#Someone in my department is passing out free doughnuts | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

peaches-writes · 4 years

Text

before one a.m.

description: bang chan, college of music, friend of a friend who surprisingly offers to share a workplace in a cafe on this busy friday night member: chan genre: fluff, college au, strangers to friends au, reader is a fine arts student word count: 7.4k warning: explicit language note: inspired by the before trilogy but it kinda feels like i didn’t do it justice i rlly cant do strangers to anything lmao im a clown + this took rlly long but it’s not that good sldkfjkdsl :(

6:30 PM

You hurriedly skip up the steps of the campus library’s entrance staircase, backpack slung over one shoulder and your laptop, tucked in its own bag, and a sketchbook pressed to your chest. Entering through the double doors, you breathlessly sigh in disappointment at seeing most of the working tables full. I run from Fine Arts across the oval to a full library, you huff at scanning the floor from the entrance one last time before proceeding to run up the staircase by the reception desk, skipping the steps again in an attempt to cross the distance faster.

On the second to the last step, as you focus on not missing the steps you hop onto, your shoulders accidentally bump into someone rushing down from the opposite side, almost making you slip if not for the stranger who quickly steadies you by your upper arm in time. “Woah there.” A familiar voice mutters under his breath as you regain composure. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry!”

You look up from almost dropping your laptop and sketchbook on the staircase, meeting eyes with an apologetic Bang Chan who has moved a step above you with a messenger bag and his infamous laptop.

“Are you okay?” He prods on, going down one step again so you’re on the same level now.

Though he’s in a different college, you know him by name and face from similar social circles, hence the slight embarrassment you felt at recognizing him after almost slipping right in front of him. “I’m okay.” You muse, eyes then flitting over to the second floor entrance. “Is it full too?”

Chan nods once, fixing his messenger bag with one hand as it starts to feel heavy. “Y-yeah, it’s finals week in the College of Sciences, I think.”

“Oh.” You frown. “Well, that’s too bad.”

The two of you stand in silence for a moment, you slowly alternating your gaze between the second floor and the staircase leading back to the first, contemplating on what to do now, while Chan strangely waits for you to say something again.

When you don’t speak, he speaks up again, “Do you want to...” He trails off until you avert your gaze back to him. “I’m going to Block 325 to work. Do you want to come and share a table with me?”

Your eyes widen, surprised at a fellow college student being generous enough to share a study spot with you, but Chan misinterprets, thinking you don’t remember him from when you were introduced in Seungmin’s birthday party. “I’m sorry.” He quickly apologizes again, scratching the nape of his neck sheepishly. “It’s just that I thought you’d—now I sound like a creep. I’m so sorry, that’s not my intention at all.”

Simultaneously, you respond, “O-Oh, I was just surprised. College students aren’t really that generous with work areas—what?”

Chan takes a step backward, leaning close to the railings. “W-What?”

You chuckle, amused by the small miscommunication that suddenly made the atmosphere lighter. “Why did you think you sounded like a creep? I just said it’s a nice offer, not everyone here offers to share work spaces.”

“Well, I thought you didn’t recognize me,” He answers honestly. “we were introduced at Seungmin’s party?”

You shake your head, your smile growing at how cute he looks when he’s flustered. “Bang Chan, right? College of Music.” You smile when he nods innocently. “See? I’m more worried you didn’t recognize me, CB97.”

Chan blushes in embarrassment, but even more in the way his Soundcloud rapper name rolls off your lips almost teasingly. “So...” He changes the topic immediately. “Do you want to go with me, Y/N?”

You nod, noting the way he mimicked the tone you used in referring to him by his stage name. “Of course, thank you for offering to share a workspace.”

“No problem, any friend of Seungmin’s my friend too.” He waves his free hand dismissively before leading you down the staircase. “Come on, let’s go.”

You leave the library together, the feeling of the building’s cold air conditioning leaving escaping your skin making you sweat slightly. You don’t skip down the stairs this time since Chan doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get to Block 325 cafe, North of the campus oval.

“Look.” Chan points up as the two of you reach the sidewalk. You follow his gaze as you continue walking, seeing the sunset’s sky move with the crown shyness of trees forming a canopy over the road. “Careful when you’re walking.”

You deliberately ignore his last comment, musing, “Wow, it’s so beautiful.” Your mouth falls agape and your eyes widen. “The canopy shape makes it look so magical, don’t you think?”

“You don’t stay late out here much?” Chan asks when you turn your eyes back to the sidewalk ahead.

You return his gaze with a shrug, “Only on hell weeks like this...but even then, I usually stay in our department building so I don’t get out much at this hour.”

“So why aren’t you working in your building tonight?”

“The floor where I usually work overnight is under renovation. I can’t work at my dorm too since we don’t really have that much space for studying,” Your eyes move down to his laptop bag, noticing how it’s bulkier than yours. “What about you? Don’t they have studios in the College of Music?”

“They’re full tonight since a lot of seniors are starting their thesis proposals.” He points out. “I’m actually not out making a school project, this one’s for a gig.”

“And in your dorms?”

“It’s movie night so everyone’s going to be really noisy.”

“Oh, then lucky you didn’t get a table in the library,” You point out with a giggle. “the entire College of Sciences would’ve been pissed at you.”

Chan scoffs lightheartedly, “And you? If you got a table, the entire library would’ve gotten annoyed by you making a mess.”

“I’m organized when I work outside the studio, thank you very much.” You roll your eyes, chuckling towards the end. “But yeah, I guess it’s better that we’re going to a cafe since I’m working with watercolor.”

At this, you arrive in front of Block 325 cafe, Chan courteously opening the door for you.

7:30 PM

You settle in a booth by the window, illuminated by a white paper lantern and one of the cafe’s neon signs that reads, “COFFEE,” in a metallic color. Chan sits across from you and takes the half of the table near the window, his laptop blocking his face and his headphones covering his ears, while you sit near the aisle, occasionally mistaking your open cup of latte for the small bowls you brought with you containing tap water as you work on your plate due on Monday.

Chan glances over to your work space whenever he reviews his work every 15 minutes, propping an elbow on the table and resting his cheek on his palm, and you take rests from your own work by trying to catch him in the act, giggling when you do and shaking your head when you don’t.

As an hour passes by, you put your brush down to let your plate dry and look up at Chan as he tests out melodies on his synthesizer, taking a long sip of your latte before asking, “How’s your song?”

Chan’s eyes widen at the faint hint of your voice, hands traveling up to his headphones and taking them off. “Hm?”

“I asked how’s it going.” You repeat patiently over your latte. The sweet taste of the coffee brew reminds you of Chan’s coffee order, finding the cappuccino only half-empty in the hour you’ve been in the cafe.

“Oh, it’s going well.” He answers proudly, eyes alternating between your expectant eyes and his laptop’s screen. “I’m just fixing some mixing issues.”

You nod, looking around the surprisingly organized table. Before Chan could wear his headphones again, you gesture to the counter, “I’m ordering. Do you want anything?”

He shakes his head in response, wearing his headphones again. “No, thank you, I’ll order later.”

You purse your lips, standing up from your seat and briefly stretching your arms upwards. “Okay.” You then adjust your denim jacket as it loosely falls on your right shoulder before walking over to the counter.

“Hello, is there anything you need?” The barista on duty politely asks from brewing an Americano behind the counter. Though the cafe is full today, like you and Chan, most of the customers are only here for the wifi and the work space.

You skim through the menu once before leaning over the counter and responding, “I’ll have two slices of strawberry shortcake, a banana bread, and the chocolate glazed doughnut, please.” The barista immediately acknowledges it, moving over to the cashier to input your order. “Thank you!”

You then pay when the she tells you the price, moving over to the display case of desserts and pastries where she then carefully takes your orders.

You survey the other desserts, pastries, and bottled drinks before your eyes return to Chan across the cafe, catching him leaning over the table and trying to take a peek at your work from his angle, making you giggle once again.

And as if he heard you, he turns to you, eyes widening briefly at getting caught before awkwardly waving at you. You decide on waving back until the barista presents your order next to the counter, neatly organized on a tray.

“Thank you again!” You say politely before taking the tray and going back to your table, Chan eyeing all the delicacies the entire time.

“Stressed much?” He asks, pointing at the two slices of strawberry shortcake. When you look down, only then do you realize that the two slices were placed in one plate with a pair of forks and napkins. “Not that it’s bad to eat a lot, it’s just...a lot of sweets.”

“The other one’s supposed to be for you but I guess the barista thought we’re sharing a plate.” You hand him the chocolate glazed doughnut, thrusting it into his hands when he initially refuses. “You need to eat on time even when it’s just a small amount.”

“I’ll pay you later,” Chan says after thanking you for the doughnut, reluctantly unwrapping the plastic cover and taking a big bite. “And you can have the cake, it’s fine.”

“I can’t finish the cake on my own.” You sit down now, taking a bite of the banana bread with one hand while pushing the cake at the center of the table with the other. Chan then politely helps you by placing the tray on the empty space of his share of the table. “Just take the other slice, you don’t have to pay me”

“But—“

“It’s for offering me a table tonight.” You immediately interject reassuringly. “Please, have the other slice of cake.”

Chan ends up smiling appreciatively at you, picking up one of the forks and cutting a forkful. “...Thank you.”

You nod, moving your banana bread to your non-dominant hand to pick up your brush and go back to work. “No problem.” You muse, smiling unconsciously at watching Chan stop working altogether to eat. “Like you said, ‘any friend of Seungmin’s a friend of mine too.’”

As you turn back to painting, returning to your unfinished Winter wonderland, you look at Chan again, asking, “Anyway, what do you think?”

He looks up immediately, his slice of cake almost gone. You quickly clarify, “My plate, I mean.”

“Oh,” His eyes flicker down to your work again once. “It’s really beautiful. Akita, right?” You nod at his question, letting him continue. “I love the details and the colors—they seem so whimsical and nostalgic, like a childhood memory.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks by the genuine tone of his voice, “Thank you. I hope the professor feels the same way when he sees it.”

“Why Akita?"

“We’re supposed to make a study on nature but I didn’t want to just make something that’s so common around here so I chose this, from a winter trip I won in an art competition last year.” You look down on your work, a flood of memories making your smile wider. “It was the first time I went on a trip alone and it’s abroad so it was a little scary at first but I had a lot of fun.”

“Really? That sounds cool.” He comments enthusiastically. “It must be fun to travel on your own. I mean, I do too but, sort of; only until I arrive in Australia when I visit my family.”

Simultaneously, you nod, “It is fun, like it’s one of the things you have to do at one point in your life.”

“Right, right!” He replies with a chuckle, nodding along still. “I don’t know a lot of people who think the same way so I’m weirdly glad.”

You spare a glance at Chan, your gaze softening at his genuine expression. When he gives you a questioning look, you answer, “I’m surprised, too; you just seem more like the crowd-type of person.”

He shrugs. “It’s always fun to be with friends but I think you can enjoy the company of others the best when you’re already comfortable with being on your own.”

“And are you?” You prod, reaching over for the unused fork and and taking a small piece of your strawberry cake. “Already comfortable with being on your own?”

He nods with a confident grin. “Yeah, I invited you over, didn’t I?”

You smile back. “I guess so.”

8:30 PM

An hour later, you catch Chan stretching his arms upward, leaning back on the seat cushions. You momentarily stop touching up your work, looking up at him with a raised brow, “Break?”

He nods, stifling a yawn as he brings his hand back down to close his laptop. “Just for 10 minutes.” He gestures over to your work, leaning close to the table. “You should, too, you’ve been working for an hour straight.”

You glance down at your work, contemplating for a moment before carefully placing your brush to the side and leaning back to your seat as well. “Okay, but just for 10 minutes.”

You then finish what remains of your latte while Chan organizes the table by gathering all the empty wrappers and your shared plate and cutlery to the tray you used a while back. In response, you take his empty glass.

“I can take that.” He gestures over to the glasses in your hand with your empty plate while scooting over to the aisle. “Just sit down.”

You shake your head but place the glass on the tray, standing up almost simultaneously as he does. You then pick up your bowls of paint waiter, holding them up to him. “I’m going to go and change my water.”

“Oh...okay, then.” The two of you then proceed to the counter where the barista happily takes the tray from Chan’s hands while you dump your dirty paint water in their service sink and replace it with cleaner tap water.

“Thank you for letting me use your water, again.” You told the barista after Chan offered to carry one of your bowls.

“It’s no problem!” The barista replies with a dismissive wave and a smile.

You and Chan then carefully return to your table, placing your bowls on your half of the table.

Chan checks the time on his phone as he sits down, 8:34 PM. “We still have six minutes, what do you want to talk about?”

“You’re really keeping check?” You ask in disbelief to Chan who nods with his lips in pursed and his arms folded to his chest as he slides down his seat. “So responsible.”

“I just thought you might be wary of the time,” He shrugs nonchalantly. “so you can go home early and all, it’s Friday anyway.”

You shake your head, scrunching up your nose, “I don’t have to be somewhere this weekend. All my friends are all busy studying and catching deadlines and Seungmin’s tutoring someone for the entire weekend.”

You decide on busying yourself by scrolling through your Instagram on your phone, glancing over at Chan occasionally as he contemplates on what else to say while opening his laptop again.

“How do you know Seungmin by the way? If I may ask...?” He settles for such a question when his eyes trail over the customized keychain on your backpack, a photo of you, Seungmin, and your other best friend, Sooyoung, in a Mickey Mouse-shaped frame. “I mean, he talks about you a lot when we hang out but didn’t introduce us until recently so I thought you were dating but he said you aren’t so I’m just...curious.”

When you look up at him, you follow his gaze to your keychain, an amused smile taking over your features. “We’re not dating, just childhood friends but not really close to the point that we know all of the other’s friends.” Unconsciously, your hand finds their way to the keychain, fiddling with them lightly before turning to Chan. “Anyway, even if we just met recently, I’m really happy it’s you and the others he specifically befriended.”

Chan nods with a hum. When he doesn’t speak, you ask him back his question, “How about you? I’m guessing you met through Felix and Jeongin?”

“Yeah,” He agrees with another nod. “I toured them around campus last year during their orientation.”

“Aw, you’re in the Orientation Committee?” You coo. Even though it suits his personality, hearing him say it out loud made it somehow more adorable. “That’s so cute! That’s probably why I always hear the Freshmen gossip about you in our studios.”

His eyes widen at this, pink dusting his cheeks. “W-what?” He stammers, making you laugh.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know.” You shake your head in feign disapproval, crossing your arms for emphasis. “You’re very popular on campus: music major, radio DJ, performs in a rap trio, and I just find out that you’re in the Orientation Committee touring Freshman on the first week? If I was any batch lower, I would’ve swooned over you in my first months here too. Oh? You’re blushing!”

Chan scoffs, rolling his eyes in an attempt to hide the now prominent blush on his cheeks. “I’m not, I’m not!” He waves his hand dismissively to distract you from the clearly seeing his face.

“You definitely are!” You point out in between chuckles, sitting up properly when you unconsciously slide down the booth. “Are you not used to getting compliments? Seriously, this is why I didn’t think you’d remember me from earlier: you’re too charming and popular with other students.”

Internally, he briefly wonders if you’d still swoon over him even when you’re in the same batch but quickly pushes the thought away. “I really don’t think I’m that popular. I’m pretty sure people like Jisung and Changbin more.” He shrugs. “And popular or not, I can remember you anywhere.”

The last sentence immediately makes you stop laughing, your heart skipping a beat at what you think is just a casual statement from him, You come up with a retort, only to be interrupted by a sound alert from Chan’s phone, reminding the two of you that it’s already 8:40 PM.

“Okay, break’s done!” He exclaims happily, relieved that he can finally get out of this embarrassing conversation.

You tsk playfully, picking up your brush while Chan opens his laptop again. “I still think you’re very charming and popular, CB97.” You comment before he can tune you out with his music again. “In fact, if someone asked, I’ll have to say that you’re my favorite 3racha member.”

Chan pretends to increase the volume on his laptop in his flustered state. You catch this, an amused smile forming on your lips. You conclude to yourself that you feel more casual and comfortable around him now that you made him flustered.

Cute.

9:30 PM

You’ve been done for quite a while now, having busied yourself in the past 5 minutes in disposing the paint water, cleaning your brushes, and packing your things while your work completely dries. Chan looks up at you from his own work when you return with clean bowls and brushes, his headphones falling down his shoulders. Hesitantly, he asks, “Are you leaving?”

You sit down first, contemplating on the question as you carefully place your bowls and brushes inside your bag, before opting for a shrug and answering, “I’m too lazy to leave yet.” You then briefly break eye contact to check your phone for the time. “Besides, it’s too early. I can stick around, right?”

He nods once, lifting his headphones up to his ears again. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

You give him an appreciative smile, leaning back in your seat and opening your phone to Instagram. Blindly, you reach your backpack pockets for your earphones as well, managing to find them after a while.

Simultaneously, Chan lifts another glance over to you just as you’re connecting your earphones to your phone. A thought then passes over him, “Do you want to...” He trails off again, just until you return his gaze with a raised eyebrow. “Do you want to listen with me?”

“Wouldn’t we bother everyone else studying?” You ask back in response, your forehead crinkling in confusion as you gesture over to the other remaining customers in the vicinity.

He quickly pauses his music and takes out what seems to be an adapter that splits into two ports on one end, holding it between the two of you. “You can connect your earphones here, I’ll do the same, then I’ll plug it on my laptop.” He motions to his laptop while taking out his headphones’ audio jack towards the end. “It’s an earphone splitter—for sharing music from one device, basically.”

“Oh.” You nod along in fascination. You then disconnect your earphones from your phone, plugging it on one of the two ports of the splitter. “Okay, if it’s okay to listen.”

He shrugs reassuringly. “Well, it’s an unreleased track but it’s okay since everyone’s going to hear anyway—just don’t tell Changbin I let you listen to it first before him.” His eyes then widen and his mouth falls slightly agape when you get up from your seat, leaving your earphones on the table, and move to the empty space next to him, picking up your earphones again and placing the buds on your ears.

You look to your side, raising an eyebrow at his surprised expression, “What?”

“N-Nothing.” He stammers out, casting his eyes downward to connect his headphones to the splitter’s other port then connecting the splitter itself to his computer.

You giggle. “I can’t stay in my seat, I’ll get cramps from leaning over the table.”

He pretends to ignore your comment in his flustered state, his mouse hovering over to the very start of the track before pressing play. “Playing now.”

You slide down the booth comfortably, shoulders jumping slightly at the soft drums and bass that flows into your earphones instead of the usual aggressive percussion and beat that everyone associates with Chan’s rap group. Next to you, Chan props his elbow on the table and rests his cheek on the palm of his hand, pretending to watch the stacked and overlapping tracks’ wavelengths move with the music’s progression while stealing glances in your direction, trying to catch a reaction.

“What’s the name of this track?” You ask over the music, your voice coming out louder against Changbin’s rap. “Does it have a name already?”

He unconsciously grasps the fabric of his hoodie with his free hand, holding it up to you. “Hoodie season?”

You chuckle, a little skeptical. “You sound unsure. Did you come up with that on the spot?”

But he shakes his head, gesturing over to the file name. “It’s the name of the track, seriously.” Internally, he also wonders why he seemed to have hesitated.

"It’s a fitting name, I guess.” You end up nodding with a hum, eyes lighting up when Jisung begins to sing. “Perfect for the incoming Winter.”

Jisung then starts rapping after the chorus, surprising you once again. “As expected of Han Jisung.” You clap lightly in satisfaction, a proud smile on your face. “Changbin’s verse was also great. Ah, I can’t wait to hear this live.”

Chan starts feeling visibly anxious next to you as his verse nears, leg bouncing up and down under the table and his fingers poking into his cheek to the beat of the song, that he blurts out, “We’re performing here before break.”

You look up from the laptop screen to him expectantly. “Really? When? What time?” You ask hurriedly, not wanting to speak over the music in case Chan’s part comes up next.

“On the Saturday before break, I think?” He answers, eyes glancing back and forth between you and the track. “Saturday night, from what I can remember.”

The chorus then plays again after Jisung’s verse, making you sit up properly in your seat once again in anticipation for Chan’s verse. “Tickets?” You ask him to the already familiar tune of the chorus.

“It’s free admission.” He answers, the most anxious now. Why did they have to say I’m their favorite member? He sighs in his head at the very cause of his sudden anxiousness.

Chan’s verse then plays, your tight-lipped smile turning into a satisfied grin. You don’t say anything more, leaving Chan internally lingering over the question of whether or not you’ll attend the gig.

“Hey, baby, I’ll make you my lover, ay. I’m thankful that I’m warm in the Autumn, ooh ah, ooh ah, I’ll hold you wherever we go.”

You chuckle somewhere between the lyrics, looking over at Chan in amusement who returns your gaze with a confused look. “You make hoodies sound so romantic.” You comment, answering his unspoken question. “Not that it can’t be, it’s just that you made it sound witty and funny somehow.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” He asks with genuine concern. The song now ends but you don’t take your earphones out of the splitter and he doesn’t bother as well.

“It’s a good thing.” You comment, careful of your tone in case you let it slip that you’re totally swooning over him right now. “Plus, this sounds fresh—it’s so different from the songs you usually put out.”

“Really? Thanks.” He heaves a sigh of relief, smiling more carefree now.

The two of you don’t speak for a while, not even bothering to take out your earphones. Sitting closer to Chan now, you feel even more lazy to get up and move back to your seat, much less leave and walk to your dorm right outside campus.

After a while, Chan speaks up again. “Want to listen to something else?”

You motion over to the track, “Are you done already? I might be interrupting your work.”

He tilts his head to the side, placing his propped up arm on the table back on his lap as he sits up properly. “It’s pretty much done, just needs a little tweaking on the mixing. I can do that later.” For emphasis, he saves the track and exits the software, the screen displaying his files folder. “Come on, choose a song.”

You scoot closer to him, your leg brushing against his now as you lean closer to the screen while he slowly scrolls down the files for you. “Oh, play WOW, that one’s funny.”

Chan frowns. “Not that one, please.”

In retaliation, you quickly swipe the mouse from him and play the track, laughing maniacally as the familiar intro skit begins to play.

“Oh God.” Chan groans in embarrassment, hiding his face in his hands.

But he lets the music anyway. Though he’s feeling very embarrassed, all these feelings are immediately forgotten with seeing you enjoying yourself.

10:40 PM

The barista passes by your table to remind you kindly that the cafe is closing in a while. Only then do you realize that, besides her, it’s just you and Chan in the cafe now, having spent the last hour going through Chan’s laptop.

“Ah, time passed by really quickly.” Chan muses as he finishes packing up his laptop then slings his backpack on his shoulder. You stand on the aisle, backpack on one shoulder while your laptop and sketchbook are tucked neatly on one arm reminiscent of when you came in, as you watch and wait for him quietly.

“It sure did.” You nod when he turns to face you, walking you to the door now. He opens the door for you again, chuckling when you tried beating him to it. “Oh, that reminds me, we only ate sweets a while ago.”

Chan hums in acknowledgement, catching up to you after closing the door behind him. Now, the campus oval is illuminated by yellow street lights, white building lights, and the occasional passing car against the dark night sky, a complete contrast from when you were outside hours ago. Besides the two of you, there’s barely any people outside anymore as well.

“Chan?” You tilt your head so that you have a better view of his face while walking, catching him off-guard in his dazed state.

“Yeah?” He blinks twice, embarrassed that he accidentally drowned you out. “Sorry, I zoned out.”

“You look like you fell asleep for a second there. I asked if you wanted to get a late dinner.” You repeat your question with a chuckle, facing the sidewalk ahead now. You see the library still open at this time from up ahead, half-empty from the view on the clear windows now that it’s nearing midnight. “My dorm’s across the West entrance and there’s a 24-hour grill on the corner of our street.”

“Oh...sure, sure,” Chan replies, suddenly realizing that he’s hungry again. “We can just eat at my dorm up ahead on the South side, though, it’s nearer.”

“In your dorm?” You raise an eyebrow teasingly.

“Yeah?” He replies back in an unsure manner before quickly realizing how he seemed to have come off. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that! We have a common area with a kitchen. I’ll cook for you, don’t worry!”

You nod in agreement just as you pass the intersection leading to the East entrance, laughing at the way his eyes crinkle in embarrassment. “I was just joking, sure, let’s go to your dorm.”

Chan sighs next to you, awkwardly rubbing the nape of his neck with his free hand. Such a tease. “Our pantry’s just ramen and canned food, though, so don’t raise your expectations too much.” He warns you lightly once he’s recovered from being a flustered mess.

“Seungmin says you cook fine, though,” You counter. “so I’m still having these expectations.”

You reach his dorm after 10 more minutes, Chan walking ahead as you walk up the steps of the entrance so he can open the door for you for the third time this evening and lead you into the common area kitchen. You catch sight of a few familiar faces in the dim light of the lounge area, mostly younger students from your department raving over an action movie playing on the big flat screen and Jisung and Changbin who greet you with knowing smiles on their faces before you disappeared into the kitchen.

“Are they always glad to see people?” You gesture over to Jisung and Changbin behind you from the wide open doorway as you and Chan leave your things by an empty bench. You briefly turn around to look at them once again, catching them wiggling their eyebrows at Chan before they notice you looking and waving at you with sarcastically sweet smiles in return. “It’s just that...they’re smiling really weird.”

You then turn back around to see Chan a few steps ahead of you shoot the two younger boys an annoyed look, shooing them away with his hand when they lean over the lounge sofa they occupy to have a better look of you and Chan, before turning to you again and laughing nervously, “They’re just being weird, ignore them.”

“Okay?” You nod, quickly dismissing the thought, before sitting down on the dining table as Chan proceeds to open the nearby refrigerator, passing you a pitcher of water and two glasses.

He then moves over to the overhead cabinets to your left, examining its contents once before turning to you, “Chicken, beef, or jajangmyeon?”

“Jajangmyeon, please.” You answer happily as you pour water on the two glasses in front of you. “I can’t believe Bang Chan of 3racha is making me ramen on a Friday night.”

“Stop teasing me.” He scoffs playfully, taking out four packets of jajangmyeon and opening another cabinet for a clean pot and ladle. He glances over to you slyly over his shoulder, looking away immediately when he catches you taking off your denim jacket to place on your chair behind you.

You take a sip of the cold water, the sensation making you feel refreshed after hours of working. “Bang Chan of 3racha offered me a work table, called my art pretty, let me listen to an unreleased song, and is now cooking for me—and this is the first time we talked without our mutual friend Seungmin.” You continue teasing him anyway, more as an attempt to distract yourself from the fact that he does look very handsome cooking even with your limited view. “I take back what I said a while ago, I’m definitely swooning right now.”

Though your tone is casual and playful, Chan can’t find it in himself to fight the blush creeping up his cheeks and the way his hands shake slightly while cooking jajangmyeon. “I’ll burn your share of the jajangmyeon.”

He hears you laugh behind him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

11:30 PM

You’re presented with a steaming bowl of jajangmyeon along with a few quick side dishes after 10 minutes of scrolling through your Twitter with the dorm’s guest wifi. You thank Chan as you pick up your chopsticks, eating when he does as he sits right across from you.

“Oh, this is really really good!” You comment after a bite, eyes bright and hands clasping together in satisfaction once again. “I don’t usually trust Seungmin but he is right, you cook well.”

Chan narrows his eyes at you, his lips unconsciously forming a pout as he chews. “You tease me then turns out you’ve been doubting my cooking skills this whole time.”

His expression makes you laugh in between big bites of your late dinner. “I meant to say after that what Seungmin said was an understatement, you’re not just fine you’re great so stop pouting!” You take a sip of water after swallowing your fourth bite, your gaze softening to a more sincere expression now. “Anyway, thank you for making me dinner.”

He smiles shyly now, quickly eating his food to reply, “You bought me cake and a doughnut and kept me company tonight so thank you, too.”

You take more sips of water as you slowly finish half your bowl before replying, “If I thank you again for offering me a table then we’d go on thanking each other the whole night.”

He laughs, nodding wholeheartedly in agreement. “Let’s just say thank you at the same time and be done with it.”

“Right.” You agree. “So, thank you for everything tonight.”

“Same...thank you for tonight.” He then takes a sip of water before suddenly standing up, catching your attention. “There’s more jajangmyeon in the pot, do you want some more?”

“Yes, thank you!”

12:20 AM

You hold your used silverware tightly as you walk over to the sink, making sure Chan doesn’t snatch them from you and accidentally break them or wash them on his own.

“Just let me do this since you cooked.” You argue for the fifth time since your conversation shifted from the most random of topics to determining who washes the plates, successfully placing the silverware on the sink almost at the same time as Chan does so. When he tries to gently move you out of the way, you stay firmly on your spot by holding the kitchen counter. “Besides, it’s just one set of plates.”

“You’re in my dorm so let me wash the plates.” He protests for the second time as well while trying to swat your hands away. After two tries, he successfully moves you to the side, passing you a random packet of biscuits from the overhead cabinet to occupy yourself with. “You don’t have to make things even with us, we’re just hanging out casually.”

You frown, opening the packet and eating a biscuit anyway. “Still, if someone cooked the other should wash the plates, that’s how it goes.”

“That’s how it goes only when it’s a date.” He mumbles under his breath, not really expecting that you would catch it.

“A date?”

Quickly, he waves his hand dismissively at you. "Nothing. Seriously, it’s fine.” He smiles at you reassuringly, eventually feeling relieved when you don’t tease him further. “Anyway, it’s been a long night and you still have to walk back to your dorm after this so just rest over there.”

You look down on your biscuits, a thought suddenly coming into mind. “Have a biscuit, then.”

“No, just eat it.”

“Come on.” You hold up a biscuit to his face as he busies himself with scrubbing the plates and glasses. When he look your way or open his mouth, you poke his lips with the end of the biscuit. “Seriously, eat the biscuit!”

You see him trying to stifle a laugh as you continue poking around his lips with the biscuit, making you laugh as well. Moving away so you don’t take it as an opportunity, he replies, “If I eat this biscuit, will you let me walk you to the West gate? It’s late and dark out.”

You contemplate on this for a moment, your hand stopping in midair. Chan takes this as an opportunity to take a small bite of the biscuit, “Hey, you bit it already!”

He nods, leaning his head to your hand when you try retracting it then taking another bite. “Yeah, so can I walk you home then call it finally even.”

You sigh, letting him eat the whole biscuit in your hand. “Okay.”

“You wouldn’t feel like you need to repay me again after, okay?”

“Only if you don’t.”

“Deal.” He concludes, finally turning to look at you while he rinses the soap off the glasses. “Can I have another one?”

You take out another biscuit, initially extending it over to him before quickly putting it in your mouth before he can even take a bite. “Just kidding, you get the next one.” You mumble while taking out another biscuit, giving it to him this time when he’s done drying his hands, frowning.

“You’re so mean.” He comments, taking the biscuit from your hand.

“That’s what you signed up for when you decided on befriending me tonight.” You point out with a laugh, crumpling the wrapper and throwing it in the proper trash bin.

“Anyway, aren’t you tired? Should we go now?” He changes the topic after a while, walking over to the bench where you left your things.

You follow him, taking your jacket from the chair you previously occupied on the way. “Yeah before the RA kills me.”

He laughs. “Strict?”

“Not used to me staying out at this hour.” You correct, pointing at your bag when he picks it up and slings it over his shoulder. “You don’t have to.”

“This is what you signed up for when you agreed to let me walk you back.” He throws your comeback at you this time as he takes your laptop and sketchbook. “Come on, before your RA kills you.”

With a defeated sigh, you follow Chan out, almost missing the way Jisung and Changbin follow the two of you with curious eyes as you pass by the lounge once again.

“Do you think...” Jisung asks Changbin, not even needing to finish his question to get it across as Changbin fervently nods.

“I think so too.” Changbin replies, taking out his phone. “Should we tell Seungmin?”

12:50 AM

Eventually you reach the West gate. You stop on the side of the overpass, making Chan stop walking as well.

“I can walk on my own from here, it’s okay.” You smile reassuringly up at him. “Thanks for walking me all the way here again.”

He shakes his head, not showing any hint of letting go of your things. “I can walk you to your dorm entrance, though.”

You gesture over to your dorm building with an amused laugh, “It’s literally right next to the other end of the overpass. I don’t want you walking back with an extra distance.” When his skeptical look doesn’t fade away, you sigh but with an appreciative smile. “If you’re worried so much, you can just watch me from here then I’ll wave at you from the other side.”

After a moment, he finally gives in, handing you your belongings then stepping back so you can go up the overpass stairs. “Okay, okay.”

Such a gentleman, you muse internally to yourself as you take a step up the stairs, still facing him. “Goodnight, Chan.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He returns the greeting to you, hesitating on the last minute to give you a hug like he would do with his close friends. That’s too weird you just talked today, he reminds himself.

You pretend not to notice the way he almost extended his arms out for a hug, secretly feeling shy yourself. “I’ll see you when I see you?”

“How about the gig before break?” He asks, another question lingering in his mind but he decides on not asking it as a follow-up.

You nod in agreement, “I’ll be there, of course, you mentioned it a while ago.”

You’re about to turn around and walk up the overpass at noticing that he doesn’t show any sign of wanting to say anything else when you suddenly hear him ask behind you, “How about on a nearer date?” which makes you turn back around to face him. “How about—tomorrow?”

Shrugging as if nonchalantly, you ask back, “What about it?”

He hesitates again for a while before taking a small step forward so he’s looking up at you now from the bottom of the stairs. “Do you want to hang out tomorrow, if you’re free that is.”

You feel your heart flutter ever so slightly at this but you quickly force yourself to ignore it. “That doesn’t sound too fun.”

“What?” He frowns in genuine disappointment, almost making your teasing gaze soften.

“I meant where’s the fun in tonight if we meet again soon?” You clarify. “Just wait until your gig next week!”

He opens his mouth to speak but you’re already walking backwards up the stairs, adding, “And don’t try looking for me in the Fine Arts building, you should know I hide around there well! Goodnight, Chan! Thank you for tonight!”

With a final smile his way, you finally turn around and walk up the overpass, glancing over to him again when you reach the very top and begin crossing the bridge. As the two of you agreed, he remained by the side of the overpass, watching you carefully even when there’s barely any people on the bridge anymore.

In under a minute, you’ve reached the halfway mark of the other stairway where you can still see Chan clearly amidst the never-ending flow of cars. You raise a hand above your head, waving to him until he waves back.

Since you’re so far away, you miss the way Chan sighs before sending a dimpled smile your way. He contemplates on asking Seungmin more about you later.

With that, you then proceed back to your dorms, disappearing from Chan’s sight when you enter your dorm building. He takes that as his cue to head back to his own dorm.

“Next Saturday’s too far.” He huffs in frustration, sparing one last glance in the direction of your dorm building before passing through the West gate once again.

Nevertheless, he can’t help but feel excited at the prospect of talking to you again.

1:00 AM

Chan arrives back in the dorm building, immediately bombarded by Jisung and Changbin who hold his belongings with teasing looks.

“So you were with Y/N, huh?” Jisung starts, hugging Chan’s laptop to his chest tightly. “Why were you two together?”

Chan raises an eyebrow, not really knowing where this ‘interrogation’ is going. “I bumped into them at the library when it was full so I offered we share a table at 325.”

“That’s all?” Changbin asks this time, his arms crossed in front of his chest while Chan’s backpack hangs loosely on his shoulder.

“Yeah, that’s all,” Chan nods slowly, eyebrows furrowing now. “Why? And why do you have my backpack.”

The two younger boys shake their head at the same time.

“Oh, nothing.” Jisung dissmises with a small wave. “Just curious.”

As if on cue, Chan’s phone rings its message alert.

seungmin: SO I HEARD U WENT OUT ON A DATE W Y/N [sent 1:04 AM]

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coldflasher · 4 years

Photo

Part of Femslash Week, organised by @flarrowverse-shipyard :D Femslash Week Day 4 - Bed Sharing/Snuggling

Pairing: Charlie/Zari Tarazi

Rating: Teen (mentions of sex)

TW: mentions of sex and character death

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23028457

All That Glitters by coldflasher (capriciouslouis on ao3)

“Most of the rooms down this corridor are spoken for," says Sara. "You’re gonna have to bunk up.”

Thanks to a mysterious shortage of rooms on the Waverider, Zari and Charlie have to share a bed. Neither of them are particularly upset about the situation.

“So can you really shapeshift into anything?”

They’re lying in bed together in Charlie’s bedroom, which looks like a teenager’s emo phase met a museum exhibit in the middle of a tornado. Glossy vinyl records spill out of their sleeves all across the floor like the world’s most dangerous stepping stones. There are clothes abandoned everywhere where Charlie’s stepped out of them and left them there, including a pair of lacy black underwear draped over the lampshade, and battered punk posters of howling singers plastered all over the walls. It wouldn’t have been Zari’s first choice of bedroom, but she didn’t exactly get to choose. When she’d announced she was staying, she’d had a look through a bunch of different rooms and thought she’d finally found a nice one - a little vintage, smelling faintly of perfume - when Sara had grabbed her by the arm.

“Nope. This one’s off limits.”

“Why? There’s no one in here.” And there hadn’t been for some time, judging by the layers of dust.

Sara hesitated. “It belonged to a friend.”

“Well your friend isn’t here now, and I am, so…”

“You’re temporary,” Sara snapped. “You don’t get to rearrange everything just to suit you.”

“Who made you the boss?” asked Zari. Certainly no one who believed in the importance of manners.

Sara smiled thinly. “Popular vote.” She released Zari’s wrist. “Most of the rooms down this corridor are spoken for. You’re gonna have to bunk up.”

At the time Zari had been deeply unimpressed by this rudeness - the ship was huge, and there were so many empty rooms, so why shouldn’t she take one that was free? But when she’d tried to let herself into another empty bedroom, this time it was the AI that locked her out.

“What is with you people?” she demanded. “Why do you hate me?”

“This room belonged to Leonard Snart,” Gideon told her. “It has remained almost untouched since his death at the Vanishing Point in 2016.”

Zari had been trying to prise a panel off the wall to see if she could have another flash of inspiration that would let her hack her way in, but at this, she paused.

“Wait,” she said. “This room belonged to a dead guy?”

Gideon explained, and she discovered the sad truth of all those rooms lying empty. Each one was a time capsule for a departed team member. Some had left voluntarily, others had passed away - but regardless of the circumstances, each bedroom still remained as its occupant had left it, like a time capsule. As if the team was waiting for their lost and fallen members to come walking back through the door. They could travel back and forth in time, but the people they loved were still lost… and apparently it was easier to leave everything as it was than to move on.

This deeply traumatising discovery had a horrible effect on Zari, who was an empath and highly sensitive. She’d ended up in the kitchen having a staring competition with a doughnut, afraid that Behrad’s peace offering the other day had started a dessert-related backslide that she’d never be free of - and that was where Charlie found her.

“You all right?” Charlie asked, concerned. “You look a bit bummed out.”

“All the free bedrooms are for dead people,” Zari mumbled.

Charlie had given her a big grin that had a strangely uplifting effect, like she transferred happiness across the room with one glowing smile.

“Well. If you need somewhere to rest that pretty head, you can always come and have a kip with me.”

That was how they ended up in Charlie’s disaster of a bedroom, and if Zari’s being honest with herself, she doesn’t hate it. Thanks to her social media following, she doesn’t really have the opportunity to be messy. She has to be ready to turn on the camera at all times, to look pretty and perfect and put-together. Dirty laundry isn’t conducive with her brand.

“So you can really shapeshift into anything?” she asks.

Charlie turns towards her with a grin. “Ah, there it is. Knew it’d come up eventually. Come on then, spill the beans. Who’s your fantasy shag?”

“Excuse me?” says Zari.

“You know, your fantasy shag! George Clooney, Gillian Anderson… who makes your fanny flutter?”

“George Clooney’s like, super old,” says Zari, wrinkling her nose. “And for the record, your word choice leaves a lot to be desired. I don’t know how you do things in England, but where I’m from ‘fanny’ is not a sexy word.”

“Sorry. Picked up an English accent back in the seventies and for some reason I can’t seem to shake it.” Charlie stretches lazily, pointing her toes, one painted nail poking out through a hole in her fishnet tights. “But you’re changing the subject. Being in bed with me means you can sleep with anyone you like. Who do you want me to be?”

Zari thinks about it for a while. She looks at Charlie sprawled out on the bed with her fuck-me eyes half closed, her wicked grin and the wild cloud of hair wrestled into its braid, tinged purple at the end; her stripey shirt and mesh jacket. Effortlessly sexy and cocky enough to know it.

“I don’t think I want you to be anybody. I like you how you are.”

Charlie looks surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Zari says. “I mean I know this isn’t your original form, but it looks good on you. I’m sure you still look sexy with your tentacles or whatever -”

“My original form would melt your brain,” says Charlie. “But I can probably rustle up a couple of tentacles if you’re into that.”

“Maybe later,” says Zari. “That’s not my point. I feel like if I was going to sleep with someone with shapeshifting powers, I’d want them to look whichever way made them comfortable. A body’s just a body. The sexy part is what you do with it.”

“You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Of course. I’m very sincere. It’s one of my most awesome qualities.”

Charlie grinned a little bit at that. Zari found herself smiling back.

“I don’t think anyone’s said that to me before,” says Charlie. Her expression dims slightly and she starts toying with a loose thread on the pillowcase. “This isn’t my real face, obviously. Belongs to some bird named Amaya who lived here a few years back. When I first met the team, I put her face on just to mess with them. Then I kind of got stuck with it for a bit. Now I can change again, but I’ve had it so long that it feels like my face. But they still don’t see it that way. Sometimes I feel like they still look at me and see…”

“Her,” Zari says softly.

“Yeah.” Charlie rolls onto her back. “It’s partly my fault, I know. That’s the whole reason I looked like this, because I knew it would throw them off. But now I want to just be me, Charlie, without some random woman hanging over me making them do a double-take when I do something that’s super anti-Amaya. You’re the only one on the ship who hasn’t met her, the only person who looks at me and sees… me.”

It’s the first time she’s ever heard Charlie be serious. No flirting or wisecracks. For the first time, staring into her eyes, Zari can believe that Charlie is a fate. That she’s seen civilisations fall and the centuries pass like seasons. No one as young as Charlie looks could have eyes so old.

“I get that,” she says quietly, propping herself up on her elbow. “It’s not the same, but… when you grow up famous, people think they know you. It’s like there’s a part of you that doesn’t belong to you. I can never just be me; I have to be the brand. And I love it, I’m proud of it, I spent years building it - I just wish people could see past it. Even my parents don’t know me.”

“I have a confession,” says Charlie.

“Go on.”

“I don’t have a bloody clue who you are.”

Zari cackles. It’s a horribly unattractive sound she would never have permitted in one of her vlogs, but it feels so good to let it out.

“I’m serious! You could tell me you’re the Queen of Sheba and I’d believe ya.”

“You gotta join the Z-nation,” Zari teases, snapping her fingers in a Z-formation. “I’ll add you to the mailing list.”

“You’d better bloody not.”

It feels good to laugh, and even better to have someone laughing with her. When she first joined the team and realised none of Behrad’s friends recognised her, it had pissed her off. She’s an icon! She has a make-up range and a million followers and even if the perfume launch didn’t go exactly to plan, she’s still in the running for influencer of the year if she can knock Stormi Jenner off the top spot. But although Charlie doesn’t know her, she doesn’t make it sound like a bad thing. It’s not because she thinks Zari is vapid or irrelevant or beneath her notice. She just… doesn’t know. There’s no prior expectations, no way she can disappoint. For the first time in years, she can be judged not on who she has been for a decade, but on who she is today.

“I may not know you,” Charlie says softly. “But I’d like to.”

“Well then,” says Zari, offering her a manicured hand. “I’m Zari. Nice to meet you.”

She’s expecting Charlie to shake her hand, but instead, she lifts it up to her mouth and kisses it. And like a fourteen-year-old with a first crush, Zari blushes.

“Yeah,” Charlie says with a smirk, knowing exactly what kind of effect she’s having. “I think you and I are going to get along just fine.”

#FSFFWeek20 #FSFFWeek20DayFour #zari tarazi #zarlie #day 4 #my fics #this was supposed to be funny and then it got kinda angst #baymax voice: oh no

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queeniewritesce · 5 years

Text

Recommendations (2/2)

This is part 2 of my entry for the @mrs-captain-evans 2,5K followers Writing Challenge.

Summary: Twitter is a strange place. But once in a while, you connect with someone.

Word count: 2,484

Warning: mild language, 35 seconds of angst, could be less if you read it fast.

The heavy double-paned door opened with a jingle and a creak, letting the cool air from late November enter the small café on Arrow Street. You didn’t bother looking up from your laptop, where you read an article about penguins instead of finishing grading yesterday’s pop quiz.

Procrastinating was your new favorite pastime since decreasing your online presence. Not that it stopped the ache you still felt every time you opened Twitter to post a new article, which was the only content you shared nowadays. Gone were the jokes geared towards your students, pictures of Captain Hook, or commenting on the everyday shenanigans of the White House and Congress.

The less you shared, the less you cared, and the only reason your profile was still up was because of your job.

You checked the time on the bottom left of the screen. Professor Kincaid’s class had been canceled and you had one hour to kill before your own class started, which prompted you to run to Bean There for a fresh pot of coffee and one huge Boston Cream doughnut.

As you read about penguins kidnapping other chicks if they own young died, you got wind of the murmurs and rushed voices going on around the room. You tried to tune them out, young people got excited about anything but they seemed to get louder and louder with every passing moment. You located your bag seating by your feet and was looking for your headphones when a pair of black boot cladded feet stopped in front of you.

Pursuing your lips, you let the ears buds fall back inside the pocket but didn’t bother to look up. If your assumptions were correct, the owner of those boots was the cause for the raucous around you.

“Y/N…”

Yep, the voice and the boots belonged to the same person.

Tears made your eyes sting and you blinked to prevent them from falling. You minutely shook your head, not knowing exactly what you’re trying to convey; that this was not the place or that you’re not, would never be, ready to talk to him.

“Please. Can we talk?”

The hurt in his voice gave you pause. Why would Chris feel anything but pride at playing you as he did? Did he want to do a coup de grâce to your ego?

Keeping your eyes downcast, you lowered the screen of your laptop, glad you hadn’t bothered with the power strip. Shifting the electronic around you other stuff took more time than intended but after a few tries, you zippered up your bag, grabbing some money out of your wallet and dropping it on the table.

You got up and your nose pressed against the most muscular chest you ever saw. He was so well built that you could see the hard contours of his pecs through the thick cream sweater he was wearing. The smell of his cologne hit your nostrils and you almost swoon, finally looking up.

He shouldn’t be allowed the whole package, that was so unfair to you.

Deep blue eyes framed by thick eyelashes stared back at you, the lower half of his face covered in fine auburn whiskers that couldn’t be more than two weeks old at the most, looking so soft that you had to restrain yourself from reaching out and running the tips of your fingers through them.

“All I am asking is for a chance to explain myself.” Strong fingers reached for you, encasing your small hand in his as if he really wanted you to stay. You scoffed at the notion, this man really knew how to play you. Did he get off in toying with you?

Your scared eyes looked from his eyes to your clasped hands and back again, silently begging him to let you go. He mouthed a soundless no and stepped towards you, bridging the already small gap between your bodies.

Later, if someone asked you why you did it, you would blame your next course of action on the overwhelming need to escape.

“Look, everyone, it’s Chris Evans.”

Chris’s eyes widened and a different kind of hurt clouded his vision. Betrayal. He let your hand go.

Good. Maybe know he would understand exactly how you felt.

A round of applause broke out around the café and the whispers were now cheers. The discretely held cellphones now pointed straight at the man in front of you.

Move, get out. Your feet took their sweet time obeying your brain, but soon you’re grabbing your coat and your messenger bag and making a beeline to the door, not bothering with actually putting on your coat before the full brunt of Boston’s late autumn slammed into you. You powered through, running through the streets that led you to your office, not once looking back, certain Chris would not follow.

Entering the gray building that housed Media Studies and Social Analyses, you allowed yourself to slow down and take a breath. Safe.

The lights stayed off when you entered your office, the loaded mahogany bookcases and dark upholstery making the room more ominous than it truly was.

You let your bag slide to the floor near your desk, not really bothering with damaging the electronics inside.

Heavy feet carried you to the sofa under the balcony window, where you sat with unfocused eyes, mind running a mile a minute trying to understand how your life became a drama movie in just a few short months.

What was Chris doing here? You thought you made your feelings clear when you blocked him. The pain ebbed away after a few weeks, diluted to an ache that accompanied you day and night. For a fleet moment, you had entertained the idea of a relationship with Chris. Not Evans. Just Chris, the wholesome and funny guy you got to know during those four months you spent trading messages with. But that guy didn’t exist, he was just a persona, one more character created and well played by Chris Evans. Right?

There was a knock and whoever was outside didn’t wait for an answer before your door was pushed open.

Professor Travis stuck his head inside your office, a scowl on his face.

“If I hear one more student going off about the Oscar worthy drama on the media department I’ll flunk them and fire you, we’re not a telenovela. Fix whatever this is or convince him to stay away, I got your next class covered.”

He pushed Chris inside the dimly lighted room, raised his eyes brows pointedly at you and left, the door closing firmly behind him.

Silence stretched around you, uncomfortable and unnerving.

His hands stayed on his pockets, heavy coat looped around one arm while Chris took inventory of his surroundings before focusing on you, his gaze never wavering.

“Can I sit?”

You didn’t expect the croaked voice, nor the way it warped around your heart.

Two fingers pointed to the chairs on the other side of the center table. A safe distance, an actual barrier between you.

Of course, he decided to sidestep the table and sat opposite you on the love seat, his knee almost touching yours.

“What you did back there was treacherous and mean.” He faced forward, fingers drumming on his knees. “I guess I deserved it.”

“You did.”

“I never thought those would be the first words I’d hear you say direct to me.”

You cocked your head, not sure what to say to that.

“I mean, I thought about our first meeting, how you would be surprised but also happy I wasn’t a serial killer, just a dumb actor with too much free time on his hand.” He let a dark chuckle. “I never expected you to out me to a room filled with twenty-somethings years old and run away.”

What did he mean by thought about you? You admittedly had mulled over the idea more than once, wondering if you would click on the real world as much as you did online. Even created a list of topics you could revisit from your online conversation, mixed with silly questions you’d never asked him, like blueberry or chocolate chips on your pancakes? Could this man, so famous he couldn’t even walk into a coffee shop without being recognized, also be so committed to the idea of meeting you?

No matter. He still deceived you.

“I asked you once if you were catfishing me. You said no.”

Chris whole body faced you and he trained his eyes on you.

“I wasn’t. I looked up what that word means. I don’t fit any of those boxes. I’m not in it to hurt you. I never said I was someone else. I just never told you my last name.”

“Or who you actually were.”

He huffed.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. I shared with you exactly who I was. Am. My opinions, my true likes and dislikes. I didn’t sugarcoat it or played dumb, I didn’t hide behind a forced laughed or a sound bite. You got Chris, the whole unadulterated version.” His expression hardened. “It’s not easy to open up like that when people expect you to be a certain way, act another way. Since you teach about expectations and the effects mass media has on other people, I believed you’d understand why I had to hide behind a pseudonym.”

It was not the first time you wondered what was like on the other side of the fishing lenses celebrities were under. You taught the basics of how media twisted and organized exactly how the public perceived being famous, asking your students to always remember no matter how famous someone was, there were first and foremost a human being.

“I understand why you did it, that doesn’t change the fact that you lied to me.”

“I never lied to you.” Chris rebuffed.

“You told me you were a flight attendant and you worked for Delta.”

“No, I didn’t. You assumed all that, I just never corrected you.”

“I…”

He was right.

You remembered all the times he changed the subject when you discussed his work and you honestly believed he was embarrassed about his job. You never asked what he did, or what he was doing in Atlanta for so long.

You felt the hot flashes of embarrassment creeping up your face and you hung your head low. Were you really so obtuse?

“I’m sorry.” A staggered breath left you. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask and assumed.”

“I have my own share of the guilty Y/N. I wanted to tell you, I wrote hundreds of messages but I could never send them. I was terrified you wouldn’t believe me before I could send you proof. And then I told you my name and it got comfortable, I wasn’t lying, just leaving out some stuff.”

“A lie of omission is still a lie in my book.” The serious tone of your voice washed over Chris and he winced.

“I got that when you blocked me.”

Once again the room was quiet save from the filtered shuffling of feet coming from the corridor.

As a true scholar, you analyzed all the information he gave you, looking for strong points and flaws on his reasoning. It all checked out. You wouldn’t have believed him. He never outright lied to you.

There was only one question left unanswered.

“Why are you here Chris?”

His smile warmed you, made you want things that you shouldn’t. Images fleeted through your head, other times when he could smile to you like exactly like he was doing now.

“I’m here because I spent all summer and most of autumn inside a hot as hell costume, my hair dyed blonde, stuck inside a hangar filled with fake debris and green screens, and the only thing that kept me sane was that when I was on my breaks or done for the day I would open Twitter to a new message from you. I’m here because you were my island of calm while I drifted with anxiety.” Two fingers slid under your chin and he gently made you look at him. “I’m here because I like you.”

“You like me?” You repeated and he nodded.

“I do. You’re funny, wicked smart but you don’t take yourself too seriously unless you have too. You admitted to being a nerd, which if I didn’t make myself clear during the whole Hubble debacle, so am I.” He pointed to black baseball hat he was wearing and you saw the NASA logo. “On a shallower note, you’re way, way more beautiful than all my previous teachers combined. If all professors look like you, I might even give this whole college thing a try.”

Well, wasn’t he a smooth talker. Your smile now matched his.

“So do you like me like me or like me as in she’s okay?”

“Baby, you’re so far removed from okay, it might need a visa to visit you.”

The room filled with your laugh, your heart finally free of the hurt you carried the past few weeks.

He liked you.

“You’re not a nice guy.”

His smirk told you he knew exactly was this was going.

“I’m kind of an asshole.”

“I’m not denying that one.” He pouted and you wanted to kiss him. “So, not a nice a guy but not a complete asshole, so not a bad guy either.”

He got closer, his fingers playing with a loose tendril of your hair, the other hand fastening on your waist.

“That considerably narrows down your options, uh?”

His smile was contagious and you grinned back, shyly nuzzling his chest.

“How about you? You know, if you’re still interested.” You beamed at the man in front of you, bitting your lower lip.

“Let me show you how interested I am.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when his lips descended upon yours. He poured himself into the kiss, months of wanting you, feeling close but so far away. He fell for you during those late nights you stayed up texting, giving his heart and mind and receiving yours in return. He kissed you gently, slowly coaxing your mouth open, his tongue brushing yours.

He trailed his hands up your back to bring you closer and you shivered, settling contently against his chest, your fingers making their own journey to the back of his neck, brushing your hands on the hair there.

“How about that date?” Chris said against your mouth. “Let me take you out to dinner.”

“How about I cook for you instead? My house, 8pm?”

“I’ll be there.”

Disentangling yourself from his arms, you grabbed a notebook from your coffee table, writing down your address and handing it to Chris, kissing him on the cheek.

“Now go before Professor Travis forgets how much he likes us and I lose my job.”

You moved from the sofa, putting some space between both of you. You grab your bag, checking to see if your syllabus for the next class is still there.

“Y/N?”

“Uhm?” You’re sure he’s gonna kiss you again when he comes closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“One thing though.”

“What?”

The feel of his breath when he speaks so close to you gave you goosebumps. You’re ready, so ready to be kissed again.

“You gotta unblock me on Twitter. I only ever want one person to block me and believe me, you’re not him.”

#Chris Evans Fanfic #Chris Evans Fan Fic #Chris Evans Fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #mrs-captain-evans #writting #writting challenge

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lothirielswanmarvel · 4 years

Link

Chapter 1 of Avengers: Love and Lightning

Love interest: Thor (+ a Peter Quill love triangle later introduced in the series)

“Vision, what's next on the list?”

“Blueberries, sir—boss—tiny man with lots of money,” Vision stuttered as we walked on the aisle. Tony Stark, famous billionaire and world-saver, sat in the shopping cart that I pushed, munching on an open box of pocky.

“Tiny Man better not squish my M&Ms,” Rhodey muttered. Every now and then, Rhodey would reach out and steady himself against the edge of the cart. The metal casts that encased his legs were bulky, and I couldn't imagine how irritating they were. I noticed Vision wince every time Rhodey stopped to gather himself.

I sighed. My family had gone through a divorce recently (and you can imagine how crappy that was, given Director Nick Fury was practically the priest that united the match). The Avengers had separated, leaving all parties in broken pieces. All of the people I cared about in my incredibly tiny yet fulfilling social circle were in pain. How was someone like me, an introvert with zero superpowers, supposed to fix that?

“Oh! Can we pick up some cucumbers?” Shuri asked. Her voice was light and had a hint of an accent to it. She wore bright colors and had a chipper air to her. Sometimes, I swore she was a character from an anime brought to life.

“No,” T’Challa said sternly.

Our group took up the entire aisle, and as we slowly inched towards the end, I daydreamed about the book I had stashed under my bed in the Compound. But I forced myself out of my comfort zone, more than a regular amount: I felt like they needed me. And I honestly cared too much to forsake any of the Avengers right now.

“Ms. Angie, can I have some cucumbers please?” Shuri turned to me with a polite smile on her face.

I blinked. “You’re the princess of an entire continent. I'm pretty sure I have no say here.”

“Sure you do, Ms. Angie,” Peter Parker, another random kid that Tony adopted off the street, raced up to our party. He stuffed a bunch of doughnuts in our cart. Tony nodded his approval, “ ‘Atta boy. Now go steal the bananas by the ‘kids get free snacks’ sign.”

“Don't listen to him, Peter. Tony can go by himself,” I said. “And what do you mean, I have a say?”

Peter shrugged. “Well, you’re an adult, right? You’re old enough to drink, that's pretty old.”

I stopped pushing the cart abruptly and gaped at Tiny Man 2.0. “Wait, hold on a minute, did you just call me old?”

“You read books all the time,” Shuri replied.

“You always prefer your free time in solitude,” Vision interjected.

“And you look…” Peter trailed off as he studied my face. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tony making cutting motions with his hands.

“You look, uh,” Peter swallowed. “You look really young. I mean, you dated Thor and he's like a thousand years old. You're practically dating the elderly.”

“Woah, that is not cool, man,” Rhodey shook his head.

“We need to work on how you talk to women,” Tony told Parker. Then he turned in the cart to glance at me, and cowered behind a jar of Nutella. In the background, T’Challa started hitting his head on a box of cereal.

I sucked in a breath as I processed all of this information. “Okay, a few points to be made here: I am a young woman in the prime of my life.”

“Who radiates youth and beauty,” T’Challa offered.

I continued, trying not to blush, “Right...er, thanks. Number two: I never dated Thor. If I wanted to date the elderly, I’d call up Bucky in Wakanda. Last thing,”

I stared down Vision, Peter, Shuri, and Tony. “if I am the adult, that means you are the child.”

I continued down the aisle, tugging Tony along in the cart. “Rhodey, pick up some Minute Maid juice boxes for the kids.”

“But I like Juicy Juice more…” Parker whined.

“Tough!” I turned around the corner, and crashed carts with someone. I winced at the sound. Tony squirmed in the metal basket, “Hey—oh, they visited the liquor section.”

Tony reached out to steal the pack of beer and yelped when three long blades came before his hand.

“I’m so sorry! Hi, Logan,” I said, facing most of the staff of the X-Men. Professor Charles Xavier was sitting in the cart, giving Tony a disapproving look. Erik Lensherr pushed the cart without even touching the handle, who offered an unfriendly sneer to Vision. Hank McCoy was nearby, studying the shopping list. Sometimes he glanced up at me and quickly looked back down at the slip of paper.

“Our deepest apologies, Ms. Green,” Charles wore a friendly smile when he met my gaze. “Do excuse us. Mister Wade Wilson has been draining our supply of snacks for the students, so we’re here to pick up more biscuits.”

“That's british for crackers,” Hank McCoy translated.

“They don't need to know our life story, bub,” Logan grunted.

“Right. We must be off,” Charles waved as his cart started moving by itself. “Good day to you, Avengers.”

Erik sneered at Vision as they passed. “Next time you touch my daughter, remember: I can control metal.”

The group marched off to raise havoc in the bakery department.

“The other side of the pond is crazy,” Rhodey remarked, watching them go.

Tony held up a beer in victory, “Ugh, why is this warm? We’re getting some Aviation American Gin.”

I started pushing Tony again. Both him and the doughnuts had some weight to them. “No alcohol around kids.”

“But mom!”

“No dice,” I said. Our group kept walking. My mind wandered back to what Peter mentioned: he thought Thor and I were dating. We were intimate—I mean, we were close, not in a romantic way, but...he always came up to me first when he returned to Earth. Thor sent me exotic flowers from Asgard sometimes, when he was away—he called me his “earthen goddess” on the tag, and it always made me feel all warm and tingly.

Thor and I had struck up a system while he was away, too: to make sure he was alive, we sent letters through Heimdall for each other. I felt bad bothering the poor Watcher of the Nine Realms, but at least I knew Thor was okay. He was off doing space stuff, and I did my earth stuff: I just...I missed him sometimes.

Only when fiery sparks filled the air did I return to reality (only Thor could make me forget what planet I was on). Doctor Stephen Strange appeared before us.

“Hey,” I was the first to recognize him. I probably knew him better than everyone else; my health history wasn't...pristine.

Tony stuck his tongue out at him like a five year-old. “What, you got tired of your blue telephone box?”

Peter and Shuri gasped. “Can I be your companion?”

“I asked first! I got dibs! Ha!”

“No fair! You didn't even get your Hogwarts letter!”

Stephen smirked, and despite Tony, leaned on the front of the cart, holding my gaze. “Hello. Food shopping with the family?”

“And pursuing other condiments, including feminine hygiene products and alcoholic beverages,” Vision added.

I plastered a smile on my face. “Just an ordinary day living among superheroes. Very boring.”

Shuri nodded vigorously. “It's true! All Ms. Angie does is sit on the couch and play video games and cry over made-up people. There is nothing interesting going on in her life.”

I gripped the handle to the cart tightly, silently vowing never to have children. Stephen’s cheekbones were sharp and taut like they were held up by internal wiring. He had a regalness to him. I was one of the few around that he actually joked with, “I disagree. I think there are plenty of interesting things about you.”

I made a face at him, wondering if this was a hint to a new health crisis—or even worse—an attempt to flirt with me. Suddenly T’Challa was right next to me. “What is your motive in this visit, Strange? Perhaps you have run out of money, and cannot afford basic necessities.”

I groaned at the two of them. “Please play nice. I think I’ve finally reached the temptation to buy Aviation American Gin. Tony, direct me.”

“Yay!” Tony pointed Logan’s stolen beer bottle towards the end of the aisle. I followed my soon to-be tipsy compass.

Stephen still lingered in our group. I glanced over at him, “If there’s anything you’d like…”

“I wouldn't want to impose,” He said.

“Angeline, I think you are too kind to the misfortunate,” T’Challa mused.

“Guys, please. I get enough bickering as it is: I'm surrounded by four kids,” I motioned again across our group. “Let’s just be nice, and enjoy Tony’s black card.”

We reached the end of the aisle and a curse flew from my mouth. I crashed carts with someone else.

“I'm so sorry—” I trailed off when I looked up at the person.

“Intruders!” Scott Lang raised his nerf gun from his seat in the shopping cart. “Make way, people! It's the White Jets to our Latino Sharks!”

Steve Rogers sighed. “Scott, you have to stop watching musicals with Cassie.”

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shirtlesssammy · 6 years

Text

4x06: Yellow Fever

Then:

Cas saved Dean from Hell, and now Dean finds himself in a whole new kind of hell.

Now:

We open with our very own Dean Bean running like his life depends on it. And from the sound of the hounds barking behind him, it sounds dire. Dean’s fresh from hell so his fear of dogs is heightened here, so when a tiny little yorkie pops up on screen, I laugh but also cry.

43 Hours Earlier

Sam and Dean Agents Tyler and Perry pull into Rock Ridge, Colorado’s coroner’s office to investigate the death of one Frank O’Brien --a seemingly healthy 44 year old man who dropped dead three days ago. There’s been a string of heart attacks and Agent Perry just wants to see the autopsy report. One hasn’t been done, so the coroner sets to the task with the agents in attendance.

The brothers both notice oddities about the deceased body --missing wedding ring and scratches on the arms. The coroner finds nothing wrong with the heart and Sam gets hit with a little spleen juice. Yum.

Later, they meet with the very germaphobic sheriff --even surprising Dean! The sheriff was friends with Frank, and he mentions that Frank was scared of something before his death. The brothers reassure him that it was just a heart attack.

It was definitely not a heart attack.

They don’t know what it is, but decide to interview the neighbor of the victim as a start --right after Dean gives some loitering teens the stink eye.

The neighbor is a collector of exotic pets it seems. And while Sam conducts the interview, Dean gets increasingly jumpy. They find out from him that Frank was afraid of everything before he died. He also reluctantly admits that once upon a time Frank was “a dick.” Also, his wife died about 20 years prior. That really broke him and he wasn’t so bad as the years went by.

Dean meets Marie.

Sidenote: I recall seeing an interview or con video once where they talk about this scene --and Jared was too afraid to be in the same room as the snake. Bravo on the editing. I wouldn’t have guessed.

Later, an increasingly jumpy Dean shows Sam his investigation into the death of Frank O’Brien’s wife --manic depressive who hung herself. Sam finds nothing at Frank’s apartment. It’s a real puzzle.

It’s also a real puzzle to Sam why Dean’s driving 20 mph. “Safety’s a crime now?” Dean asks indignantly. He also is not suicidal and won’t turn left into oncoming traffic (Cautiously smart, my friend.) It’s then that Sam hears his EMF machine go berzerk. “Am I haunted? Am I haunted?!” DEAN BEAN.

The next day (not sure where they slept the night before…), Sam surprises Dean jamming out to Survivor. He’s got scratch marks on his arm AND he passes on doughnuts. Sam’s reaction shots are PURE GOLD this episode. Sam talked to Bobby and Dean appears to be haunted with Ghost Sickness. It can spread like the flu once one person is infected. Frank contracted it first and passed it to friends --and Dean. They have to kill the ghost that started it all to save Dean. (But first Sam has to move their hotel room from the fourth floor to the first for Dean.)

Later, Dean’s reading up on Ghost Sickness when he starts coughing and hallucinating words on the page.

(Are all these close ups really necessary?)

Later, Sam returns with no news on who the ghost is and Dean laments on being near death again. It’s nice (but sad) to rewatch and realize how much they did address Dean’s Hell trauma.

He then coughs up a woodchip (I legit can’t breath during this every time) and Sam realizes that Dean’s a clue. “I don’t want to be a clue,” Dean whines. BBY.

They head to the local abandoned lumber yard. Dean refuses to go inside, but Sam needs backup. Dean drinks a fair amount of hunter’s helper...and decides that he’ll “man the flashlight.”

They head inside to investigate and find a kitten.

*Classic Gif Alert*

Sam is increasingly losing it. And Dean’s weak little “wait?” at the end of the scene? GAH.

They find more clues about Frank’s wife and Luther Garland, when the saw mill starts working. Manning the flashlight, Dean’s too paralyzed to say or do anything when he sees someone standing in the corner of the room.

Dean takes off and finishes off the rest of his booze while Sam blasts the ghost with salt. Their ghost is Luther Garland.

Back at the sheriff’s department, a drunk little Dean Bean flirts a little bit with the deputy. A drunk man’s words is a sober man’s thoughts, Dean.

Sam snatches his brother away before he gets the dude’s number. (I mean, he was trying to reach into his pocket for a pen, right?)

The sheriff, through the intercom, asks what the Winchesters wanted and the deputy tells him. Cut to the Sheriff who is actually sandpapering the skin off his forearms. URG. He loads a gun. An apparition of himself intones ominously, “They know what you did.”

Meanwhile, Dean is still freaking the fuck out. At a retirement home, he jumps when he runs across a little old lady. Poor Dean.

They meet Mr. Garland, who asks for ID.

Dean freaks out about the scrutiny. “Those are real,” he tells Garland convincingly.

Sam asks Garland about the death of his brother. Garland tells them that everyone was scared of Luther, but he was the kindest man he ever knew. In the flashback Luther pulls a kitten out of a box and I melt into a giant puddle.

Sam pulls out the drawing of the woman they found. Garland identifies the woman as someone who worked at the mill. Her husband killed Luther and furthermore, this was common knowledge. Luther had a crush on her and when she killed herself Frank assumed that Luther had a hand in her death. He went into his room at the mill, saw pictures of her everywhere and assumed the worst. He tied a chain around Luther's neck and dragged him by a truck until he was dead.

Garland tells them that he complained to every cop he could find about Luther's murder but nobody would act on it. Frank was a pillar of the community. He says, in a moment that I did not remember at all, that he didn't hate Frank anymore. Frank's wife was missing and Frank was afraid. “That's fear,” Garland says. “It spreads and spreads.” (What an unexpected moment – where I remembered only fear and almost comical hijinks...there's this odd moment of peace and forgiveness - even of his brother’s murderer.)

The interview with Garland clarifies some things for Dean. The rash on his skin is road rash and the woodchips were swallowed by Luther as he was dragged. Dean's ready to burn some bones and be free again but Sam points out that Luther's body was ripped to shreds. They'll never recover all the remains.

Dean takes this very well.

Classic Dialogue Alert

Dean: What are we doing?!

Sam: We're hunting a ghost.

Dean: A ghost, exactly! Who does that?

Sam: Us.

Dean: Us? Right. And that Sam, that is exactly why our lives suck. I mean, come on, we hunt monsters! What the hell?! I mean, normal people, they see a monster, and they run. But not us, no, we search out things that want to kill us. Or eat us! You know who does that? Crazy people!

Dean heads off in a huff, flop sweating his ass off, when an adorable pup approaches. And we've joined up with the start of the episode. Sam finds Dean sweating and breathing hard in the motel room. Sam wonders how he got to the hotel. “Ran,” Dean says, wide eyed. Dean frets that he only has four hours left and Sam tells him it's about time he dies and heads back to hell. He's been a real pain in his ass. Sam's eyes glow yellow. Sam pushes Dean against the wall and tells him that the yellow eyes don’t mean he’s possessed...it's all him. He's going to turn evil and there's nothing Dean can do about it.

Snap to real Sam trying to help Dean calm down while Dean experiences a full out panic hallucination against the wall. It's getting bad...

It's time to bring in Bobby! He meets up with Sam and pulls out an encyclopedia of spirits written in Japanese. Bobby can both read and speak Japanese. Mmmmm yessss goooood. The fearful ghost, a Buru Buru, can be destroyed by fear. “So we have to scare a ghost to death?” Mmm hmm yes good luck with that.

Sam calls Dean and tells him to “hang in there” and they've got a plan. Cut to Bobby outside the mill who tells Sam that their plan is a TERRIBLE idea. Still, it's all they've got. Sam heads into the mill and tries to lure out Luther.

Back at the motel, Dean hears barking dogs. It's hellhounds at the door! No, it's the Sheriff. He breaks down the door, one arm bloody, and asks why Dean is looking into Luther's death. Dean tries to reason with him, even in his state of extreme fear, and the Sheriff decks him in response.

The Sheriff tells Dean that Frank was his friend and he let him go. He's not going to let Dean bring him down. Dean fights the Sheriff and sees his eyes turn demon black. Reality shifts madly between them. The Sheriff starts to seize from a heart attack. Dean yells at him to calm down but it's too late. (Yelling “calm down” is always effective with panic attacks.) The Sheriff dies.

Back at the mill, Sam realizes that walking around with a gun is scaring Luther's ghost. Sam sets down his gun and tries a different tack to luring out Luther. He starts tearing up the photos of the secretary. This works and Luther appears.

Dean continues to totally lose it, scratching his forearms and hearing barking hellhounds. He finds a bible and holds it in a firm embrace. Suddenly child-Lilith appears. She hugs him, sweetly,

Dean's going back to Hell. She tells him that she knows he remembers everything from Hell. Four months is like forty years, like “doggy years.” Oh, Dean Bean <3

Dean falls to the floor, his heart clenching. He tells her that she isn't real but she tells him it doesn't matter. “You're still gonna die. You're still gonna burn.” She smiles smugly.

“Why'd I get infected?” Dean asks.

“Silly goose. Listen to your heart. Ba BOOM BA BOOM.”

Luther, meanwhile, is beating up Sam. It's looking bad when Sam wraps chains around Luther's neck and yells at Bobby to “punch it.” Using the Impala, Bobby drags Luther's ghost in a horrible reenactment of his death, until Luther dissipates and moves on.

At the last minute, Dean gasps for air in the motel room and finds his arms are healed, skin unbroken.

Later, they tell Dean how they destroyed Luther's ghost with an iron chain. They gloss over the darkness of his second death and ask how Dean's doing. “I'm fine. You want to go hunting? I'll hunt. I'll kill anything.” So. Dean's doing GREAT and not at all long-term traumatized by his experiences in Hell.

For Science:

Bobby takes off and Sam asks Dean what he saw near the end. Dean thinks he sees yellow flash in Sam's eyes and tells him he saw “the usual stuff” and nothing he can't handle. Dean’s FINE, guys. EMOTIONS.

And while this is the end of the episode, it's not the END of the episode because. Guys. Here's where we get Jensen Ackles car dancing to Eye of the Tiger.

[video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ljpJJCTBIKY]

Chuck bless this silly, serious, sometimes disturbing show.

The Only Thing We Have to Quote are Quotes Themselves:

Our room’s on the fourth floor. It’s...high.

Awesome. It's nice to have my head on the chopping block again. I almost forgot what that feels like

Who would pretend to be an FBI agent, huh? That's just nutty.

Life's too short for hate

You're gassy! You eat half a burrito, and you get toxic!

He's adorable.

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spnrecap #spnrewatch #spn 4x06 #yellow fever #dean winchester #sam winchester #bobby singer #supernatural season 4

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dinafbrownil · 4 years

Text

Effort To Control Opioids In An ER Leaves Some Sickle Cell Patients In Pain

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This story is part of a partnership that includes WABE, NPR and Kaiser Health News.

This story can be republished for free (details).

India Hardy has lived with pain since she was a toddler — ranging from dull persistent aches to acute flare-ups that interrupt the flow of her normal life.

The pain is from sickle cell disease, a group of genetic conditions that affect about 100,000 people in the U.S., many of them of African or Hispanic descent.

Sitting in the afternoon heat on her mom’s porch in Athens, Georgia, Hardy recollected how a recent “crisis” derailed her normal morning routine.

“It was time for my daughter to get on the bus, and she’s too young to go on her own,” Hardy recalled. “I was in so much pain I couldn’t walk. So, she missed school that day.”

Sickle cell disease affects red blood cells, which travel throughout the body carrying oxygen to tissues. Healthy red blood cells are shaped like plump and flexible doughnuts, but in people with sickle cell disease, the red blood cells are deformed, forming C-shaped “sickles” that are rigid and sticky.

These sickle-shaped cells can cause blockages in the blood vessels, slowing or even stopping normal blood flow. An episode of blockage is known as a sickle cell “crisis” — tissues and organs can be damaged because of lack of oxygen, and the patient experiences severe spells of pain.

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‘It’s Like Torture’

Hardy tries to manage these crises on her own. She’ll take a hot bath or apply heating pads to try to increase her blood flow. Hardy also has a variety of pain medications she can take at home.

When she has exhausted those options, she needs more medical help. Hardy would prefer to go to a specialized clinic for sickle cell patients, but the closest is almost two hours away, and she doesn’t have a car.

So, Hardy often goes to the emergency room at nearby St. Mary’s Hospital for relief. Until recently, the doctors there would give her injections of the opioid hydromorphone, which she says would stop her pain.

Then, some months ago, the emergency room changed its process: “Now they will actually put that shot in a bag which is full of fluids, so it’s like you’re getting small drips of pain medicine,” Hardy said. “It’s like torture.”

It’s the same for her brother, Rico, who also has sickle cell disease and has sought treatment at St. Mary’s. The diluted medicine doesn’t give the same pain relief as a direct injection, they say.

Striking A Balance

St. Mary’s staffers explain that they’re trying to strike a balance with their new treatment protocol between adequate pain treatment and the risk that opioid use can lead to drug dependence.

It’s a local change that reflects a national concern. The U.S. is in the midst of an addiction and overdose crisis, fueled by powerful opioids like hydromorphone. That crisis has made medical providers more aware of the risks of administering these drugs. More than 47,000 Americans died in 2017 from an overdose involving an opioid, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

That has prompted some emergency room leaders to rethink how they administer opioid medications, including how they treat people, such as Hardy, who suffer from episodes of severe pain.

“We have given sickle cell patients a pass [with the notion that] they don’t get addicted — which is completely false,” said Dr. Troy Johnson, who works in the emergency room at St. Mary’s. “For us to not address that addiction is doing them a disservice.”

Rico Hardy takes medication each day to manage his sickle cell disease at home. When his pain gets severe, he heads to the ER for extra help.(Johnathon Kelso for WABE)

Johnson proposed the ER’s shift to intravenous “drip delivery” of opioids for chronic pain patients because of personal experience. His son has sickle cell disease, and Johnson said he has seen firsthand how people with the disease are exposed to opioids when very young.

“We start creating people with addiction problems at a very early age in sickle cell disease,” Johnson said.

He brought his concerns to the director of the ER, Dr. Lewis Earnest, and found support for the change. Hospital officials say they also consulted national guidelines for treating sickle cell crises.

“We’re trying to alleviate suffering, but we’re also trying not to create addiction, and so we’re trying to find that balance,” Earnest said. “Some times it’s harder than others.”

St. Mary’s says the new IV-drip protocol is for all patients who come to the emergency room frequently for pain, and most of their sickle cell patients are fine with the change.

Caught In The Crossfire

The national guidelines cited by St. Mary’s also say doctors should reassess patient pain frequently and adjust levels of opioids as needed “until pain is under control per patient report.”

Some people who work closely with sickle cell patients, upon hearing about the new approach to pain management at St. Mary’s, called it “unusual.”

“When individuals living with sickle cell disease go to emergency departments, they are living in extreme amounts of pain,” said Dr. Biree Andemariam, chief medical officer of the Sickle Cell Disease Association of America.

It’s more common for ERs to give those patients direct “pushes” of pain medication via injection, she noted, not slower IV drips.

People with sickle cell disease aren’t fueling the opioid problem, Andemariam said. One study published in 2018 found that opioid use has remained stable among sickle cell patients over time, even as opioid use has risen in the U.S. generally.

“If anything, individuals with sickle cell disease in our country have really been caught in the crossfire when it comes to this opioid epidemic,” Andemariam said.

She suggested that ER doctors and nurses need more education on how to care for people with sickle cell, especially during the painful crisis episodes, which can lead to death.

“Sickle cell pain has a mind of its own,” says Anesha Barnes, who has had the disease since she was a baby. She says the longer she stays in a pain crisis, the harder it is to break out of it.(Johnathon Kelso for WABE)

A study of some 16,000 deaths from 1979 to 2005 related to sickle cell found that men in the group lived to be only 33, on average. Women didn’t fare much better, living to an average age of 37. The same study suggested that a lack of access to quality care is a factor in the short life spans of people with sickle cell disease.

Researchers who study sickle cell say the opioid epidemic has made it harder for patients with the condition to get the pain medication they need. The American College of Emergency Physicians is focusing on the problem, asking federal health officials to speak out about sickle cell pain and fund research on how to treat it without opioids.

“We in the physician community are looking for ways to make sure they get adequate pain relief,” said Dr. Jon Mark Hirshon, vice president of the group. “We recognize that the process is not perfect, but this is what we’re striving for — to make a difference.”

Considering A Move To Find Relief

In the meantime, India Hardy said she feels those imperfections in the process every time she suffers a pain crisis, and she’s not alone.

In addition to her brother, Hardy said she has another friend in Athens with sickle cell disease, and that friend has also reported difficulty in finding pain relief at the St. Mary’s emergency room.

“It’s just really frustrating, because you go to the hospital for help — expecting to get equal help, and you don’t,” Hardy said, her voice breaking. “They treat us like we’re not wanted there or that we’re holding their time up or taking up a bed that someone else could be using.”

Hardy filed a complaint with the hospital but said nothing has changed, at least not yet. She still gets pain medication through an IV drip when she goes to the St. Mary’s emergency room.

At this point, she’s considering leaving her relatives and friends behind in Athens to move closer to a sickle cell clinic. She hopes doctors there will do a better job of helping to control her pain.

This story is part of a partnership that includes WABE, NPR and Kaiser Health News.

from Updates By Dina https://khn.org/news/effort-to-control-opioids-in-emergency-medicine-leaves-some-sickle-cell-patients-in-pain/

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