“So, like on a scale of one to three-thousand, how much did you geek, then?” Bellamy clicks his tongue. “I’d never been to the Morgan. 3,000 B.C.! They had stuff from 3,000 B.C.! Scrolls and artifacts, actual jewelry. That is—” “—Old?” “Ancient,” he corrects. “Proper ancient.” “I’d give this geek out a two-thousand, six-hundred and forty-seven. Out of the previously discussed three thousand.” “Yeah, that seems about right.”

“And you had a soundtrack to go with it?” Clarke asks, nodding towards the still-musical phone. 

“Kind of. Spotify caught up.” “To?” “Us.” It takes a moment for Clarke to figure out what he means, but then she’s taking a deep breath and trying to remember what she listened to in the last five days. A ridiculous amount of My Chemical Romance. 

It’s been a week. 

“I didn’t peg you for pop punk,” Bellamy laughs. “Or is MCR a different genre? I was never really sure how that worked.” Clarke groans, sliding further down her chair until his smile threatens to stretch the muscles in his face. She can’t flip him off in school. 

“I think, technically, they’re more power punk,” Clarke says. “Or maybe emo—depending on what album the algorithm picked up on.” “What have you been listening to more of?” “Mostly Welcome to the Black Parade on loop.” “Is it Wallace? All your stress and—am I missing out on jam sessions?” “God, not if you call them that,” Clarke exclaims. He blushes again. She may make a list of all the times she can get Bellamy to blush. “But kind of. You’ve had those Model UN meetings after school, so I’ve been blasting music when I get home. I think Pike’s going to rat me out to the super eventually.” “Yeah, well, he’s a dick neighbor. So.” “And my options are limited. No scream-singing in the car when I take the Subway every day.” “You could start singing on the Subway.” Clarke chuckles, sitting up a little straighter. Her spine appreciates it. “Showtime on the downtown six.” “You might be able to make some money. Learn how to flip on the polls.” “I’d donate it to your cake fund. Also, did you call them MCR?” “Is that not right? O went through a very serious Hot Topic phase when she was in high school and I remember some of the lingo, so—” “—You are seriously the oldest man alive.” “Who’s your favorite Jonas Brother?” Clarke scoffs, the song changing and she doesn’t think it’s one of hers. “Frank Ocean?” “A genius.” “You know we don’t have to do this. The sharing playlist thing. It’s—well, O was being crazy, especially with that bet idea, and there’s got to be a way to opt out of it.” “Do you want to opt out of it?” The question seems to hang in the air around them. 

And Clarke isn’t sure why it sounds impossibly important, like some line they’re crossing and can’t come back from, but she can’t shake the feeling or the admittedly lyrical genius of Frank Ocean. She turns the music up. 

“It’s kind of fun, isn’t it?” Bellamy asks. “Seeing what changes it picks up on and how the playlist evolves with what we’re into.” “Please stop talking about the playlist like it’s a sentient being.” “Fair, fair. But, uh—what do you say?” “To?” His fingers find the back of his hair, pushing curls away from his eyes and he’d left earlier than her that morning. That explains the glasses. He only wears his glasses when he’s tired. 

Clarke knows that. 

She knows...a lot about Bellamy. And not. Nothing about Frank Ocean, at least. 

She’d like to. 

She likes Frank Ocean. 

She loves—

“If we only listen to the playlist, we’re not going to change it,” Clarke points out. 

“Sounds like you’ve got a plan.” “At the risk of giving O any credit, it’s an interesting idea, isn’t it? That we keep listening to our own music during the day or night or whatever, but when we’re coming home from school we listen to the joint playlist. See what happens with it.”

“And are we trying to influence the playlist?” “That’s up to you, I guess.”

“Yeah, ok. Try to influence the playlist, see what we can force the other person to listen to and—” He tilts his head, a forced casualness that makes Clarke widen her eyes. “—Whoever eventually seizes control of the playlist with the majority of their songs by...O and Lincoln’s wedding wins.” “Wins? Wins what?” “I don’t know. Something at home. Or one of us can just pay for the other’s Spotify account.”

Clarke twists her lips, considering it. Bellamy’s eyebrows fly up expectantly. “Yeah, ok. We judge the playlist based on what we hear when we’re leaving school.” “Makes sense. And what happens if we leave school together? You going to share headphones with me?”

“Only if you’ll join my showtime brigade.” “Good name.” “Is that a yes?” He grins — another one of hers, which is vaguely possessive and a little insane, but Clarke’s heart is doing its best to beat its way out of her chest as well, so she figures the whole thing is kind of a wash at this point. “I will definitely join your showtime brigade,” Bellamy promises. “If only because I’m pretty confident in my ability to flip from the top bars.” “No you’re not.” “I’ve got upper-body strength you couldn’t even imagine.”

“Sure, sure. When do we start with our musical experiment?” “Today.” “Today?” “Today,” Bellamy repeats, as students start to file into the hallway and Clarke’s not all that upset with how her free period turned out. “I will pick you at exactly 3:15, Ms. Griffin. Be prepared for an introduction in modern classics. And 90s hip hop.” “I’m going to listen exclusively to pop punk for the rest of the week.” “May the algorithms ever be in your favor.”

“Idiot,” she calls, but he’s already walking away and none of her students look remotely surprised.

Raven slides the glass across the bar without a word. She doesn’t have to use words. Her face is judgmental enough. 

Clarke sighs. “What?” “Did I say anything?” “Did you have to?”

Raven waggles a finger, more opinions and very obvious thoughts and Clarke knew it was only a matter of time. She blames intro to stats. It’s how she met Octavia, after all. Which is how she met Bellamy, which is how their friends group grew and evolved and there’s been good and bad and this bar and she’s fairly certain Raven has a very detailed bet with both Monty and Murphy about her and Bellamy. 

They all know about the Spotify playlist. 

“I guess not,” Raven admits. “Has anyone ever told you that your psychic tendencies are both terrifying and impressive?” “Not in so many words, no.” “What about your weird flirting rituals?” Clarke downs the drink — not sure if it’s actually meant for her and not worried either way. It burns the back of her throat, settling in the pit of her stomach with an almost audible thump, right next to her ever-expanding knowledge of Bellamy’s musical taste and his determination to shift the playlist. He’s been listening to nothing except It’s Tricky radio for the past three days. 

She’s got to figure out how to fix this. 

On several levels. 

“It’s not flirting,” Clarke argues. “Or a ritual. That’s weird.” “You’re telling me.” “Buy me another drink.” “No,” Raven says. “Tell me about the ritual.” “Stop calling it that!” Clarke’s voice rises of its own accord, drawing more than a few curious glances and Bellamy looks up from where he’s talking to Lincoln and Octavia. She smiles. She doesn’t mean to. 

Raven cackles. 

“Oh God,” she mumbles, the words barely that, “so, how screwed are you? Like ballpark.” “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Have you figured out that he secretly loves the Goo Goo Dolls?” “How do you know that?” “You don’t?” “Oh my God,” Clarke groans. 

Raven reaches a hand out, a move that’s probably supposed to be comforting, but feels far too heavy when it lands on Clarke’s forearm. “Slow down on the liquor, Griffin. You’re a lightweight. And I know that because the one night I was there—don’t make that face.” Clarke definitely makes a face. She’s a little buzzed. Cage Wallace is setting up a meeting with the school board. About her art classes. “Anyway,” Raven adds, “I was kind of...looking to get out of there quick, but he had music playing and—” “—He played music while you guys were hooking up?” “Nah, he let me shower. He was reading.” “Oh my God.” “Anyway. I don’t think he knew that I could hear the music and it was definitely an entire Goo Goo Dolls album. Straight through. Not even a mix.” “Huh.” “You act like you’re not fascinated by that.” “Should I be?” Clarke questions, but it’s another badly formed lie and the energy under her skin is starting to make her restless. 

Raven nods. “Yes. Eventually that’s going to show up on the playlist too. I know. Or you could ambush him with the Goo Goo Dolls.” “What a sentence.” “Matchbox Twenty?” “Those are two different bands.” “Similar genres,” Raven reasons, Clarke waving down Miller for another round of something, anything. “And I’m trying to help you, here. Rule the playlist, rule the world, right?” “Or at least part of our roommate budget.” “Say roommates again like you don’t want to make out with his face.” “Jeez.” “Not an objection,” Raven points out at the same time Miller decides to show up. Clarke does her best to melt. It does not work. 

“It is not,” Miller adds. “And—just in case you were looking for some more information. He’s been asking about your musical tastes too.” Maybe Clarke is drunk. 

She wishes.

“Why?” “Search me,” Miller admits. “But a lot of it seemed to revolve around your favorite Jonas.” Clarke refuses to look at Raven for the rest of the night. 

It goes. Days, weeks, the rest of April. 

The music keeps on playing. Or, whatever. 

She listens to more My Chemical Romance. Bellamy goes through a pretty serious ten-day spiral over Weezer that leads them both down some 90s-alt rabbit hole, both of them bobbing in rhythm while they do the dishes on a Thursday night. 

At one point Octavia threatens to ruin it all, grabbing Clarke’s phone while they’re at the bar and announcing, “I am getting married, so I pick the music.” It ends with Carly Rae Jepsen on loop and a playlist that refuses to recover for the next two days. 

Clarke comes home to Bellamy humming Run Away With Me while he folds laundry in the living. She spends no less than five seconds processing that before she starts matching socks. 

They play the song fourteen times in a row. 

He counts. 

And she learns things. Raven had been right about the Goo Goo Dolls and Clarke girts her teeth when Bellamy asks “why are there so many Frozen songs on here now,” but that leads them to debating the merits of twisting traditional mythologies in Disney movies until Monty tells them to “shut up and drink.”

So, they do. 

And then, May happens. 

It’s not that Clarke often finds herself stressed enough to burst into tears as soon as she closes the apartment door behind her, but her stomach is churning and between self-important parents at school and her own parents—parent, singular—she’s an emotional, exhausted mess and—

“Oh, shit,” she sighs, sliding onto the floor. She hasn’t listened to the playlist all week. And she knows Bellamy won’t really care, but Clarke has started to depend on the structure and the ever-increasing knowledge and while she might not admit it, Arcade Fire probably would have done a pretty good job of psyching herself up for an afternoon with her mom. 

As it is, Clarke spent the better part of the last six hours listening to backwards compliments and questions about that school of yours and not-so-humble brags about the cardiac center at Lenox Hill and the “opportunities you passed up, sweetheart.”

That sentence played on loop in Clarke’s head the entire train ride home. 

She sniffles, a quick lip of suddenly dry lips because she’s started breathing out of her mouth too and—

“Clarke?” Her head bumps the door when she snaps it up, Bellamy standing there with curls that desperately need to be cut and glasses and he’s wearing socks. It makes Clarke’s pulse speed up and slow down at the same time. 

She’s very glad she’s not a doctor. 

“Hey, hey,” he says quickly, rushing into her space and there are already tears on her cheeks. She hates that. Bellamy drops in front of her, knees cracking and a hand on her shoulder, staring at her like she’s going to fall apart or break in half and neither is true. Clarke is just mad. 

Pissed off, really. 

She’s angry at her mom and the cardiac center with its looming benefit, Clarke’s lack of a date some black mark on the whole thing, apparently, far too many veiled suggestions that her own choices are less structured and real, because Clarke has made her own choices since she was eighteen and hated stats and she’s got a schedule and she can’t believe she forgot about the playlist. She’s harping on that. “And how was the esteemed Dr. Griffin today?” Bellamy asks knowingly. Clarke isn’t sure what sound she makes at that, but it might just be the audible version of gratitude, and he grins. 

Exactly like she wants him to. 

“Chock-full of opinions as always.” “Mmhm, I figured. You want to talk about it?” “Not really. She just—” Clarke grits her teeth, fighting against another wave of disappointment and could have been and every one of her muscles tightens when Bellamy’s lips ghost over her forehead. 

That’s absurd. 

It’s not the first time he’s done it. Or her. Quick displays of affection when things went well or things went bad and she can remember every single one. Which, honestly, is pretty telling, but she spent most of the day lying to her mom. 

This shouldn’t be any different. 

This is the complete opposite. 

“Go ahead,’ Bellamy mutters. 

“She’s just—God, Bell, she’s the worst and she’s so positive she’s right and I’m wrong, but she doesn’t even have the decency to really tell me I’m wrong and—” Clarke runs out of air. Bellamy brushes away the tears on her cheeks. “They’ve got this gala coming up and she wants me to come. She’s getting an award.” “Prestigious.” “Self-absorbed,” Clarke corrects. “The hospital she works at is awarding her for her work at the same hospital. I know it shouldn’t get to me. I do, but she kept talking, like she was going down a list of make Clarke feel like garbage and—” “—You don’t deserve to feel like garbage, princess.”

“Tell me mom that.”

“Here, give me your phone.” Clarke’s skull can’t cope with much more of this, but there’s an earnest edge to his voice that she’s never heard before and her phone suddenly feels impossibly heavy in her pocket. She pulls it out, willing her fingers not to tremble. 

It takes him exactly twelve seconds to start playing music.

There’s no Arcade Fire. No Goo Goo Dolls or 90s hip hop. 

“Fleetwood Mac?” Clarke whispers, Bellamy’s soft hum of agreement in her ear and she’s sure, eventually, they’ll get up. She’s not in a rush. “If you play Landslide,” Clark warns, “I will cry even more.”

“I can cope with that.” “Yeah?” “Yeah,” he says, and it sounds like another thing in a way that things shouldn’t be things. Not with roommates and weird bets and—“You know I do have some rhythm. I could...if you don’t want to show up to this thing by yourself.” Clarke doesn’t pull her head off his shoulder. She’s not sure when her head landed on his shoulder. “You don’t have to do that.” “It wouldn’t suck so bad.” “That's not true at all.” “I’m serious. We could make fun of people. Come up with ridiculous backstories. Wow them with our Fred and Ginger ways.” “You sound very confident in your dancing talent.” He kisses the top of her hair. 

“That’d be nice,” Clarke says, voice a little scratchy and she’s not sure if that’s because of the day or the week or how goddamn comfortable his shoulder his. “And you’re going to ruin the playlist algorithm with this.” “I’ll live.” “Good.”

Dr. Abby Griffin’s eyes get very wide when Clarke and Bellamy show up at Gotham Hall. 

They dance. They drink undoubtedly expensive champagne. They dance some more. 

She smiles. 

A lot. 

And Bellamy doesn’t ask before handing Clarke one side of his headphones as soon as they slide into the Uber back home, her eyes fluttering shut while the music drowns out the sounds of the city on their way home. 

She gets really annoyed with him one week and plays the original Broadway cast recording of Cats every night while she’s asleep. 

He hates that she can’t ever remember to turn the AC off when she leaves the apartment. So, he plays Bizet from Carmen every time she walks in for a four-day stretch. 

It takes another two days for the playlist to realize neither one of them is mad anymore.

At some point around Memorial Day they both realize they love Ben Folds. 

Bellamy plays a ridiculous fake piano. 

Clarke sings the Regina Spektor parts on all their duets. 

They blast Killer Queen on a Saturday afternoon in June after Cage Wallace’s kid graduates. 

Clarke stands on the couch, hands thrown in the air and something akin to joy leaping up her spine, Bellamy shouting lyrics from the kitchen while he blends...something. 

It presumably has alcohol in it. 

Or, more alcohol. 

It’s a celebration. 

And it doesn’t take long for Pike to start banging on their shared well, but neither of them move to to turn own the music, just sing louder. Bellamy grins when Clarke throws a pillow at the wall, shouting “take that dick,” like Pike can hear them over Freddie Mercury. 

She almost falls over. 

It is...patently stupid and inherently romantic and Bellamy is impossibly solid behind her, cotton t-shirt not doing much to distract from the planes of his chest and—

“What was that about upper body strength?” she breathes.

Bellamy laughs into her shoulder blade, nosing at the top of her shirt, and there must be hair in his face, but he doesn’t seem all that upset by it, which is only messing with her head a little bit. His fingers splay across her hip, tugging Clarke back to the floor. 

His glasses are falling down the bridge of her nose. 

Clarke presses up on her toes, suddenly aware of how much bigger he is than her and how clear his eyes are when he looks at her — more earnest energy and a flick of his tongue between his lips, like he’s waiting for whatever she does next and only a little impatient. 

“A solid save.” Bellamy barks out a laugh, head falling close to Clarke’s, and it takes everything in her not to card her fingers through his hair. That lasts about four seconds. 

If even. 

Her calves are still aching, but she doesn’t back down and she doesn’t think and for one of those four seconds she’s absolutely positive Bellamy is going to kiss her. He doesn’t blink, just stays impossibly still, except for the flutter of his fingers and the way they push under the hem of her shirt and—

“Turn your fucking music down!”

They both jump back, like they’ve been shocked, Clarke wincing when her legs slam into the front of the couch. 

“Are you ok?” Bellamy asks, but she’s already nodding and any sense of joy has rather quickly morphed into something much worse. Regret. That’s the word for it. 

She’s neither a doctor nor an English teacher. 

“Fine, fine,” Clarke stammers. “I, uh—I’m going to turn the music down, ok?”

“Nah, Clarke—fuck that guy, c’mon, it’s…” “It’s really loud, Bell.” He’s setting a record for not blinking, she’s sure. He stares at her—a little appraising and just a hint wary, the moment drifting away as the song fades out. Clarke swallows. 

“Yeah, that’s true,” Bellamy agrees. It still doesn’t sound like the words he’s saying. “What do you think about celebratory David Bowie?” “Good call. You going to keep mixing?” “10-4, princess.”

“Idiot.” He grins, a quick twist of eyebrows and squeeze of his hand, but Clarke can’t help to think that the end of the school year may also be the end of something else. 

Octavia’s getting married in two weeks. 

Her dress is blue. 

And it makes her boobs look great, which Clarke isn’t focused on, but Raven’s mentioned it enough that eventually she agrees and she’s happy. 

Octavia is getting married. 

It’s sunny. It’s warm. There’s already music playing, soft and melodic outside the door where they’re waiting, Raven’s far-too-knowing stare boring into the back of Clarke’s head. 

“Don’t do that,” she warns, and she doesn’t have to turn to know Raven rolls her eyes. 

“I’m still not saying anything.” “Again, you didn’t have to.” “The experiment ends today, right?” “You say that like you don’t know. “And what did we learn?” Clarke turns around. It’s a mistake, she knows, but part of her has also been dreading today, which is pretty fucked up. All things considered. Octavia looks gorgeous. 

She’s got a five-dollar bet with Murphy that Bellamy will cry. 

Bellamy’s definitely going to cry. 

“You’re supposed to learn something in an experiment,” Raven says. “Even one as weird as this one. With all its flirting. You seriously haven’t made out with him yet?” “No.” Raven crows, Clarke grimacing at the admission that isn’t really that because everyone knows and she’s always known and—she bets he looks very good in his tuxedo. “Oh, god you’re an idiot,” Raven exhales. “But seriously, did you learn things? That he—”

“Yes to the Goo Goo Dolls. Slide is a very predictable favorite, but it’s been on the playlist since the get. He knows way more lyrics than he should. O had a pop punk phase too and he’s way too confident in his own rhythm, but sometimes he’s good at dancing. His mom used to listen to a lot of ballads and Karen Carpenter makes him feel emotions, but mostly at Christmas, so that hasn’t really affected the playlist and—what? You’re doing that thing with your face.” “Am I just?” “Nothing’s going to change, Rae,” Clarke cuts in. “We’re going to keep our musical preferences and our separate playlists and one of us will pay for no ads.” “Seriously, tell him how much you want to kiss him.”

“Shut up.”

And the photographer sounds like he’s on his way back. With Octavia. Who certainly does not want to hear about Clarke’s unrequited feelings for her brother. On her wedding day. 

Priorities, Clarke’s got them. 

“We had some fun and—well, O was kind of right. It was like getting a chance to…” “See into his music-loving soul?” “I really like Arcade Fire now.” Raven hums noncommittally and Clarke can practically hear the gears in her mind turning, but she’d been right about the photographer and maybe they’ll all just cry over Octavia. 

She’s beaming. 

And there will be hummingbird cake at this reception. 

“You guys ready?” Octavia asks. 

Clarke nods, ignoring Raven’s expression. “Definitely.”

He cries. 

Clarke gets five dollars. 

She doesn’t have any pockets in her dress. 

That feels like a sign. 

Strictly speaking, Clarke hasn’t been to too many weddings. A family friend when she was a kid. Her mom’s. This one. 

And yet. 

She’s positive that this is the most beautiful wedding she’s ever been to or could ever go to and part of that is because of the music and part is because of how often she’s noticed Bellamy smiling and most of it is because he keeps glancing her way. 

It’s a very blue dress. 

She’s still holding a five-dollar bill. 

And there is a whole schedule — toasts and more tears, posing for photos and ignoring the way her stomach flutters when she spends an inordinate amount of time glancing Bellamy’s direction. Octavia laughs. She and Lincoln flit from table to table, a hint of tradition in a wedding that is still them and this family and—

“You want to dance?” She’s sitting at the head table, a glass of half-finished champagne in front of her and they haven’t cut the cake yet, but Clarke figures that's soon. Bellamy doesn’t blink. Again. One side of his mouth tugs up, fluttering his fingers in her space until she feels her own smile stretch and maybe her stomach should just be studied. 

There’s color on Bellamy’s cheeks. 

Clarke never got around to making that list. 

“Don’t leave hanging, princess,” Bellamy says. “They’re playing good music.”

He’s not wrong. 

It is good music. It’s...oddly familiar music. And Clarke had been too happy to really notice it before, but now that she’s listening, she hasn’t heard anything that’s not hers and—

“Oh my God, you idiot.” He laughs. Loud. And honest. And one-hundred percent hers. The sound sinking into the very center of her, where everything else she’s ever loved has taken root, a foundation for the rest of it, for all of it, for a family. 

A Spotify premium family plan. 

“You keep complimenting me like that and—” “—Did you do this?” “Did I do what?”

Her hand finds his, warm fingers and slightly callused skin. Clarke can’t stop shaking her head. It’s absurd. It’s vaguely romantic. 

“Is this…” she starts, but Bellamy smirks and she’s a lost cause. 

In a far more romantic sort of way. 

She jumps up, closing the already minimal amount of space between them and, to his credit, he doesn’t flinch. He might still be smirking. Clarke can feel the curve of his lips as soon as hers land on them, a little cautious at first, but that lasts about one verse of whatever Jonas Brothers song is playing and then it’s all mingled breaths and an arm slung around his shoulders, fingers in his hair and the sudden swipe of his tongue. 

Clarke arches her back, desperate to feel as much of him as she can, like that will ground her or remind her that it’s really happening. 

He tilts his head, changes angles and cups her face. It’s soft and bruising and a perfect contradiction that leaves her pushing up further in her heels, pulling on Bellamy’s curls until he groans against her and she’s going to think about that on loop for the rest of the night. 

The room spins. 

Clarke’s only seventy-two percent certain she’s not the one spinning. 

It doesn’t seem to end. They don’t seem to end. She can’t tell where his hands stop, moving across the expanse of her back and tracing across skin, as if he’s memorizing every shift, every way she rocks against him, trying to fill the space with him and them and— “Oh my God, finally,” Octavia cries. 

Clarke snickers, Bellamy’s head dropping to the curve of her jaw, leaving goosebumps in his wake. Still smirking. “Huh,” he muses. “Look at that.” “Don’t be smug,” Clarke chides. “I’m wooing you, was that not obvious?” She leans back, expecting a wholly confident expression, only to be met with something slightly hopeful and a little young and yearning and, really, the only thing to do is kiss him. Again. So, she does. Again. 

And it’s good and great and exactly what she thought it would be when she thought about this, far more often than she ever would admit to. 

But it’s also...something else. It’s the perfect chord and a well-constructed bridge and the song she wants to play on repeat forever, a favorite she knows she won’t get sick of, until the melody finds its way into her memory and her. 

Full stop. 

“Yeah, it was,” she whispers. “Is this—” “You know when you first offered to go half on this premium thing, I really was in it for the money.” “It’s like an extra ten bucks a month,” Miller yells. Both Octavia and Raven swat at his side.

“Yeah, that’s true,” Bellamy admits, “But I wanted to help O and I was sure this would help and then the playlist thing came up and I just—” He shrugs, another brush of his fingers over Clarke’s arm. “—Well, it was...you know you hum under your breath? Constantly. Every song. Even the ones you said you didn’t like. And you’ve got drawing playlists and I can’t believe how strongly you feel about All Time Low.” “They’re good,” Clarke shouts. More than a few members of the peanut gallery let out exasperated sighs. 

Bellamy kisses her hair. “I know. I know. And that’s been—the first time O talked about you, I figured you were some uptight—” “—Am I still being wooed? I am a fun person!” “Let me finish. You were old money and plans and structure and I thought I had to hate you on principle. But then. Clarke, you’re—ok, yeah, you like some structure and plans, but there’s so much more and it’s...every single time you start dancing to David Bowie I think I love you a little more.”

She’s not sure what sound she makes. 

An exhale and a sigh and a give — into the feelings and the want and he’s not done. 

“So, uh, it hasn’t been easy. It took a lot of repeat plays. But yeah, to answer your question. This is the playlist and it’s our playlist, with...mostly your music because—” He scrunches his nose. It makes the freckles more obvious. “You’ve gotten under my skin, princess. So has your music. And the Frozen soundtrack isn’t that bad.” “Get that in writing,” Octavia demands. 

“Shut up, O,” Bellamy grumbles. She flips him off. The photographer takes a picture. “Anything to add?” he asks, an undercurrent of misplaced nerves that she doesn’t understand at first. She hasn’t said anything back. 

“Oh, yeah, yeah, that’s—” she starts, shaking her head and she kisses him before she answers. Third time’s the charm, or something. "I love you too.”

There are cheers. And louder music. A ridiculous bass line and shutter snaps and—

“We going to dance?” “Did I not ask first?” Clarke hums, already tugging him towards the floor and she’s got high hopes of his hand never leaving hers. For the rest of the night. If not longer. “Semantics,” she says. “C’mon, this is definitely a good song.”

Her favorite Jonas Brother is Joe. 

She tells him while they’re tugging clothes off, stumbling down the hallway of their apartment. 

“Don’t mention that again.” “10-4,” Clarke laughs, but the words get caught between them and she very quickly forgets about anything other than the noise Bellamy makes when she moves her hands into his hair. 

They never opt out of the family playlist. 

And it takes a few weeks for the algorithm to catch up, but eventually it’s a pretty even split, his and hers and theirs, all perfectly curated in replayable format. 

#bellarke ff #bellarke fan fiction #bellarke #bellamy x clarke #the 100 #just casually inflicting my jonas opinions on new fandoms #oh hai new fandom #i've got thoughts and feelings about bellamy blake's hair #so here they are #there's kissing #that's my jam #laura writes bellarke #laura writes

[moshymosh]

Drunken Shenanigans: The Nitty Gritty

A/N: This is part two of the interview, now after writing this I’m kinda having writer's block for the next part, send me some suggestions on how to continue it. This is a very weird part but its silly. Sebastian's porn talk its taken from an actual podcast so the credit goes to its owner you can listen to it here. What Richards and the Reader sing is taken from one of the most hilarious people I know on youtube, who plays six seige this is the video check it out it’s in the first couple seconds of the video but the whole video is comedy gold.

Warnings: Talk of porn, language. some slight fluff if you squint hard enough.

Parings: Sebastian Stan x Podcaster!Reader

Soulmate AU: Throughout a person’s life they get glimpses of what their soulmate looks and sounds like. You get the full picture when you kiss the person. When you kiss them you also get a flash of your future together with them.

"Sebastian, since you are our guest, please do us the honor and spin the wheel?" Y/N giggled, putting on her best Vana White impression as she could from her seat. Sebastian laughed and got up from his seat, placing his headphones down the table.

"So, I just spin it?" He asked, once he received a confirmation, that is all he had to do. Sebastian took a deep breath and spun it. Moving back to his seat, he got settled, taking a drink of his beer, before almost spitting it out at the sight of the topic it landed on; ' What do you think your soulmate looks like.'

Y/N grinned and spun in her wheelie chair to the mic. "We want all the details." She said, looking at Sebastian. "Richards is exempt from this because he married his soulmate."

"Oh. Uhh... god, this is going to be weird. From the glimpses, I've- Uh... Had, she has Y/H/C hair, Y/E/C eyes, and a beautiful voice." Sebastian stuttered out. "I mean, I could take up the rest of this Interview just talkin' about her."

"Lovesick already?" Richards teases, causing Y/N to snort.

"Hush up, Rich. You were the same way about your husband before you met him." Y/N says before taking a drink. "I, on the other hand, kinda know what my soulmate looks like, but I don't really care."

"Why's that Y/N?" Sebastian askes, his cheeks tinged pink from the alcohol and Richards' teasing.

"I don't know, I mean his voice sounds amazing. But I don't know if I fully believe in the soulmate thing. My subconscious could be putting those images and sounds into my head." Y/N explained before getting up to take a turn spinning the wheel. Spinning it Y/N went back to her seat, stumbling slightly.

"Oh shit. 'First time discovering porn.'." Y/N read the topic out, clapping her hands as she laughed. She was gesturing to Sebastian, asking if he would like another beer. She went and got refills as Richards began telling his story.

Once both Y/N and Richards finished their stories of discovering porn, they were all giggling messes. Sebastian cleared his throat and began to tell his story.

"Let's see I was- Uh... I was 13 or 14 there was no porn online, there was none of that stuff, right? I would get like naked girl pictures." Sebastian started smiling when Y/N mumbled 'Oh My God.' into her mic as she shook her head. Sebastian was too drunk to realize that when she said this, she sounded just like his soulmate.

"And- And so I started this file that I hid like 15 files deep." Sebastian stopped as Richards laughed.

"What- What was the file folder called?" Richards asked, trying to settle his giggling.

"Probably something like 'Structure work.'." Everyone who sat around the table laughed. Y/N dropped her head on the table with a thud as she laughed.

"Then one day, my step-dad was in his office with the computer, and he was like 'Will you come in here Sebastian?' and I remember he had like all the pictures of like boobs and vaginas spread and the whole deal. They were everywhere, right?" Sebastian had to stop to compose himself and took a drink.

"And he was like 'We need to talk about this.' I was like he was like going to fucking kill me." Sebastian starts to crack up as he continues his story. "He was like 'This-This ones pretty good.'." Everyone in the casting room starts to laugh at this.

"And I was like, 'Oh... Yeah.' he was literally looked at me and was like ' I'm so happy, son because..." Sebastian begins to crack up again. "'Because your mom and I, we thought you were gay.'." Everyone is laughing with him, far past the point of being called tipsy.

As they all progressed the wheel game, they were all getting distracted at random things. Richards was trying to drunk booty call his husband, who was laughing at him from behind the observation glass. Y/N was mumbling songs, and Sebastian was watching her with a dreamy look.

Y/N giggled before she began to sing, Richards joining with parts of the song.

"Skrt, miss me with that bullshit." Y/N began Richards jumped in with a 'Yeah, you're not a gang member you're a tourist.'

"I be blackin' out, I be blackin' out. Bought an '83 cutlass for the weekend." Y/N mumbled, bouncing in her seat as she sang the words. 'For de weekend.' Richards sang back in a weird voice.

"I got a hundred thousand than I freaked it." Y/N and Richards sang the 'Then I freaked it.' Part together. "I make five hundred thousand. Then I freaked it." The same thing happened again. Sebastian was laughing at the pair.

"I got big dog status, ain't no secret." Y/N sang, getting more confident, slightly giggling as Richards sang back, "Ain't no secret."

"La di da di da, Slob on me knob. Pass me some syrup. Fuck me in the car." Both Y/N and Richards dissolved into giggles.

"Y/N/N. You just peaked, you peaked so hard." Richards laughed out, shaking his head. "I should just put you down."

Y/N got up from her chair, her arms outstretched "Lord strike me down!"

Sebastian laughed a drunkenly took a picture of the girl's antics.

"And on that note." Richards slurred into the mic "Goodbye, everyone, see you in two weeks."

Once Y/N's employees cut the cast and began to set it up to post, Richards' husband came in to collect him, to bring him home. Y/N was slumped in her seat, groaning as she fumbled with her phone. Once she figured out what she wanted to do, she slid it to Sebastian across the table.

"Dude, can I have your-" Y/N hiccuped and shook her head with a smile. "Can I have your number, so I can check on you in the morning, cause I know I'll get a lie from your publicist."

Sebastian nodded while he grabbed her phone. He began typing it in, when he was finished, he checked the number four times to make sure it was right before he drunkenly texted his phone. Sebastian's assistant came in to lead the drunken man to the car that would take him back to his hotel.

Y/N sighed after sitting alone for ten minutes before Y/B/F/N came in to take her home. All three of the trio fell asleep instantly as soon as their bodies hit their beds. Once Y/N awoke the next morning, with a semi-head-splitting headache, she sent a text to Richards' husband asking how Richards was. Getting no response, she texted Sebastian.

Y/N: Yo, hows your head? Seb: I hate you -.- Y/N: Haha, if so, you have to admit you had fun. Seb: Yeah, Yeah. That's true, but at what cost?

Y/N laughed at her phone before receiving a message from Sasha, stating that she sent Stan the finished podcast.

Y/N: Sasha, my assistant, just said that she sent you the podcast. Enjoy :)

Sebastian listened to it as he began his morning workout. Getting to the point when Y/N said, 'Oh My God.' he stumbled on the treadmill, causing it to use its emergency stop feature. Sebastian listened to that section three times before it dawned on him. Y/N was his soulmate.

Y/N just stepped out of the shower after coming back from her morning run, and almost slipped on the wet tile floor beneath her as she read Sebastian's text.

Seb: I think that you're my soulmate.

#sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x y/n #seb stan x reader #seb stan x y/n #seb stan x you #Moshymoshwrites #Karmawrites

[damienthepious]

hello it has become my solemn duty to make all of y’all ship mangelo with me. @shorter-than-her-tbr-pile & @bluerayofsunshine it’s both of your fault that I ship this and therefore this entire fic is because of y’all. thank you

Feel Some Sort Of Way

[ao3]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Sir Angelo/Sir Marc, background Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Sir Marc, Sir Angelo, Talfryn, Dampierre, Sir Damien, Rilla, Lord Arum, The Keep

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Mutual Pining, (mutual dumbasses), very mild angst, Fluff, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Crushes, (they're just....... so fucking ridiculous)

Summary: Traveling with Sir Angelo proves to be very confusing, for Sir Marc.

Notes: I've been working on this goddamn fic since July. They're soft, I'm soft, you're soft too probably. Let's be soft together dangit. Title from the song UWU by Chevy.

~

It can’t be intentional, Marc thinks. Must be near the hundredth time he’s thought it. It can’t be intentional, or the big guy would just say something, right?

“Here, friend Marc!” Angelo swings his arms up, draping the thick, heavy material of his cloak around Marc’s shoulders. He beams as Marc furrows his brow in confusion, squawking half a protest as Angelo’s hands lift the hood to pull it over his head, shielding Marc’s face from the driving rain.

“Wh- wha- why?”

“You looked cold up upon the delightful Dampierre, friend Marc,” Angelo says, his face open and sincere. “I find myself quite warm despite the rain, and so I imagined that you might benefit more from my cloak than I myself would.”

Marc reaches a hand up to grip the clasp of the cloak, intending to pull it off, but-

It is much warmer with the heavy, sturdy cloth around his shoulders like a hug, and… the cloth, strangely, smells like baking, sugary and friendly and sweet. How-

“That’s very kind of you, Sir Angelo,” Talfryn says, in that particular tone of voice that means he’s chastising Marc for being rude. Judging by the unwavering grin on the knight’s face, though, he isn’t bothered by that rudeness, so Marc doesn’t feel too awful about it either.

“Yeah,” he says instead, his thumb still brushing over the clasp of the cloak as Dampierre whickers softly beneath him. “Uh. Thanks, Angelo.”

~

It’s weird, traveling with Sir Angelo. It was different when it was the two pairs of men traveling sort-of together to find Rilla. Even after the Nymphs, when they reached enough of an understanding that they weren’t at each other’s throats anymore, it still felt like two different groups of people who just happened to have the same goal, who happened to be in a position to be watching each other’s backs. They weren’t really one collective group, at least not by the time that Dampierre lost a shoe and Marc had to fall behind.

This time, there’s less pressure on the whole thing. No one in deadly peril, no dire threat looming large over the Citadel. It’s as simple as the three of them taking the scenic route (as in, not by magical portal) to visit Sir Damien and Rilla and Scales.

Actually, in technicality, Sirs Angelo and Damien are supposed to be traveling to “assess the level of danger presented by the monstrous occupation of the area known as the Swamp of Titan’s Blooms,” but obviously, that’s… not exactly a real issue, even if it would be impossible to explain that to the Queen.

Marc wasn’t there when Rilla heard the assignment her fiance and friend were saddled with, but the way he understands it she wasted no time in grinning wide, grabbing Damien by the wrist, and sing-songing something about a month’s vacation, totally justified.

Apparently, since Angelo went all puppy-eyed at the prospect of not having his joined-at-the-hip best friend for the little trek, and he’s too damn dutiful to sit on his haunches for the few weeks it should take to pretend to walk to the swamp and back, Rilla had also suggested Marc and Tal as traveling companions before she and Damien slipped into her hut and then, uh, disappeared. And, despite some initial grumbling, Marc is actually kind of excited for the opportunity to get back to that swamp and maybe get another look at Scales’ cool self-defending castle, and for Tal to have the chance to do a little more exploring in the swamp proper.

What Marc is surprised by, though, is how much odder it is to spend time with Sir Angelo without the buffer of Sir Damien. Angelo seems… genuinely delighted to get to know Marc and Tal better, he’s a courteous and generous traveling companion, and he has this habit of just- catching Marc’s gaze and smiling.

Which shouldn’t be a big deal, Marc thinks. But it’s the way he smiles that concerns Marc. It’s this wide, slow-blooming sunflower grin, like remembering that Marc exists is enough to smack the knight full of joy. Which is totally bunk, because when most people remember that Marc is there, he usually gets more of a roll-the-eyes response.

Angelo smiles at Tal, too, which is nice, but Marc… Marc has this strange feeling that it’s different from the way Angelo smiles at him.

Anyway. It’s weird, and it makes Marc feel a little like his stomach is doing cartwheels, and it’s been distracting enough that Dampierre has needed to sputter at him to keep the both of them on the path more than once already.

He should be able to stop himself from staring when Angelo smiles. So far, though, the effort has proven to be a total pain in the ass.

~

It can’t be intentional. The knight is just nice to everyone.

The reason he keeps giving Marc more cookies than Tal (where does he keep getting cookies from?) is because he knows that Tal has less of a sweet tooth. He just- pays attention! That’s all!

Marc takes an aggressive sort of bite from a soft, sweet piece of shortbread, and he pretends that the delighted grin that Angelo shoots his way doesn’t make his face feel hot. Because, and Marc cannot stress this enough, it doesn’t mean anything.

~

Angelo gently strokes Dampierre’s neck, smiling in an awestruck sort of way as the horse snorts and then nudges his nose into Angelo’s other hand, snatching up the wild berries the knight has collected along the road today.

“Such a clever beast you have, friend Marc!” Angelo says with a wide smile, eyes sparkling, and Marc feels his heart do something swooping and strange.

“Y-yeah,” Marc says, and Angelo won’t notice that Marc is staring so long as he’s preoccupied with Dampierre, right? “Best horse in the whole damn world.”

“And lucky to have such a brave and caring partner in yourself, my friend!"

Nope. Angelo swings his eyes up towards Marc, warm and fond and to hell with this, actually. Marc presses his heels into Dampierre and the horse knows to skip forward a few steps, whickering softly and startling that look off of Angelo's face enough that Marc's fists can unclench.

"Got a mind of his own sometimes, though," Marc says casually, apologetically, and when he pats Dampierre’s neck Angelo smiles again, soft and understanding.

"As a good partner should!" he says. "I've been learning much, lately, about the benefits of consulting many perspectives rather than limiting oneself to the viewpoints one is familiar with-"

Angelo continues as he keeps pace with Dampierre's slow walk, and Marc listens. He listens, and Angelo’s smile gleams as bright as his armor, and Marc feels a little bit like he could do this forever, actually.

Which is ridiculous, because Angelo is like this with everyone, right? Marc swallows uncomfortably, tearing his eyes away from the knight. Angelo is just like this with everyone. He’s just trying to do exactly what he’s talking about- getting different perspectives. It’s not about Marc at all. He tears his eyes away from the knight again. He’s not treating Marc special. Of course he isn’t.

~

The cooking is a nice surprise.

Normally, Marc and Tal switch off cooking meals back and forth while they’re on the road, though usually it’s Tal that has to remind them to stop regularly to actually do any cooking instead of just gnawing on hardtack and jerky as they ride. Marc tends to get distracted, tends to focus more on whatever is right in front of him until his stomach is rumbling and he finally remembers that yeah, his body needs stuff like food and probably a quick nap or whatever. Tal’s a slightly better cook, though neither of them are really good at it. Marc can skin a rabbit caught along the way, can skewer some meat to roast over the fire, and Tal can usually find some edible greenery nearby to make the food suck slightly less, but it’s never enjoyable like a good hot meal in a tavern would be.

Traveling with Angelo, though, mealtime is a different story.

The guy seems to have a weirdly endless supply of treats, little candies and baked goods that he pulls from his pack and carefully unwraps and never hesitates to share, but beyond that he never seems to treat any meal as perfunctory. He can take whatever ingredients they have in their combined packs and make something that could actually be called dinner out of it. What would have just been slightly burnt skewers of rabbit and wild carrot in Marc and Tal’s hands turns into a surprisingly flavorful stew when Angelo gets ahold of it, when he gently asks if Talfryn would be so kind as to find him a few more edible roots, mushrooms, sprigs of herbs. Angelo carries little jars of seasoning blends in his pack with him, too, that he inevitably smiles when he opens. He has a habit of sniffing the top of the jar and then sneezing aside, because of the spice, obviously, but he always just grins wider as he adds a few pinches to the pot, filling the air around their campfire with a different sort of warmth than just woodsmoke.

He makes it feel- homey, honestly. Comfortable. Marc doesn’t know what to do with that feeling, but he’ll enjoy it while it lasts, at least.

Maybe when they’re done with this little trip, he’ll get up the nerve to ask the big guy if he can borrow one of those jars of spices. He can’t cook like Angelo can, obviously, but- it’d be a little something, anyway. To keep, when Angelo is gone again.

~

Briefly, madly, Marc thinks that maybe Angelo is more aware than he lets on. He thinks that maybe, maybe, Angelo is doing this on purpose. Being so nice and friendly and- all touchy-feely or whatever. To mess with him. To make Marc feel guilty about the way the four of them butted heads at first, or something.

But when Angelo offers to clean up after dinner (again) and Marc reacts with suspicion, Angelo seems so genuinely confused that Marc knows he isn't faking it. Angelo is… he's just that nice. Marc feels guilty enough about confusing the knight that he winds up doing half the cleanup with him anyway, resolutely ignoring every time their shoulders bump together.

~

Marc wakes when he feels hands upon him, but the touch is so gentle that the waking is too. He knows it isn’t Talfryn, because when Talfryn moves him to bed from whatever random spot he drops in, his brother always whines at him the whole time, and he does more pushing and shoving than this soft sort of…

It’s Angelo, obviously. It’s not like a monster would have crept into camp just to make sure Marc didn’t get a crick in his neck falling asleep somewhere stupid, and Marc has been hit by enough monsters to know that they usually don’t have big, strong, sword-calloused hands. And there’s no reason to make the big guy feel awkward about it, Marc reasons, so he keep his eyes closed and tries not to change his breathing as Angelo slowly shifts him to horizontal, and there’s a pillow waiting beneath his head before it hits the dirt, which is nice.

Angelo drapes blanket around his shoulders, and Marc usually thinks of the guy as clumsy but there’s nothing clumsy about the careful, gentle attention of his hands tucking the cloth around his shoulders.

Then, he feels those fingers feather-light on his face, brushing the hair that must’ve come loose from the tie at the back of his head away from his forehead, and-

There’s a strange sort of moment then. Angelo’s hand lingers, or Marc imagines that it does, and he feels something like a static charge, like anticipation.

But the moment breaks, and Angelo moves away. Marc is alone, then, still not warm enough beside the fire as he curls the blanket closer and tighter around his shoulders, and he tries to bury all the stupid wildfire confusion that burns through his idiot body whenever Angelo actually touches him. He tries to bury all of it, because Saints know that’s the only way he’s ever going to get back to sleep with the tingling echo of Angelo’s hand still lingering on his brow.

~

They rescue a young woman separated from her caravan of traders, lost in the jungle. They find her stuck in a monster-made snare that looks years old, half rotted through but still just solid enough to keep a hold on the lady. She’s grateful for the help, and even more grateful when Angelo lifts her up onto his own horse when they realize that the snare cut her ankle. Talfryn wraps the injury, but none of the three of them are physicians, exactly, and it’s probably better for her to be off of her feet until they find her companions again.

Sir Angelo is absurdly chivalrous throughout the whole thing. He leads the horse at an easy pace, asking the gal questions about her friends and attending to the answers with quiet attention, his expression diligent and serious, like a schoolboy trying to impress. All in all he acts a perfect knight and a perfect gentleman about it, while Marc and Tal follow behind until Marc kicks Dampierre forward enough to walk side-by-side with Angelo’s horse.

And yeah, Marc flirts a bit.

With the lady. Obviously.

Part of it is just habit. She’s pretty enough, with amber skin and soft grey eyes, but Marc doesn’t actually expect anything. He’s not even really trying, and when she scowls at him all he feels is a twinge of relief, because her irritation with him seems to be distracting her from how upset she was before, at least. Distracting her from the pain in her leg, too. He may not be a knight, yet, but he can still be at least a little bit useful, even if it’s only as a convenient annoyance. He says as much, and that finally startles a laugh out of her, and she rolls her eyes but she’s still smiling, which Marc counts as a win.

Angelo frowns, then, just slightly, and Marc’s hands tighten on his reigns though his own smirk doesn’t budge. Talfryn, behind them, frowns as well, but Marc pretends not to notice.

They have her safely back with her group in less than an hour, and Marc clenches his jaw far too hard when Sir Angelo oh-so-gently lowers the woman back down from the horse, the very goddamn picture of gallantry. Tal hisses at him, asks him what’s wrong with him, and Marc has to look aside, muttering something vague about Angelo glory-stealing the rescue. Which is stupid on multiple levels, but Marc doesn’t need to defend his position because the whole caravan of traders pull all three of them to join their group for the evening as thanks, offering dinner and the safety of other eyes and booze, and even music to entertain while they all sit together.

It’s comfortable, and warm, and a hell of a relief. And Marc barely enjoys a second of it, because he can’t stop the way his eyes keep drifting towards Angelo in the firelight. The woman they rescued sits beside the knight all evening, laughing and leaning too close, and Angelo smiles so damned kindly that it makes Marc want to just-

Nothing. It makes him want to nothing. Marc scowls at the fire and ignores Tal’s questioning look. Angelo is probably the nicest person that Marc has ever met. He deserves- he deserves for someone to laugh and lean too close around some safe and happy fire, while a pot of fragrant stew bubbles up towards done. Angelo deserves that, and he deserves to smile that kindly at someone smiling back.

And despite his reputation, Marc isn’t actually stupid enough to hope that he could be that someone.

~

Angelo likes to sing to himself as they ride.

His voice is a little scratchy, frequently off-key, often dips into the territory of too loud, and he has a habit of forgetting words and just sticking nonsense syllables or switching phrases around mid-line.

Marc can’t for the life of him understand why he finds it so comforting.

~

Angelo slices the wriggling, screeching vine monster in half with a clean, skillful slash, but the vines twine back together almost the same moment that his blade passes all the way through.

“Blast,” Angelo cries as the creature writhes around his blade, and dammit dammit dammit the thing is climbing up the hilt towards Angelo’s arm entirely too quickly, and Talfryn could maybe get the thing with his spear but chances are it would just reform again and they’d be risking stabbing Angelo’s arm at that point too-

“Throw the sword!” Marc shouts, and without a second of hesitation Angelo does, flicking his wrist and sending the blade in a spinning arc with the creature squealing along for the ride. Marc launches his newest modified net-bomb (now including a literal bomb) in the same direction, and the mass of the monster tangles wildly with the ropes of the net for only a half a second in midair before the entire mess ignites in a blaze of blue and white.

By the time the sword hits the ground, the monster and the net are both nothing but ash, dirtying the steel.

“We did it!” Talfryn cries.

“Of course we-”

Marc is interrupted as Angelo wraps his arms around him and lifts him into the air, beaming bright.

“A spectacular maneuver, friend Marc! Such quick thinking and strategy!”

Angelo squeezes him in a tight hug and Marc’s heart squeezes too, his body entirely too warm.

“Ah,” Marc manages in a strangled sort of voice, and Angelo doesn’t seem even remotely burdened by Marc’s weight.

“And such a skillful deployment of your invention, as well!” Angelo booms, and his beaming face is almost too close to focus on, and he still smells like cookies somehow, and either Marc is going completely insane or Angelo’s cheeks are flushed. Which is- almost certainly just from the strain of the fight, right?

Marc-

Marc panics.

“Put- hey! Put me down, will you?” he says, squirming against Angelo’s sturdy and gentle grip. “I didn’t say you could grab me up like a- like some sack of fruit or something, did I?”

Angelo’s grin disappears, and he blinks in confusion for a moment before he lowers Marc back to the ground, ducking his head.

“I… I apologize, friend Marc,” he says, chagrined. “I simply wanted to ho-” he pauses, purses his lips for a moment, and then continues, “I was caught up in the moment, I’m afraid. I did not mean to overstep.”

“Just-” Marc notices Talfryn shoot both of them a funny look as he retrieves Angelo’s sword from the dirt, carefully wrapping the hot metal in a cloth before he grabs the hilt. Marc looks away from his brother, and he keeps his gaze away from Angelo, too. “Just- don’t pick me up unless I ask you to, alright?”

“Of course,” Angelo says, his tone completely and totally abashed. “I am terribly sorry.”

“Stop-” Marc winces, then motions for Dampierre to come close enough that he can pull himself up into the saddle. “Stop apologizing already. It’s not- it’s not a big thing or anything, just-” he scrambles for words, pretending to readjust the straps of Dampierre’s saddle around his legs for longer than he really needs to. “Just don’t do it again unless I ask.”

Angelo purses his lips, probably to keep from apologizing again, and nods before he turns to Talfryn to take back his blade.

As soon as no one is looking at Marc again he sags in the saddle, biting his lip and feeling like the biggest idiot in the damn world.

Stupid battle high. Stupid touchy-feely knight. Stupid blinding smile.

Stupid beating heart, pounding hard against his stupid ribs as his stupid brain tries to puzzle out why those stupid strong arms aren’t still wrapped around him, warm and safe.

~

Angelo laughs at all of Marc’s more straightforward jokes. If they’re too complicated or layered the knight might get lost on the way to the punchline, but on the whole he actually seems to think that Marc is funny. And- every time he can make Angelo laugh, every time he can get him to give that big, energetic guffaw, it makes Marc’s stupid heart skip and thump like a rabbit in a trap.

He’s been telling a lot more jokes, lately. It makes Tal give him a look somewhere along the path from confused to frustrated almost every time, but it’s worth it.

At least he knows that Angelo doesn’t laugh like that for everyone.

~

Sir Angelo is asleep first tonight. The farther they get from the Citadel, the more dangerous the jungle is going to get, and since Angelo is gonna be taking second watch, he’s getting in his sleep early. So, it’s just Marc and Tal left sitting by the fire as the stars brighten one by one, and there isn’t anything besides Marc’s own self-control to keep him from saying something stupid.

So.

“Hey Tal,” Marc says, and he tries very hard to sound casual as he fiddles with the trigger on one of his net-bombs. “Do you think- do you think the big guy-” he bites his lip, tries a different question instead. “What d’you think of the big guy?”

“Sir Angelo?” Talfryn asks, and Marc nods. “I mean, he’s been okay to travel with, I guess. I think he’s been trying really hard, y’know? To be more considerate, to listen better and all that. And I think he appreciates that you’ve been acting nicer to him too.”

Marc flinches, dropping the mechanism in his hand. “Wh-what?”

Tal blinks. “You’ve been trying to be nicer to him, too, right?”

“Uh.” Marc flushes dark as his fingers scramble through the leafy jungle floor, trying to scrape up his device. Tal noticed? He’s been noticeably nicer to the knight? That’s- that doesn’t seem- “Ah, I guess so,” he stammers. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve been- have I been? I don’t think I’ve been acting weird.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t say that you’ve been acting weird, Marc,” Tal says, his brow furrowing in confusion. “I said you’ve been acting nice.”

“Nice.” His fingers finally brush across metal, and he snatches the mechanism back up. “To Angelo?”

“Who else?” Tal says, and then he laughs. “Seriously, Marc, I know we got off on a weird sort of foot and all, but I’m glad we’re at least getting along with him. This would’ve been a pretty rotten journey if you two were fighting the whole way.”

“Yeah,” Marc says. “Uh, yeah.” He jams the net bomb back into the bag with the rest of them.

“Marc…”

Marc perks up to hide the way he wants to flinch at the worried sort of tone in Tal’s voice. “Yeah Tal?”

“Is something… is something wrong?”

“Why would anything be wrong?”

“Because,” Tal says, in a mostly-patient voice, “you are acting weird, now.”

“What? No I’m not-”

“Marc,” Tal half-whines, and Marc winces more visibly.

“It’s nothing, Tal,” Marc insists. “I just- I mean- he’s- I wasn’t expecting him to be so nice to m- to us, like this, y’know? It’s not like the knights have ever been… I figured this whole thing would just be us tolerating each other until we met up with Rilla and Scales and Damien, y’know?”

“So you’re acting weird… because Sir Angelo is being too nice?”

“Not- no,” Marc shakes his head. “Is it- is he just being nice? Or does he actually…”

“Does he actually what?”

“Like.” Marc’s words falter. “Does he actually like me? I mean-” he shakes his head quickly. “Does he actually like us, I mean.”

Talfryn frowns, tilting his head slightly in confusion. “It… it is Sir Angelo, Marc. Do you think he would fake something like that?”

“No.” Marc shakes his head, rubs the back of his neck. “Nah, it’s not that, he’s- he’s sincere and all, it’s just-”

“It’s just what?”

“I mean, he’s nice to everybody, Tal, he’s just- he’s just nice. And if he’s so enthusiastic about everything, how am I supposed to tell how he actually feels about me? How am I supposed to tell if this is just his normal nice or if- uh-”

Tal’s eyebrows are climbing towards his hair, his expression slipping towards incredulous.

“You…” Tal narrows his eyes. “You really care what he thinks about you, don’t you?”

“Wh- no I don’t.” Marc laughs, but it sounds strained even to his own ears. “That’s ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous. Don’t- don’t be ridiculous, Tal. I just- like to know where I stand with people.”

“Marc-”

“Usually I don’t have to dig too hard, y’know? If folks don’t like me I tend to get the picture pretty quick, even if I pretend not to. I just- wanna know what he’s thinking. That’s all.”

“Well…” Tal says, and he sounds nearly patient, “I think you just answered your own question, then.”

Marc blinks. “Come again?”

“You just said that you think he’s sincere, and Sir Angelo has been going out of his way to make sure that we’re comfortable with him, so don’t you think you should just, I dunno, try to take him at face value? He likes you enough to be nice to you. I think that’s enough, don’t you?”

It’s a decent point. Marc’s stomach still feels a bit like a butter churn in the hands of an enthusiastic kid, though.

“Yeah,” he says, looking at the fire instead of at his brother. The earnest concern on his face is just- a bit much to try to deal with. “Yeah. Thanks, Tal. You’re probably right.”

~

Dampierre keeps walking too close to Angelo’s horse, no matter how many times Marc scowls at him and tries to urge him forward or back or at least another foot to the side. The horse just flicks an ear, sputtering lightly and smugly sticking his nose in the air as Marc is left helplessly close to the knight, who only ever grins and either doesn’t notice the closeness, doesn’t care, or is just too damn polite to comment.

Makes it easier for Angelo to hand him his share of Angelo’s apparently endless supply of sweets as they ride, at least. Marc certainly isn’t complaining about that.

~

Once they actually cross the border into Arum’s territory, the swamp itself is surprisingly easy going. Marc suspects that it’s pulling punches these days, at least when it comes to humans who might be friends of the lizard lord’s paramours. It’s nice in that it means they get to relax a little bit more, but less-than-nice in that relaxing gives Marc way too much time to think. Thankfully, that doesn’t last too long. Apparently, this big swamp thing and slash or the bug-lizard’s big castle was keeping an eye out for them, because they’ve only been traipsing through the muddy mottled green for a few easy hours before there’s that wild song again, and a literal magic portal pulls itself out of the mud.

Rilla’s got her arms around Tal’s shoulders in a laughing hug before Marc even realizes that she’s bolted through, and Angelo is laughing too, a booming, ridiculous sort of guffaw as he and Sir Damien clasp hands for only a moment before Angelo decides that just isn’t good enough and he’s lifting Damien fully into the air, making him squawk and kick his legs and laugh as well, and Marc’s cheeks hurt from grinning already before Rilla is patting Dampierre’s nose and gripping his wrist and smirking up at him.

“You boys have a good trip?”

Marc shrugs, feigning good old fashioned nonchalance as he watches Angelo smile like the sun at his best rival. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I guess it was alright.”

~

Tal loves the Keep, once he gets past the initial anxiety about hanging around inside something sentient. Marc really thinks he should have predicted that, actually. It’s a big weird plant. Tal loves big weird plants. He can’t seem to stop talking about how cool it is, and Scales doesn’t seem to know what to do with that exactly, and he settles somewhere between obviously pleased and puffed up indignation, but even Marc can see that the lizard is… mellower, now. He still snarls and rolls his eyes and complains kind of nonstop, but with Rilla and Damien around, he just seems… happier?

Or, y’know, maybe that’s just in contrast, considering Marc really only hung out with the big lizard before when his house was getting marched on by a bunch of weird animals, so what the heck does he know?

Angelo seems delighted by the structure too, and Marc gets a little ego boost when the Keep greets him personally with a strange little vine-hug, apparently remembering him from his little siege sleepover with Scales, and Angelo blinks at him in surprise at their familiarity.

“What?” Marc says with a feckless sort of smile, patting one of the vines with a hand. “Big cool castle and I go way back.”

~

Marc can’t figure out if it’s difficult to sleep in the Keep because it’s the Keep (like, he’s literally sleeping inside of a giant plant monster, seriously), or if it’s just because he’s gotten too used to Angelo’s snoring.

Either way, Marc thinks as he rolls over for just about the hundredth time tonight, it’s too damn quiet and he can’t say he likes it.

He can’t sleep. He’s making himself miserable, and for what? For some big ridiculous grinning-

For some knight, he’s wallowing in insomnia. It’s completely stupid, and completely untenable. He can’t- Marc can’t-

The trip is over, he thinks suddenly. This little experimental excursion is over and done, right? There’s no reason to stick around anymore, is there? Ta da, the knights on their quest to lie to the queen are reunited, and Marc and Tal are free again to go do… whatever. Whatever they want, wherever they want, with no random tag-along knights making Marc’s stomach do hourly backflips with his stupid smile.

Marc rolls over again, stomach feeling sour.

In the morning he’ll talk to Tal, and then they’ll both say their goodbyes to Rilla, and then they’ll get the hell out of here.

No point in hanging around where he’s not needed, anyway.

~

“And then, brave friend Marc called out for me to throw the sword, and when I did as he advised, he most skillfully intercepted my blade with one of his clever net traps, and the beast and sword were both consumed by the most brilliant flame - friend Marc is forever improving his tools and traps, you see, he often works upon them as we ride, or while we sit around the fire before the day’s meal is ready - oh, and of course the creature was utterly destroyed, leaving the blade quite easily reclaimed, with not a one of us so much as suffering a scrape. It truly was an incredible fight, my friend, I wish you had been there to see-”

“I feel you have described the skirmish quite adeptly, Sir Angelo,” Damien says with a warm smile. “I feel as if I were there to see it, as I can picture it that well.”

“Oh.” Angelo gives a pleased little grin. “I appreciate the kind words, Sir Damien, though I know my storytelling is not nearly as deft or skillfully dramatic as yours.”

“The true heart of a story, my friend, lies in the enthusiasm of whomever tells it, regardless of the verbal decoration.” Damien lilts, and Angelo is pleased, so pleased and proud of how happy and how settled his best rival looks. “I can tell how thoroughly you have enjoyed your journey with the brothers, and I am delighted that you were not unhappy in my absence.”

“I had no reason to be unhappy!” Angelo cries. “I missed you, of course, my friend, but I did not feel lonely for a moment on the road. Friend Talfryn is a clever and kind man to travel with, and friend Marc-”

Angelo pauses.

Damien raises an eyebrow. “Did he give you some trouble, Sir Angelo?”

“Oh, Saints above, no! Of course not! Quite the opposite, in fact, he was- that is- the journey was quite enjoyable by his side. He- well, I cannot say that I have ever laughed quite so much upon a journey as when he and I rode beside each other.”

Damien looks at Angelo, his brow furrowing just slightly. “Is that so?”

“Quite!” Angelo says with a soft sort of smile. “And he is rather knowledgeable about a great many subjects! And he has a sense of justice befitting the greatest of knights! And his skill with the blade has improved even further since our first encounter of single combat, when already he was a skilled opponent, and he is brave and clever and he always smiles so grandly and- oh, well, I suppose that I have set to rambling again, haven’t I?”

Damien stares at his rival, as Angelo laughs at himself and shakes his head, his cheeks distinctly pink.

“Sir… Sir Angelo…”

Angelo blinks, resettling his attention on his comrade. “Yes, of course! I apologize, my mind was elsewhere for a moment, my friend.”

“It is… quite alright.” He pauses, and then turns more fully to face the other knight. “Now… Sir Angelo, you do know that I support you in all things, yes?” Damien starts.

Angelo grins, wide and boisterous, and slaps a hand on Damien’s shoulder. “Of course I do, my friend, and I support you in all things as well! I would not be your best rival if I did not, now, would I?”

“Er- right. Yes.” Damien winces, just a little, and reaches up to rub at his shoulder where Angelo slapped it. “Well. What I mean to say is-” he pauses, and takes a deep, steadying sort of breath. “You know that I am not particularly… fond of… Marc-”

“You aren’t? Why ever not, Sir Damien? He is not anything like we were told-”

“I know,” Damien says with a grimace. “I know, Sir Angelo, and I am still- adjusting to that knowledge. But- what I am trying to say is… whatever my feelings are, towards Marc, I want you to know that you…” he pauses to sigh, then places his hand on Angelo’s shoulder gently, giving his friend a small smile. “I want you to know that you have my full support and loyalty in whatever direction you happen to aim your romantic endeavors.”

“Romantic… endeavors?” Angelo furrows his brow, blinking curiously for a moment. “Sir Damien, I am not sure what you mean. What could my growing friendship with Marc have to do with the idea of ro- oh.” Angelo’s entire expression flickers out, like a candle beside a door that opened too fast. Then, dawning in his expression is obvious shock. “Oh. Oh! Oh my Saints, Sir Damien- oh goodness, but I think I may have developed romantic feelings for friend Marc!”

Damien blanches, his expression falling open in dismay. “Y- you mean to say that you didn’t- you didn’t- realize? You didn’t know?”

Angelo doesn’t seem to hear him.

“Oh, Saints, oh mercy, this- I will- I must-” he pauses. “What… Sir Damien, what- what do I do?”

“Wh-what do you mean, Sir Angelo?”

“I have never- that is to say- I do not believe I have ever felt-”

Angelo pauses again, fidgeting in place, and his expression is something close to a grimace, his eyes gone wide.

“Sir Angelo-”

“Is that what this feeling is, Sir Damien? This- this strange warmth, his smile, the way I- I wish to h-hold him.” Angelo squeezes his own arms around his chest, tense and uncertain. “What- Sir Damien, what is one supposed to do, when one feels this way?”

Damien stares at his rival for a long moment, mouth agape. “Sir Angelo, have you never… no, no, certainly you must have, we... I am certain that we have discussed romantic intent in the past. There have been fair maidens of which you have spoken quite fondly-”

“Of course,” Angelo says, but his eyes are still shocked and he shakes his head. “But- but that was merely- that is how knights speak, is it not? I was simply-”

“Oh,” Damien says, his heart pulling. “Oh, Angelo…”

“Sir Damien, you know everything there is to know about following one’s heart,” Angelo says, seizing Damien’s hand. “Upon this subject, certainly you are the expert to whom I may turn. What- what do I do?”

“Er-” Damien goes wide-eyed himself, then. “Well, er, does he- do you think that he feels-” Damien stops short as Angelo flinches. “Right,” he says. “Right, you are unsure. And- and the idea of simply asking- of course it is a frightening prospect. I understand that, of course, Angelo.” Damien ducks his head, thinking hard. “What- Angelo, what do you want to do? Do you wish to… to court him?” he asks uncertainly.

“I… Sir Damien, I don’t know. I don’t know what is- what is supposed to happen next. If he does not feel as I do- I am very fond of h-his company, I would not wish to- to cause him to dislike my presence if these feelings are unwelcome. And certainly- friend Marc is deft with words, and quite outspoken. If he had any such affection for me in return- surely he would have spoken so, would he not?”

Damien opens his mouth, then closes it again for a moment before he sighs deeply. “Marc is… I very much doubt that Marc would… treat you in a judging way for your feelings, even if he does not feel romantically towards you in kind. That is… that is not the way that he is.”

Angelo’s shoulders sag. “You are… probably correct, Sir Damien,” Angelo says. “But somehow that does not make me feel any more sure, or any less afraid.”

“Sir Angelo…” Damien’s expression flickers, his concern clear and open on his face. He steps closer, flinging his arms around Angelo’s shoulders in a fierce hug. “I meant what I said. You have my support, in whatever way you need it. And…” he pauses, pulling back and giving a wry sort of look. “I know you as I know myself, and I know you well enough to say that you are not the sort of man to shy away from a difficult situation. You are brave, Sir Angelo, and bright, and undeniable as the dawn. I know that you will face this, and whether or not Marc is smart enough to see how brightly you glow- I know that your light will not be doused, not by this, and not by anything.”

Angelo’s arms tighten around Damien in return, squeezing until Damien’s breathless laugh cuts off in a squeak. When he sets the other knight back on his feet, Damien gives him an earnest sort of smile, gripping his arms.

“I think you know what you must do now, my friend.”

Angelo pauses. “… Continue to act as a stalwart friend, but now with the knowledge of my own feelings more clear within me?” he suggests, and it is only partially a joke.

“Speak your heart, Sir Angelo,” Damien says gently. “If you speak your heart, you may learn what lies in his own, and then take whatever step is next with that knowledge. And I will be here for you, and I will dearly love you, regardless of that outcome.” Damien’s smile goes a little tearful, then, the force of his emotion overtaking him for a moment. “I wish you only happiness. If there is any possibility that Marc can make you happier- Sir Angelo, you must attempt to find out. It is worth some risk, is it not?”

Despite his fears, despite his confusion, Sir Angelo finds that he agrees.

~

It takes a bit of time to find him, but eventually Angelo catches Marc outside the Keep’s walls, waiting by the treeline with Dampierre’s saddlebags packed and full. Angelo’s heart flips, then, and sinks, and his stomach wraps in anxious knots, but still he steps towards the other man. Still, he moves forward.

“Friend Marc!”

Marc’s shoulders go stiff, and he turns slightly in the saddle to glance back towards Angelo.

“Heh… hey, big guy,” he says, and then he turns towards the swamp again, his hands fiddling with the straps around his legs. “Just barely caught me. Tal’s just grabbin’ a little more from inside, and then we’ll be off.”

“You are- leaving so soon, friend Marc?” Angelo’s heart flops over in his chest again, nerves and disappointment crashing together. “I thought that perhaps… rather, I was hoping we would all spend some time together, at least a meal eaten side by side before…”

“Nah, sorry, big guy. We’re just gonna skip to the part where we get out of your hair,” Marc says, his smile tight and flat. “Tal wants to get a better look at the swamp since we kind of skipped most of it with that portal, and it’s not like Scales wants us hanging around his castle any longer than we need to, anyway.”

“But you were simply going to- leave? Without a proper farewell?”

“Figured that we’d be seeing you again soon anyway, Angie.” Marc is decidedly not looking at Angelo, now. And his hands are fidgeting on Dampierre’s saddle, not doing anything but simply pressing awkwardly and picking at the seams in the leather. “And goodbyes are always too damn sappy for me.”

Angelo does not know what to say. If Marc wishes to leave- of course he should not stop him. Perhaps their time traveling together has worn on the other man, perhaps he has grown tired of Angelo’s presence. Angelo has been told, before, that he can be wearisome. Too loud, and possessed of too much intensity, and too clumsy in body and mind and word. Angelo looks up, and Marc is still looking away.

… but Sir Damien is right, and even if Marc is determined to take his leave… Sir Angelo still must say what he has come to say.

“Before you- before you leave, Marc.”

Marc tenses, oddly, when Angelo says his name, but he finally looks at him after that, his smirk firmly set and his eyes- careful. “Yeah, sure, what’s up?”

“I- I- Marc, I… I quite like you,” Angelo blurts, and his cheeks feel hot as embers.

Marc laughs, then, and the embers all go out. Angelo feels like he has been dipped in ice, now.

“Yeah, Angie, I know,” Marc says, his tone high and tight between chuckles. “We’re friends, big guy, you don’t have to point it out or anything.”

“No, no that isn’t-” Angelo stops, feeling too large, feeling utterly foolish. “R-right. Yes. Of course. My apologies, I am- I know that I can be-”

“You don’t have to-” Marc’s smirk cracks for a second, goes strange like a grimace, but he waves his hand in between them and it flickers back. “Don’t apologize, Angelo, I know you’re just- being nice. Being you.”

“Er- y-yes.” Angelo pauses. “No,” he corrects, wringing his hands awkwardly in front of himself. “To be perfectly honest, no. I am not simply being nice, friend Marc. I- I do not know how to…” he trails off, brow furrowing in deep concentration, and Marc looks distinctly nervous as Angelo comes closer, and Angelo automatically pats Dampierre’s nose, though he keeps his eyes set on Marc.

“Angie-”

“I am not the most… skillful, friend Marc, when it comes to expressing my thoughts and feelings clearly. Or- or even in properly understanding them, at times. And I am- I am well aware that the feelings I have only very recently recognized may not be- returned, but I feel that it would be both cowardly and dishonest if I did not at least attempt to explain myself to you before you- before you leave.”

“Angelo, bud, you’re not getting all serious on me, are you?” Marc says lightly, but there is clear panic in his eyes.

“I intend to be precisely as serious as the situation and my feelings dictate. I apologize, also, if that is uncomfortable for you, friend Marc, but I am determined to say what I must.”

Marc fidgets in the saddle, his shoulders tense and his lips curved into a shape that isn’t really a smirk and isn’t really a frown either, and Angelo is a little bit overwhelmed by the understanding he feels. At last, he recognizes how very often his mind is preoccupied with the lines of Marc’s face, with the very casual sort of beauty that hangs upon him. How had he not noticed?

“Ah…,” Marc says, “I mean- if you’ve gotta get something off your chest I’m not gonna stop ya, Angelo.”

“Thank you,” Angelo says, and then he realizes that he is going to have to continue speaking, now that he has convinced Marc to hear him out. And- he had been laboring under the impression that I quite like you was going to be sufficient to reveal his feelings, so he had not planned well beyond that. His words are- he is not skillful in expressing himself, not compared to someone as poetic as his best rival or someone as quick and clever as Marc, so how can he show how he feels?

Angelo summons up from his reserve of courage and reaches out, and Marc’s eyes go wide when he settles his palm over Marc’s wrist, his thumb brushing against the skin there. “I think, perhaps, that you misunderstood the nature of my- my words. When I say, Marc, that I- that I like you, what I mean is- well-”

He hazards a glance upward, and Marc is staring at him, eyes still wide and cheeks flushing dark and something like-

Something like hope in his expression. Hope looks like a flare of sparks, on Sir Marc.

Angelo very gently shifts his grip, watching Marc watch him as he takes the other man’s hand. Marc’s fingers flex, his breath escaping in a very small ha, and then Angelo lifts his hand, calloused and scattered with scars and exactly as lovely as Angelo imagined. He lifts Marc’s hand, and brushes his lips over Marc’s knuckles in a kiss.

Angelo’s cheeks are hot, and his heart is warm, and when he raises his eyes again Marc is still staring down at him, and all he looks is stunned.

“A-Angelo,” he says, but he does not say anything more past that, and Sir Angelo is afraid, yes, of being mocked, of losing the camaraderie that he and Marc have eased into together- but his fear is not useful. Even if the worst potential outcome is realized, honesty is more befitting of a knight by far, and more befitting of Angelo himself, as well.

“I understand, of course, if you seek my company in the bonds of friendship and nothing else,” Angelo says, “I expect nothing from you. I only wish to be honest.”

And now that he has been honest, he knows he should not linger. If nothing else, Marc clearly requires time to- to overcome his surprise. He releases his grip on Marc’s fingers-

Marc, however, does not release his grip on Angelo’s.

“You-” Marc pauses, his throat working as he swallows. “Hang on. Angelo. You- like me? Like- kissing, like? Like you want to- to- with me?”

The idea of actually kissing Marc seems- distant, like a fable. A fable that makes his cheeks heat again instantly.

“Y-yes, yes indeed.” Angelo swallows roughly, dropping his eyes. “I apologize if- if this shall be a source of discomfort, between us. I value your friendship quite highly, Marc, and I do not wish to-”

Marc pulls on Angelo’s hand, and Angelo is surprised enough that he stumbles a step closer to Dampierre, blinking up at the strange new determination in Marc’s expression.

“Hey, catch me?” Marc asks, squeezing his fingers as his free hand quickly undoes the straps around his legs.

“Um. Yes?” Angelo nods, though he is quite confused by the suddenness of this turn. “Of course. If that is what you would like-” he lifts his arms, and then Marc is swinging himself out of the saddle, landing sideways in Angelo’s grasp with one of his arms slung around Angelo’s shoulder, and Marc’s face is very close, then. Very close, and his cheeks seem darker than usual beneath the scattering of his freckles.

“Angelo,” Marc says, breathless, and Angelo realizes that he quite likes the way that his own name sounds, in Marc’s voice. He quite likes Marc’s weight in his arms, as well.

“Marc,” he says in response, because he is still not sure what Marc intends, exactly, and he finds it is often most helpful to take his cues from those around him.

Marc’s hand is on Angelo’s cheek, then, his rough fingers only gentle, now, and that is already so very stunning that it takes Angelo a stuttered heartbeat to realize that Marc is leaning closer, leaning up, the hand on his cheek carefully angling his face towards Marc.

And then Marc is kissing him.

Kissing him.

His hand slips from Angelo’s cheek to his hair, tangling there and pulling him just a little bit closer, and the press of Marc’s lips is warm and tingling and wonderful and Angelo was right, before. Kissing Marc is like a fable. Like something out of a soft, safe dream.

Marc pulls back, eventually, and Angelo blinks his eyes back open, though he does not remember closing them.

“I, uh,” Marc pauses to clear his throat, and his crooked smile looks shy, of all things. “I like you too, Angelo.”

“Oh,” Angelo says, stunned past other words for a long moment. “Oh. Truly? You- truly you do?”

Marc laughs then, knocking their foreheads together. “Saints, Angelo, yeah! Obviously! The kiss wasn’t enough of a clue for ya?”

Angelo feels his cheeks heat. “I- I don’t- I’m sorry, friend Marc, I am very- unpracticed in-”

“Hey.” Marc leans up again, pressing their lips together quick and soft. “Relax, Angie, you’re fine, we’re fine. I don’t- I just can’t believe you actually- I can’t believe you like me too.”

“I,” Angelo pauses to laugh as well, something warm and bright bubbling up in his chest. “Yes. I feel precisely the same.”

Marc grins, squeezing the arm still wrapped around Angelo’s shoulder, and as Marc is leaning forward for another kiss, they both hear footsteps.

“Marc, I couldn’t find your bedroll. Are you sure you didn’t already... pack… it?”

Angelo glances to the side, where Talfryn is standing and staring, his pack slung around his shoulder and his horse following behind him.

“Suh, uh, yeah, sorry Tal,” Marc says. His voice is bright and flustered, but he makes no move to remove himself from Angelo’s steady grasp as they turn to address his brother. “I think we’re actually gonna- maybe stick around another night or so before we- y’know.”

“O-oh?” Tal says, his eyes flicking back and forth between the pair of them, dawning with slow realization. “Uh. Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Marc says. “I think- I think me and the big guy here have some stuff we gotta talk through together before we go running off again.” Marc looks up into Angelo’s eyes, smiling a lopsided, eager smile, and Angelo feels like he could sing. “Does that sound good, Angelo?”

“Yes,” Angelo says, holding Marc close and warm in his arms, and he feels just brave enough to press a kiss to Marc’s freckled cheek, smiling automatically when that causes Marc to stutter out a laugh. “In fact, I think that sounds absolutely perfect.”

#elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #mangelo #sir marc #sir angelo #LETS! GO! #i already have my lkt fic squared away too nano is GREAT i am LIVING

[toddysdiaries]

Family Ties - Jeff Wittek x Reader

((GIF IS NOT MINE))

Pairing: Jeff Wittek x Reader, Toddy Smith x sister!Reader

Requested?: yes, by anon:

‘Being toddy’s sister and intressed in Jeff but you are both to scared!!’

Summary: You’re Toddy’s sister and you and Jeff are in love with each other, but Toddy’s protectiveness leaves the pair of you unable to be together.

Words: 2,707

Warnings: angst, couple of swears, mention of previous domestic violence (mostly mental rather than physical), Toddy being a bit of an asshole

A/N: Requests are open! I am definitely willing to write a part two for this, let me know if you want it!

Being Toddy’s sister had always been hard. In high school, you were always expected to live up to Toddy, who was sporty and funny, but in reality, you were neither. Teachers prejudged you, thinking you’d mess around like Toddy did and underestimating your academic abilities. Girls would laugh at you, wondering how someone like you came from the same parents that created someone as gorgeous as Toddy.

Toddy had also been the cause of your singleness throughout high school. Any guy that dared to get beat you ended up being chased away by him. In the end, you learnt to be sneaky about your dates, getting your friends to cover with fake study sessions and making out under the bleachers and away from your brother's watchful eyes.

If you were being honest, you were glad when Toddy moved away. Even though he was only an hour away in Los Angeles, you finally had the space to breathe and grow. You died your hair and got the nose piercing you always want, and you spent more time at the beach, flirting with topless guys and tanning.

Eventually, you settled into a long-term relationship, and it wasn’t for a few months that you saw your boyfriend for who he really was. At first glance, Jacob seemed like a sweet, charming man, but in reality, he was a controlling, manipulative man-child, who never let you do anything on your own or go anywhere without knowing where you were going. That was when you realised that Toddy was nothing but protective of you.

Your relationship culminated in a fight when you had genuinely been scared for your life. Jacob had thrown glasses, plates and anything that he could get his hands on at you. When he'd pushed you up against the wall, you'd managed to push him off of you, and you ran out the house, managing to grab your keys from the bowl next to the door and drove away and didn't stop driving until you reached your parent's house.

Since it was the first time that it had been this bad you weren't willing to call the police, you just wanted out of Huntington Beach. Your father had called Toddy, while your mother comforted you. You were shaking like a leaf, just glad that you hadn't moved in with your boyfriend - ex-boyfriend - and he'd never shown any interest in meeting your family.

"You're going to go and stay with Toddy for a while." Your father came back into the room and knelt down in front of you. "You've got some things here, take them with you. I'm going to wait a few days and then take everything from your apartment up to you. We're going to leave now." You nodded, still shaking like a leaf. Luckily you worked for an online gossip website, so you usually worked from home anyway.

You had only just managed to calm down when your dad pulled up to a house that Toddy definitely didn't own. "It's his friend's house, you're going to meet them all anyway. He's filming today, I didn't think it was right to tell him over the phone, you know he'd just work himself up over it."

That was definitely true, but you didn't want to have to watch Toddy blow up in front of you after Jacob had. "Can-can you tell him? Maybe without me there?"

Your dad held your hand. "Of course, sweetheart. Of course, Toddy is going to be upset, you're his little sister." You nodded, Toddy had always been very protective of you. "He'd never hurt you, you know that."

You followed behind your dad like a lost puppy, surprised at the house that you were seeing. You looked up as the door opened, a gorgeous bearded man opened the door. "Oh, you must be Toddy's dad and sister." He grinned at you, and you felt your inside's turn to goo and then promptly scolded yourself, you'd just gotten out of a shitty relationship, and this guy was one of Toddy's friends, there's no chance he would ever let you date him. "Come on in."

The good looking guy led you through the lavish house, that shocked you a little more the further in you got. Eventually, you came to a living room and was a little shocked at how many people there were.

"Todd, your dad and sister are here." The good looking guy threw himself down on the couch and Todd came in from the kitchen.

"Dad! Y/N!" Todd ran over to the pair of you. "What's going on, why do you need to stay with me, Y/N?"

Your dad cleared his throat. "I need to talk to you in private Todd."

"Take him to the podcast room." A younger man with messy brown hair told him.

Toddy nodded. "Okay, guys this is Y/N, make her welcome while I go talk to my dad!"

Two girls wandered straight up to you, one was short with bleached blonde hair, and the other was much taller with brown, dip-dyed hair. "I'm Carly, and this is Erin."

"It's nice to meet you guys." You weren't sure that you were going to fit in very well with these people, they all seemed to have big personalities, and you'd never stood out very well.

"Come sit with us!" Erin smiled and held her hand out to you. You tentatively took it and followed the girls over to the couches. "These guys are Zane and Matt." Erin and Carly introduced you to all the people that were in the living room, you felt a little overwhelmed, you had never really had that many friends before.

"So, what are you doing in Los Angeles?" Jeff, the attractive guy that had answered the door, asked you, a slight glint in his eyes.

You hesitated, you were sure that it would all come out at some point, Toddy would probably start yelling about it any second. "Nasty break-up." You settled for, it was kind of true anyway.

Jeff's eyes seemed to glint again at the thought of you being single. He opened his mouth to ask you something else when Todd came storming in.

"Tell me the piece of shit's name, tell me where he lives. I'm gonna beat the shit out of him Y/N, I swear to god!" Toddy leant down in front of you, his voice raised, you flinched back against the couch, slightly.

"Todd!" Your dad had come in behind Todd. "I told you not to raise your voice, you're going to scare the shit out of her."

A small hand slipped into yours, and you knew without turning that it was Carly. "Todd if you go looking for him, he will find me. You have to let it go. I just want to move on." Your voice was quiet and shaky, but it was very much audible over the silence of the room.

"He hurt you, Y/N! You can't just let him get away with it!" Todd yelled. Jeff and David, who you learnt owned the house you were in, jumped up and gripped one of Toddy's shoulders each.

"You're scaring her man." Jeff's Staten Island accent rang out.

Toddy scoffed. "I'm not gonna hurt her, him on the other hand..."

"Dude, she's just had a man yelling at her, she doesn't need another right now." David's soft voice spoke.

Toddy hesitated and looked at you, noticing how you were shaking, your hand's grasped between Carly and Erin's, your dad's hand rubbing your shoulder. "Fuck..." Todd dropped to his knees in front of you, gently resting his hands on your knees. "I'm sorry, Y/N/N, you know how much I love you, I've always tried to keep asshole guys away from you."

You chuckled. "I noticed Toddy, you're the reason I didn't have a proper boyfriend until I was 19."

"They were all assholes!" Toddy insisted.

"I wish you were there to warn me off of this one." You frowned deeply.

Toddy nodded sadly. "Would you have listened though?"

Your dad chuckled from behind, and you let out a small chuckle too. "Probably not."

Over the past month, you had gotten to know all of the 'vlog squad', as you learnt that they were known as. You were particularly close with Carly, Erin and Zane. Your interest in Jeff had also blossomed into full-on feelings, but you were well aware that Toddy would never let you date a former convict, something that Jeff was never able to forget around the 'vlog squad' who often joked about his time in jail.

You were well aware that Jeff also had feelings for you, but he had yet to speak to you about them. You hoped that he wouldn't ever bring his feelings up, because it would make things awkward when you told him that although you liked him, you could never be with him.

Toddy had become your overprotective older brother once more. If you went out clubbing or to a party with the rest of the vlog squad, Toddy was watching you the whole time, not even drinking to make sure that he could keep a proper eye on you. You were starting to feel overwhelmed with how closely Toddy watched you, but you were nowhere near ready enough to go back to Huntington Beach, in fact, you were thinking about cancelling your apartment lease and going apartment hunting in L.A.

One day you had just had enough. You had made a new friend at your yoga class, and Toddy didn't want you spending any time with her alone. "Toddy, you need to start giving me room to breathe!" You snapped. "You're acting ridiculously!"

"I'm just trying to protect you, Y/N!" Todd's arms flailed around as he tried to make his point.

"I can protect myself, Toddy!" You screamed back. By this point, you had attracted the attention of the rest of the vlog squad.

Toddy scoffed loudly, letting his flailing hands slap down on his thighs. "You clearly can't make those choices yourself if you ended up with Jacob!"

The room was suddenly loud with collective gasping, the group was in shock that Toddy had actually gone there. Your hand reacted without permission from your head, and you slapped your brother across the face, hard. Toddy's hand flew to the reddened flesh of his cheek, his lips parting in surprise.

"You hit me," Todd mumbled, fingers gently stroking his cheek in disbelief.

You scoffed. "You deserved it, you're a disgusting excuse for a brother, picking on the one thing that you know will break my heart." You collected your belongings together. "Can someone give me a ride back to Huntington Beach?"

A few people immediately said they'd drive you back, but you took up David's offer, thinking he could use the opportunity to get some footage, Jeff trailing after you.

"Y/N, I know you're mad at me, but you can't just go back home, Jacob might find you!" Todd tried to follow you out, but Zane and Scotty had grabbed a shoulder each and held him back.

You practically growled. "It's been a month Toddy, I doubt he's still looking for me, I'll have David and Jeff with me anyway."

If you had been more angry and less clear-headed, then you might have gone much farther and slept with Jeff, just to spite your brother. But that would have really annoyed Toddy, plus you'd be using Jeff and hurting the pair of you.

Much of your car ride back to Huntington Beach was spent in a reasonably comfortable silence until you broke it. "I'm not moving back, I just want to start sorting out what's left in my apartment and cancel out of my apartment lease with my landlord."

You could hear Jeff let out a sigh of relief in the back of the car.

"Are you going to look for an apartment in L.A.?" David piped up next to you, turning the radio down slightly.

"Yeah, most of my stuff is already in Toddy and Jason's house. It's just some kitchen and bathroom stuff that's left, plus the furniture, I'm going to put it in my parent's garage for the time being. But I need a new bed anyway so that can just go down the dump." You shrugged. "I might get new couches too, I'm not sure yet."

David laughed. "We're not going to get everything in my Tesla."

You scoffed. "My dad has a van we can borrow to move the furniture, we'll just load the stuff I'm taking back to L.A. in your Tesla."

Going through everything that was left in your apartment didn't take as long as you thought it would and by the time evening came you were ready to go back to L.A. with the majority of your possessions.  You had gifted your couches to a work friend and had taken your bed to the dump, as well as a lot of random things that you'd forgotten you had or had no use for.

You had spoken to your landlord and cancelled your lease while David and Jeff loaded the Tesla with what you were taking back to L.A. When you went back to your apartment you noticed that all of your boxes had been taken downstairs. You were about to lock the door and take the keys to your landlord when you were stopped by David.

"I really need to pee," David whined, making grabby hands for your keys. "I'll lock up after and drop your keys off."

You handed him the keys and yelled after him, amused as he ran into your apartment. "There's no soap in there!" You said a quick goodbye to your apartment and then went down to wait in the Tesla.

"David caught you then?" Jeff's Staten Island accent met your ears as you got into the car.

Nodding, you dropped your bag in the footwell and did up your seatbelt. "Just about."

There was a slight pause, and then Jeff spoke again. "Y/N, I need to talk to you about something."

You froze, crap, he was going to do it right now. "No, you don't Jeff. Somethings are better off left unsaid." You told him firmly.

"No, I need to tell you." Jeff insisted, leaning forward between the gap in the two front seats.

"Jeff, it'll change everything." You whispered, eyes flickering over Jeff's beautiful face. "You know this can't happen, we can't happen."

Jeff's face dropped. "But why?"

Shaking your head, you scoffed. "Because of Toddy. He's way too overprotective, I know you're his friend, but there is still no way he'd ever give his blessing on me dating you."

"He doesn't have to, Y/N!" Jeff protested, hand coming out to cup your cheek.

"He does, Jeff. Because then you'd stop being friends with him and everyone else because of it and I'd fall out with my brother." You let out a deep breath. "Neither of us wants that, Jeff."

Jeff seemed defeated and frowned deeply. "But you do like me, right? This isn't just one-sided?"

A stray tear dripped down your cheek, and you made no move to wipe it away. "Of course I like you. I like you more than I've ever liked anyone before. It sucks so much." You sniffed slightly. "And what sucks, even more, is that it's going to change our relationship now."

Shaking his head, Jeff carefully wiped your tears away. "It'll never change our relationship."

"You promise?" You whispered.

Jeff nodded adamantly. "I promise." Jeff paused slightly. "Could I kiss you, just once?"

You hesitated. In one way it might feel like closure, another way you could end up falling for him even more. You said to hell with it and leant forward, gently capturing Jeff's lips in a sweet kiss. It seemed like it was over no quicker than it started, Jeff pulling away with a final peck to your lips and leaning back into his seat.

David came back at that moment. "Sorry, I got lost." He explained sheepishly. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah." You agreed softly.

David frowned and turned to look at you and then Jeff. "Are you guys okay?"

"We'll be fine," Jeff commented from the backseat. And you would.

#vlog squad imagine #vlog squad #jeff wittek x reader #jeff wittek imagine #jeff wittek #toddy smith x reader #toddy smith imagine #toddy smith

[anagentinwriting]

Subscribe - Part 5

Summary: (Modern AU) Peter was your college sweetheart until a certain event led to your break up. Seven years later another event brings you two back together, but this time a little girl is in the picture. Will listening to your podcasts be the reason you two get back together or be another reason to keep you apart?

Pairing: Peter Quill x Reader

Word Count: 3833

Warnings: Language, heights, fluff, angst

Subscribe Masterlist / Main Masterlist

AN: Don’t want this to get confusing, but the podcast is in italics and the flashback is indented and in italics. I am hoping the indention works on all platforms. Fingers crossed!

_______

Peter sat in the pickup zone waiting for Meredith to get out of school. Its been seven days since your accident, and you still haven’t woken up. It was making him anxious, and he started thinking about the worst what if situations. What if you didn’t wake up? What if Meredith lost her mother? What if you did wake up, but you didn’t want him around Meredith anymore? It was hard not to think about every worst-case scenario with each passing day. Peter’s thoughts were interrupted when Mer opened the back door and crawled inside. 

“Hey, Twig. How was your spelling test?”

“Daddy, you won’t believe it!” She handed him the test in her hand. “I got 100%.”

“That’s my girl,” he grinned, giving her a high five. “This calls for a celebratory toy, what do you say?”

“Yeaaahhh,” she yelled, pumping her fist in the air.

Peter and Mer went to the toy shop near Walkman Records. It had all kinds of vintage toys as well as the new hottest toys. After much deliberation, Mer picked out an action figure made of rocks. Peter told her to call him Korg, and she was sold on the name and decided to get him. She hugged Korg to her chest as they check out and went back to the studio. 

After dropping Mer off at Gamora’s, he didn’t feel like going home just yet. He didn’t want to go back to his empty, quiet apartment. He used to love the peace and quiet, but now it didn’t feel like home without Meredith. He drove around aimlessly before pulling into a local grocery store parking lot. He turned on his Bluetooth and clicked on Everyday's a Monday episode #29. He turned up the volume as he reclined his seat, staring at the roof of his jeep.

“Happy Valentine’s Day or to some Happy Singles Awareness Day! Yay! Today we have Steve Rogers in the studio. He’s a stay at home dad here to talk about his family life and how he manages it all. We will also hear about his Valentine’s Day plans and may hear a thing or two about the mysterious Star-lord if we’re lucky. Q the tunes.”

Peter clicked pause. “Wait, Steve Rogers? Steve Rogers as in Bucky’s best buddy? Did Bucky know about YN? Did he know YN had a child?” He shook his head, pressing play.

“Thank you for joining us today, Steve. How have you been doing?”

“I’ve been good. How are your twins?”

“Trouble makers if I’m being honest.” They both laughed.

“You have a son and daughter correct?”

“Yes. Grant is eight years old, and he wants his way all the time. But, Jamie, our 4 years old, is a complete sweetheart. Peggy says Jamie is like me while Grant is like her.”

“Isn’t that the truth.”

“It is. I feel like children always take after one of their parent's personalities.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Let's talk fatherhood, many fathers would rather work than stay at home all day, but how do you like it?” Wanda inquired.

“I love it. I never found a job that suited me as well as being a stay at home dad has. I ain't ashamed to admit that Peggy is the real breadwinner in our household. She’s a brilliant successful CEO of a mega-corporation, and I couldn’t be more proud of her.” 

“Way to speak the truth, Steve. Not many men would ever say that so kudos to you,” Wanda praised. “What is your typical day like?”

“I wake up to work out at around 5 am, which helps me get ready for the day. By the time I get back home and freshen up, Peggy is up and helping the kids get ready. Jamie goes to morning preschool but likes to watch her big brother go to the big kid school as she calls it. She's excited to start kindergarten and go to the big kid school next year because she says all the kids at preschool are babies.” 

"OMG, that’s adorable,” Wanda cooed. 

“Peggy goes to work around 730 am, and I run the kids to school. I tend to run errands at this point or run home to clean up the house a bit if it’s needed. Around eleven, I pick up Jamie from preschool, and we go do a fun community event if there is one going on. If not, we hang out at home together. It must be where she leans towards my personality,” he chuckled. “Once 3 pm comes around, we pick up Grant from the big kid school. I help him with his homework and then get dinner ready for when Peggy gets home. She makes sure she gets time with the kids before bedtime, and once they're in bed, we spend time together.”

“What do you and Peggy do to get away from the kids?”

“We have a sitter who watches them a few times a week so we can go out and have ‘adult time’ as the parents like to call it. We go out to dinner, see a movie, or meet up with some friends.”

“Sounds like a great system because finding time to spend together is the toughest part,” Wanda added. “We decided to test out something new this week, which involved asking our listeners to give us questions to ask our upcoming guest, and you all didn’t disappoint. YN and I were able to narrow down the questions, and we're excited to hear the answers.”

“Hi everyone, it feels weird joining this early,” you commented. “Our first question comes from Mary Parker, who asks, how do you deal with your children’s bullies?”

“I don’t like bullies, and I’m the worst person to take bully advice from. When I was younger, I was the small sickly kid in class who got made fun of a lot. I always stood up for myself, which led to me getting the crap kicked out of me, but my best friend was always there to save my butt.  Now, I get made fun of for being a stay at home dad. People accuse me of not being a real man, and I hate it. I love watching my kids grow up a little more each day and spending all day with them. It’s a rewarding experience.” 

“You’re a real man, Steve Rogers. Not many men would admit they enjoy staying home and spending time with your kids,” Wanda applauded, and YN cheered along. "I, too, got bullied as a kid. When I first started school in America, I had his thick Sokovian accent, and I got made fun of for it. Both my brother and I did, but my brother was better at ignoring it than me. I wanted to blend in and be like everyone else, so I started talking without it, and eventually, my accent went away. Now it only comes out when I’m angry or frustrated.”

“I can relate to that, too. Not to get personal in my life, but I mean Mer has come home from school crying some days, especially when there's a father-daughter dance happening at school. Kids tell her things like her dad never loved her, doesn't like her, or that he left to get away from her. Shes come home crying more than once, and all I can tell her is to ignore them, but it takes a toll on her. Kids can be the worst.”

Peter paused the episode and reclines his seat back up.  He rubbed his hands down his face, scratching at his growing scruff.  This was hard to hear because Meredith seemed like such a happy little girl it was hard to imagine her this upset. It wasn’t his fault because he didn’t even know about her, but it still felt like he was to blame. If only he wasn’t the jackass that ruined everything, maybe things could have turned out different. Peter clicked play to resume the episode.

“It does take a toll, but as she gets older she’ll get to the point where their words won’t affect how she views herself or her family,” Steve reassured. 

“Are you like an inspirational speaker or something?” You questioned, earning nothing but a breathy laugh from Steve. “I agree with you. Mer’s a tough girl, but it helps she has two great best friends in Wanda’s sons, Tommy and William.”

“I had a great friend growing up, too.  He’s still my best friend to this day. You always know you have a real friend when they’ll be there with you till the end of the line.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself. How about we move on to the next question?” Wanda said. “Since YN has stepped out for a moment, this is from Maria Rambeau: As a guy, do you listen to this podcast?”

“Yes, I do,” he chuckled. “It's very educational. I’ve learned a lot, and I encourage more men to listen because they will get a better understanding of what happens to the female body during pregnancy. They also share helpful tips and tricks that could make raising your children a whole lot easier.”

“Perfect answer, Steve. Shout out to the guys listening to this podcast. It’s an educational experience, and your wife, husband, girlfriend, or partner will love you for it. Moving on, this question is from Laura Barton: With it being Valentine's Day, when was the first time you told your wife you loved her? Or who said it first?”

“I said it first, and we were dating for about two months at the time. I know it sounds soon but when you know...you know. I planned the perfect day, but nothing I planned was turning out right.  I took her out horseback riding, planning on telling her but then it started raining, so we had to rush back in. Then when we went out to eat at this fancy restaurant, the fire alarm went off. I wanted the day to be over, but then Peggy pointed to the diner across the street. We got there and ordered our food; burger and fries. She was telling me a story, and an idea popped into my head. As she was talking, I used my fries to spell out an I, a heart, and the letter U. She was still talking, but when I turned the plate around she stopped and stared at the plate with a confused look on her face. Then I said, ‘I love you, Pegs.’ She smiled at me and said it right back. The waitress came over and offered us free dessert because they found it adorable. Now we go there every chance we get.”

"Steve is blushing hardcore right now. I think he may be getting even redder after I said that,” Wanda awed. “What an adorable story though my heart is sweating for you and Peggy. Wish I could say the same for YN, but she's rolling her eyes and talking on the phone. It’s like that work call is more important than her job. I mean, doesn’t our employer understand what the red ‘on air’ light means outside this room. Okay, that made no sense once I said it.” Steve let out a soft chuckled.  “Oh, YN, listen to this one, it says I should interview you about your man one week. That's a great idea, Karen, but I don’t think she’d let that fly. She would rather hang out behind the glass, but one day, I may convince her. One day. Oh look, she is hanging up the phone and coming back into the room. I have my own question for you, Steve. What do you think of the Star-Lord series?”

"I do enjoy listening to it. From what you have mentioned about him, he did care about you. But, I don’t know the whole story, none of us do. I look forward to finding out more about him, but it's your call on what you share with us. Although, if I may, I do have a question for YN.”

“What is your question?” you asked with sarcasm dripping in your voice.

“I am taking this question for Laura Barton. With it being Valentine's Day, when was the first time you two said you loved each other? Or better yet, who said it first?”

“Thanks, Laura, I appreciate you helping the guests with questions. For all I know, Wanda prompted Steve to ask this.”

“You will never know,” Wanda said in a spooky voice, making Steve chuckle.

“Okay, um...funny story,” you laughed. “We went to the local winter carnival, which seems super cliche, but that’s how it happened. I mean, did you hear Steve’s story, super cheesy. No offense,” you paused, taking a deep breath. “We were dating for about six months…

“Come on, let's go on the ferris wheel,” you begged. “Then we’ll be able to see everything.”

“Do we have too?”

“What are you scared of heights?” You teased him, turning to him with a pouty lip. 

“Sweetheart, I ain't scared of anything,” he smirked, pulling you into his arms.

“We both know that’s a lie.” You patted his chest. “Come on.” You grabbed his gloved hand, pulling him towards the ferris wheel to stand in line.  Once it was their turn, they hopped onto the seat and put the safety bar across them. He grabbed your hand and squeezed it, flashing you his cocky smile. You watched the world below you get smaller as the ferris wheel took you higher and higher until it stopped at the top.

“Wow, this is amazing. I told you we could see everything from up here.” Your eyes scanned the horizon seeing the city and the carnival lights below you. 

“Yeah, you’re amazing.” You nudged him in the side as you mouth spread into a warm smile. He seemed a little on edge. More than usual. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times like he wanted to add something, but couldn’t find the right words. He kept glancing at you and then would look away. His brow was sweating, and his leg was bouncing everywhere.

“Why do you look so nervous? Are you feeling okay?” You squeezed his hand, staring at him with furrowed brows. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I'm--I'm fine,” he stuttered, clearing his throat. “All good. Never better." He nodded as rubbed his lips together. "Actually--actually now that you mentioned it,” He gulped, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“What is it? You know you can tell me anything.”

“I know, it's just um I'm--I’m falling in love with you. You don't have to...” You leaned over, planting a kiss on his lips to shut him up. 

You pulled away and rested your forehead against his. “I love you, too,” you whispered, bringing a childlike grin to his lips. 

He pulled out his flip phone from his pocket. “Smile, sweetheart.” You lean closer into his side, smiling at each other as he snapped the picture. When he turned his phone around to get a better look at it. It slipped out of his gloved hand and fell to the ground.

“Dammit, I had a year contract left on that phone,” he whined, staring down at the ground.

“We'll look for it when we're done,” you chuckled, patting his leg. “Let's hope your case helped it survive the fall.”

“I don’t need it. You’re all I need right now.”

“We did end up finding the phone after looking for a half hour. It didn’t work, but luckily his SD card survived the fall. It saved all his pictures, including the one we took before it slipped from his hand. It’s actually one of my favorites.”  

“I’m not surprised he said it first or that he was a nervous wreck to get the words out,” Steve confessed. “We tend to make fools of ourselves for those we really care about.” 

“Aww…I have never met him, but he sure knows how to romance a lady. Wish my husband would do something like that,” Wanda sighed. “I’m kidding, Vis is a huge romantic.”

“According to this sheet in front of me,” Steve read. “Frigga says: She loves hearing your stories about Star-lord. It’s one of her favorite things about this podcast.”

“Thanks a lot, Frigga,” Wanda complained, feigning hurt in her voice. “Just kidding, it’s one of my favorite parts, too. YN never says anything about Star-Lord when we hang out together. Every time she shares something, it's my first time hearing it, too.”

“Do you think he ever wonders what you’re doing now?” Steve asked with a curious voice. “Or if he has ever looked you up and saw you have a daughter and wondered if she was his?”

“I don’t know, I guess it never crossed my mind. The last I looked him up, his company got this big break, and he was becoming successful in his career.  Besides, he has more important things on his mind than the woman he used to date in college.” 

“You might have a point there.”

“Whoa! Things just took a serious turn, but how about we lighten up our Valentine’s Day edition with one more question, even though YN is giving me the stink eye. This one comes from Ramonda: What are some ways your partner shows he/she loves you instead of saying it?"

“Hmmm…that’s a tough one. I don’t think I do anything, but maybe I do it and don’t notice it. Peggy always kisses me goodnight even if we're upset with one another. She never wants us to go to bed angry.”

“I can agree with that. Vis always wants to hold hands like we’re walking down the hall in high school,” Wanda giggled. “He also tries to make meals from Sokovia, but he always adds too much of one spice or adds the wrong spice. It’s like whenever he tries to make an effort to show he cares it makes me love him even more. How about you, YN? What did you and Star-Lord do?”

“We always did do this one thing. We started off saying I love you like every other couple, but then we started doing a motion, and the point got across without saying the words.”

“Of course, you two would have a secret love language. Why wouldn’t you!”

“Shut up, Wanda,” you scoffed. “I never noticed what we were doing until he pointed it out. I would always put my hand over his heart, and he would kiss my forehead. It became our way of saying I love you.” 

“Awww...that is too stinkin' cute." Wanda paused. "Anyways, thank you to Pear Organic Pouches for sponsoring this week’s episode. And don’t forget to surprise your lover as one Star-Lord would do.”

“Good god,” you blurted out. “Shit, did I say that out loud.”

“You did,” Wanda giggled. “Thanks to the real man, Steve Rogers, and I hope you all can join us for our next episode on Everyday's a Monday. Don’t forget to subscribe and tell your friends about us. Have a good week!”

“Are….you...fucking….kidding…..me?” Peter hit his steering wheel between words. Why didn’t Steve tell him he went on your podcast two years ago? Why didn’t anyone tell him you had a kid? Did Bucky know about this? Did he know about Meredith before this all happened? Did Nat? Was he the only one that didn’t know the truth? Fed up with the unanswered questions, he drove to Bucky and Nat's house and banged on the door.

“Hey man, it’s late. What are you doing here? ” Bucky questioned, opening the front door and took in his appearance. “Whoa, you alright man?”

“Did you know?” Peter growled, clenching his jaw.  

“Know what, man? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Did you know YN had a kid before I found out?” Peter poked him in the chest, glaring at him. 

“Dude, why the hell would you think that?” Bucky snapped, narrowing his eyes at Peter.

“I listened to an episode on her podcast. Guess who was on it? Steve. As in Steve Rogers,” Peter shouted, shaking his head when Bucky didn’t answer. “Come on, man. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Bucky bit his lip as he tried to find the right words. “Okay…yes….fine, I knew she had a kid, but I didn’t know she was yours. Steve told me he was going on a podcast and mentioned YN’s name and about her having a kid. Dude, I thought she met a guy right after you, and I didn’t want to be the one to break your heart again because you’re still in love with her.” 

“What! Don’t be ridiculous? It’s been--it’s been seven years, those feelings are long gone.”

“BULLSHIT, QUILL,” Bucky piped up, poking him in the shoulder.  “You keep telling yourself that because we both know your lying. I bet when you walked into that hospital room and saw her everything you felt for her came rushing back.”

“Shut up, man. You don’t know what you're talking about.”  

“Yes, I do. I saw how much that relationship took a toll on you after it ended.” Peter shook his head, staring hard at the ground. “It did, man. It hurt you. You can deny it all you want, but it’s the truth.”

“Shut up, Buck.”

“No, because you need to hear this,” Bucky shouted, forcing Peter's head to snap up at his words. “You have missed YN ever since the break-up. Sure, you tried to find what you had with her in other girls but you couldn’t.  YN was the one for you, man,” Bucky added. “What I don’t understand is why you didn’t tell her the truth about what happened? I mean," Bucky sighed, shaking his head. "You didn’t--you didn't even chase after her or fight for her, man. You watched her walk away, and you regretted it.  Of course, you’re too stubborn to admit it to me or yourself, but when she stepped out of your life you lost the best thing that has ever happened to you”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I though?” Bucky countered, waiting for a smart ass reply from Peter but got nothing.  “Ever since Mer has come into your life, I haven’t seen you this happy since you were dating YN. Ignore me, listen to me, I don’t care anymore, but I’ll see you tomorrow, Quill,” Bucky waved, closing the door between them.

Peter nodded, walking back to his jeep with his hands in his jacket pockets. He reached the driver's side door and stared at his reflection in the window.  Peter hated how Bucky was right about everything. He let you slip through his fingers without even trying to explain what happened. He watched you walk away and disappear into a crowd of people heartbroken because of him. He fucked up, and he did it all to himself. It's like every breakup song he has ever heard, person A doesn't know what they have until person B is gone. He missed how happy you made him feel every day he was with you. He just hoped there was still enough time for him to fix all the mistakes he made.

______

AN: This was a fun podcast to write because I thought of taking it so many different ways with Steve before I settled on this one. I knew right away that Steve was going to be a stay at home dad because let's be honest Peggy wouldn't stay home. Haha! We got another glimpse into the reader and Peter’s life together. Any ideas about what might have caused their breakup? What did you all think about Bucky’s bluntness and honesty when Peter showed up at his house? I think you always need that one honest friend in your life that will tell straight up; you fucked up. That's is the kind of relationship I wanted to show Bucky and Peter having, or at least that is what I was going for. Talk about a long ramble!! Comments always welcome and thanks for reading. Have a good day! 

#Star-Lord #star-lord x reader #star lord au #peter quill #peter quill au #peter quill x reader #peter quill reader insert #peter quill image #marvel #marvel fanfic #Marvel AU #marvel fanfiction #GotG #guardians of the galaxy vol 2 #Guardians of the Galaxy #chris pratt

[diegoh4rgreeves]

Butter Peekin

Story Summary: Reader is a music director of the Netflix series, The Umbrella Academy. One day the main cast initiate a lunch break together only to have David Castañeda and reader unable to find them at their supposed meeting spot. Reader and David decide to spend their lunch break together with ice-cream and they start to feel a connection. They’re so into their time together that they run late back to work. Their coworkers tease them over it, including Gerard Way! The next day, David asks reader out on a date and gets their number. This prompts reader to try and kiss him until they get cock-blocked by Tom Hopper. The day after that, David kisses reader just days before their date.

Pairing: David Castañeda x Fan

Chapter: 1/1

Word Count: 3,263 words

Warning: Fluff

A/N: I referenced a podcast David was recently a guest on (x). I was originally going to make this a drabble that ends when the lunch break does. Then it just got so cute. I couldn’t stop typing! I hope you all get the same warm and fuzzy feelings I did when I wrote this. Also I made this gender-neutral hence the lack of details for the reader and referring to them in they/them pronouns. Enjoy!

The ice cream shop on Queen St. E is cramped, just as any other place in downtown Toronto is. The whole colour scheme is pale yellow and primary blue; some walls are painted one colour or the other. There’s a chalkboard with the specials written on it.

Out of all the places you could have been hanging out with your celebrity crush in, you never thought it would be Ed’s Real Scoop.

“A butter pecan on a cone, and whatever they’re having.” A tall and built man with a beard signals the ice cream shop server to you with his wallet. He is wearing cargo shorts, a grey sweatshirt, a cap, socks, and running shoes.

You never thought of David Castañeda wearing something like this. He’s Diego Hargreeves in the Netflix series, The Umbrella Academy! Diego wears leather clad and swings knives at targets. Then again, David is David. The actor must be different from the character. Also, he wore this same outfit in an hour-long podcast you so watched in the summer. The podcast happened when he was in Thailand.

Now, he’s filming for season 2 of The Umbrella Academy, which gets you out of your day job. You are a music director on the show and that pays your bills. David and you are acquaintances, or so you think.

You shyly smile at David and thank him for offering to pay for your ice-cream. Then you tell the server your order of choice.

As the server prepares both your ice-creams, you look the opposite direction of David. David and you get along in the studio. You’re just used to seeing him with the rest of the cast and crew. You only have this alone time with him because theoretically the rest of the main cast ditched you both. You all originally planned to have lunch together. David and you failed to find them once lunch started, so David decided to take you out for ice cream.

Just as you are accepting this silence between David and you, he lets out a laugh. You look up at him and can’t help but to laugh along. His smile and his laugh are so cute and contagious. You just love his teeth. “What, what is it?”

He takes a moment before laughing again. “Okay, I wanna tell you something and you have to promise not to laugh. You swear?”

You giggle. “No promises.”

He beams up at you. “Y/N, please. This is top-secret info, okay?”

You hold your hands up and let out some incoherent sound. You weren’t sure if to say Okay or Fine.

I promise probably would have cut it. You let it go. He’s still smiling so hard.

“Okay…” He begins. “So, you know that I was born in Mexico, right?”

“Uh huh.” Of course, you know that. You’ve only googled him a hundred times.

“And that I went to high school in LA.”

You nod again. God, you really hope that David doesn’t know about your big crush on him.

“Right, so I could speak English fluently then. I just couldn’t pronounce certain words. Like, butter pecan!” He shudders. “Why do people say it like pikahn? That sounds so bougie!”

You actually remember hearing him tell that fun fact in the podcast. You’re not sure how to react to something you’ve already heard before. You decide to tell him another fun fact. “You know that you can say pee-can.”

He looks at you in amazement. “Wait, really!? Why didn’t anyone tell me that?” He looks the opposite of your direction and mutters the other pronunciation for his favourite ice-cream flavour. Then he looks at you and laughs once again. “Pee… can. Can of pee.”

You choke out a laugh. Right now, he’s just as fun-loving and weird and gross as he is to you with the group. You wonder why you were so nervous and anxious just a few seconds ago. He’s such a lovely human being with good energy. You decide to confess something to him. “I actually listened to the podcast you told the butter pikhan story.”

He beams up. “Oh really? What did you think of it?”

You’re oddly relieved at his response. Come to think of it, why did you think that watching the podcast would be a bad thing? “Well, I mean… the butter peekin story was great.” You realise you didn’t let him finish his story. He used to pronounce butter pecan as butter peekin. He chuckles anyway. “Can I… be honest about the podcast guys though?” You ask.

David smirks. “What is the tea?” He makes a sizzling noise.

You roll your eyes and laugh. “Can you ever give a serious answer to anything?”

“Sorry,” he laughs.

“No no, it’s fine! It’s entertaining.”

He gives you one last smile before the server calls you both for your ice-creams. David walks to the end of the counter where the cashier is. He takes out a $20 bill for both your ice-creams and he puts some of his change in the tip jar.

“Do you wanna stay here or take a walk on Woodbine Beach?” He takes a lick of his butter pecan ice-cream.

You give him a puzzled look. “What about fans? They’re going to stop you and ask for your autograph!” You take a lick of your ice cream and accidentally get a big chunk of the frozen treat in your mouth. You let it melt inside. You like the numbness on your tongue.

He leads you both out the shop and you passively follow him. Then he rolls his eyes and chuckles. “Y/N, you flatter me. First you watch my podcast and now you believe I have fans.”

You spit out your ice cream from a burst of laughter. You didn’t even care he pointed out the podcast. His self-deprecating humour reminded you why you love him so much.

“You okay there?” He chuckles.

You scoff and roll your eyes. “Yeah, thanks, David.” It was your turn to be sarcastic.

“Here, I picked up some napkins.” He pulls some out of his shorts pockets. You let out a hand with the assumption that he’ll hand you the napkin. Instead, he stops you both on the sidewalk outside the shop and he wipes your ice-cream covered lips with it. This might be the closest you’ve ever gotten to him besides a hug. He’s touching your lips and it’s great, even though he’s not touching them with his lips.

He lets go. You clear your throat and thank him.

It feels like a movie moment. You think that you should let the tension last as the streets had their usual noise of honking cars and beeping bus stops. In that sound, he’d think of kissing you. Instead, he picks up your conversation from the ice-cream shop. “So, what didn’t you like about those interviewers from the podcast?”

“Hmm?” You look at him as you try and adjust to a new conversation topic. “Oh right.” You’ve processed what he said. “Well, call me a social justice warrior, but I thought they were so politically incorrect, you know? Like… after you said the butter peekin story and you called an old friend a coconut. They thought that was racist? Seriously?”

David rolls his eyes. “Yeah… I was confused by that.”

“You seemed it!”

“I wanted to ask them how was that racist, and they just said that we weren’t gonna get into it. I mean, I couldn’t really do anything after that, you know? I didn’t wanna cause a scene, especially in my big break!”

“I thought you didn’t have fans.”

He opens his mouth and leaves it hanging. “Touché.”

You chuckle. Gosh, does he have such a good sense of humour. You look at him with a serious look. “There is another thing I wanna point out about those guys.”

“More tea!?” He grins. “Damn Y/N, I never took you for a gossip girl!”

You guffaw. “Wow okay! So that’s how you see me now?”

He chuckles. “Maybe… I like it anyway. You’ve got spunk and don’t take shit from anybody.”

You blush. David paid you a compliment and you’re trying so hard to see it as a friendly comment. “Yeah, well…” You play off your bashfulness with an exaggerated hair flip. “You know you love me.”

He lets out a hearty laugh, and that only makes you feel overwhelmed. Have you always been this funny? Does anyone else laugh this hard at your jokes?

You’re having such a good time with him that you never mind the talk about the podcast anymore. Who wants to rant about two white guys when you’re with the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen!?

David and you take a stroll on the beach. It isn’t until you’re walking on it and feel the cool air from the lake that you felt how hot it was outside earlier. The beach really soothes you. David and you are still on a sugar high from the ice-creams, and you rush finishing them so that the sand doesn’t rush up on your treats from the wind. You’re laughing so hard as he slurps his cone and tilts it up. It’s probably a disgusting view to the people around you, and that makes it more entertaining for you.

David turns around to see if anyone’s looking at him. There does appear to be an irritated family sitting on some lawn chairs. He looks at you. “And you thought I had fans.”

You hold your stomach from laughing. “Don’t kill me!”

He smiles along with your laugh. When he finishes his ice cream, he rubs his hands to get the crumbs off. He pulls out his smartphone and gasps. “Uhh… Y/N.” He shows you the time. “I think break was over looong ago.”

You gasp. “Oh fuck… You have some missed calls too!”

“It’s okay! We’ll get an uber.”

“Yeah?” You check with him. “Will it cost much?”

He slings his wrist and purses his lips. “It’s on me, it’s fine.”

“You already paid for ice-cream. Let me split this with you.”

He shrugs. “Okay. Whatever. We’ll figure it out. Let’s just get back now!” David opens the Uber app on his phone and starts ordering a ride. You both wait at the parking lot of the beach together until your ride’s here.

David and you come back to the studio in a panic. You only see the main cast and crew laugh at your dramatic entrance of running inside. David and you freeze as you look at them. You’re especially worried over what Gerard Way thinks.

“Why are you guys running!?” Emmy Raver-Lampman looks like she’s about to cry from how hard she’s laughing. You’re quite embarrassed by that. You’ve also had a bit of a crush on her. Now this woman with goddess-like features and long curly hair is seeing you all sweaty and covered in ice-cream stickiness and you’re heavily breathing.

“Yeah, you’re late, you’re late.” The 16-year-old actor with a page-boy haircut lets out a chuckle. Aidan Gallagher is like his character, Five, in real life. He’s stoic.

Robert Sheehan, the tall and scrawny man with the messy brown hair, green eyes, messy black eyeliner, and funky and colourful clothing chimes in. “David and Y/N sittin’ in a tree…”

“Honestly, where did you guys go?” The short girl with the brown hair and button-like eyes cuts in. Yes, this is your idol since tweenhood, Ellen Page. “We waited for you.”

“Where!?” David yells out.

This gets everyone to bicker over the original plans of where to meet up at lunch time. Before this can go on, a tall and burly man with long dyed-red hair and bright blue eyes cuts in. “Alright, guys. David is back. Now you can film again!” He looks over at you. “Well Y/N, you don’t have to work again for another while, unless there are scenes you can add music to right now.”

You nod your head. “Yes sir. I’m on it. Sorry we’re late!”

He rolls his eyes and laughs. “I don’t even wanna know what David and you got up to.”

This gets the cast to make scandalised faces at David and you. “As I said!” Robert calls out. “David and Y/N sittin’ in a tree!”

“Robert!” Gerard calls out. “Go back to filming.”

You lose David in the crowd of the main cast, so you don’t get to wave goodbye and thank him for a fun lunch break, which had a surprisingly pleasant and wholesome ending.

—–

It’s the day after. You enter the lounge room of the studio. You put down a box of doughnuts on a table there. On top of the box, you leave a sticky note. It reads, Sorry I was late yesterday. I got an assorted range. Hope you all enjoy these. -Y/N

You take one last look at the box and then turn around to see David. This makes you jump up. You didn’t expect to see him in. In fact, you didn’t even hear anyone come in! “Hey David.” You let out a breath.

He looks at you all confused. “Did I scare you?”

“Kind of. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Oh, my bad.” He chuckles. He looks over you and takes notice of the box of pastries. “What’s this?”

“Hmm?” You turn around to see what he’s looking at. “Oh.” You turn around back to him. “Just an apology gift for yesterday.” You laugh nervously.

He nods. “Can I split the money with you since I wanna apologise too?”

“Are you mocking me?” You scoff.

He laughs. “I mean I do feel bad about yesterday actually and I don’t wanna be late again from getting a box of doughnuts. So…”

You shrug. “It’s on me. You did pay for the Uber.”

“Thanks.” He nods.

You nod back. You’re not sure what to say next. “I should probably head to my department.”

“Yeah, sure. But first…” He looks down at the ground and then back at you. “I just wanted to say that I had a lot of fun yesterday.”

Your heart warms up and you open your mouth. You know that you should say something. “Yeah. Me too. I mean, I had a lot of fun too. With you.” You clear your throat.

He smiles. “If you… ever wanna do this again some time, I’d be down.”

You cannot believe what you’re hearing. You have been asked out by other people in the past year, and you were just irritated. You could sense the bad vibes from those people. David though, he reminds you of your crushes back in high school. You are purely excited. “Yeah. Yeah definitely.”

“Something longer than a lunch break.” He smirks.

You giggle. “Yeah, I hear that. Do you want my number by the way?”

“Oh.” He beams up. “Right, yeah. I was going to ask for that next.” He chuckles and takes his phone out of his jeans pocket.

You smile and accept the phone. He has the page for you to add your name and number on. You type everything in and hand the phone back to him. “Okay, text me at your own will.”

He laughs. “I will. I might call after work actually. Is that okay?”

You open your mouth and wanna exclaim something. You remember to play it cool though. You just love phone calls so much. They’re so intimate and they’re one of the few old-fashioned things you value. Instead of freaking him out, you simply nod your head.

He smiles one last time before saying bye and heading out the lounge room.

You know that you won’t see him in another while. He’ll be working the whole day, and so will you. You look back and forth to your side and then to his direction. You want to kiss him. But is it too soon? You don’t know, but you decide to go in for the kill. You head out the lounge room only to be stopped by Tom Hopper, the tall and muscular actor with the buzzed haircut. He shows you a photo of his babies that his wife just texted him. He’s British. It’s 1pm in England. You go along with his excitement and compliment his babies on how cute they are.

You’re in your apartment after a long day of work. You decided to stay in at the studio for your lunch break. You ate a sandwich you brought from home and watched a few finished scenes of The Umbrella Academy. You brainstormed which songs would be fitting for all of the scenes you watched today. There was a meeting for it afterwards.

You change into your comfy clothes at your apartment and get a sense of relief. You prepare some food and plop on the couch. You turn on Netflix and watch the TV show of your choice. You can’t really get into what you’re watching though. You’re too busy mindlessly munching on your food and zoning out. You wonder if Tom cockblocking you was a good idea. Chasing after David for a kiss would have definitely been a desperate move. You also try to justify your decision with the fact that you’ve known David for a while now. There are romantic implications. Maybe he wants to kiss you too.

Before you can ponder on this, you hear your phone quickly vibrate. You pick it up and see a text letting you know that it’s David. You beam up and immediately save his name and number on your phone. You text him “Hey!” He texts and asks if it’s okay to call you right now.

You text a thumbs up emoji. You anticipate the call as you look at the text thread. Your phone gives longer vibrations this time, which shows that you’re getting a call. You pick it up. “Hello?”

“Y/N.” There’s that sexy deep voice. “Hey. How’s it going?”

You can feel your heart fluttering. You’re relieved that you didn’t kiss him. It would have scared him off. Tom cockblocking you made all this worth it.

—–

You see David the next day at work. You’re both in the lounge room before your times to start. You’re the only ones in the room and smile at one another as you walk in. “So, I guess we just awkwardly look at each other before Friday?” You quip. Friday is your date with David. You’re getting dinner and plan to go back to the beach.

“Yeah, I guess so.” He smirks. “That or…” He looks away and sighs.

You furrow your brows. “Or what?”

He walks over to you from the coffee machine and holds your face. He rubs one of your cheeks with his thumb and leans in. He eyes the room before touching your lips with his.

You’re quite surprised over this. You still close your eyes and go along with it. He tastes like the black coffee he just made and sipped. He smells really good from his body spray and you get a whiff of his shampoo. He must have showered before coming here. Your lips are so relaxed on each other until he presses harder and holds your waist to lean you in. You wrap your arms around his neck. You both sigh in the kiss until he decides to let go.

He looks at you and rubs your cheek with his thumb one last time before pecking your nose and walking out the room.

You are stunned. Much to your luck, he also had an urge to kiss you.

#the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy fluff #the umbrella academy fanfiction #tua #tua fluff #tua fanfiction #diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves fluff #diego hargreeves fanfiction #david castañeda #david castañeda fluff #david castañeda fanfiction #david castañeda x reader

[neicywrts]

Sis. Who tf else would I be here for?? [ dream ] for your muse to wake mine from a nightmare [ guard ] for your muse to step between my muse and danger [ sing ] for your muse to sing to mine || reverse any you want btw

@iraclemayrps

otp: in real life 

[ dream ] for your muse to wake mine from a nightmare | reverse

For the past couple of days, she’d been having the same dream. Ryan knew before getting pregnant that sometimes the hormones could cause…vivid dreams. She thought that maybe she would be an exception, since she had a rather smooth first and second trimester. But the third trimester of her pregnancy tested her strength. 

It started out the same every time. 

She was in a labor and delivery room at the hospital because her water broke in the middle of the night. Her husband was next to her, holding her hand and smiling. Her parents were on the other side, smiling and being surprisingly supportive. She was only dilated four inches but the nurses said everything looked great. But Ryan felt like something was off. She couldn’t feel her child. Throughout her pregnancy she could tell when her child was up, when she was asleep, and when she was restless. Overall, she could tell her baby was going to be active. She felt Zaina grow inside of her for nine months like a constant weight. But sitting in that delivery room, she felt…empty.  Over and over again she told the nurses and doctors that something was wrong, but they didn’t listen to her, saying that everything was fine. She tried to calm down. Maybe she was overacting. Maybe her nerves were getting the best of her. Taking a deep breath, she decided to take her doctor’s advice and drifted off to sleep. 

Gasping awake, she grabbed her side, where a sharp pain was spreading up her spine. That’s when she felt it. A warm liquid between her legs. Ryan ripped the white knit blanket off her legs. The large pool of blood beneath her was all the confirmation she needed. 

The scream she let out in her dream was the same scream that woke her from it. In her bed, not in labor and delivery. Sweaty and heart racing, she patted her swollen stomach. “Hey,”  Tariq sat up, his dark hair messy and his voice heavy with sleep. She turned to her husband with tears in her eyes. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into him. It wasn’t the first time she woke up screaming. “You had that dream again?” He asked, and she nodded. “Its okay. She’s okay,” he put his hand on her swollen stomach. Shakily, she lifted her hand and put it next to his. Ryan let out a deep breath when she felt her baby move, a small smile pulling at her lips. Maybe her scream woke her daughter up as well. “I don’t know why I keep having that dream. Maybe because it’s so close to the time.” Tariq’s hand rubbing small circles on her back further soothed her. He kissed the side of her head before getting up from the bed. “I’ma get you some ice cream,” because he always knew what she needed. Ryan smiled and laid back down, her hand caressing her stomach.  

 [ guard ] or your muse to step between my muse and “danger”

The trader joe’s on gold street was hell on earth, but the only place in the city where she could get dark chocolate orange sticks and crunchy broccoli bites. Being pregnant made the five o’clock crowd even more irritable. Tariq could sense it. He put his hand on her lower back while she pushed the cart—only because she insisted—through the aisle to get to one of the ridiculously long lines. Before her third trimester, she was okay with standing in long lines like these. She even prepared for it; queuing up her favorite podcast, or finding something interesting to read on her phone while she waited. But with her ankles on swole, her breast heavy and sore, and having to pee almost every five minutes, she did not have the patience. 

Ryan was turned around and facing Tariq, while his back was towards the crowd of shoppers. He didn’t notice the lady moving way too fast with her shopping cart and looking down at her phone, coming straight for him, but Ryan did. Stepping around him, she nudged the shopping cart out of the way before it could hit him. “Excuse you, get off your phone. You could hit someone,” Ryan snapped when the lady looked up at her. The lady’s eyes bulged, probably not used to being spoken to like that. “Woah, sorry, but it’s not that big of a deal,” the lady responded, looking genuinely confused. Ryan’s bitch switch flipped. “Not that big of a deal? You almost ran my husband over with your basket because you ain’t payin’ attention!” Said husband was trying to put himself in between Ryan and the lady, probably sensing his wife’s temper, but Ryan stepped around him again. The lady screwed her face up, “you need to calm down.” Perhaps she didn’t know that you weren’t supposed to tell a pregnant woman to calm down, but she was about to find out why you shouldn’t. “Oh no, I don’t need to do shit, but you need to—”

“Okayyy, baby stop,” Tariq had managed to pull her back in front of him and away from the lady who was five seconds away from meeting the back of Ryan’s hand. She didn’t even realize that she had began walking towards the lady once she told her to calm down. Knowing what was good for her, the lady rolled her eyes and walked off with her cart. Ryan eyed her until she couldn’t see her anymore. “As sexy as I find you getting all H-Town Hottie on somebody over me, you can’t fight while you’re pregnant,” he said, still holding her arm but looking like he wanted to laugh. Ryan’s lips pulled into a small smile, rolling her eyes at her husband. “I wasn’t gonna fight her…I was just gonna smack her.” 

[ sing ] for your muse to sing to mine 

Whenever she visited her hometown of Houston, Texas, she always tried to link up with her favorite five cousins. Ryan is an only child, but her Aunt Jacklyn had three daughters and two sons back to back, and they grew up thick as thieves. They endured church choir, Sunday school, Wednesday bible study, and every other family outing together while also going to the same schools k-12. The hardest part about moving clean across the country when she got engaged to James was leaving them. They were the only ones who were absolutely supportive of her relationship with Tariq, and the only family she actually enjoyed being around for a long period of time. They welcomed Tariq with open arms, and even invited him to their tradition of karaoke at Kibby’s on Saturdays. Ryan hadn’t been in ages and couldn’t believe that her cousins still went to the bar they had been going to since she was young. It was impossible for her to say no, even if she knew she would end up embarrassing herself in front of her husband and other friends. He teased her on the car ride to the bar, and she laughed and rolled her eyes at him. “I’m not singing tonight, so you’re not even gonna get the chance to record me, you jerk.” 

Not many people knew Ryan had a secret love for 90s r&b, another thing she and her husband had in common. Anita Baker, En Vogue, After 7 and Toni Braxton (and of course Adina Howard’s Do You Wanna Ride but that’s not the vibe right now) were a few of her favorite secular artist that she had to sneak and listen to while she was growing up. Her parents didn’t keep that type of music in their house, but her Aunt Jacklyn did. Whenever Ryan went to her house, and she and her cousins were left alone, they would sneak into her CD stash. They even choreographed dance routines to almost every song on En Vogue’s Funky Divas album. 

After a few tequila sunrises that were definitely missing the sunrise, her cousins Mary, Lynette, and Keisha bullied her into doing a song with them. “No, no, y’all, I’m not doing it!” she protested. “Like hell you not. It’s been years, Ry, c’mon,” Keisha said. They pulled her up and out of her seat anyway, dragging her to the makeshift stage at the front of the bar. Ryan looked back at her husband, who was grinning and cheering along with the crowd. She shook her head, but smiled. “What song are we even doing?” Her question was answered when she heard the first few notes of Giving Him Something He Can Feel. Their favorite song, and one of the few songs she used to sing lead on when they were making up dances. Ryan threw her head back and laughed. “Y’all, I don’t remember the steps,” she said while simultaneously getting into formation. 

What happened after that, she blames on the liquor. Although she complained about knowing the steps, they sure did come to her pretty quick. She and her cousins had the whole bar carrying on, but her eyes were trained on Tariq the whole time, a sultry smile playing on her lips. At one point, she broke off from the group. Sauntering over, she stopped in front of him, one hand feeling down her body while she slowly twirled her hips in a circle. That really got the party going, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy the look on her husband’s face. They finished their routine with a standing ovation. Ryan sat back down next to her husband, red in the face and hot. “That’s the first and last time you see that routine,” she laughed. 

#otp: in real life #lololol #now i wouldn't be me if i aint get a lil extra #answered #iraclemayrps

[mosylufanfic]

Killervibe and room mates for the AU August thing!!!

Oh nonny, you are so patient. Here you go. They were roommates.

You Can’t Keep Secrets From Your Roommate

Texting about his plans for the evening, Cisco unlocked his front door and twisted the knob. It stuck under his hand, and he looked up from the phone. "What the - "

He rattled the knob, which steadfastly refused to turn. Then he realized that it had been unlocked to begin with, and he'd locked it again.

He also realized there was a little blue car in his driveway.

He grinned.

He unlocked the door and went into the house. A purse sat on the hall table, a coat heaped on the floor under it. In the living room, a woman in dark blue scrubs sprawled facedown on the couch, dead to the world.

"Dear god," he said loudly. "There's a strange woman in my house."

She didn't stir.

"What? Can it be? My long-lost roommate? She does look a little like Caitlin . . . "

She let out a snore.

He shook his head fondly. "Dork." He reached over her and pulled the deeply ugly crocheted blanket off the back of the couch, spreading it over her.

She stirred, snuffling like an adorable little piglet, and blinked her eyes open. "Cisco?"

"For that you wake up?"

She yawned. "What are you doing home so early?"

"Check the time, Sleeping Beauty." He held his phone out.

Her eyes widened. "Oh, I fell asleep."

"Sure as hell did. So they let you out of the salt mines?"

She yawned again and pushed herself to a sitting position, rubbing her neck. "Ow. Yes, I'm off until tomorrow evening."

She was doing her residency at a local hospital. Cisco had been gobsmacked when she'd told him that eighty-plus hour weeks were commonplace, even expected. But he'd gotten used to barely seeing her except on her way out the door or on her way to bed.

Not that he liked it. But he’d gotten used to it.

"Whoa, seriously?” he said. “Twenty-four whole hours of freedom? What are you going to do with that?"

"Laundry and cleaning tomorrow," she said. "But tonight, Netflix. Lots of Netflix."

"Sweet." He dropped onto the couch next to her. "Want company?"

"Oh, Cisco, it's Friday night." She paused. "It is Friday night, right?"

"Yep."

"So, I'm sure you have plans to go out. You always do."

He pushed his phone into his pocket as it buzzed with a text from Barry about which bars they were going to hit. "Actually, this week has thrashed me too."

She looked skeptical. "Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, I didn't save anybody's life or get drenched head to toe in bodily fluids like some people on this couch, but there was this big project due and my boss was riding us hard. I'm in serious need of unwinding."

That was all true, although up until five minutes ago, his plan for unwinding had included shots, dancing, and maybe making out with someone cute in a darkened club. But he tossed that plan without a second thought

"Besides, when was the last time we had a roomie TV night?"

"Months," she said.

And that was why.

When he'd first met Caitlin, as one-half of the couple who'd wanted to move into the spare room he'd advertised on Craigslist, he'd thought she was sweet but shy and not really his type of friend. He'd clicked much more quickly with Ronnie, her boyfriend, and been more than happy to sign on the dotted line with him. Caitlin had come as part of the package. He'd been okay with that because just looking at her, he knew she was the type to pay rent scrupulously on time and never leave her dishes in the sink.

But within a few months, he'd figured out that she was sharp and funny and smart as hell, and she'd become his friend in her own right, not just as Ronnie's girlfriend.

After Ronnie had been killed by a drunk driver, their senior year of college, it had never crossed his mind to have her move out, and as far as he knew, she'd never thought of it either. This was her home.

People thought it was weird sometimes - mostly women he dated, or biphobic guys. They just couldn't understand how you could share a house for this long with someone you weren't banging.

"She's like my sister," he told them, which wasn't exactly true, but it got them off his back. Anyway, he knew that was what she told the guys she'd sporadically dated after Ronnie died, that he was like her brother. As far as he could tell, it was true for her.

He didn't really need a roommate anymore. His job at Mercury Labs more than covered the expenses of the house he'd inherited from his grandma, not like when he'd been in school and only able to work part-time at a garage.

But Caitlin had four months of residency still to go, and besides her massive school loans, the hospital where she worked was only a few miles away, close enough to drive in five minutes. Or for Cisco to go pick her up when she was so tired she couldn't move.

Anyway, he liked having her there. He'd never lived anywhere alone and he didn't want to start now.

He didn't like to think about what would happen when she was done with her residency and got a job somewhere else.

She smiled at him. “Okay. Let’s do a roomie TV night.””

He smiled back, bumping her with his shoulder. "Excellent. Chinese or pizza?"

"Chinese," she said.

"Great, that means the show is my pick." He grabbed the remote and turned the TV on.

She gasped. "Dirty pool, Cisco. I'm not watching Game of Thrones."

"Please," he said, flicking through Netflix. "You'll fall asleep again." It still offended him to his mortal soul.

She rolled her eyes and peeled herself off the couch. "Did I leave my purse in the kitchen?"

"Front hall," he called out.

His phone buzzed again, and he pulled it out. A string of texts from Barry stacked up on the screen, his friend baffled that he'd ghosted in the middle of their conversation.

He tapped out, Actually, do you mind if I cancel on you guys?

Caitlin's got the night off for once and we need roomie time

Holy shit they let her out?

IKR It's been forever

Yeah it's okay

Have fun w o me

So, are you going to talk to her?

No I'm going to ignore her all night as we hang out watching TV and eating chow mein

Duh I'm going to talk to her

You know what I mean

TALK to her

He stared at the phone. Thought about pretending he didn't know what Barry meant.

He tapped back, No

!!!!!!

Wrong time

I told you

If you're not careful she's going to move out or get with someone else and you'll have lost your chance

He put the phone away without answering and kept browsing Netflix.

She wasn't done with residency. She'd had a breakup not even a month ago. Not to mention, she was living in his house. If he confessed that he'd been having not-brotherly feelings for her for awhile now and she didn't feel the same way, it had the potential to make things really weird and awful. And what if she felt like she had to date him to keep living there?

He'd rather keep pretending to be just her good buddy Cisco forever then make her feel like that.

"Orange chicken or sweet and sour?" she asked him, scowling at her phone as she came back in.

"Sweet and sour," he decided. "And crab puffs."

She held her phone out to show him that crab puffs were the first thing on the order. "I know what you like," she said.

"Yeah, you do," he grinned at her. "And I do too. Which is why we're watching Parks and Rec."

She smiled at him. She looked tired and frazzled but her smile lit up her face. "I need a shower first, though. I smell like the hospital."

"Yeah, I didn't want to mention it . . . "

She pretended to swat him, then checked her phone again. "As soon as this order goes through." She sighed. "It's so slow lately."

"Get a new phone."

"I'm waiting to upgrade until after - "

"Residency," he said along with her. "It doesn't help that you have, like, half a kilobyte of spare storage on there."

"I need all those things. Finally!" she said as the confirmation popped up. "Okay, about forty-five minutes."

"Great. Gimme that, I'll clean it out."

She clutched it to her heart. "You'll delete everything."

"Your pictures are backed up," he said patiently. She hoarded pictures and videos like a very specific kind of dragon. "I set up your cloud storage myself. And how the hell many apps do you have?"

"I use them!"

"Okay fine, if you've used them in the past month, I won't delete them. But you don't need six months' worth of podcasts."

She pouted a little. "I'll listen to them all."

"When? After residency? You can download them again." He wiggled his fingers. "Give."

She handed it over. "But don't touch Sawbones," she ordered, already on her way to her room and the attached bathroom.

"Got it," he called out, already busy deleting. "Sawbones is sacrosanct."

It took him about five minutes to free up several gigs of space. Since he was in there, he decided to clean up her pictures. Old screenshots, discarded selfies, random stuff he was pretty sure she'd texted him. It was all backed up anyway.

He found several selfies they'd taken together and sat smiling at them for a little while. He had most of the same ones saved, downloaded from wherever she'd posted them.

He scrolled through the set again and realized there were some of his, taken with his phone and posted online, which meant that she'd downloaded them.

Hmmm.

Well.

They were pretty good pictures.

A text popped up, with her ex-boyfriend's name at the top. I had a lovely time the other night

His eyebrows shot up.

As far as he knew, Julian was still in England and would be for at least another six months. So what was this "other night" he spoke of? Had they sexted? A little post-breakup virtual hanky-panky?

"I don't want to know," he muttered, which was a lie. He kind of wanted to know.

Okay, he really wanted to know.

Sorry! That was meant for someone else

But now I've bothered you, how are you doing?

"Oho," Cisco said as all came clear. He calculated the time difference between Central City and London and felt justified in calling bullshit. Unless Julian was booty-calling someone at about four in the morning, this was the kind of idea that sounded really, really good when you were very tired and more than slightly drunk.

Impulsively, he swiped to open the conversation and smirked at the keyboard, fingers ready to call the other man on his nonsense.

Then he thought - no, that's a terrible idea and Caitlin will be furious. If she wanted to call him out, she should get the pleasure of it herself. Reluctantly, he swiped down to close the keyboard.

That brought more of the text conversation down to fill the screen. It was pretty dull stuff - have a nice trip, take care of yourself. He scrolled a little and found stilted queries about whether he'd found a hoodie of hers, about whether she still had his charger. Very, very polite and a little bit pained. Breakup stuff.

It had been an amicable breakup as far as he knew. "Long-distance is too hard," Caitlin had said, packing a half-empty box of tea, a T-shirt, and the debated phone charger into a paper grocery sack. "Especially with my residency and his fellowship taking up so much energy. We decided it was better to end on good terms."

But even the nicest breakup was still a breakup, an ending, an us falling apart into a you and a me. So he wasn't surprised at the stiff tone.

He scrolled up and found the next one back, not polite, not businesslike at all.

I'm not doing this over text.

It was from Caitlin. He checked the timestamp - two weeks before Julian had left. Right around the time they'd broken up.

If that didn't sound like an about-to-break-up text . . .

His fingers hovered over the screen, and then he gave in to insatiable curiosity and swiped down to see what kind of dealbreaker thing Julian had said to her.

No matter what I do, you're never going to feel half as much for me as you do for him

What the fuck.

He sat staring at the text, especially the last word.

Him.

Who was him?

His first thought was Ronnie. But Julian had said do, not did. Cisco had talked with Caitlin about Ronnie enough over the years for him to know that while she'd always love him and treasure his memory, that memory was folded away in her past. This sounded like current feelings, for a living man.

He tried to remember if she'd talked about any of their guy friends more often than any other. Or someone at the hospital? She didn't mention her co-workers at the hospital much.

So who the hell was him?

And why hadn't she mentioned him to Cisco?

He debated with himself, then turned off the phone to clear out the deleted things, and not incidentally, keep himself from reading more of the conversation. He was already feeling guilty for having read as much as he had.

Should he ask?

Caitlin came out of her room in pajamas, her hair damp. "How's the patient?" she asked him, folding herself into the couch next to him.

She smelled like flowery shampoo and apple-flavored lotion. It was warm and familiar, one of his favorite smells.

He turned the phone back on and handed it back. "Think he's gonna make it."

She tapped in her code and opened a few things to test, then smiled at him when everything was speeded up. "Thanks. So, which season are we watching?"

He realized the Netflix screen was still up, waiting for a choice. "You pick," he said.

"Me? Okay." She reached for the remote next to his leg.

"So, uh," he said as she flicked through seasons, weighing their merits. "Julian texted while I was working on your phone."

"Julian?" she said, surprised. "What did he want?" She opened her texts and looked. "That's weird. Did you read this?"

"Well, it popped up, so."

She shook her head, baffled. "Do you think he's trying to make me jealous?"

"Seems like. Are you going to answer him?"

She laughed. "No. I think he's going to wake up in the morning and be very embarrassed."

"How's he doing, anyway?"

"I don't really know. Okay, I guess. We haven't talked much. We're both - "

"So busy," he finished. "Yeah." He fiddled with his own phone, watching as she finally chose season three. He should ask.

He shouldn't ask.

But he had to know.

But if she'd wanted him to know, she would have damn well told him.

He found himself saying, "I have to confess something."

She widened her eyes at him as Ron and Leslie bickered on-screen. "You deleted Sawbones?"

"No, I told you I'd leave it alone. You've still got like twenty episodes. No, uh - " He dug his fingers into the upholstery. "I kind of read more of your texts with Julian."

She frowned at him. "Why?"

"I - you're right. I shouldn't have. But I was in there anyway and - I'm sorry."

She shrugged, tucking her legs up under herself. "I'm sure they were very exciting."

"A little," he said. "Caitlin, why didn't you tell me?"

A little silence, and then she said, "Tell you what?"

"Why you really broke up with him."

Color seeped away from her cheeks. She turned her head to stare fixedly at the TV. "I told you. The distance and we were busy and - "

"And you're in love with someone else."

"Oh god," she whispered. "You read that far?"

"Yeah," he said. "Why is this the first I'm hearing about it?"

"I - I couldn't," she said. "Not to you. I couldn’t." She covered her face with her hands. "Do you want me to move out?"

"Move out?" he almost shouted. "What the hell? Why would I ever want you to move out?"

She dropped her hands to stare at him. Her eyes were wet and red. "It would be so awkward if I stayed."

"Why?"

The chirpy, peppy theme music started, jarring in the taut silence. He grabbed the remote from her lap and hit pause.

"Caitlin," he sad. "Why would it be awkward? Who are you in love with?"

Her eyes went very wide. "You - you didn't see the whole conversation."

"No," he said.

She bit her lip. "Someone. From the hospital. You don't know him."

He looked at her hard. "Caitlin Snow, you are the worst liar I've ever met."

Her pale face flushed with color. "I'm not lying."

"That's exactly what you say every time you bluff at poker.” He nodded at her phone, now clutched tightly in her hand. “If I’d read farther back, what would I have seen? Who was Julian talking about?”

“Someone from the hospital,” she said stubbornly, getting to her feet. “You know what, I think I should get a head start on my laundry.”

“But,” he said. “Wait. What? You're just going to run away?”

She stopped in the hall, not looking back at him. “I need you to not push me on this, Cisco,” she said evenly.

A moment later, the door to her room shut with a snap.

He stared blankly at the TV screen for a moment. Then he got up and went to her door.

It looked blank and stolid, about as informative as Caitlin’s stiff back when she’d told him not to push her.

He scowled and raised his hand to knock.

His hand froze, and then he pulled it back and laced his fingers together on the top of his head, letting out a long whoosh of a breath.

Was he crazy?

Had Julian meant him in that text thread?

Or did he just want Caitlin’s mystery guy to be himself so bad that he was talking himself into believing it was?

He had been pushing, like she’d said. What was going through her mind? What could he say to get her to let down those walls of hers? Because he’d seen what happened when people tried to just bash through. It didn’t end well.

The doorbell rang, and he jolted. The food. Shit. Had it been forty-five minutes already?

After he’d taken the food and paid the kid, he took everything to the kitchen and unpacked the bag, setting out square boxes, opening one after another to figure out which was his and which was hers.

His brain churned around and around, but no matter what clever things he came up with, he kept returning to the one thing that felt like it would work. Only one thing that would get her to open up.

But it was one hell of a risk.

Far away, Caitlin’s door clicked open. He forced himself to stay where he was, snapping a pair of chopsticks apart and poking at his sweet and sour chicken.

Caitlin walked through the kitchen with a laundry basket on her hip.

“Food’s here,” he said.

Her eyes flickered toward him, then the boxes lined up on the counter. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll just get the first load in.” She ducked her head and continued on to the laundry room. The washer door clanged, and cloth rustled as she started loading it.

He fished a piece of bell pepper out of the box and lifted it to his mouth, but his stomach felt like a whirlpool. He dropped it back in the box, his heart slamming against his ribs. He opened his mouth a couple of times, just to close it again.

There was a click, and then water started whooshing into the washing machine. In a moment, she was going to come out here again and he was going to have to say this to her face. And he didn’t know if he had the guts for that.

“You know,” he called out, “I didn't tell you, but I was pretty happy when you broke up with Julian.”

Silence.

“Not because I don't like him, or because he was bad for you, or anything. He was an okay guy, Julian, and he treated you mostly pretty good. It’s just that every time I saw you holding his hand, or kissing him, or - “ He swallowed. “Or going to your room together, it reminded me that, uh. That you were with him. And more importantly, you weren't with me.”

He looked up. Caitlin stood in the door between the laundry room and the kitchen, looking at him. Her eyes were huge and her face was pale.

“And I wanted to be with you,” he finished.

She swallowed hard. “But I’m like your sister. You say that all the time.”

“And I’m like your brother,” he said. “Which you say all the time. But who are we saying it to, Caitlin? Because I’m mostly saying it to people I’m dating, to keep them from being weirded out that we live together and you’re basically my favorite person.”

She nodded. “Me too.”

“Julian didn’t believe you, did he?” He had a balloon in his stomach now, instead of a whirlpool, blowing up wide, pushing his heart up into his throat.

She shook her head, very slowly. “No. And he - he wasn’t wrong.”

He licked his desert-dry lips. “So it was me you were fighting about?"

"I have so little free time," she said. "And he always thought that he should come first in my priorities when I did get a night off. He hated it that you did."

He remembered how she'd always waited to hear what he was doing before telling him that she was going to Julian's place, and how their more scheduled dates were always on his D&D night, or when he was going to a party. He'd always thought that was to take advantage of the empty house.

"Hard to blame him, really."

"I didn't realize how I felt when I started dating Julian," she said. "I really did like him. Just - like he said. Not enough."

Poor Julian. He'd come in second all the time; no wonder he'd snapped at her over text.

Cisco was finding it hard to feel too much pity for the other guy. After all, if he hadn't snapped, Caitlin wouldn't have broken up with him, and she wouldn't be here in this kitchen, drifting closer in soft little kitten steps.

"You said you wanted to be with me," she said. "Is that past tense?"

He set the box of sweet and sour chicken down on the counter, gripping the edge of it so he wouldn't just reach out and grab her.

"Present tense," he said. "I want to be with you. But I told myself I couldn't make it weird, what with you paying me rent and all."

She put her hand on his chest. His heart thudded so hard he wondered if it would just burst out and land in her palm. "I can move out," she said, mouth quirking. "I made the offer."

"The hell you will," he said, and pulled her close to press his lips to hers.

They did end up eating all the food. Eventually.

They didn't watch any TV, though.

FINIS

#Cisco Ramon #Caitlin Snow #killervibe #fanfiction #mosylufanfic lives up to her damn name #AUgust prompts #and they were roommates!! #roommate AU #the flash #Anonymous