Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Velma Dinkley is anything but stupid.

Her ingenuity allows her to escape from any predicament, her intelligence rivals any man’s, and she is smart enough to know that the Turtleneck is the smartest and most stylish article of clothing to ever exist, thank you very much.

Velma is anything but stupid, and so she considers it very hard for anyone or anything to make her feel dumb.

Velma is anything but stupid.

Or so she thought; until a certain suave, beautiful costume designer sashayed her way into her life. Coco Diablo is, quite possibly, the only person who can make Velma feel like a lovesick, foot in mouth, fool. Everything about her is able to make Velma want to say the stupidest things; followed then by feeling the urge to tuck her head into the neck of her turtleneck (like it’s namesake), curl up into a ball in the corner of her room, and either cry or laugh hysterically.

You would think that Velma’s distance from the woman after she was tragically returned to her state of incarceration would allow for her to get past these feelings, and return to her sense of normalcy and unwavering brilliance. Unfortunately for Velma’s sanity, everything about Coco seemed to linger for several months. For example, Velma often was able to detect the phantom hints of Coco’s perfume on her sweater: leather, scorched wood, and new car scented cleaner.

On another, more metaphorical level, Velma often found herself having Coco on the mind. The endless, almost sneaky, charm of her words when they had spoken. Coco’s brilliance in her diction and inventions that rivaled, and maybe trumped, her own. Coco’s unique, and undeniable beauty; even the seamstress’ endless confidence (bordering on narcissism) that Velma not only envied but heavily admired. All of these stuck firmly in her mind, as overcooked spaghetti would to a wall.

In fact, Coco was on her mind so often that the gang undoubtedly noticed. Daphne would occasionally bring up Coco’s name in conversation to tease her friend, Shaggy would ask if Diablo was on Velma’s mind if she ever paused in her work for prolonged periods of time, and even FRED pointed out how often he would see how many times Velma’s wide eyes scanned with interest over “The Life and Crimes of Coco Diablo” (which, if you were to ask the gang exactly how many times Velma had read it, their answers would range from 4 to 16).

Velma knew the severity of her crush, and for a long while, her feelings would consume her every thought for days on end. Eventually after several months, she was able to move on from her obsessiveness, and limited her thoughts on Diablo from persistent to passing. She was beginning to feel that after going for such a long time without hearing from the infatuating woman, that it may be time to move on, and she mournfully found herself doing so.

Until one faithfull evening flipped everything upside down.

Velma was often prone to staying up at ungodly hours of the night, with a low sugar energy drink in her left hand, and a miniscule screwdriver in her right. She found that the best time to work on her personal inventions was late at night, In an oil stained tanktop and devilishly comfortable sweatpants, with swing music playing quietly from her phone. Velma would feel peaceful and content knowing that the late hour of her projects allows for perfect concentration and freedom from distractions, hunched over her paper and wire cluttered desk without a care in the world, squinting down at her work with an unrivaled and fiery passion.

Her intense concentration, tonight, was trained on a small oval shaped drone, her hands wrist deep in its intricate circuits. And just as she was making a crucial wire fusion in the little gadget, her phone rang. She was jolted out of her focus- and on her thumb by her creation after brushing up against a loose wire- and scrambled to see what on earth someone would want from her at 2:23 in the morning. Her frustration was only mounted whenever she saw that the number calling her had no ID, and only displayed a local phone number.

“Ugh, spam,” she muttered, hanging up with one of her few non-burned digits, and picked up her tool once more.

Before Velma could continue her work, her phone rang again from the same number. She huffed, and took a moment to calm her frustration down.

“Remember Velma, spam callers are people too,” she thought, rolling her eyes before picking up the call, and bringing the device to her ear.

“Hello?” Velma asked, her voice slightly gruff from disuse.

“Oh well now! Isn’t it a pleasure to hear that voice.” purred a woman on the other end, a smile in her tone.

Velma’s breath hitched. She paused in thought.

This… There is no way this could be who I think it is, Velma reasoned with herself, wanting desperately to not get her hopes up.

She turned away from the phone, quickly cleared her throat, and then spoke

“... Is this?-”

“The one and only, darling.”

“...”

Velma paused, hit the mute button on her end, a blank expression on her face, and blocked out the faint Uh, hello? Velma? from her hearing.
She instead chose to speed walk five feet to her cramped bed, flopped down, and screamed into a pillow for the better part of a minute.

After all of her pent up emotion was transferred to her cushion (which she almost wanted to apologize to), Velma smoothed down her outfit, collected herself, and got back on the phone.

“Haha, sorry about that, I had to…”

Velma scrambled to find an explanation for her silence, “Put out… a… grease fire?”

“You know you didn’t mute your phone, right?” Velma could hear her smirk without seeing it.

She actually did manage to mute her phone this time, uttered a loud “Fuck!” and then got back on the call, embarrassed heavily.

“Haha yeah, sorry-” She rubbed her neck sheepishly,

“-I’m just, erm, really happy to hear from you. Uh… Why exactly am I hearing from you? At-”

She squints at her alarm clock through her thick glasses,

“-2:30 in the morning…?” She asked, hesitantly.

“Jeez I need to get my sleep schedule sorted out. Having a pretty lady call me this late isn't exactly a deterrent, though,” she thought, using her wrist to rub her eyes under her glasses. It seemed to be the only part of her without smudged smoke or spare oil spread on.

“Funny story, I’ve been released from prison.” Coco says it so nonchalantly that it takes a moment for Velma to digest what she had just said. She could imagine the woman inspecting her perfectly maintained nails as she said it.

“Really?! W-wow! Jinkies, that's incredible, Coco! I’m so glad to hear that!” Velma gushed.

“It is, isn’t it? I do have one problem, however. I need a ride. None of my associates are picking up.”

“So… you called me?” Velma was surprised at even being on Cocos radar, and even more at being trusted enough to pick her up

“Yes. I thought… that you might be the only person I know who would be up this late. Can you pick me up?”

For the first time that Velma had experienced, she knew that Coco wasn’t telling the truth. The way that her speech was ever so slightly stilted reminded her of how she would talk when she was fibbing. Velma would have thought that Coco would be better at lying, with how smooth she always was. Maybe the late hour was just getting to her and she was imagining things.

She moved to her door, grabbed her keys, and shrugged on a cardigan. She found that she didn’t even need to think about the action, that helping someone who needed it was simply second nature. She was out the door before she could manage to second guess herself.

“I’m on my way.”

Chapter Text

Velma is convinced that a car conveys the personality of its owner. Mary (yes she named her car) and herself didn’t seem to deviate from this rule, as Mary looked neat and smartly polished on the outside, but cluttered on the inside.

Velma found that she was more concerned with the status of Mary’s interior as she made her way towards Coolsville Penitentiary. At the few red lights she encountered, she began to hastily clean up. She stacked a menagerie of gears and springs half haphazardly in her glove box, choosing to prioritize the ones on the passenger side seat rather than the ones at the feet of it. Thankfully for times sake, everything besides her backseat and floor was relatively clean.

The only thing that Velma could think about while tidying up was if it would be enough to impress Coco. Velma wasn’t somebody who usually cares about what others think of her, much less of her car, but she supposed that Coco Diablo was a rare exception.

The light turned green, and she drove onward.

Why was it that she cared so much about what Coco Diablo thought of her, anyway? Usually, Velma cared very little about other people's thoughts on her. What was it about Coco that made Velma so nervous? What made her different? She was so absorbed in her thoughts that it took her almost two minutes to realize that she had driven straight past Cools. Penitentiary.

“Jesus Christ, Velma. Stop thinking about cars and start thinking about people,” the sweater wearer thought. If an inner line of thinking could be dripping with annoyance, hers certainly would.

She sharply turned her wheel at the end of the road, swiftly whipping into a nearby parking spot and engaged the break. She stepped out of her car into the crisp, fall air. It dawned upon her that she hadn’t seen Coco in half a year.

“How is she going to be different? Will she even be the same woman I knew before? Am I still the same woman she knew?” Velma wondered, as she walked towards the foot of the prison. There was a slight feeling of fear constricting her chest; that the two had drastically changed from the memories Velma had borderline obsessed over. That the connection she thought they had had fizzled out. She shoved those thoughts into an internal folder for later as she walked down the street towards her destination. Thinking about what could or would happen didn’t benefit anyone.

“Right now,” she thought, “all I need to do is be there for Coco. That's the only thing that matters.”

As she met the metal bars of the jail house gate, she looked around, confused. For some reason, she had the clearest image in her mind of Coco leaning back against the bars of the building that had imprisoned her with her head held high. She would have had her arms casually crossed over her sweater clad chest. She would have sauntered over to Velma with a smirk on her flawless face and she would have said-

“Hey there, beautiful.” A voice purred from behind. Velma felt a puff of warm air near her ear, and spun around to face the source of the heat and words. Goosebumps blossomed across her skin as she stared at the woman before her.

It was Coco Diablo, orange jumpsuit and all, and she looked just as Velma remembered. Her platinum blonde hair made the room brighter, shining beautifully against her contrasting skin. The smirk on her face made her eyes sparkle as she sized Velman up. She tilted her head down to look at Velma fully, which only seemed to emphasize her height.
Velma felt everything from her ears to her shoulders burn red as her stomach churned nervously. It felt like butterflies were escaping her lungs, breathless.

“Did… did prison make you taller?” Velma was able to wheeze out. She cringed as she stumbled through her words. God, after not seeing this enchantress for half a year, that’s all she could come up with? Lame!

“Mm, I don’t think so, no.” There was a long pause, one that made Velma squirm in place. The seamstress thought to herself before her smile widened.

“Actually, stand up straight for me.”

Velma just looked at her, confused.

“Don’t worry darling, I don’t bite.” Coco stepped closer to her shorter companion, who only seemed to shrink in on herself further, before sneakily tapping her side with a gloved finger. That undoubtedly got Velma to stand to her full height as she yelped in surprise.

“See?” Coco asked, now looking directly into her eyes, chuckling lightly. “We're the same height.”

Velma, usually one for an array of words to offer in any given instance, was left speechless. All she could really process was Coco slowly blinking, looking unwaveringly into her own reflection behind emerald glass frames. The mystery gang member was the first to look away after a moment of shock, and, to her credit, was able to manage a laugh that was a little too loud and a little too long. She turned away in a completely futile attempt to hide just how deeply saturated her face had turned.

“Aw, I’m sorry. I’ve embarrassed you, haven’t I?” Coco actually did look a little regretful at seeing just how flustered she had made Velma.

“Haha, what…me? Embarrassed?! Pshaw! Never!” Velma exclaimed, walking away as her face turned red, Coco quickly walking in long strides to catch up, still smirking.

“Enough about alleged embarrassment! It’s too cold out here to talk about that! Let’s hit the road, Jack!” That previous weather relevant statement did ring true. The frigid nipping air allowed Velma’s flustered face to cool with every step, even when she felt Coco’s eyes on her. For a while, they walked in silence at each other’s side, the only sound being Coco’s heels. The street was well lit enough to see each other clearly, though both of them had eventually decided to keep their eyes ahead. Velma was watching the fog from her breath appear and disappear, while Coco seemed to be more intent on something Velma could not decipher. She wasn’t surprised that her counterpart was the first one that broke the silence.

“How far did you park?” She asked, an odd rhythmic clicking punctuating her words. Velma heard it, and looked over at the villain in confusion. She realized that the chattering she had heard was coming from Coco’s teeth. She was doing her best to hide it by clenching her jaw, but it wasn’t doing much. Her arms weren’t crossed over in a casual sense, but as a way to conserve warmth. It was clear that Coco didn’t have embarrassment to keep herself warm like Velma did.

“It's not far, but hey? How long have you been out here, Coco?”

“Erm… thirty minutes? Forty five? I’m not sure, I wasn’t keeping track.” Coco shrugged, trying to subtly rub her biceps to generate warmth.

“Forty five minutes?! Coco, it’s frigid out here! You must be freezing!” Velma raised her hands in surprise, stopping in her walk to stare at the modiste in complete disbelief and concern.

Coco was quiet for a moment, uncharacteristically so. Her friend was observant enough to realize exactly what was on her friend’s mind: the choice of telling a lie to hold up her stoic and suave persona, or letting her act fall for a moment in favor of telling the truth. She chose to pursue a verbal compromise.

“I… might be a bit cold.” She admitted, avoiding eye contact.

Velma paused for a moment, before shrugging off her cardigan in one motion. Her shoulders had finally cooled down from before, and Coco could clearly see the freckles that dotted them like constellations. Velma didn’t catch the apricot color that was dusted across Coco’s cheeks, nor the peach on the tips of her ears. She was too busy running the soft fabric of the pullover between her fingers. She extended her arms in a here you go motion.

“Here.”

Coco stiffened at the thought of taking Velma’s sweater. How rude would accepting it come off as?

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly-”

“Oh come on, Coco.” Velma drawled, exasperated.

“We don’t need to do that girly thing where its “I insist” back and forth and back and forth until one of us caves. You've been out here for over half an hour, in the cold, in that flimsy jumpsuit, and I know you’re freezing your butt off, so I INSIST that you take the ding-dang sweater!” Exclaimed the freckled woman, before thrusting the cardigan into her hands.

Velma began walking off, just wanting to move forward. She was beginning to get cold and tired, and getting to the car sounded like something that would lift her spirits, and prevent her from ranting at Coco any further. She couldn’t know how endering the rant was to Coco, who was now smiling with an arched eyebrow, walking steadily behind her. She looked down at the sweater between her gloved hands. It was an earthy maroon, and had a pleated, tight pattern that she knew from years of experience was hard to replicate. She slipped it on, meeting Velma at her side as they turned a corner. Mary was in sight.

“Did you make this?” Coco asked, inspecting the sleeves of both of her arms for loose threads, but finding none. Velma grew shy once more, stopping in her tracks to search her pocket for keys. It definitely wasn’t an excuse to avoid eye contact, that was for sure!

“Er- uh… yeah.” She said, finding the item, and finally looking up. She couldn’t quite find the confidence to look into those brown (?) eyes, instead opting to look at the bridge of Coco’s nose.

Jinkies, how is her face so smooth? Did she manage to keep up her skincare routine in prison?

“I got into knitting chunky blankets a few years back whenever my carpal tunnel started flaring up real bad, on account of all the tiny wires I worked with.” She unlocked the passenger side door for Coco with a click of her car remote, wincing at the memory.

“After I got it to be more manageable, I moved onto smaller and smaller needles and yarn. The rest is history.” She had hopped into the driver’s seat after she spoke, and was quick to blast the heat whenever they both settled in.

“Well whatever you're doing, keep it up. Your work is incredible.” Coco brought her hands to the dashboard’s warm vent casually, as if what she had said was as unimportant as suggesting a place to eat.

In shock, Velma had to screech to a halt halfway out of pulling out of her spot.

“Wait, really?! You like it?” Velma exclaimed, loud with disbelief.

“Like it? This is something I would make and wear. Maybe I could commission you for one someday.” Velma paused at those words, before continuing the car's momentum across the street.

“Uh, no I don’t think so.” Coco frowned at the prospect of never getting a pleated cardigan of her own. It was much cozier than she had let on.

“I’d never let you pay for it, I mean.”
Coco looked up at that. What the hell was that supposed to mean? She looked at Velma -who was dutifully watching the path she was driving- irked.

“What, so because I’m fresh out of prison I wouldn’t be able to afford a sweater?” She said, the smallest of scowls on her lips at the insinuation. The driver quickly realized how horrifically wrong her words were taken as, and quickly back peddled (in a metaphorical sense, as she was still driving the car in a straight forward line).

“What? No! Trust me, I know that all of your companies have kept running even while you were in there, and I know that you could beyond afford it!” She rushed through the statement, wanting to calm down the fiery woman glaring at her as quickly as possible.

“I just don’t charge friends! Trust me, I was already planning on making you a sweater.” She explained.

Coco’s anger was cooled in a snap at the words, and replaced by confusion, and another feeling that she couldn’t describe. Surprise? Warmth? She was already going to make her a sweater? She didn’t want to take Coco’s money? Wait, even more pressing-

“We’re friends?” The cardigan possessor asked, voice quieter than Velma had heard before. She looked smaller than Velma for once.

Velma couldn’t help smiling a little at the question, either from nerves or happiness she didn’t know.

“Yes, I’d like to think so.”

Coco could only look out the window, thinking about her words. As she gazed at the streetlights she couldn’t help but wonder: has she ever truly had a friend? She only ever snapped at, talked down to, or bossed around the people that surrounded her before her prison stay. She convinced herself that it was better that way, that keeping her associates at arms length allowed productivity to rise, and her free time to be kept open to pursue capitalistic gains rather than trading pleasantries. Maybe her reasoning was just an excuse; a crutch. Maybe she had a lingering fear that if she truly gave empathy and friendliness a chance, that no one would want it. That she would be alone no matter what she did.

“But maybe,” She thought, “Maybe she could be different. Maybe Velma could make giving this whole ‘friendship’ shtick worth a try. If all else fails, at least I get a cardigan out of it.”

She knew that the wooly jacket had nothing to do with how she was feeling.

As she watched great pines pass by in her window, and the brilliant deep azure of the sky, she let out a sigh.

“I’d like to think so too.”

Chapter Text

Driving is calming, or at least that’s what Velma thought. The cracked, cool leather of her car’s steering wheel never failed to ground her racing mind. Her car, perfumed reasonably with new car scent, always smelled predictably pleasant in a way that she could consistently look forward to. The comfort Velma felt allowed her to drive for at least three minutes straight, before realizing that she had absolutely no idea where she was going.

Looking over to Coco, who was gazing out of the window with an unreadable expression, Velma cleared her throat politely.

“Hey Coco, where exactly should I be taking you?” She asked, eyes on the road.

Unmoving, Coco evenly replied, “You are taking me to 4272 Marshall Lane Boulevard.” Glancing at Velma through the glass’s reflection, a part of her reveled in the way her eyes widened, and lips drew tight. 

Velma pulled the car onto the roadside, then turned to her passenger.
“Hey, Coco?” Velma questioned, forcing casualty with a thin smile.

“Yes, Velma?” Coco purred, interest poorly veiled.

“That's my address.” She stated, squinting.

 “It is. I will be staying at your apartment for the night.” Coco grinned cheekily with clasped hands, watching her friend’s face go from blank to mildly mortified.

Before Coco, Velma had never asked herself if she was capable of having an aneurysm.
She had begun to at that moment.

Velma took a deep breath, then spoke again.
“Coco, did you pay to have people scout where I live, memorize my address, and then plan this series of convenient events so that you could stay at my home?” 

Coco was only mildly offended at the fact that her master plan had been so easily dissected. Her grin didn’t even falter as she gave a sing-songy,
 “Maybe.”

Velma almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. The idea that Coco would create such an intricate plan just to spend time with her made her heart light, even if the address debacle was absolutely an invasion of privacy. Any previous indignation she had felt was resolved. The idea of Coco making that much of an effort on her behalf would have made her a complete emotional wreck an hour ago but being so close to her seemed to have allowed herself to mellow out. Her friends had that effect on her, and Coco wasn't an exception. She was able to land the bird fluttering in her stomach and spoke with a small smile.

“All you had to do was ask. You’re welcome to stay at my apartment as long as you want.”

Coco refused to acknowledge the warmth on her cheeks, instead choosing to give a huff.

“There is no fun in just asking,” she muttered going back to her window.

The car returned to a comfortable silence as Velma’s apartment complex became visibly silhouetted, the pair’s arrival into the heart of Coolsville becoming clear. It would have stayed quiet until their arrival, if a sneeze had not rung through the car.

“You are allergic to cats.” Coco stated, factual as always.

 “Did you hire people to find that out about me too?” Velma joked (partially).

 “No. Estaban is here.” 

 Velma paused. She concluded that predicting anything that Coco says is completely impossible. She warily glanced around for the feline, only mildly exasperated.

 “When did… How did you get him into my car without me noticing?”

 “Oh, that is an easy question; he got himself into your car. He is very independent and has recently taken up the hobbies of espionage and lock picking.”

 Of course, he has.

 When Velma turned to shoot Coco a deadpan expression, a menagerie of scratches on her glovebox caught her attention first. Coco followed her gaze, and popped it open. Half lidded green eyes stared back at the pair, remarkably unbothered. A decimated car lock peeked out from beneath his black paws. Velma frowned at the damage.

 “I never said he was very skilled at lockpicking.” 

 Examining the lock that was once bound to the glovebox, Coco frowned too.

 “We need to get you better at manners too, pequeño gato diabólico.”
Estebon’s pink nose was booped with each word, though little intentional strength was behind the action.
“I apologize on his behalf. I will get this repaired as soon as possible.” 

“Don’t sweat it, I could never even get it open before anyway.”

Esteban's flat face lifted to a miniscule extent at the suggestion that he was strong enough to open a sealed container. The bite sized criminal stared at Velma intensely, blinking slowly, as a strange way of reciprocating the praise. It was only a little unsettling.

Breaking eye contact with the strange cat, Velma realized that they had already arrived. It was late enough for the complex’s lot to be packed with cars, and also allowed for zero people to be in sight. Pulling into a nearby spot, Velma was finally able to give Coco her undivided attention. The woman was avoiding eye contact in a way that she hadn't been before, clearly trying to build up the courage to say something. Velma gave her a moment to do so, watching Estabon instead in an attempt to take any pressure that her gaze might bring away. Finally, Coco drew in a breath, and looked Velma in the eyes once again, her composure regained.

“Thank you.”

She didn’t elaborate on what she was thanking her for. In a way, she didn’t really need to. The act of letting her pride and exaggerated confidence fade away for long enough to announce her gratitude was a statement all on its own. Whatever she meant by the thanks, it felt like a powerful turning point. Coco was no longer an Idol or a Celebrity, she was just a person. A person who was making an effort.

“You’re welcome.”

They smiled at each other; smiles that were both peacefully quiet and loaded with an emotion neither of them enunciated. 

Soon, the two would have to bear the biting cold of the outside world, traversing cool asphalt to make it to Velma’s home.

In that moment, however, the two enjoyed each other's company, engulfed in an air-conditioned warmth and kinship that neither realized they needed.