#less likely to snap at people than to stare blankly until they move on lol

[vagueiish]

i’m like if shane stardewvalley were trans and also not an alcoholic

[cinnaminsvga]

autumn leaves | l.i.b. finale

→ summary: and in the end, we fall because we have no other choice. some get up easier than others, and we bury the ones who never do. 

→ pairing: ??? x reader → genre: angst, humor, fluff, lib!au → warnings: tae gets hurt a little but its an accident (he’s fine dw), small blood mention (from aforementioned accident), rage moments (rip lol), heartbreak (yum!), a happy ending (?) → words: 7.7K → a/n: oh my god we’re at the end?? after two months of SUFFERING?? how can this be happening?? lol but seriously thank you to everyone for going on this journey with me. writing lib was honestly so much fun, and it’s been a while since i’ve been able to kinda go “all-out” or whatever. i’m kind of nervous with this ending, but hopefully it’s something everyone will be able to enjoy. peace!!

prev // part 38 of 38 masterlist here. [series completed]

October 1, 2020 — 6:18 PM

Min Yoongi’s phone feels like it's burning a hole into his back pocket. It’s a heavy presence, weighing like concrete enough to bend his spine. His hands itch to reach for it, to check for messages he knows he won’t receive. But in the back of his mind, he thinks—desperately and senselessly, that if he wishes hard enough, then maybe it’ll come true.

I should be glad that she isn’t calling me, he tries to convince himself. The itch continues to grow, licking at the back of his mind like a fire begging to be extinguished. I should trust her decision. I should be proud of her. But there’s always been a difference, after all, to what Yoongi should do and what he wants. It’s a difference that he has fought to ignore for years now.

“Hyung,” a soft voice calls out to him, a hand placed gently on his shoulder. Yoongi blinks slowly out of his trance, his eyes dry from staring out his car window for too long. He doesn’t turn in his seat, refusing to face his companion in the backseat. “Hyung,” the voice calls out again, this time shaking him vigorously enough that Yoongi has no other choice but to turn lest his shoulders get dislocated.

“What do you want, Jimin?” Yoongi growls, sneering at the boy. Jimin smiles sheepishly, but he doesn’t back down under his glare.

“Sorry. You were gripping the wheel so tightly that I was scared you were going to break it.” Jimin shrugs nonchalantly, but there’s an edge to his tone, betraying his worry. Yoongi releases the wheel at once, switching to picking at the rips in his jeans instead.

“Didn’t notice. Sorry for snapping at you, I was just…” Yoongi trails off, expression glazing over once more. What was he trying? What was he doing here?

Jimin’s pupils flit all over Yoongi’s face, searching for something. “We’re not going to bring her home anymore?” he asks, but there’s a note of finality there. He knows that they aren’t going home with them tonight, at least not right now. They’ve been parked a block away from Namjoon’s childhood home for a few hours now, sitting in Yoongi’s car and waiting to see if you needed them to help you escape. Jimin has been watching Yoongi all the while, keeping track of the small changes in his friend’s expression.

They are hard to pinpoint sometimes, but Jimin sees them all. He sees the way Yoongi’s brow furrows slightly, sees the way his teeth nibble on his lips in worry, sees the way his head jerks every time he hears a sound, thinking that it might be his phone about to ring. Yoongi is like a pot about to boil over, hardly keeping everything together.

To many people, Yoongi often appears to be as unmoving as a rock. He hardly allows his emotions to control him, and he has always been proud to call himself a level-headed person. And for the most part, Jimin agrees with that. Yoongi is and always will be someone who thrives in times of turmoil, someone who relies on his wit to get him through adversity. He seldom gets angry, rarely raises his voice, never acts cruelly. He’s the person that everyone in their friend group often comes to for advice and support, as he’s always the one who seems to have the right thing to say.

But all those things begin to crumble, however, when it comes to you.

Yoongi is still human, too. He bends, he breaks, he yields—and he does so, especially for you.

“No, we’re not bringing her home,” Yoongi replies. The admission is there, hidden in plain sight. His words are laced with defeat, but it is a defeat that has been accepted long ago. Long before his text conversation with you.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Jimin asks, not unkindly. Even still, Yoongi winces. Jimin’s real question is there, hidden in plain sight as well. What are you waiting for?

Yoongi sighs, resting his forehead against the wheel. He hears Jimin shift in his seat, feels his presence get closer as he leans forward to place a comforting hand on his back. “Nothing,” he says. He breathes deeply through his nose and counts to three. Releases it. “We are waiting for nothing.”

Jimin hums and says nothing more. They sit there in silence for a bit longer, watching the sun’s final moments in the sky before the moon takes its place. The street lamps turn on, bathing the streets in its dusty yellow luminescence. Under the lights, Yoongi’s skin looks tired and worn, like a paper that has been crumpled and smoothed over multiple times.

“I wonder if they’ve finished speaking by now,” Yoongi says suddenly. He still hasn’t moved from his position, his face hidden from view. It almost looks like he hadn’t spoken at all, but Jimin had heard him. He looks at Yoongi in surprise but keeps his silence. Jimin can feel the beginnings of something about to break, and he is afraid that if he makes a sound, it might stop. Even stones break in the end.

“I doubt it. They have a lot of shit to talk about. Too much, in fact.” Yoongi sounds exhausted, his words slurring together like he’s falling asleep. But he’s never been more wide awake. “I’d have a lot to say if I were them. But I’m not them, nor will I ever be.”

Yoongi tilts his head high enough that he can rest his chin on the wheel instead. He stares blankly at the quiet street, listens intently to the sound of the wind beating gently against his car. Parked out there, in the middle of a small neighborhood in Ilsan, far away from the bustling streets of the city, he can almost trick himself into thinking that he’s the only person in the world—

“You love her.”

—but he isn’t alone.

Jimin says it without a shade of doubt. He says it like it's a simple truth of life, like there is no other possible way Yoongi could feel otherwise. The sky is blue. The earth is round. Min Yoongi is in love with you.

“Yes,” Yoongi breathes it out, the confession tumbling through his lips with quiet ease. It does not struggle; it does not resist. It just is. “I’ve loved her before I even knew it myself, I think.”

“I never thought you’d be the type to fall in love at first sight,” Jimin says it lightly, teasingly. There’s a shrivel of truth to it though, but Yoongi will deny it to his dying day; it’ll hurt less if he does.

“I think it started a year ago. When I was preparing for my junior year exhibition.” Yoongi remembers the long nights working until his hands bled, the recurring nightmares eating at his mind, the fear climbing his spine like a tightrope pulled taut. It’s one of the only times when he had bitten more than he could chew, piling impossible expectations onto himself. In those long three weeks of constant anxiety nipping at his heels, he had almost forgotten what it was like to be human. That is, until…

“She saved me. She taught me to slow down, to be compassionate to myself. She didn’t judge me or scold me or hurt me. She just… cared.” Yoongi exhales, clenching his eyes shut. He can see it in his head: your soft hands carding through his hair, whispering assurances and praise into his ears, guiding him to his bed and staying with him until he’d fallen asleep soundly for the first time in days. “Slowly but surely, I started to fall for her. There was just no other way. My heart refused to have it any other way,” he says.

Jimin hums. “I’d always guessed, but I never thought it was that early. You do have an awful habit of staring, hyung. Sometimes I feel like you have to remind yourself to blink.”

Yoongi laughs, hollow sounding. “I suppose I do.”

“Then why didn’t you do anything about it then?”

Jimin’s question is expected. It should be an easy one to answer, but Yoongi doesn’t quite know what to say. It’s easy to say that he knew Jungkook and you already loved each other long before he realized his feelings, and Yoongi was the last person on earth who would do anything to hurt either of you to fulfill his desires. It’s true, but it’s not the whole truth.

So instead, Yoongi responds, “It’s because I’m a hypocrite.” When he doesn’t elaborate, he sees Jimin give him a confused look from the rearview mirror.

Yoongi chuckles sardonically, shaking his head. His mouth feels like acid, as if bile had risen up his throat. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, but it would hurt more later if he didn’t suck the poison out right here and now. “Nevermind about that. The point is, I lost my chance and I don’t regret it. Yeah, it fucking hurts like a bitch, but what am I going to do? Cry about it? We’ve all known since the beginning that if anyone is going to get a happy ending, it’s certainly not going to be me.”

“Don’t say that,” Jimin says, frowning slightly. He had spoken so sternly that it impelled Yoongi to straighten up in his seat and turn to stare at him. It’s quite unlike Jimin to be anything but friendly and kind, so seeing him so severe is disconcerting. Though, it did manage to shut Yoongi up immediately.

“This is not the end of the world. You are not going to end up unloved or forgotten. There are people who love you, people who will love you. Don’t you remember? Those were the same words you told me when I got my heart broken the first time,” Jimin says, his voice trembling ever so slightly. Yoongi’s gaze flies to Jimin’s fists, clenched tightly by his sides.

Of course, Yoongi remembers. It’s hard to forget the sight of Park Jimin sobbing relentlessly into his shoulder, fat tears falling like raindrops and down his flushed cheeks. He remembers saying the same words to you, too. He wonders, not for the first time, if his words are as ineffective to you as they are to him right now.

“I know,” Yoongi says. He switches the engine on and watches his dashboard light up. The radio turns on, the last notes of a ballad playing through the speakers. Yoongi puts his hand on the wheel, carefully not to grip too tightly this time. It’s a start, he thinks.

They go home, leaving without looking back.

x x x x x

October 1, 2020 — 9:20 PM

Kim Taehyung locks his bedroom door the moment he gets home, after casting a furtive glance at the closed door across from his. He does not know what he expects; the door across from him has been closed for almost a week now. The entire apartment is still, but he is not alone. The ghost who lives in the other bedroom still haunts him, in more ways than one.

He drops his bag to the floor, still cradling a small bouquet of camellias that was slightly crushed when he had bumped into someone in the elevator. He unpeels the plastic wrapping, gently placing them into the vase near his windowsill. He fingers the vibrant pink petals, but they don’t brighten his room the way they once did. It still feels dark, but he has a sinking suspicion that he had nothing to do with his lights.

It’s me. I’ve changed.

He shakes his head, banishing the thought. No, it’s okay. Everything is fine. You’ve done nothing wrong. And yet, the door across the hall begs to differ.

Typically, this shouldn’t be a problem for him. When everything is said and done, Taehyung is used to this happening. The closed doors, the unopened texts, the cold shoulders. It’s all a process that Taehyung has lived through for years.

Guilt: an emotion that Taehyung has become accustomed to. Abandonment: an action that Taehyung has learned to anticipate. Isolation: a lifestyle that Taehyung has mastered. Every relationship with Kim Taehyung will always lead to these three things, so it shouldn’t be affecting him the way that it is.

But over the last three years, he’d grown comfortable. The people around him had convinced him unknowingly, planting seeds of hope and optimism in a garden he had thought to be infertile. For once in his life, Taehyung had found a home in these people, and he’d do anything in his power to keep it safe.

Or at least, he thought he did.

His original intentions had been guileless; he wanted to help Jungkook because he was his friend. Jungkook had been his first friend in university—if he wanted to be honest, then Taehyung would even say that Jungkook was his first friend in his entire life. The boy was kind-hearted and supportive, wrapped perfectly with a goofy personality. Of course, Taehyung wasn’t blind to Jungkook’s faults, but he was sure that Jungkook didn’t have a mean bone in his body. He had decided back then that he could trust this one, and once he had allowed Jungkook into his life, the rest followed suit.

It was easy to empathize with Jungkook because he was just so… awkward. It was like watching a newborn fawn learning to walk for the first time, except Jungkook had long since outgrown his baby status and should have been independent long ago. Taehyung and everyone knew this about him, but they still gave him the benefit of the doubt. They mentored him, guided him, manipulated him in the wrong ways in hopes of hastening him to change. That was until…

Everything fell apart. Taehyung understood long before the fall that he had played a considerable part in Jungkook’s ruin. His negligence, his willful involvement in worsening the situation had exacerbated everything. He had ignored the signs, had barrelled through with his plans without another thought, all because he allowed himself to be blind to what he truly wanted out of this mess.

If he genuinely wanted to be a friend to Jungkook, he would’ve stopped interfering way before you had gone to Ilsan that one fateful weekend in August. He’d been aware he was doing more harm than good to everyone around him, including himself.

No, he stopped wanting to help Jungkook a long time ago. It had turned into his own personal agenda.

“Fuck!” Taehyung screams into the night sky, slamming his hands against the wall. He grabs the nearby vase, smashing it against the floor and scattering water, petals, and glass across the floor. The impact causes a few shards to imbed themselves into his shin, but he does not mind them, for he does not feel them.

He breathes heavily, gritting his teeth in unspeakable rage. He’s angry, so furious. This red hot searing rage builds up in his body until he starts to feel dizzy, his vision blurred with tinges of black. Why is he mad? Who is he mad at?

Is he mad at Jungkook? Yes, but that isn’t new. He’s been angry at Jungkook for a while now. It frustrates him to no end how lucky Jungkook is without even knowing. How easily love comes to him, how pain and misfortune had never been in his vocabulary until just recently. Jungkook had you, Yoongi, and Jimin for longer than he has. Jungkook has been swaddled in affection since the start but has always been too stupid to see. If he had just stopped being so cowardly, he could have easily gotten the person he loves without anyone’s help.

If he just learned to ask, if he just learned to stop fucking locking his goddamn door—

Just like Taehyung.

They are two sides of the same coin, and it scares him.

This raw, unadulterated rage is not about Jungkook, but himself. It was always about him.

He lets out one last defiant shout at the frigid sky before dropping to his bed in defeat. The fury subsides as quickly as it comes, but it only leaves a desolate landscape inside of him.

He does not know for how long he lies there. When he stands, he leaves bloody footprints in his wake. “Appropriate,” he mutters to himself. He limps over to his door, hobbling to the adjacent bathroom to retrieve a first-aid kit. When he opens the door, Taehyung does not notice the small white box placed in front of his doorway. He nearly trips over it, saving himself by latching onto the wooden frame. He glances down, picking up the box gingerly when he sees a small sticky note tacked on top of it.

If you need help, just knock.

Taehyung looks across the hall. The door is still closed, but the person behind it is not.

His grip on the first-aid kit tightens. The first step is always the hardest.

x x x x x

October 1, 2020 — 1:03 PM

When you had run the moment you spotted Jungkook, Jung Hoseok had chosen to stay behind. He had pushed Jungkook to go after you, had yelled at him when Jungkook had hesitated for that one split second.

“Go!” he shouted, jolting Jungkook to his senses. He sprinted off, but not before giving Hoseok one last look back. Hoseok put on his bravest smile at him, throwing a thumbs up. “Don’t give up yet!”

Even now, ten minutes later, his throat still feels scratchy from how loud he had been.

He sits by the curb where he had parked his parents’ car. Namjoon sits beside him, a few inches apart. The autumn wind sends chills down his back, the afternoon sun doing its best to keep him warm. Though, he reckons that half the cold is because of the weather.

Hoseok clears his throat at the same moment Namjoon does. They share a glance, the beginnings of a smile playing on their lips. They look back to the ground, avoiding each other once more. Hoseok taps indiscernible beats with his feet while Namjoon draws shapes in the air with his fingers.

Hoseok tries again. “Umm. Namjoon,” he mumbles tentatively. He doesn’t know where to start.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, you know. I’ve known you since before you even learned how to walk.” Namjoon beats him to it, like always. “I can guess what you want to say.”

Hoseok hazards a glance at him. His friend is tanner than he remembers, the summer months having done well on his skin. He almost giggles when he notices the line where the edge of his shirt sleeve meets his bicep, the stark contrast of color evident whenever Namjoon moves his arm. It has been a while since he has seen Namjoon with a tan line, as Hoseok was usually there to remind him to put sunscreen on before leaving the house.

Usually.

Hoseok sobers up, the momentary amusement evaporating just like that. How is it that in only one month, so many things have changed between them?

“What do you think I want to say?” Hoseok responds. He tries to keep his voice level and cool, but he knows that Namjoon notices the small ways in which he falters. Namjoon knows how he rubs his neck when he’s nervous, how his ears get red when he’s embarrassed. He memorizes the exact time it takes for Hoseok’s mouth to downturn, forming into his signature pout.

He knows all these things and more. And yet, how could Namjoon possibly know the traitorous things that he has done?

“I think… you got sidetracked,” Namjoon says slowly, carefully. When Hoseok glances at him again, he finds that Namjoon is looking back. He has a contemplative expression on his face, his jaw clenched in the same way that it does when he’s solving a tough problem. “I think you wanted to help me get together with her, didn’t you? At least, in the beginning.”

“I still do,” Hoseok admits, breaking his gaze once more. He stares up ahead, where the park is bustling with children and their families. He watches a small boy swinging on a swing set, while another boy pushes him higher and higher. “Do you remember?”

“Remember what?”

“When you texted me while you were freaking out over how you were falling in love with her?”

Namjoon huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. Of course. How could I forget? I’m still freaking out about it now.”

“I was just… worried about you, you know? I’m always worried about you,” Hoseok says. The boy on the swing set is still going, but one extra strong push from his friend causes him to tumble, landing face-first into the ground. The nearby adults begin to panic, but the boy rises unsteadily, dirt caked onto his scratched up face. But when he faces his friend, he’s smiling and laughing like he has just won the lottery.

“Not an unfounded concern,” Namjoon chuckles, causing Hoseok to put on a small smile. His laughter dies as quickly as it comes. “Was that the time you decided to help me?”

“I’ve wanted to help you since the beginning, but that was the first time I actually did something about it.” Hoseok’s heart is beating a mile a minute, his palms sweaty despite the chilly weather. “I only wanted to find out if Jungkook really liked her or not. I wanted to know if you had a chance before you fell any deeper because I didn't want you to get hurt.”

When Namjoon doesn’t say anything, Hoseok continues. “Even when he admitted that he did love her, I could sense that there was a huge chance things weren’t going to work between them as long as if some things were just… pushed in the right direction.” His voice grows smaller the more and more he speaks, the guilt feeling heavy against his windpipe. But Hoseok is determined to tell him, no matter what happens. It’s the least that Namjoon deserves.

“I suppose, in this case, it would be the wrong direction,” Namjoon hums, but he doesn’t appear angry or upset. Not yet, at least. From the corner of Hoseok’s eye, he sees him nod for him to go on.

“Yeah. I could tell he was insecure, and that insecurity was prone to growing into jealousy,” Hoseok runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots just to give his hands something to do other than to quiver. “I noticed that he shuts down whenever he’s cornered, so that’s what I did. I kept pushing him, forcing him to admit his wrongdoings but never berating him for them. So, in turn, he began relying on me for comfort instead of his friends.”

He keeps going, “I didn’t feel bad for it at first. I kept telling myself, ‘It’s all for Namjoon in the long run.’ But it didn’t take long for me to realize that I couldn’t keep helping you without hurting Jungkook in the process. I was manipulating this poor boy, and I didn’t even know it until it was too late.”

Hoseok waits for Namjoon to react. He can’t bear to look at him, far too ashamed even to consider turning. He’s sure he’ll find disgust in his kind friend’s eyes, and he isn’t sure if he’d be able to stop himself from running if he saw it. But Namjoon refuses to speak, probably not until Hoseok finishes his piece.

“Jungkook didn’t deserve what I did to him. All the things he did is nothing in comparison to the punishment I inflicted on him, especially when it was never my place to do so. I fed the monster inside of him when he was nothing but a boy who was just scared. Then, just when he still had a shot at redemption, when she was still willing to listen to him, it was also me who ruined everything. I told her about all the bad things he had done. I told her about—”

“The thing about Jungkook paying to spread that rumor,” Namjoon speaks so suddenly that Hoseok nearly chokes in surprise. He had been so quiet that he scarcely even seemed to breathe. “You told her about it, didn’t you?”

“I… Yes, I did. She told you about it?”

“Yeah. She never informed me who told her, but I suppose it makes sense. But there was something else you said, wasn’t there? Something even she wouldn’t tell me.”

Hoseok nods his head sadly. “Yes. I think she was probably more hurt to find out that Jungkook had been ignoring her in favor of hanging out with me. Indirectly, I fed into her jealousy, but instead of comforting her, I intensified her guilt.”

Beside him, Namjoon releases a shaky breath. “You brought me up.”

“Yes.” There’s no use denying it; after all, Hoseok has always been a terrible liar.

“Did you tell her..?” The question hangs heavily in the air, but Namjoon doesn’t have to finish it for Hoseok to understand.

“No, I didn’t tell her you love her. I just mentioned how she was hurting you by loving Jungkook. That’s all. I don’t think she even had the chance to understand what I meant.”

There’s a moment of silence. The two boys sit side by side, looking to all the world like friends just enjoying an autumn afternoon together. The sounds of children singing, of parents chatting, of lovers laughing try their best to fill the space, but the gap is already too big to mend. At least, not immediately.

“Okay.”

Hoseok startles once more, this time managing to gather enough courage to take a peek at Namjoon. He keeps his eyes low, staring at the mole on his chin. “Okay?” he repeats.

Namjoon shrugs half-heartedly. “It’s done. All we can do now is wait, I guess.”

“But… you’re not..?”

“Mad at you? No, I’m not. Am I hurt? Incredibly so.” Namjoon swallows thickly, his chin wobbling as he finds the strength to keep his tears at bay. “But I can tell you found your way back to the light, and I’m more relieved that you realized your mistake more than anything. I forgive you, but just know that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget.”

“That’s already more than I deserve, Joon,” he says shakily. He feels a hand snake around his own, and he looks down to find their fingers laced together. On Namjoon’s wrist, the bracelet he had made for him in the 7th grade is frayed and mangled, but still ever-present. “But… what now? If they truly end up fixing everything, will you be okay with it? If Jungkook is still fighting for her… why aren’t you?”

“Same goes for you, I suppose,” Namjoon says simply. He doesn’t explain what he means by that, but Hoseok is honestly too afraid to ask. He’s always felt like Namjoon knew a little bit too much about things that he shouldn’t. He smiles, but there is a tinge of melancholy there. 

Just out of reach, the way Namjoon has always seemed to be.

x x x x x

October 1, 2020 — 5:12 PM

At first, Jeon Jungkook is surprised to find the park more empty than when he was here a few hours ago. He supposes it is only to be expected, as dinner time is fast approaching and all the families have returned to their homes, preparing for the festivities. In another life, he might have been one of those families, sitting around a table with his brother and parents and eating to his heart’s content. Perhaps he might’ve asked you to join him, just like you had in the past.

He finds you seated on one of the benches near the entrance, kicking away fallen leaves absentmindedly. He takes this moment to observe you from afar, his breath getting caught in his throat when he realizes how long it has been since he last saw you.

His heart aches, the constant heaviness that has made a home in his chest growing tenfold. There are no words to explain the plethora of emotions flying through his head, but all he knows is that at the root of it all, he simply just misses you.

You hear him approach him before you see him. When he looks at you, Jungkook doesn’t know how you’re feeling. He used to be so good at anticipating your mood, always the first one to sense when you were upset or annoyed. Now, you just looked… blank, and for some reason, that hurts to see more than if you had been angry.

Jungkook stops right in front of you, his black boots crunching on dead leaves. You motion for him to take a seat beside you, patting the bench lightly.

“Hi. It’s been a while,” you say softly. You aren’t looking at him, and your hair obstructs him from viewing your face.

“Hello,” he replies, feeling dumb. He can’t think of anything better to say, all the things he had prepared in his mind suddenly blown away with the wind. The sight of you alone makes his mouth go dry, his hands to grow cold and clammy. He realizes, not for the first time, how terribly out of his depth he is.

“This has certainly been a long time coming, hasn’t it?”

“It has been,” he agrees. “It’s almost laughable how long it’s taken us to get to this moment.”

You bark out a laugh, the hoarse sound ringing in the air. “Laughable is certainly one way to put it, I guess.”

“Then why did you ignore me for so long? Why did you suddenly shut me out when you told me you wanted to talk? What happened?” He speaks without meaning to, the words flying out of his mouth before he can think of stopping. If his sudden inquiry startles you, you don’t show it.

“I could ask you the same thing.” You shrug, pushing back some of your hair behind your ear. He can see the slope of your nose, the outline of your lips, the shape of your eyes. He memorizes all these things about you, sees you in his dreams and nightmares, but nothing can ever beat real life.

“I’m sorry.” It’s a start: two words heavy with meaning. What does he apologize for first? The rumors? The jealousy? The betrayal? It wouldn’t matter which one he chooses to tackle first because he already knows sorry isn’t going to cut it, but he has to try at least. This isn’t really about him anymore or about asking for forgiveness. You deserve to know everything he’s done—if you wanted to know, that is.

You blink rapidly, but your eyes are dry. “I know.”

“You don’t have to forgive me.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to trust me.”

“I don’t,” you say, and it hurts the both of you when you do. Jungkook feels his insides clench, feels his heart collapse in his chest. “I don’t trust you, Jungkook,” you repeat.

“I…” Jungkook has to take a few shuddering breaths, his vision going blurry as he tries to keep it together. He waits for the pain to ebb, but it flows like a river down his veins. “I hurt you a lot. It’s only right that you don’t trust me.”

“I have a lot of regrets,” you say, sniffling. You still aren’t crying, but your nose is red from the cold. He wonders how long you had sat here waiting for him to arrive. How long have you been waiting for him in general?

“I have a lot of those, too,” he says. “I regret being unfair to you. For keeping people away from getting close to you, like a property meant to be hidden away. I tried to steal you for myself, but that’s not a very good thought, is it? I shouldn’t have thought that you were a thing to be kept. You should have been someone I treasured.”

“Then why didn’t you treasure me?” The question echoes loudly in Jungkook’s ears, as it’s the very same question that has weighed in his mind the moment he started to wonder where he’d gone wrong. Why hadn’t he loved you the way that he should have?

“Because I abused your love for me, even when I wasn’t aware of it,” he says plainly. He has known the answer for a while now but refused to accept it until this moment. It feels like a cork inside of him has burst, releasing all the foul, wretched things inside of him and out into the open. And once they start tumbling out, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop.

“I think we both knew we loved each other for as long as we can remember. We skirted around each other because we were scared of change, of losing the friendship we had built over the years. We purposefully ignored each other’s feelings and brushed off our friends’ attempts to help us realize something we already knew.”

“We did,” you say. “That was both our faults.”

“But I was never good at bottling up my feelings. It was only a matter of time before the love I had for you began to grow claws and fangs, and somehow along the way,” he pauses, a breath of sorrowful laughter escaping him, “I had gotten lost.”

Your expression morphs then, shifting from pain, to grief, to acceptance. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Your eyes look glazed over, like your mind is somewhere else. When you come back down, you already have another question for him. “Why didn’t you ever ask me out?”

He should just say something else, but he can’t help but wonder—”Why didn’t you?”

“I tried—a couple of times. You never noticed they were dates,” you shrug. A leaf from one of the nearby trees gets caught in your hair, and Jungkook reflexively plucks it out. You both freeze when his fingers graze your nape, gazes locking with one another. He jerks his hand back, but doesn’t look away—doesn’t dare to.

(It might be his last chance.)

“I’m sorry for being dense. For resorting to buying rumors so that I could pretend to date you when I could have asked for the real thing. I’m sorry for setting you up with… Namjoon,” he hesitates on his name, and you notice. “It must have confused you greatly, only worsening the doubt you must’ve had for me.”

“It did.” The corners of your eyes look wetter than before, tears dangerously close to the surface. “When I asked you if I should go to Ilsan the first time... You told me to go, even though everyone told me you were jealous of Namjoon. I was starting to believe them, hoping that maybe it was a sign that everything before then had just been a misunderstanding. But that was all you, wasn’t it? Why didn’t you tell me to stay?”

“It was a mistake,” he mutters. He shakes his head at the memory: a frequent recurring nightmare of his as he is forced to remember the moment everything had started to go downhill. “I had realized I was being a jealous asshole far too late, and I was trying to clear my own conscience. I thought that… if I let you go, then you’d think better of me. That I might be absolved of my sins if I took your trip as my penance. I didn’t think you were trying to see if I would stop you,” he explains, but it sounds like an excuse even to his ears.

You sit together, watching the sun begin to set, bathing the world in its orange hues. Jungkook feels empty, wrung out like a towel left to dry. The wounds inside him ache and throb, but he knows they won’t last. As surely as the sun will rise, he will also relearn to feel whole again—even if it means you won’t be there to see it.

“I waited for so long, Koo.” You shake your head, allowing a few traitorous tears to fall. You let out a watery laugh. “ I waited for this moment for so long, but I never imagined it would be like this.”

Jungkook studies his hands. He desperately wants to hold you one more time, but the ship has already sailed. “We’ve already sailed past each other a long time ago.”

You nod your head sadly. “We have.”

“Is it bad that I wish that we hadn’t?” he whispers, but he doesn’t really expect a response from you. He rubs his face, covertly trying to wipe his tears away. “I guess there’s a reason why you called me number two, huh?”

You can’t even force out a laugh. You sob unabashedly, cupping your face in your hands. This is the end.

This is the end of a great long adventure between you and him—the time for your roads to diverge closes in, like a shadow looming over their heads.

Jungkook wraps you in an embrace for the last time. You shake like a leaf in his arms, clutching at his chest like you don’t want to let go. He drinks you in, tries to commit everything about you to his memory. “Thank you for loving me, even if it didn’t work out. Thank you for being my first love.”

x x x x x

October 1, 2020 — 7:07 PM

Kim Namjoon opens the door to his childhood home the moment he hears footsteps climbing up the stairs. He’d done so numerous times already, spooking one or two of his neighbors at his sudden appearance. This time, however, he finds the person he had been waiting for.

“Oh, Y/N. Thank god,” he sighs in relief when he sees you, rushing out the door just as you finish taking the last stairstep. You wobble in surprise when you notice him, nearly falling over with a scream before he catches you by the waist to keep you steady. He pulls you close, pressing your face gently into his chest.

“I’m so sorry for everything. I’m so sorry for bringing you to Ilsan even though Yoongi told us not to go. I’m sorry for not telling you that I knew Jungkook and Hoseok were coming here, too. I’m so sorry for—”

“Namjoon,” you try to interrupt him, but he keeps going.

“—wanting you and Jungkook to reconcile even if you didn’t want you to leave me. You just looked so sad all the time, and I knew you needed to speak to him at least one more time so that you could find closure, but I should have asked you first like a decent person—”

“Namjoon,” you repeat. Namjoon pauses long enough to see that our eyes are red-rimmed from crying, further increasing the panic rising in his body.

“Oh god, I didn’t want you to be sadder! I just… God! I just wanted to help you for once, because you always helped me with everything. I know you deserve to make your own decisions, to be your own person, but I ignored that in favor of following my stupid gut—”

“Joonie, the neighbors can hear you,” you hiss, furtively glancing at the doors opening around them. You can feel many eyes on you, watching curiously at the red-faced idiot babbling like a man possessed. You motion for him to stop, but he’s too caught up in the moment.

“For a while, I thought I could stop myself from falling in love with you, but it was so hard! You have to understand how impossible it is not to love you. Believe me, I tried!” Namjoon all but shouts the last part out, shaking you by the shoulders. “I don’t deserve you! I’m just not a good boyfriend! I’m insecure to a fault, I’m boring, I have mild sleep apnea, I forget to throw out the empty milk cartons—”

You yelp as he continues to shake you, gently having to pry his hands off of you to save yourself from being shaken like a bobblehead. “Joonie,” you say, firmer this time.

He rambles and rambles and rambles. He couldn’t stop even if he wanted to, hands gesticulating wildly like a human helicopter. He’s so wrapped up in his monologue that he doesn’t realize immediately when you take his hands in yours, forcing him to keep still.

“Joonie.”

“—and I’ve never been able to hold a relationship for longer than two months! My past girlfriend even left me after cheating on me the entire time—”

“Joonie.”

“I’ve never been good at being vulnerable and being myself, but you somehow managed to make me feel like I was worth something. You made me feel so so so incredibly loved. You made me feel important!”

“Kim Namjoon!” You shout, finally losing your temper and flicking him on the forehead. That finally manages to stop him, his eyes going cross-eyed like a cartoon character. You could almost see the flying stars orbiting his head. Properly silenced now, you push him back into his apartment, kicking the door with your foot before locking it for good measure.

When you turn back to face him, he’s still frozen where you left him. He stands in the middle of his living room like a robot, his mouth slightly agape as if his wires had been fried. Rolling your eyes goodnaturedly, you pull him to the couch, gently guiding him so that he doesn’t accidentally fall on his ass as he continues to short circuit in front of you. It takes him another whole minute to get his bearings together, but you’re a patient person. You sit in the adjacent armchair and wait for him to speak.

“Oh my god.” He swallows awkwardly, the color draining from his face. “What the hell did I do?”

“Welcome back to earth,” you smile, waving a hand in front of him. “Did you miss me?”

“I always miss you.” It seems as though Namjoon’s weird candor spell is still in effect. He has the presence of mind to be embarrassed this time, however, and you watch amusedly as his cheeks begin to redden. “I, umm…”

“Gave quite a show out there. I didn’t know you could rap,” you tease, your mouth curling up into a smile. The muscles in your cheeks feel sore, almost as if it has been ages since you last used them. This morning feels like it had happened eons ago.

“Sorry. I just… had a lot to say,” he replies lamely. He hangs his head, embarrassed to look you in the eye. “So… I’m guessing you spoke to Jungkook?”

He hears you hum in agreement, but you don’t say anything on the matter. Namjoon has never been one to pry, but his overactive brain can’t help but make connections out of nothing, trying to make sense of the world in desperation.

“I’m guessing you’re here to reject me, right? I’m sorry for confessing to you all of a sudden when you’re already spoken for. It was unfair of me, and you don’t need to try and spare my feelings at all. I’ve been prepared for this since August,” he speaks rapidly, nearly losing his breath in his haste. “It was my fault for thinking we could have happened. I mistook your kindness for reciprocation when I should have known better—”

“Joonie, my love. You’re rambling again.” Your voice snaps him back to reality. He turns redder somehow, sinking deep into his seat.

“S-sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” you huff, pouting in annoyance, but Namjoon catches the fondness in your eyes. “You aren’t unfair at all.”

“E-even so,” he stutters, heart hammering in his chest. “I shouldn’t have expected anything to happen between us. We were only going to fake date until the end of Chuseok, so it was foolish of me to try and… replace Jungkook, somehow. But I suppose, in the grand scheme of things… he’s a tough act to follow up to, huh? Seven years of loving someone is a long time. I don’t hold a candle to that,” he says dejectedly.

“But you do.” The words slip out before you can stop them. Your eyes widen, shocked by your own admission. Even so, you know what you said is true, and you wouldn’t take it back even if you could. 

For a moment, you think he doesn’t hear it when he doesn’t react. It takes a second for his brain to buffer, but Namjoon had heard you, loud and clear.

“What do you mean?” His tone is soft, hesitant. Afraid, but hopeful.

You shrug your shoulders. You want to tell him everything, but you are impossibly tired, your eyelids like sandbags just waiting to fall. Namjoon must have noticed because he stumbles out of his seat with his arms outstretched, ready to keep you from slumping over.

“Woah, there. I’m sorry for interrogating when you must be exhausted. Do you want to take my bed instead of the couch tonight?” he asks, kneeling in front of you.

You blink sleepily at him, nodding with a large yawn. “I wanna talk to you but I’m tired,” you say, before promptly toppling onto him. He doesn’t flinch at your weight, catching you in an instant. He lets you nestle your face into his neck, and he grabs your arms until they’re laced around his shoulders. Slowly, he gets up with you in his arms, a feeling of weightlessness filling your senses. Safe.

When he tucks you into his bed, the sheets smell familiar and homey. Namjoon sits by the edge, brushing a few strands of hair away from your forehead. “Namjoon?” Your voice sounds muted to your own ears, as if you were underwater. But you don’t feel like you’re drowning, not at all.

“Yes?” He watches you with kind eyes, the same ones he has always had. To you, he looks like a prayer come to life, a promise ready to be fulfilled.

“You’ll be here? When I wake up?”

Namjoon exhales out a laugh, smiling sweetly. I love your dimples, you want to say, but your body feels heavy. Tomorrow. You’ll tell him for sure.

“Yes, Y/N. I’ll always be here. For as long as you want.”

You close your eyes. Tomorrow.

It’s a promise.

[wvttvk]

Do You Love Her — David Dobrik

a/n: sorry this took so long, I get distracted easily lol ok that’s all ily thank u for reading, enjoy :) Word Count: 1.2k

“You’re not fucking leaving.”

You stopped dead in your tracks. You felt your shoulders and back tighten as you heard him spit demands behind you. You really shouldn’t turn around. The familiarity of this situation has become more than just a one time deja vu, it had become habitual. You and David fight and then fuck then fuck and fight. A toxic cycle that reset whenever you turn back around to him.

You weren’t breaking this time, you told yourself. As you continued moving in the front hall, struggling to pull on your shoes, you kept your back to him. “Fuck off, David.” You responded finally grabbing your coat and keys from where they were on the bench.

Before your fingers could reach for the front handle, his hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling your attention back to him.

You snapped back, fully facing him again. You were mad at him and he was equally angry with you. His fingers were wrapped so tightly around your wrist, you wondered if he could feel your heartbeat racing through you.

“You don’t get to just storm off, after slinging childish insults, Y/N. Let’s just fucking talk like adults.” David was clearly pissed, his eyebrows pulled together and his stance was far more defensive than his usual posture. Even now, looking into his eyes that swirled with frustration, he still looked gentle and it made you want to walk with him back to his room—back into his bed. But before you could crumble in his hands, David continued, “Why do you care anyway.”

It came out like venom from his lips and the fire in you reignited. You tried to free yourself from his grip but failed, resorting to using your connected hands to push against his chest. He stumbles back and your wrist is free.

You could’ve just left, leaving yourself and David to sit in your frustration, waiting for the cycle to reset. But he’s David and he’s of one your best friends despite everything. So you put down your keys.

You scoffed and shook your head. “That’s rich? Dave. You of all fucking people want to talk? Fine let’s talk.”

You walked further into the house to David’s room, not wanting to interrupt Natalie or Taylor from the screaming match which might ensue from you and David’s talk.

You didn’t even know what you were planning to say to him. You knew your anger at him was without reason. He could fuck whoever he wanted to. Whatever you and him had been doing, it was not a relationship, I wouldn’t even say you were “seeing each other.”

You had been friends since both moving to LA and living in the same building.

There was never anything sexual until six months ago when you found out you both like channeling your anger into other things. It was all tongues and teeth. The crashing of of two storms destined to destroy everything.

But David and you had an understanding: this nothing more than something physical. Nothing more and certainly nothing less.

Until today, with you walking into the house as David, Jason and Natalie we’re finishing the podcast. Sitting on the pool table, you watched and chatted with Joe and Taylor. As they wrapped up, Jason made a comment to David about some girl, explaining, “Todd told me you’ve been seeing that girl, the one friends with the tiktoker or the model, I’m not sure which one he said.” David wasn’t fazed and he certainly didn’t try to deny it, laughing and making jokes about it.

Everything faded and you only saw him. Adorned in a beautiful smile. A stupid, beautiful smile that made the corners of your mouth twitch upward in response. You were angry and despite your belief— you were hurt.

“Y/N.” He pulled your back from where your mind had drifted to thoughts and visions of him and the girl. Before you could even think how to express yourself, you said the first thing that came to mind

“Do you love her?”

He looked at you so blankly. He didn’t have to rack his brain, he knew what I was referring to. His face shifted from his shock to that of frustration again.

“No-I—Why do you care? Why are you asking me that?” He said, the words sounding smug on his tongue and you knew he took back the upper hand.

Why were you mad? He’s certainly not yours.

You never said anything about being exclusive so his question stands: why do you care?

“I don’t care that you’re fucking her.”

“It sure seems like you do.”

“Well I don’t.”

You and David stared at each other. You both knew this conversation was bullshit and as long as you both kept dancing around the discussion of what you both have been doing, there will never be any resolve. You were frustrated and your ego was definitely hurt so you pushed back your shoulders and looked at David.

“You know what I do care. Because you don’t get to have both of us. If you’re seeing someone else there’s no reason for me to be here whenever you need your dick sucked.” You finished your statement with venom on your tongue and David’s eyes darkened and focused on you.

“That’s not fair. I-“ before he can continue you cut him off.

“You’re right it’s not fair, maybe I should get someone new to fuck. I wonder if Todd or Jeff are busy-“

David had clearly had enough, he stomped towards you and in two strides he had you backed against a wall.

“That’s not the same and you know it.” It came from his lips like a growl. His proximity to you was all consuming and you felt all the boundaries that were needed begin to fade away. His chest was puffing and his eyes were two shades darker than they were before.

All the strength you thought you had to walk away was so far gone, you wondered if it was ever there at all.

“Yeah whatever.” The words tumbled from your lips. All you could focus on was his hot breath mingling with yours, his hand that just grazed your sides as he lifted it to your face.

His fingers danced along your jaw and you felt the heat from his palm pressed against your neck. Your eyes fluttered as his thumb fell from your bottom lip to your chin. You could feel the cycle reset. All anger and hurt you felt began to melt and all you could think of was his lips, they were so close to you.

All your sanity was gone and you snapped.

Your mouth rushing against his. A battle of tongues and wandering hands as you marked each other. Your hand tangled in his hair as he pushed his hips against you, using the other's body as a means to take out all the anger that you were previously feeling. The only feeling now was lust and blind passion. His hand tightened where it gripped your neck and you groaned into his open mouth as it moved against yours. He moved you with ease, guiding you back to his bed as you palmed him through his jeans.

With a final push from David, you fell down onto his bed and further into this mess.

But with his body pressing down on yours, you didn’t care.

You would let him wreck you over and over, just to keep his skin against yours.

[steebharringt0n]

cat’s in the cradle

infant | toddler | child | teenager | young adult

a 5-part story exploring the relationship between billy hargrove and his first-born son, adam

pairing: billy hargrove x you

rating: t

a/n: GUESS WHO’S COMPUTER DELETED THIS ENTIRE STORY OVER THE WEEKEND, THEN CRASHED. LOL. yeah, i was pissed, anyways, the final part will be posted tomorrow, and Sanctuary will be updated later in the week. As always, thank you for your patience and for your support.

---

part 4 - teenager

17-year old Adam Hargrove was fucked.

No scratch that, he was dead where he stood.

Fear slid it’s cool claws over his neck as his eyes gazed over the camaro. He swallowed thickly, his stomach lurching as his eyes landed on the heavily dented front bumper of his father’s precious car.

“Oh my god, dad is going to kill you”

He didn’t even have to turn around to know that his 12-year old little sister was standing behind him. The Hargrove siblings stood outside their driveway, their attention both on the blue camaro in the garage. He twisted his neck to face a smirking Ava, her arms crossed as she carefully walked around the car, analyzing the dented bumper with her own eyes.

“Did you really think taking the camaro out was a good idea?” she questioned.

Adam licked his lips, he felt the sudden urge to vomit his entire dinner but he fought against it, “At the time ... yes ... now ... not so much ... “

His eyes landed on his 2000 Honda Accord parked adjacent to the camaro. His father had gifted him the car when he turned 16. It was a perfectly nice car, there was nothing wrong with it, but he was hanging out with Gina Sanderson and he knew his little green car wouldn’t be nearly as impressive as his father’s 78′ Camaro. He had a reputation to maintain at Sunset Cliff High, all thanks to the myth, the legend that was his father, Billy Hargrove.

It wasn’t that Adam was unpopular. In fact, if you asked anybody at Sunset Cliff about Adam Hargrove, you’d hear good things about him. Adam had lost his baby fat throughout his formative years, his jaw line chiseling out, looking more and more like his father everyday. He had traded his square frames for contacts which made his baby blues shine out more than before. He was the captain of the baseball team, his long hours of training and running had helped sculpt his body into one that the ladies loved to ogle at. And he was an all around good guy, he got straight A’s, got along well with his AP teachers. 

But when word quickly got out that he was Billy Hargrove’s - yes, the Billy Hargrove - son. He knew he had to up the ante just a bit more, and taking the camaro for a joy ride (and inviting the most popular girl at school as well), was just the thing he needed to maintain that high status at school.

It was a last minute impulsive decision. Adam wasn’t really one for impulsive decisions, he was logical, he liked to think things through. He wasn’t big on rule breaking, which was something his parents loved to pride on. But something in him snapped, his rebellious streak made a small appearance tonight and he was highly regretting listening to the devil on his shoulder.

It’s not like he had $500 dollars to spare, or an extra 78′ Camaro bumper lying around as well.

He was sure his parents - more so his father - would be understanding about this, right? It’s not like he was warned his whole life never to touch the camaro, never to be inside the camaro without his father, hell, he wasn’t sure if he was ever allowed to breathe inside the camaro.

Was it worth taking Gina out on a joyride? The Adam from about an hour ago would have told you, absolutely yes. He relished in seeing the way her eyes lit up when he showed up at her house, the way her hair blew wildly in the wind as she loudly sang along to The Killers, Somebody Told Me. And when they arrived at the cliff that overlooked Mission Beach, and how the moonlight struck her, he swore he had never seen something so perfect in his life.

If you asked Adam now, he would probably tell you no. That he hadn’t seen that stupid fire hydrant when he made that sharp left out of Gina’s neighborhood. It was a poor excuse, but hell, it was the truth. That in reality, it wasn’t worth losing his freedom over.

“How much longer until mom and dad get home?” he asked nervously.

Ava shrugged, “You got about less than a hour - mom called about half an hour ago, said they’d be leaving soon”

You and Billy were currently attending a black-tie Gala for the educators in San Diego. You were being honored a prestigious award for your work with at risk youth, a mission that you held very near and dear to your heart ever since you met Billy. You witnessed first hand how abuse could warp and change a person - you remember long nights staying up with Billy, tending to his wounds, letting him cry on your shoulder, and just holding him until his nightmares of Neil would go away.

Never again did you want any child to go through that.

Billy (or now more commonly known as Bill, which weirded you out) still ran the very successful automotive shop, and managed to open up 2 more locations in the surrounding areas. The Hargroves were well off, money wasn’t an issue to them and because Billy was so tight with the dealerships in the area, cars always came and went, but he always had a soft spot for his beloved camero. 

The bright headlights that suddenly pulled up on the driveway broke Adam’s concentration. The 2004 black BMW pulled to a stop on the driveway, the driver of the car wondering why his two children were currently hanging outside in front of the garage.

“Oh this is gonna be good” smirked Ava as she watched her parents step out of the car. Billy was dressed up in a white button-up, a black bow-tie attached at the top near the collar. His hair was neatly cut short, long abandoning the days of his mullet. He looked older, wrinkles donning the corners of his eyes and near his forehead, but even still at almost 40 years old, he looked good. You stepped out next, your figure was delicately clothed in a long black strapless dress, hugging your hips and curves. Your hair was pulled up in a bun, with two curled strands of hair that crowned your face. If you told people you were on your way to turn 40, they probably wouldn’t believe you.

You instantly frowned at the scene in front of you, there’s no reason why both of your children should be out this late. Your eyes gazed over at them, Ava who was looking very amused, and Adam who looked like he was on the verge of tears. Then as your eyes wandered over to the garage, and as you saw the dented camaro, did your stomach instantly dropped.

And you immediately knew the culprit.

“Oh Adam ... “ you muttered.

You looked over at Billy who’s jaw was clenched tight, his nostrils flaring. You could tell he was trying to bite his tongue, trying not to unleash loud explicits in the quiet neighborhood. Over the years Billy had learned how to manage his anger, with a lot of coaxing and learning from you, he wasn’t the same Billy Hargrove that terrorized the halls of Hawkins. But this, this could have easily made him snap back into that.

You quickly walked up to Ava, wrapping your arm around her shoulder.

“This is between your father and Adam ... we don’t need to stay out here” you whispered to her.

Ava’s jaw dropped, “But mooooooom ... “ she whined, following your lead as the both of you quietly walked into the house, leaving both Hargrove men outside in the cool California night.

Adam stayed planted on his feet, his brain was telling him to move, but he couldn’t do it. 

“H-Hi Dad ... “ he weakly spoke.

Billy quickly made large strides up to the garage, walking past an anxious Adam. He walked around the camaro, inspecting it from every side. He then poked his head on the inside, checking the leather, the seats, and even to see if it still turned on. Once he realized everything else worked, and everything else wasn’t broken, or dented, he walked up to the front of the camaro, crouching down and inspecting the dented bumper carefully.

“I-I’m sorry dad, I know I fucked - I mean I messed up, and I’m really sorry. It was so stupid of me, I should have never done it, and I understand if you never want to talk to me again - “

“What’d you hit it with?” he interjected, his tone heavy.

Adam swallowed, “A fire hydrant”

Billy let a deep sigh escape his lips, lowering his head down in disappointment. He then stood up, and in one fluid motion, pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his inner coat pocket. He leaned up against the camaro, placing a stick in between his lips. He then offered the carton to Adam,

“Go on, take one, I’m sure this night has been stressful enough for you” he murmured.

Adam blinked blankly. He never knew his father smoked, let alone allow him to smoke after he had damaged his car. He hesitantly reached for one, holding it in his hand as Billy pulled out a zippo lighter, and lit up the stick. Billy took a deep inhale, his eyes staring out into the distance.

“Don’t tell your mother, she’d kill me” he quietly added, tossing him the zippo lighter.

Adam quietly nodded, lighting up the cigarette, inhaling, then going into a crazy coughing fit soon after.

“Easy there, don’t inhale too much ... the first time always suck” Billy said, patting his son’s back.

After Adam had quieted down, there was silence amongst the two. 

“You know, I saved up my own money to buy the camaro ... I worked every day that summer of 83′, my old man wasn’t too happy that I decided to spend my money on a car, hell, he wasn’t happy with a lot of the decisions I made in life, including being with your mother”

Adam stood quiet, Billy rarely ever brought up Neil. It was taboo in the family to ever bring up Neil. Adam didn’t know much, but he knew that he wasn’t a good guy, even his Aunt Max would mention every now and then how terrible Neil used to be to her and his father.

So he never asked, never wondered about his grandfather. 

“I drove this camero from California to Indiana. Had a lot of great memories in this camero ... it’s where I took your mother on our first date, where she first told me that she loved me, hell I think you might have been conceived in there” he added that last part in with a chuckle.

Right at that moment Adam had decided to inhale another puff, and ultimately choked on it as Billy finished that last sentence.

“Why are you telling me this? Shouldn’t you be yelling at me? Wanting to rip my head off?” Adam asked.

Billy let out a chuckle, “You know, the old me would have been livid, furious at you.” Billy paused for a second, licking his lips before he took another inhale of the cigarette. “But you’re a good kid Adam, you always have been. Even when you were a little baby your mother and I never had any problems with you. I mean when I was your age I was beating people up, I was awful, I was mean. I honestly don’t know how your mother, or really anyone, put up with me back in the day”

Adam shuffled his feet, kicking a pebble with his foot.

“T-Thanks dad ... but I mean, I messed up your car, you’ve always told me that I wasn’t allowed to drive it, or even touch it”

Billy turned to look over at Adam, “My car? You mean yours”

He then reached into his pocket, pulling out the spare keys of the camaro and placing it into Adam’s shaking hands.

His blue eyes widened in surprise, “Holy shit ... are you serious? What about my Honda Accord?”

Billy shrugged, “Ah, I’ll save it for your sister. We’ve had enough cars come through our garage”

Adam stared at the keys in his hand in awe. He shoved it in his pocket, then threw his cigarette down to the ground and engulfed his father in a hug.

“Thanks dad ... I could’t have been a good kid without having a dad like you” he muttered.

Billy wrapped his arms around his son, closing his eyes and leaning into his embrace. He felt his heart lurch at Adam’s words, tears pricked the corner of his eyes but he quickly wiped them away with the swipe of his hand. Never in a million years did he ever think a child of his would utter those words. 

Billy pulled away from Adam, who’s eyes were still wide with surprise.

“Was the girl cute?” Billy suddenly questioned, his top lip curled into a smirk.

Adam avoided his father’s gaze, his cheeks blushing.

“C’mon, she must have been cute for you to become all Mr. Rebel Without A Cause” Billy pressed on, gently jabbing him in the ribs.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s cute I guess” he finally admitted, a small smile on his face as he recalled kissing her before he dropped her off.

Billy put out his cigarette, stomping it out with his dress shoes as he put his arm around Adam’s shoulder. The two of them started to walk towards the entrance of the house.

“Too bad you won’t see her for awhile, because you’re grounded for a month” he deadpanned.

Adam whipped his head, a look of desperation on his face as they walked through the front door, “Oh, c’mon Dad!”

---

tagged: @the-first-breath-of-autumn-air @justabeautiful-letdown @fab-notfat @tarahell @noodlenerd101 @crazylittlethingcalledobsession @letdecemberburninflames @kake-babe @barbarasbae @delqcour @wearewiththebands @oogachuggaoogaoogachugga @klanceiscannon14 @mrs-hollandstan @gracieadorable 

[ngame989]

“Brew” - TGG SVTFOE Fanfic Collection Ch. 6

Writing: @ngame989​

Art: @toxicpsychox​

Editing: @toxicpsychox​, @seddm​, an IRL friend

Alternate fic links - FFnet, AO3

Summary: After close to a year on Earthni, Tom's been dragged back into the princely life, and it's a lot less exciting than he'd expected. With Star and Marco away on urgent business, can Janna help him turn a boring errand into a fun adventure?

Comic Page

Masterpost

This one’s a nice change of pace from the last two chapters, I think. TGG’s still a Starco-focused work, expect these to be the exception not the norm, but I think it’s important to strike a balance. See below for the text, hope you enjoy!

“No results.” Huh? Three eyes narrowed at the screen in frustration. Maybe a different search term? “No results.” Alright Tom, no big deal, man. Maybe you just spelled something wrong. Annnnnd… there. “No results.” How could there be nothing?

Tom leaned back in the chair and sighed, exercising restraint over the little anger demons inside him as he’d trained himself to do. In the past he’d needed a physical bunny to pet if he wanted even a hope of keeping his cool, but at this point suppressing the urge was such reflex that most would think he just had a regular Mewman quick temper and nothing more in all but the most extreme of conditions, but he was getting pretty close to that point now. Grandpa Relicor’s study had everything, or so he thought, but this was the first time he could ever remember being here where it come up short. He’d checked every shelf, everything he could think in the computer, had even fireblasted a few of the shelves just to see if there were any hidden switches or anything. Even Relicor had been at a loss and had been screeching in distress on the floor for long enough that Tom’s brain had graciously tuned it out. What could be so important about this book his mom needed? He hadn’t even had time to change his casual graphic tee from a cartoon he liked, simply tossing his maroon jacket over it before heading out at his mother’s behest. He wasn’t one to say no to her, but it had been hours since he’d shown up here and he was no closer to figuring this out than he had been this morning.

Suddenly his phone buzzed, displaying the familiar beaming face of his ex-girlfriend close up to the camera. A toothy grin erupted as he picked it up, holding the phone up for a video feed. “Heya, Starship.”

“Hey, Tom!” Star beamed into the camera. “How’s it hanging? Long time no see. So,” she rambled out in one breath, “I may have a teensie weensie wittle problem.” She backed up to reveal her hair in complete disarray, sans horns, and black marks all over her light blue dress. Before Tom could even ask the question, her other hand held up charred fragments of her headband. “Someone still hasn’t learned how to use an Earth oven properly!” she forced out through gritted teeth.

“Look, gurl, I said I was like, so sorry! All the Cloud Kingdom kitchens are powered by glitter and horn blasts, like that’s just how ovens are supposed to be, that is all I am saying here,” Ponyhead’s indignant voice chimed in from behind, punctuated by a snort.

“Anyway, we just finished putting out the fires and I need a new headband and their website says they’re almost out of stock and I’ve wanted to show Marco around the Underworld for a while and- wait, is that screeching in the background? Where are you?”

Tom shuffled away from the elder demon still writhing on the floor and cleared his throat. “Just in Grandpa’s study trying to find something for my mom, she really wants it today. I don’t know if I can go- but I can still send the carriage for you guys, if you want.”

“Do you need help with that?” Marco inquired as he peeked his head into the frame, casually wrapping an arm around Star.

“Naaaah, no big deal,” Tom shrugged. “You two should go, though! I can just fly over whenever I finish this.”

Star and Marco looked at each other hesitantly. “Alright,” she said. “Carriage to our house in maybe five minutes?” A fire alarm went off behind her followed by a scream from Ponyhead and an even girlier one from Marco. “Maybe ten,” Star sighed, burying her face in her free hand.

“You got it,” Tom chuckled.

“OK, bye!” Star said with relief before hanging up. He rolled his shoulders from inside his jacket and ran his hands through his hair before stepping into the main foyer, taking advantage of the space to summon the carriage and its horses, the incantations coming effortlessly to him. Demons had been fortunate enough to retain their powers on Earthni, but the location underground and the relative lack of portaling methods available left them even more isolated than previously. While most of the other kingdoms had dissolved or integrated into a loose coalition of government covering all of the Echo Creek area, the Underworld had been content to stay completely under the banner of Lord and Lady Lucitor, and Tom found himself pitching in more and more in his role as Prince. In truth, he would have appreciated the company his friends were offering, but he knew how much it had meant to Star to be able to give this life up, and he didn’t want to drag her - either of them, really, considering Marco had earned an official title on Mewni himself - back into the boring thick of regal errands. Was Prince Thomas Draconius Lucitor really going to let some stuffy old book collection get the best of him? Hah, as if.

With a flick of his wrist, the half-demon shuttled the carriage to the surface in a pillar of flame, barely looking and instead pulling out his new phone. He was still getting the hang of the new and improved Reflectacorp’s Earth tech integration, but he’d at least learned how to open yesterday’s text conversation thread from its new message notification.

Janna: anti-gravity potion attempt 4 failed. affected bottle glass itself and launched into sky. note to self: work under roof. star and marco’s suggestions didnt work either. not all bad though, it went towards cloud kingdom lol

Tom: careful, don’t hit pony’s ego and make it fly even higher ·;) btw pony + starco are going shopping in underworld soon. im stuck working for mom though.

Janna: stores r lame. even in underworld. and srsly dude u gotta stop using starfans dumb name for them. otoh it bugs them so actually nvm go 4 it

Tom: it was mine first >·:( it saves letters when they’re together!

Janna: which is always

Tom: exactly. speaking of which, they’re here ttyl

Star stepped out of the carriage in a nice white polka dotted green dress, quickly followed by Marco, the pair’s fingers remaining intertwined until they gave him a hello hug, and Tom honestly wasn’t sure they’d stopped holding hands even then. Ponyhead burst out a moment later with her phone floating in front of her pointed at herself, and she was in the middle of a monologue to no one in particular.

“-so yeah anyway as you all can see we have now arrived in the Underwoooorld. So yeah this is, like, basically the best place on all of Earthni to go shopping as I’ll be showing you today. Oh yeah, I guess some demon boys live here too. Oh my goodness, say hello you guuuys,” she rolled her eyes as she butted in between Star and Tom, side-eyeing him for a split second before grinning back into the camera. After all this time Pony still hadn’t dropped the passive aggression over his and Star’s messy history; Tom had to admit it was a bit understandable, but did she really have to keep it up in such an annoying way? He rolled his eyes - it was Ponyhead he was thinking about here. “OK, the Ponyhead Experience will be taking a short break. Tune back in soon! Love y’all, buhbye!” She snapped the phone shut and caught it with her tongue. “Ugh, why do all of my vlogs with you dorks get like ten times as many viewers? Tom, you were in the shot for like three seconds and do you know what happened? 2000 more people tuned in! What the heck! It’s like, just because I have one less horn and one less eye I’m not exciting to you? But I can’t stay mad at my adooooring fans.”

“Must be the Lucitor charm.” He flashed a toothy smile and a pair of finger guns at her, accidentally flinging his phone across the room in the process. “Totally planned,” he blurted out with a much less authentic grin. Marco chuckled and picked it up, handing it back and patting him mock-sympathetically on the shoulder while holding back a smirk.

Star giggled but tapped her foot impatiently, looking around the room nervously. “OK, great catching up, but on the way here I checked the website and the headband shop is almost out of stock! We have to go, now! Let’s move it, people! Tom, can we borrow the carriage for the day?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Fine by me.”

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou, you’re the best!”

“You sure you don’t need anything?” Marco inquired again.

“You heard the girl, Marco, my audience wants to see us get our shop on!”

Tom blew a raspberry, pushing them towards the carriage. “Relax, it’s nothing. I’m practically done already! Tooootally almost done!”

Marco finally relented, nodding his assent. Star was bouncing up and down so much that she looked ready to launch around the room. He giggled as she wrapped both her arms around his middle and kissed his cheek before hauling him the rest of the way into the carriage. “C’mon boo, mama needs a new pair of horns. Plus we can get whatever you need, too! I saw a few things in the catalog that would look preeeetty good on you,” she sing-songed, walking two fingers up his chest to boop his nose after they plopped down onto the seat together. Ponyhead mimed vomiting at Tom, who silently laughed in response; they were so engrossed with each other that Tom was fairly certain they wouldn’t have noticed even if he’d shouted his laughter, though. He blankly stared at the spot the carriage had been for a few seconds after it exited in a blaze.

“Pretty gross, right?” Tom started and launched a fireball in the direction of the voice, hovering away from the intruder. A split second after, his vision caught up with his instincts and saw Janna in her usual green shirt and beanie and yellow skirt, sans jacket, nonchalantly sidestep the flame. “You do the same thing every time, you really need to work on that,” she chided with her arms crossed and a devious smirk on her face.

He rubbed his temple and gestured at her in sullen disbelief. “How did you-”

“Roof of the carriage.”

“Huh.” An eyebrow up in surprise, studying her expression. “You never usually, you know, answer that.”

She shrugged, kicking a boot into the hard stone floor. “Whatever, guess I’m just bored. Besides, half the reason I do that is to get a rise out of Marco,” she slyly snickered, and Tom couldn’t help but join in. “Alright, demon boy, what adventure are we going on today?”

Tom crossed his arms apprehensively. “Just trying to find a book for my mom, not really much of an adventure.”

“Like I said, dude, I’m bored and shopping is dumb. I don’t mind hanging out here for a study session or whatever, your family’s got great taste in decor.” She picked a skull off the ground and tossed it back and forth between her hands. He grinned back at her, grateful for the company. “So what kind of creepy curses are in this book?”

The pair started walking back into the study as their conversation continued. “Don’t think there are any. It’s called ‘Historia Homewnum’, according to my mom, so it’s probably a history book but that’s all I know.”

“Darn. Demon history’s bound to be pretty cool, though.”

“You’d be surprised how little actually happens down here, it’s just a lot of maintenance. Last month the most important thing I did was a ribbon-cutting ceremony at a new boba cornshake shop, it’s really caught on here since the Cleaving. But man is it good! Marco was right, the little pearls are just so tasty, I like the creamed corn version best.”

“What is it with you and corn, seriously...” Janna shuddered.

“Don’t knock it ‘till you try it.” He knew he’d gotten distracted thinking about the delicious creamy beverage, but that didn’t seem like an adequate reason to look so horrified, especially coming from Janna. Not able to figure out any other reason she might be disgusted by his comments, he got his thoughts back on track. “Really don’t know why she wants this thing so much. Anyway, I already checked the entire study for it, and the search archives don’t have anything either. Oh well, what can you do, might as well just give up and-”

“Found something,” Janna piped up, somehow already in the computer chair with her feet on the desk.

“Really? How?” he asked incredulously, throwing his hands in the air for emphasis.

“OK, I didn’t actually find the book, but maybe we should check this place out.” He leaned into the screen to see a Mewgle search for ‘how to find weird book in underworld’ on the screen.

“I already tried that, Janna!”

“Yeah, but your antivirus was blocking this link to some place called the ‘Librarinth’.”

Tom slammed his palm into his forehead. “Of course, the Librarinth! How could I not think to look there, that’s where all the oldest books are. Why was it getting blocked?”

She clicked on the link and both recoiled at the sight: an abhorrent patterned background with almost unreadable randomly colored text and low quality cartoon images scattered all around the page. “Yeah, it’s awful,” she said in response to his obvious horror. “Seriously, whoever must made this website must be, like, a thousand years old.”

“Probably , yeah, but why does that have anything to do with-” His eyes widened in realization as he clapped his hands together in contemplation. “Right, humans and their lifespans. Go on.”

“Look.”

She scrolled past the despondent, blurry faces of demons of all shapes and sizes in the staff section until she arrived at the catalog, folding her arms triumphantly. Tom excitedly butted in, typing into the search box and being greeted with a loading wheel. “Uh, Janna? It’s not working.”

“Pfft, yeah, I might actually be dead by the time the search finishes. But that doesn’t matter because they have our book. It’s the header image for the whole catalog.” He squinted and brought his face closer to the monitor, and to his surprise the title was clear as day on the cover of the book, although all the other information was too difficult to make out. “Alright, let’s go. Main page says the Librarinth is on Floor 216.”

With a snap of his fingers, the demon elevator was summoned into a bookshelf much as it had been the day they had dealt with the Blood Moon. Relicor’s shrieking, which had slowed to a whimper since they’d left, resumed in full; fortunately they began descending, which quickly put them out of earshot. Tom awkwardly stretched his arms, unsure what exactly to say. She was his friend, yes, but he was never the best at small talk, and Janna being Janna didn’t make that any easier. After long, messy years of broken hearts and misguided feelings, he finally felt comfortable forging friendships, but even though they got along quite well there was something about Janna that made that vibe a lot less effortless than with Marco or even Star. Thoughts of his other friends reminded him of something. “Uh, by the way… how did you even know about the carriage earlier?”

“A girl’s gotta keep some secrets.”

“Pony was posting about it every 15 seconds,” he guessed, calling Janna’s bluff.

“Touché. Every 10, though,” she coolly responded. “Ha, now she’s just flipping out because Star and Marco have way more likes than her selfies.”

“Figured you’d have him bugged or something,” Tom chuckled as he scooted over to get a look at Janna’s screen, and sure enough there was a picture collage of Star sitting in Marco’s lap with tens of thousands of likes and comments already. They were laughing their butts off at themselves in a mirror in front of them with novelty sunglasses, fake mustaches, goofy props, and even a few absurd full-body costumes; Ponyhead joined the fun for a few but just as often butt in trying to take over the mirror by herself.

“Ew, no, I disabled it all months ago. Boyfriend Tom was already too cutesy for me, and you two just had a little flirty fling. Do you think I’d really want to see or hear whatever Star and Marco have going on? They’re, like, deeply in love, or whatever, and it’s gotten even worse in the last few weeks.”

He murmured in tacit agreement. Now that he thought about it, they had seemed even more affectionate than usual, but he wasn’t too keen on uncovering why that might be. The ding of the elevator saved him from any further speculation, and he and Janna stepped out of the elevator into the lobby, which was empty with cobwebs coating most of the weathered stone walls. Janna looked at him with a quizzical expression. “Anyway, so the Librarinth is basically a combination of a library and a labyrinth-”

“Right, I got that,” she curtly retorted.

“The legends say that some ancient librarian demons wanted to challenge any who sought knowledge, so they hid all the books in a giant maze that only the worthy could navigate. But everyone who made it still decided to organize it thoroughly for some reason, and you still had to check out the books and bring them back and all that.”

She ran a finger over the dust on the front counter, and the surface of the desk sizzled in response, causing her to pull her hand back before poking the bubbles that formed with a curious smile. “So why is it completely empty?”

Tom rubbed the back of his neck. “Weeeeeeell, after a few people went missing or insane, everyone realized it really wasn’t a great way to, you know, run a library. Grandpa actually started collecting books to try and get them away from this place. No one really knows what goes on in there, but as far as I know it’s still maintained even though no one uses it. The kingdom stopped staffing the lobby but they could never just shut it down because anyone who tried, well-”

“Went missing or insane. Sounds cool, I’m in.”

“You sure?”

“Dude, you brought me to a wicked hell maze filled with psychotic demon nerds. Maybe there’ll be bottomless pits or a wicked dungeon boss. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re flirting with me, Mr. Lucitor,” she purred, running a finger up his chest and flicking his nose.

“Haha, very funny. And it’s Prince Lucitor,” he sarcastically chided, poking her arm in response before crossing the room with her following, but he couldn’t help but hide that he was flustered. Seeing Star and Marco’s relationship in the past year had reinforced his already-firm convictions about romance: he wanted someone with whom he could be life partners in all ways, not just handholding and rooftop picnics. Otherwise, what would be the point? He’d made that mistake enough times, and even just a light jab at the notion of him casually flirting struck made him feel self-conscious about that past. Finally his reflection was halted when he found what he sought: a large wrought iron door furnished with ornate demonic symbols and various carvings of mythological creatures dwarfed them both. With a soft, steady flame for light, he brought his hand up and ran it over the rusty engravings. He jumped back with a gasp as the fire spread into the lines of the door, lighting up the patterns on it and causing it to creak as it slowly opened.

“Nice,” Janna muttered in awe before strolling inside, with Tom hesitantly following. She was the most eager of their little group to dive headfirst into the unknown, even more than Star most of the time, but he trusted her gut.

They started walking down the long, cramped hallways, hearing only the sound of their own footsteps on the cold floor. Janna peeked her head into a small doorway that appeared to their left, earning herself an explosive blast to the face and getting knocked onto her butt. Tom slammed the door shut and leaned in to read an inscription next to it. “Incinerator for any books too damaged or damaging for further use. Probably not the right place.”

Janna huffed, brushing herself off and finding scraps of paper among the char. “I can see that. Seriously, what kind of labyrinth labels its doors?”

“Maybe one run by book nerds,” Tom offered, gripping her hand to help her up.

“So it’s just as bad at being a labyrinth as it is a library. Neat. Great adventure.”

Tom pressed on, keeping his focus ahead of them. “Hey, I’m just here to help my mom. You’re the one that said you were fine with anything.”

“Fine, fine. Just saying, I could be working on my potions or something.” She pulled a glass bottle full of purple liquid from her skirt pocket and casually tossed it at a wall. Janna snickered at Tom’s yelp when it shattered, but found herself joining him in backing away when a chunk of stone quickly deteriorated and slammed into the ground at incredible speed. She went over and carefully kicked a pebble, finding it impossible to even budge. “See, this was just a stupid pro-gravity potion. Worthless.”

He leaned against the stable wall opposite the hole, sighing. “I’m sure there has to be something interesting here. What if we, I dunno, make it a competition or something?” His frustration with both the situation and Janna were there, yes, but he still wanted to try and get something fun out of the day.

“Go on,” Janna said, eyes flickering up from the bottle that she was tossing between her hands nonchalantly.

OK, maybe he should have thought further ahead. His arms flailed as he scrambled to come up with an idea. “OK, so, uh, whoever finds the weirdest thing in this place in the next hour wins. Just call them out if you think you found something. Or whoever finds the book, whichever comes first, yeah. Mom still needs it.”

“Momma’s boy. I respect that. You’re on, Tom.” Janna cocked an eyebrow, staring at him for a second before pushing off the wall into a sprint, opening the first door she could find. “Empty. Another empty. Three empties, dammit.”

Tom used his flight to travel more smoothly from door to door on his side of the corridor, but still found himself losing ground as he took the time to read the sign posted by each threshold. The ‘Demonic Studies’ room had a very ornately ghoulish aesthetic, with macabre skeletal models throughout. Definitely something to show Janna on the way out just for the aesthetic, and it’d have been weird for most humans, but it wasn’t any more abnormal than what the two of them were used to as a daily routine. Another room for astronomy had an exquisite planetarium dome, but it turned out to be rather useless as the Underworld did not, in fact, contain any stars since it was underground. There was, however, a plentiful selection of guides to stalactites stocked on the shelves. The next four whole sections were devoted to anger management self-help books, which only made him waste precious seconds cringing at old memories.

His pace picked up as he kept going from door to door finding nothing but normal library fare, although he had to admit it was certainly well-maintained. On any other day he might actually enjoy some of the things here, but today he was on a mission to get out of here so they could actually have fun elsewhere.

‘Bookworms’... now that had potential. What sorts of hybrid creatures could lurk behind the inches of wood? “I think I might have found something!” he shouted, throwing open the door only to receive a harsh shushing. Within were only elderly demons in cozy sweaters reading by candlelight, all now glaring at him with an intensity that reminded him of his mom’s own rare reprimands. “Never mind,” he loud-whispered back out into the hall as he gently closed the door and found Janna in a nearby corridor. “Ugh, why is there nothing interesting here?” Sparks trailed behind him from his mounting anger as he paced.

“Tell me about it, even ‘Wormbooks’ was just a bunch of regular novels, somehow,” she sighed. “I was hoping for a big long chain of open books slithering around on the ground, now there’s a party.” She slumped down against the wall next to the streak of flame he’d left on the ground, idly stamping it out with her boot until Tom sat down beside her.

“Wouldn’t a wormbook be the opposite? A big fat worm in the shape of a book?”

“Nah, it’d totally be a book made of a bunch of little flatworms all working together, duh. Still pretty lame.”

OK, now he knew something was up with her. “Janna, is- is something wrong?”

Her body slouched further down until she was almost horizontal on the cold floor, staring ahead of her like a zombie. “Being weird has just felt so pointless lately. Everything’s weird now, all the time! I’m wasting all my time trying to brew potions when there’s a shop that sells them on every corner. I got so bored that I even passed that same dumb test Marco did and now I’m done with high school, like, for real this time.”

“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself, that’s pretty impressive.”

“It’s easy if you know who to blackmail.” Tom blinked a few times, not sure why he’d expected anything different. “Everyone else is moving on with their lives, but I’m still feeding the same old possums and picking up the same old tennis balls. The whole point of my routine is that it’s different, it’s me, it’s my Jannanigans or whatever Star calls it, but it’s just not the same. I’m still into all that stuff, and Earthni’s actually really cool, but… ugh.” With that, her head fully sunk to the ground.

Tom brought his palms together over her head, opening and shutting his hands while wiggling his fingers around. “It’s a wormbook,” he said hesitantly, not really sure what he was doing. It was silly amusement, but perhaps that was just what she needed right now. Janna frowned and rolled her eyes, so he snapped at her arm with his hand puppet wormbook a few times.

“Alright, I get it,” she barked out, but her sullen demeanor slowly cracked under the onslaught of frivolity as she sat back up with an unusually ponderous look at him.

“Remember that time you took me bootsledding?” She nodded. “You told me that I needed to find a life outside of Star, and- and it was really great advice. Didn’t mean I still couldn’t like spending time with Star or anything, heck, I still do! But I just needed to get out of that rut of depending on it. Maybe you just need to do that, too. If doing your weirdness by yourself is normal, then adding something normal might be kinda weird.”

“That’s it.” Janna leapt to her feet, looking very suddenly invigorated. “That’s it!”

“Well, uh, glad you liked it. It was nothing, really, just trying to be a good pal-”

“Yeah, yeah, that too,” she waved dismissively, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit scorned. “If weird is normal then normal is weird. We were looking for the craziest things we could find here, but everything that should have been weird was normal, so we should be looking for the most painfully boring room here!” All three of Tom’s eyes blinked a few times as her words sunk in. Could it be…? “Tom, over here!” He hustled over to a particularly plain wooden door. Janna pointed at the plaque on the wall, which was far more faded than the others had been. “Look. ‘Government Records’.”

A burst of energy coursed through Tom’s blood, sparking life in him once more, and he could see the same reflected in Janna’s determined brown eyes. “And the book Mom wanted has something to do with history. Maybe it’s political history! Janna, you might be a genius!”

“Pfft, ‘might’. Now we just gotta…” She grabbed his arm, aiming it at the door, and he looked at her incredulously. “C’mon, dude, who knows what’s behind there. We’re gonna bust in with a demon blast, duh. Pew-pew!”

He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his lip turning up in a begrudging smile gave away his agreement. The pair aimed at the door and blew it off its hinges before charging in through the smoke.

“I see you two have finally solved the grand riddle of the Librarinth!” A deep, booming voice greeted them from the smoke. “Janna Ordonia, Thomas Lucitor, you certainly took your time. I expected you to book it here much more quickly. No matter, for this room shall be your tome!”

“How do you know my-” Janna stammered.

“Uh, don’t you mean tomb-” Tom started at the same time before realizing the wordplay and groaning in misery. Wait a second… Epic threats, an obvious personality quirk…

“Dungeon boss!” the teens cheered together, glancing back and forth between each other and the remainder of the room in front of them obscured by shadow.

“It is I, the bookkeeper of this place. I guard the most sacred treasure of all… knowledge!” Paper rustled loudly, echoed throughout the cavernous space, far taller and wider than Tom had noticed when they first entered with a massive array of bookshelves many times taller than him in a single row near the back wall. The ground beneath them began to shake and Tom tossed a puff of light in front of him, exposing the wide chasm that had just opened up in the ground, swallowing all the shelving in the room. Neither were prepared for the sight that greeted them: a coiled mass unfurled from the abyss and slithering with purpose along the ground, finally raising itself up to stand at fifteen feet tall, swaying back and forth with enough force to create an artificial wind within the space. A closer look showed that the body was made of some peculiar segments of… books, of all shapes and sizes. The volume at the top of the chain was much larger and far more ornately embossed than the others, and on the blood red surface of the cover Tom could make out a set of eyes. As the picture became more and more clear, he could finally see what they were up against. Now THIS is a bookworm.

“Aren’t libraries supposed to be, like, public and free?” Janna blithely inquired.

“You are correct, child, but perhaps try reporting that to your friend there! The Lucitor family is the sworn enemy of this great Librarinth! That fiend Relicor pilfered our collection for his own use for millennia, and the rest tried to shut this place down for good. But worst of all, in the most egregious display of contempt I have witnessed since the dawn of writing itself… Prince Lucitor and his ilk have amassed twenty-six dollars in unpaid fees!”

The tension in the room nearly evaporated in a heartbeat as Tom and Janna paused momentarily before bursting out into raucous laughter.

“Seriously, dude? I could just, like, repay it.” He fumbled in his pockets for his wallet for a moment before being interrupted once more.

“Do not condescend to me, children! It is far too late to make up for these sins with mere currency. Revenge is my fee most overdue, now prepare to meet… Overdoom! I shall harness the power of the written word to spell your demise!”

Books were hurled from the depths of the crevice en masse. Tom stepped in front of Janna to blast them away, but they had taken on a life of their own and homed in on him, covers flapping in the air like wings. Behind Tom, Janna snatched one out of the air to thwart a flank attack. She grabbed his left arm and pointed it up, tapping his elbow frantically. He spared a glance and saw the paper tornado coalescing, and understood her intention. Demon flames surged out of both hands with Janna calling the shots for the left side and Tom focusing on his right. They used the opportunity to back up to a wall, letting them cover every attack vector but creating a stalemate they were sure to lose in time as the seemingly endless offense droned on. Overdoom for the time being simply floated out of the abyss, glaring harshly at them as more and more papers kept emerging.

“Wait, Tom, look…” Still using his hand, she pointed to a shelf that had fallen at an odd angle and hadn’t collapsed into the abyss. There was a large, torn-up poster on which he could barely make out the word “Historia”.

“That might be it,” he breathed out, starting to feel the burn from minutes of nonstop vigilant defensive demon blasts. Oddly, none of the books in that corner were joining the assault. Almost as if...

“It’s making them magical in the chasm.” Tom’s heart leapt up in his chest at the revelation, hope and adrenaline mixing in his veins to keep him fully alert. But charging in was a suicide mission and they clearly couldn’t win on raw firepower.

“Have you had enough? Are you children yet ready to come scrawling on your hands and knees to a-tome for the sins of your forefathers?” the imposing figure growled, bristling impatiently.

“Did it seriously just use the tome pun again?” Janna griped, running her hands past her eyes and down her cheeks in disgust. “For a word nerd, that’s just awful.”

“Yeah…” Tom absent-mindedly responded. He knew she was right, though. Book, tome, scrawl… even if the creature’s summoning powers were off the charts, and it wielded them with calculated ease, its cocky wordplay taunts left something to be desired. It struck him then: what if they’d been approaching this all wrong? If the battle couldn’t be won by blows, then they had to find another option, and Tom was ready to put his plan into action.

He quickly shook off Janna’s rather tight grip on his arm and stepped forward, mustering up a confident expression masking any fears he still had left. “Nice try, Overdoom. Your words aren’t scaring us. Learn to read the room!”

Its “body” immediately began wiggling violently in the air as it crawled a bit forward towards them. Tom paid careful attention to its back end, which had climbed a few feet out of the ground in the move. “How dare you! Petulant brats!” Literary fire and brimstone rained down upon them with more fury than ever, and the two backed up into a corner which was the best they could do in a room largely devoid of any cover.

“What the hell-” Janna whispered through gritted teeth. Tom wriggled his tail out and waved it in front of Janna’s face momentarily. “Now is not the time to-” She was cut off when a barrage of index cards launched at them with enough force to somehow chip the stone behind them on impact. Tom forcefully nodded his head towards the worm’s tail, waggling his own once again. Her eyes lit up much like his had and she nodded in understanding.

“Come on, is that the best you got? I’ve heard them all before, at least give us something novel!”

Janna stood beside him, and her grimace even managed to spook Tom a bit. “I’d alphabet you couldn’t do better even if you tried!” Not what he would’ve gone with, but hey, if it helped tick Overdoom off then who was he to say no?

“You can talk up a storm all you want, but no matter what volume of air you blow, all I feel is a not-so-rough draft!”

“ENOUGH!” Overdoom’s tail launched out of the chasm faster than either could follow, crossing the room in a heartbeat. Tom shoved Janna out of the way before it wrapped itself around him, dragging him much more slowly towards the abyss. His jacket and jeans mercifully protected the paper edges pressing into him, but it was still a painfully tight squeeze that left him gasping for air. His arms were uselessly pinned inside the embrace as he was dragged headfirst, but their hypothesis had been proven correct as all the books around them had dropped to the ground lifeless.

“Tom!” Janna called out. He strained his head to see she’d removed her beanie and had something purple in her hand that she lobbed at that moment. Through the haze of pain he recognized it as another of her potions. The arc was due to miss until he summoned his energy reserves and redirected it with a weak burst of flame from his boot. Though the glass was durable enough to not melt or shatter, the demonic heat changed the potion into a bubbling olive green milliseconds before it contacted a random segment of the behemoth they were fighting. All at once, its hold on Tom and the rest of its body went limp as it began floating lazily into the air before bouncing off the ceiling a few times like a balloon. Janna ran over and helped Tom up as Overdoom screamed inarticulately from many feet above. They traversed the chaotic mess towards the pile they’d spotted previous. After some digging around, he found ‘Historia Homewnum’ miraculously unscathed and protected by a large, sturdy slab of mahogany that had fallen flat on top of it. “I got it!”

“Cool, potion is wearing off. We need to go.” Janna calmly stated. Twin jets of fire erupted from his feet as he swiftly passed the book to Janna and scooped her up in his arms, carrying them across the room towards the door. After setting Janna down, he hesitated for a moment as she stood in the doorway.

“Do you think I should still pay the late fee? I feel kinda bad and-”

“TODAY MAY HAVE BEEN YOUR VICTORY, BUT TOME-ORROW WILL-”

Tom sighed in resignation with a very unimpressed expression. “OK, yeah, never mind.” And with a quick slam of the door, they were both out scot-free. They didn’t stop running until they arrived back at the elevator. Once inside, they slumped down onto the ground as they began the journey back up to the main surface of the Underworld.

“Woo!” Tom was caught off guard by Janna expressing visible joy, and it was immediately infectious. “Now that’s an adventure. Of course, demon fire is what makes the potions work. Makes a lot more sense. Stupid ink smudge, I burned all those lemons for nothing.” He belly laughed, falling over to the floor and clutching his gut as Janna kicked him in the arm.

“Sorry, sorry, couldn’t help it.”

Her foot backed off after one last good hit. “So now you just have to give that book to your mom?”

“Yeah, should only take a minute. Want to come with?”

“Dude, she’s half a story tall and cries lava. I’d be honored. Oh crud, Pony’s current stream title is ‘WHY Y’ALL CARE MORE ABOUT EARTH TURD AND B-FLY THAN ME?!?!’” Janna showed him the notification on her phone. “That can’t be good.”

Tom pulled out his phone and called to see what was up. Pony picked up after only one ring and didn’t even bother with a greeting as she screamed so loudly that he lost hearing for a moment in his right ear. Her voice carried through the elevator car even without being put on speakerphone. “Yo Tom, why do all my Pony Pals just want to watch those two idiots kiss and cuddle? What is up with that? I even gave my fanbase a stupid nickname, they eat that stuff up, so why won’t they looooove meeeeee?” Business as usual with Pony, it seemed. “An-y-way, this whole shopping spree was amaaaazing, I am all kinds of extra fabulous now. B-Fly and Earth Turd took over the stream cuz the viewers, like, wanted a Q&A sesh but I’m only giving them twenty minutes! Hmph!”

“Might as well just make a whole show about them,” Janna chimed in, rolling her eyes a few times for good measure.

“Wait, demon boy, is Janna there? What the heck have you two been getting up to? Don’t tell me you too are getting your freak on too, I could not handle that T.M.I.-”

Yeah, there was nothing more to gain from that conversation. Tom flipped his compact shut, disconnecting the call. Wait, ‘too’? Did she mean- he shuddered involuntarily. You know what, nope, just not going to think about that one.

“So glad I turned off the cameras,” Janna mumbled, curling up into a ball on the floor, clearly not wanting to touch that whole situation either.

He opted to make contact with the other group via Marco instead - why he hadn’t just done that in the first place, he’d never know - and sent a quick text. “Marco wants to get dinner at the Waterfolk Kingdom in, like, an hour and a half. Apparently Star found some earrings she wanted at the last minute, and Pony got arrested for shoplifting three seconds after I hung up.”

Janna cackled in response. “Let’s just meet them there. My jacket got ripped to shreds by the possums last week, might as well get a new one while I’m down here. Been thinking about changing it up. I kinda like that style.” She lifted up his arm and poked at a button on the sleeve of his own.

“Uh, yeah, sure, I can show you where I got it.” He stumbled over his words, still caught off guard by this new normal-person-Janna. The elevator dinged and the teens began their trek through the Lucitor castle in search of the queen. “So, the Librarinth... we’re definitely going back there at some point, right?”

“Totally, bet’s still not over. We should do this more often, you’re not so bad a friend.”

“You too, and yeah, we should.” Looking back on the day, it had honestly been one some of the most fun he’d had in a while, despite almost dying at least once. Tom still wasn’t sure what to make of this friendship brewing between them, but if it meant more days like this to look forward to? Maybe he could get used to that.

[barn3sandnobl3]

Tongue Tied - Part 3

Holidays are crazy so here's a long-ish one

Happy holidays everyone, hope everyone's had a safe and joy-filled time with friends/family/loved ones ❤️

Summary: Bucky has to go undercover in Hydra as The Winter Soldier again to help the team shut them down once and for all. As complicated as this mission already is, he wasn’t expecting the added complication/risk of a beautiful, mysterious assassin that Hydra has recently acquired.

Pairings: Bucky x Reader (SHE HERE)

Warnings: violence, anxiety, sadness

Note: this starts off basically at Bucky's POV before the mission, I realized it doesn't flow as well but as I edit/write/post I realize these things are lil choppy lol sorry my friends

----

As Bucky and the Hydra strike team were gearing up, he heard steady footsteps approaching them. He glanced up to see the general accompanied by a young woman with an emotionless expression on her face. She was dressed in a combat uniform and it took Bucky by surprise, although he didn’t show it. He hadn’t seen any women in the compound yet and this one seemed very…tiny. As the two approached the group of men, she was introduced.

“Soldat, men, this is Y/N. She will be accompanying you on this mission.” Bucky met her stare and the lifelessness in her eyes matched his, if not more. He nodded in acknowledgement as the general continued, “she joined us a few years back while you were gone, and she’s been a loyal asset ever since.”

Bucky looked back to her expecting a smug or proud look but was met with nothing. 

As one of the strike team men were about to ask her about her specific skill set, the general interrupted with a raised hand.

“She doesn’t speak. Ever. I’m pretty sure she’s a mute, so you two should get along just fine,” he laughed as he looked at Bucky, “Oh, and don’t let her physique fool you, she can take down anyone, I've seen it myself. Even an army. Even you, Soldat.” he grinned as he pictured the idea. “Anyways, she knows what’s required for the mission, so there won’t be much need for conversation anyway.”

“Why doesn’t she speak?” Another soldier asked, Bucky taking in her features as she blankly stared back and he noticed she was actually quite beautiful.

“She doesn’t say” the general laughed, walking away. 

An uneasy feeling settled over Bucky from how much the general laughed and smiled. It told Bucky that he was much more careless with human life than those last in command that Bucky remembered. That he didn’t take it seriously. 

He shook the feeling as he, the strike team and Y/N climbed aboard the jet and set out to Wakanda.

The 16-hour flight felt much longer than usual. Bucky had nothing to do to pass time. He was the Winter Soldier right now and he couldn’t exactly be seen playing Sudoku or listening to Spotify. He simply sat in his chair, perfectly still, staring straight ahead of him. It wasn’t until he saw something move out of the corner of his eye that he broke his stare and caught Y/N fiddling with knives, figuring out where to put the multitude of them in her tactical suit.

"Need help?” he offered blankly. She looked up to him, met him straight in the eyes, and went back to sliding knives in various places. 

Right, he thought, like she was going to answer. 

He didn’t notice until now that her eyes were an extremely bright Y/E/C. They almost sparkled. With a small shake of his head, he remembered that he needed to concentrate. This was the first mission he had as the Winter Soldier and he was expected to behave as such. He can't be staring into someone's eyes before battle..no matter how gorgeous they were.

Instead, his mind started and wander and he began to worry about fighting the Wakandan soldiers without actually killing them. He had to make himself look lethal, but he promised himself he would never take another innocent life. Natasha taught him a move that would render the other person unconscious, making it look like they had their neck snapped. It looked fairly easy, but it had to be performed with the perfect amount of pressure, otherwise, they really would be killed.

Bucky glanced down at his metal arm and closed his eyes. He hated this thing, the weapon of destruction. How many people had he killed with this arm? How many lives did he destroy?

He opened his eyes to see the beautiful landscape of Wakanda and was thankful they had finally arrived. He needed to pull his head out of his own thoughts in order to pull this off. Please let this go well, he thought to himself, as the jet landed.

--

Bucky huffed out as he finished knocking out six men that had cornered him. He had successfully knocked them all unconscious without causing them too much harm, for which he felt relieved.

The team still had a long way before they reached the weapon’s chamber, which had Bucky hopeful. 

Maybe we’ll be forced to retreat soon, he thought.

He looked over to see that almost half the team had already been killed by the Wakandan soldiers and Bucky had to suppress a smirk. 

Good riddance to you, assholes. 

Seeing the rest of the team in the middle of the battle didn’t interest him, it wasn’t until he caught Y/N in the corner of his eye that he stopped to look. 

She was ruthless. 

She had three men attacking her at once and she didn’t even seem phased. Bucky noted that even when she fought, barely a single sound left her mouth. He only heard a small groan when one of the men punched her ribs, which almost caused Bucky to run and help her, had she not retaliated with a brutal kick to the man’s face while using the other man’s body as leverage. 

Bucky was impressed. Her moves were fluid and graceful, yet strong and sturdy. One of the other strike members cried for help, pulling him out of his gaze. Bucky took a step forward to ‘help’ him out, until he was being side tackled, hard, and brought into the next room, crashing onto the floor as he and his attacker broke through the door. Bucky was so caught off guard, he immediately went on the defence and grabbed his attacker by their neck, only to realize he was squeezing red titanium alloy.

“Relax, asshole. It’s just me” Iron Man called out.  Bucky quickly did a scan of the room before realizing the rest of the fighting had drowned out the noise and Tony’s voice. His head fell back to the floor with relief and he let go of his neck.

“What are you doing, Tony? You can’t be talking to me. This is too dangerous” Bucky huffed as he stood up. Tony’s face mask withdrew in time for Bucky to see him roll his eyes.

“Not even a month in Hydra and you’re already back to being incredibly paranoid? Jeez, Frosty.” Tony pulled out a small, thin USB and handed it to Bucky, “we want you to plug this little guy in one of their main computers. It’s a system that’ll send us the ‘where’ and ‘when’ for their future missions. It’s easier than you relaying the info to us each time. Less chance of you getting caught, and hopefully less time you have to spend with them” Bucky took the USB apprehensively.

“Isn’t this more dangerous? I have no reason to be near the computers, I’m just the muscle. If I get caught, they’ll be suspicious. And if they find the USB, that’ll be even worse.” Tony didn’t have time to answer before Bucky spotted Y/N reaching the doorway and seeing him and Tony just standing there, neither of them in defensive positions. Bucky reacted quickly and threw a hard punch straight to Tony’s face and thank God Tony’s mask came back on and he moved out of the way just in time. Bucky prayed she hadn’t seen Tony hand him the USB or heard any of their conversations. His heart was racing at an incredible pace. Tony, seeing Y/N, responded with two shots from each of his hand repulsors, aimed at both soldiers. Each of them rolled out of the way, ending up standing beside each other. Bucky spoke with as much harshness as he could.

“We need to fall back. Our men weren’t prepared for the Avengers to be here.” He looked to Y/N and her lips were in a tight line, blood coming down from the side of her face where she was cut deeply. She gave a curt nod and threw the closest possible thing towards Tony with such force, it surprised both men in the room. The object seemed to hit its target with a loud clang, and Tony stumbled backwards. Bucky and Y/N ran out the door to find less than half their team still standing. Bucky briefly wondered if Steve was also here. God, that’s just the last thing this mission needs.

“We’re leaving. Now.” Bucky barked at the rest of the men, and you didn’t have to ask them twice as they immediately broke out into a sprint towards the jet. Hydra’s strike team may be incredibly lethal, but they knew when they were beaten. When they had finally reached the jets, Y/N didn’t hesitate to sit in the pilot seat and start it up. Their actually pilot was either killed or too injured to come back with them, but neither Bucky nor Y/N cared.

He knew the question was ridiculous at this point, but he asked her anyways,

“You know how to fly this?” the look Y/N gave him made him shut his mouth and sit in the co-pilot seat. How was he supposed to know what she saw back there? How could he ask her? Would she tell the general if she did see something? Bucky knew he had to find out the extent of her silence as soon as they touched down back at Hydra. This wasn’t going to be fun. Bucky knew this was most likely going to end badly, and violently. His time at Hydra was getting cut extremely short.

[shurisneakers]

espresso [8]

Summary: In which your best friend’s brother begins to set you up on dates when you mention that you haven’t been in a relationship in years, but things don’t go as expected.

Warning: swearing, angst (????), pining lol

A/N: surprise bitches i’m back but will disappear soon again for months at a time this is my entry for the exuberant @viktordrago‘s writing challenge (it took me like 20 minutes to find you kumi i2g) thank you to the best beta @samingtonwilson love u and our cinema boi  the fact that i had to fuckin gif this myself shows how desperate i am

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous part- Part 7 || Espresso Masterlist

Everyone has probably met that one person who is very different from the rest. Someone so profoundly boring, you had no idea you’d rather watch a tap faucet drip for eight hours straight than to ever be within a feet of them breathing.

That would be Vision.  

Vision talked like he had a thesaurus up his ass, smelled like mothballs, and had ideals much too similar to a less-funny, almost less-human Dwight Schrute.

“Hey birthday boy,” you excitedly hushed into the phone at midnight.

“Hey there,” he replied softly so you could nearly feel him smile through the phone.

“How does one more lap around the sun feel?”

“More or less the same. Hold on.” He paused for a second. “Yup, I feel normal.”

“You’re a bore, Bucky Barnes. You’re supposed to be excited or something,” you could hear Nat and Clint giggling about something in the room adjacent to the kitchen where you’d snuck to call Bucky.

“It’s just another day, my dude.”

“It’s your birthday!” you protested, filling up a glass of water and bringing it to your lips.

“Meh.”

“What do you have planned?”

“First off, bold of you to assume I thought I’d live this long to actually plan something,” he snorted and you could hear papers shift under him.

“How edgy.”

“Secondly, I’m sleeping till noon and I’m seeing you today,” He cleared his throat. “You all, I mean. The group.”

“Sounds ideal.” You took a large gulp of water before leaning on the counter.

“What about you?”

“Currently; an all nighter with Nat and Clint to complete assignments.” your eyes flitted to the doorway which you realized had gone quiet. You narrowed your eyes. “Other than that, I got nothing else to do other than your birthday thing.”

“Oh yeah, funny story by the way,” he laughed nervously. “I forgot to remind you that your next date is today.”

“Bucky I still don’t get it,” you straightened up immediately. “Today’s your birthday, why would you set me up today?”

“You’re busy through next week and then you have midterms after that,” he defended himself weekly. “And besides, relax. He said it’s an afternoon thing. He’ll drop you off before it starts.”

“Who is it?” you sighed, rubbing your temples.

“Jarvis; also known as Vision.”

You were silent for a moment as his name registered in your mind. “Why have you forsaken me this way?”

“Just give the guy a chance,” he chuckled, before yawning. “And remember, be at my place by five.”

He checked his rearview mirror again before turning his head back to the road.

You didn’t know if he was doing this on purpose, but he was driving at the slowest imaginable speed and you thought you’d reach the café faster if you just got out and walked.

He also happened to speak as slowly as he drove. “Can’t take my eyes off the road, you know. Road safety is a number one priority.”

“The world simply would not turn without capable drivers like you,” you murmured, sinking back into the seat that smelt vaguely of hospital-grade disinfectant.

The chances of you dying in an accident with him as a driver was much smaller than you dying of old age in his car.

He didn’t speak, a look of concentration as he made a turn at the curb, eyebrows furrowing in concentration.

“I thought Vision and Wanda were a thing,” Nat remarked, peering over your shoulder and into your phone when Bucky texted you. Regardless of the content of said text, you smiled anyway when you saw it was from him leading her to completely invade your privacy.

It was just a stupid meme anyway- something that he thought would be an apt goodnight message.

“Wanda doesn’t even remember him.“

“Ouch,” Clint winced from beside you. “That’s gotta hurt the dude in the feelings.”

“Assuming he has more of an emotional quotient than a potted plant,” you muttered grabbing your pencil from under Clint’s hand.

The three of you had assignments due next week, which you decided to do together over many cups of coffee and energy drinks.

“I’m gonna fail this stupid fuckin’ thing. We had to do a meta-analysis of this stupid novel and all I’ve done is watch the fucking movie,” Nat groaned, burying her head in the sheets right by your leg. “I can’t believe I paid a school thousands of dollars, which I don’t have, just to write a meta-analysis, which I haven’t done.”

“Get up, c’mon. You can do this,” you said, nudging her with your foot. She swatted it away, choosing to lie there.

“Nat, I’m too broke to make it rain at the strip club you’ll work at if you drop out. Come on. Let’s get this grade.” Clint rolled his eyes, prodding at her with his pencil.

“You’re so mean, Clit. I’d never invite you to my place of strip anyway.” She raised her head to pout at him but rolled over nonetheless to sit up straight.

“Strip club. And I told you to stop calling me Clit.”

“Whatever.”

As you pulled into the coffee shop eight hours later, you reached over to open the car door only to have him damn near hiss at you.

You reeled back in surprise, watching him shake his head vehemently and unbuckling his seatbelt.

“It’s dangerous out there, especially with those zero-traction shoes. Over 17,000 people die annually because of slipping and falling. Twenty percent to thirty percent of people who slip and fall will suffer injuries like hip fractures, or head injuries.”

”Zero to a hundred real quick, my friend,” you stated, nevertheless not moving. “I know it may not seem like much to you, but I do know how to walk. Been getting enough practice all my life.”

“This is a matter of life and death, Y/N. What if you slip on the sidewalk and crack your skull open? I’d be the one who would have to account to the officers about the lack of awareness when it comes to winter treading and it wasn’t fun the last time it happened,” he said, all in one breath, his head moving side to side furiously.

You stared at him, unable to form any words. Absolutely nothing.

He got out of the car, one foot at a time before slowly standing up and assessing his surroundings. Finally, he took one step forward before pausing and doing it again until he finally reached the other side of the car to open your door.

Wonderful.

“Be careful, don’t jump out too fast,” he commented, holding his hand out to you.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“It was made very clear to ensure your safety at all times. James was very, very–“ he looked like he struggled to find the words “—fastidious about it.”

“Oh?”

“Say, Y/N, why exactly is Barnes setting you up with such… specimens?”

“He asked if I needed help in finding someone ‘dateable’. I agreed.”

“Your reasoning being?”

“Why not?”

“Excellent logic.”

“I was bored, Clint. He looked like he genuinely wanted to help.”

“Why didn’t he just set you up with himself?” Clint twirled his highlighter around his fingers. “He missed a great opportunity to pull the greatest plot twist of the century.”

“I really don’t think-“

“It’s probably not the best plot twist. He’s making it pretty obvious with the whole intense staring and heart eyes and writing on your cup thing.”

“Okay, first of all, there is no heart eyes or intense staring or- wait, what writing on my cup thing?” you caught yourself mid-sentence.

“Clint!” Nat hissed, glaring at him.

Clint looked between Nat and you for a few seconds before letting out the most apathetic and monotone, “Oops.”

“You just ruined it, you shit-eating fuck hammer. Bucky’s going to kill us both and then himself when he finds out.”

The place Vis took you was actually decent. It was the nicer of the two coffee shops in town, the other one being where Bucky worked. Still, something was missing and soon you felt yourself missing the chipped tables and fake plants of the other joint. You liked it much more than the pristine white walls and cold plush chairs here.

“Can we get a table for two? Preferably away from the noise-“

You glanced around to pinpoint what noise exactly he was talking about but came up blank.

There were two people in the shop.

“-And away from the sunlight?”

It was cloudy outside.

“Also, could you reduce the heat, please? It’s rather suffocating.”

It was winter.

“Do y’all have tables in the restroom?” you asked blankly.

He blinked at you, expressionless, “The restroom is a goldmine for germs and particles of fecal matter. Surely you know that, Y/N.”

“I just- it was a-“ you sighed. “Okay.”

The waitress however was a sweetheart, and you made a mental note to leave her a good tip before you left. She led you to a quiet corner, meeting all of Vis’ demands before leaving you alone with the menu.

“I think I’ll just go with an Americano.” Lord knows you needed it after last night.

Vision let out a tsk of disinterest, eyes scanning over the card tediously.

“Coffee can damage your liver, increase your risk of osteoporosis, and increased blood pressure. Especially the concentrated form in espresso shots.”

“Oh bother, well, I’ll just have to take that chance.“

“I prefer tea; rich in oxidizing properties. It’s also a wonderful material for composting,” he continued, ignoring your statement. He snapped the card shut, smiling knowingly at you.

The both of you gave your orders before returning back to the non-existent conversation at hand.  Vision chose to keep his hands on the table in front of him. It felt like he was about to give you The Talk. He looked straight into your eyes, never faltering or looking away.

“So,” you dragged out the word, pressing your lips together when he didn’t respond or shift his stare. “What’s u-“

“Do you compost?” he asked suddenly, not breaking eye contact.

“Compost?”

“Yes.”

“I would, but I can’t-post.” You grinned at him, expecting a laugh or at least a groan.

“I compost,” he said stoically.

“That’s great, Vis. What else do you-“ you tried to veer the conversation in some other direction because you had a very good idea of where this was heading.

“I have my own compost. Have you tried making one of your own?” he asked simply. “It’s very simple.”

“I gotta say, buddy, I’m not wildly passionate about it right now.”

“Do you want me to tell you how to make one?”

You blinked at him. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you.”

You screamed internally, smiling at him nonetheless.

It was 4:40. You’d be out of there soon enough.

“Why would you tell her that?!”

“What the hell are you both talking about?” you demanded, shoving your things aside and sitting up straight.

“How would I know she didn’t know?” he ignored you, instead answering to Nat, who was beginning to look somewhat like an angry parrot.

“Jesus Christ, will someone just tell me what don’t I know before I start throwing hands?”

“The shit James writes on your to-go cup every time you show up at his workplace.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you nearly shouted to match their volume.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen them! They’re so glaringly obvious, he might as well be sticking neon signs declaring his love on them.”

“I have never seen any of what you’re talking about except the ‘Mario’ he writes.”

“That’s only one side. Haven’t you seen the other?”

“No! Why would I?”

“He writes really cute messages on them,” Nat said quietly. “Some of them are normal stuff, like “I hope you have a really beautiful day” the others are like small bits of poetry that I think he writes.”

You stayed quiet, trying to absorb this information as much as possible.

“It was pretty clear that he didn’t want any of us-“ she glared at Clint who finally looked a bit guilty –“to tell you.”

“I genuinely thought you knew. He’s been doing it for months now.”

“I didn’t,” you muttered, sinking back. “That explains the weird thing he does whenever I throw away one of the cups.

“You what?!” Nat screeched, leaping to her knees. “Why would you throw them away?!”

“Hey, I didn’t know!” you defended yourself, throwing your hands up in surrender. “I literally found out about them thirty seconds ago.”

“Can you imagine how shitty he feels?”

“Now’s a good time to stop.”

“Just watching the girl you love throw away things you’ve made an effort to make?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“And that would be intimidating if you were… well, intimidating.”

“So once you finish one layer, you move onto the next and so on and so forth.” Vision stirred his cup for what seemed like the twentieth time and at that point, it was much more interesting than the shit coming out of his mouth.

He had been speaking for composting for what felt like a good hour, not allowing you to get a word in sideways about any topic that would be infinitely more interesting than this.

“Y/N, did you hear what I said?”

“What?” you jerked your head when you heard your name. “Oh, yeah.”

“Did you like a part in particular?”

Fuck.

“Loved the part about the… layers.”

“Layers are really the key to this whole thing, if you don’t have enough-“

“You know what has layers?” you said quickly, sitting up straight. “Onions. Ogres are like onions. What is your favorite movie?” if you had to hear him speak about soil and manure one more time, you were going to drown yourself in your tears right then and there.

You could feel your phone vibrate in your pocket, but you didn’t bother answering it before putting it on silent, feeling like you at least owed him basic etiquette.

“I’m not done,” he said blankly, “Now, as I was saying, layers really bring out the-“

You bring your hand down on the table a little too harshly but quickly cover it up with a smile. His voice faltered slightly before pausing when you looked at him expectantly.

“I don’t have a favorite movie. I think they’re all too dependent on suspension of disbelief. There is no true realism. None of them truly cater to what I want.”

“You’re a film major.” “So I can make films that capture the true essence of-“ he inhaled deeply before gesturing with his hands “—everything.”

The same waitress from before asked you if you wanted a refill, to which you agreed, Vision doing the same. You fiddled around with your cup in silence for a while, not knowing how to continue.

“Do you want to hear my idea for a script?”

“Sure.”

“It starts with a twenty minute shot of the ocean. Just lets you get into the tone of the movie. Then the next shot is of a horse stable. Then the next is of a wilted meadow. Then an opening door. Then an unruly bed. Then-“

“That sounds great, but what’s it about, Vis?” you emphasized, hoping to speed things up.

“I’m getting there, but please remember this desire for narrative has been fed to you. Without narrative, we truly push away from the comfort films provide and embrace a reflection of the world around us,” he insisted. “The next shot is a branch. Then a towel. Then-“

You nearly banged your head on the table.

“A church. A running tap, just to introduce motion, you know, to get things moving-“

“You need to make a move. Tell him you know about the cups.”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

It was 4am and all of you had collective taken a break from whatever it is that you were doing around thirty minutes ago and were now just laying there, waiting for the caffeine rush to wear off.

“Why not?”

“Why do you care so much, Clint?” you asked, slightly irritated.

He moved his hands to rest on his abdomen. “I don’t. It’s just agonizing to watch.”

“Don’t watch then.”

“Fine I’ll date him then. I’ll get him to write me love letters too.”

“Go for it,” you snorted, shaking your head.

“Maybe I will. I’ll ask him out today, just watch me.”

“Don’t let him break your heart, babe,” Nat encouraged him.

“He’d have to reject me to do that.”

“Why on earth would he ever do that?” she poked at his cheek, watching him grumble and shove her away.

“I think he and Dot are a thing,” you said suddenly, facing the ceiling.

“I don’t think so. He doesn’t look too invested.”

“They hang out a lot now, did you know?” you continued, ignoring Clint.

“You should ask him. Set the record straight.”

“I think I’ll keep all my feelings to myself and then die, thanks.”

“Just tell him, man. It’ll make your life much simpler,” he rolled onto his stomach to look at you. “Sweetheart, I love you, but all this pining isn’t helping either of you. Tell him, and if he likes you back, great. If he doesn’t, well, at least you’ll know, right?”

“That’s easy to say, but try doing it yourself.”

“Oh I did. The first one rejected me straight out, and it fucking sucked balls, but I could move on. Sometimes it’s better to take that chance.”

You were silent. You couldn’t believe you were actually considering what he’d said.

“Alright fine, here’s the deal. If I can gather the guts to ask out Bucky, you’ll have to do it too.” Clint held out his hand for a handshake and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“Fuck outta here. You’d do it without any regrets.”

“True, but you look like you need a push and I’m offering you one.”

“I appreciate it Clint, but it’s never going to happen. I’d rather choke.”

“I’m not gonna force you, but just think about it. It’s all about a leap of faith.”

The three of you remained in silence before Nat broke it, giggling to herself.

“Are you going to ask him out though?”

“Hell, maybe I will. Five o’clock, right?” Clint looked at his watch.

“Yeah.”

“I’m gonna do it, watch me.”

Five.

Five.

Five.

Fuck.

You suddenly broke out of your train of thought and scrambled for your phone, interrupting Vision’s marvelous idea for an Oscar winning script.

Your heart stopped beating altogether.

It was nearly 6:30 and there were nearly twenty unread messages and around ten missed calls illuminating your notification bar.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you cursed steadily before standing up, your chair scraping against the floor behind you.

“Is something wrong?” Vision asked delicately, still clearly immersed in his thoughts.

“We need to leave now.” You pulled out enough cash to pay for your share, tugging your jacket back on hurriedly. “Now.”

“Why?”

“I’m late. I’m really, really late and we need to go now.” You had no idea that much time had gone by, scolding yourself for not keeping track of how long you were there.

“Alright, but are you-“

“Now, Vision.” You glared daggers at him until he relented, paying his amount and walking to the entrance at his own pace while you were nearly running.

From Becca:

Where are you???

From Becca:

We’re waiting for you to cut his cake

From Steve:

Hey, are you on your way?

From Becca:

McFucking Dot is here why tf is she here who invited her and why is she so touchy with bucky

From Nat:

I swear to god if you’re off making out w/ that boy instead of being here

From Wanda:

hey, we just cut the cake without you, hope you don’t mind. Where are you??

From Becca:

Someone “”””””accidentally””””” spilled their drink on dotzilla she’s all wet now

From Becca:

I can say with 80% accuracy that it wasn’t me

From Nat:

Becca just spilt her drink on Dot what the hell

From Clint:

Dot just left the room to go change because this dumbass turd just poured beer over her. now’s my chance

From Becca:

Yo where tf are you

From Nat:

We’re just sitting around, watching a movie. Are you showing up?? Why aren’t you answering our calls? Is everything okay?

From Becca:

Clint just asked out Bucky wtf sdjhgdkjfhgkdjfhg

From Clint:

I asked him out. he rejected me. I think I’m gonna keep trying

From Nat:

Clit’s bribing Bucky into saying yes

From Clint:

He said no im leaving this bullshit party

From Becca:

I just told Bucky you’ll be running late are you even showing up where are you

From Bucky:

Date going well? Hope you’re safe. Saving you a piece of cake 🍰

“Can you drive a little faster, please?” you urged him, furiously responding to everyone’s texts as quickly as you could.

“I’m already going as fast as I can,” he replied, driving at almost half the speed limit.

“Sweet Jesus,” you breathed out, running your hands through your hair. “Alright Vis, detour. Drop me off at this address.”

__

You didn’t wait to catch your breath as you ran up three flights of stairs to his dorm room, hands repeatedly slapping against the door.

A minute later it swung open, revealing a slightly panicked Bucky.

“What the-“

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so fucking sorry. I lost track of time and I didn’t even realize, it was entirely-“

“Woah, hey- hey it’s okay. It’s okay. ” He opened the door wider, a mix of confusion and concern on his face. “Take a second to catch your breath.”

As you did, you noticed he was wearing a black t-shirt that had no business looking that good, grey sweatpants, and his hair was pulled into a half bun, having grown longer due to months of not trimming it. He looked beautiful.

You took a moment off of staring at his stupidly attractive face, and beyond his shoulder into his dorm. You could see the empty beer cans littering his living room, the clear signs of a party.

“Everyone left?” you asked quietly.

“Yeah, just a few minutes ago.”

“Shit, Bucky-“ You sighed, frustration evident in your voice, feeling your heart sink. “I never meant to miss this, I promise.”

“I know you didn’t, don’t worry. I see you almost everyday, Y/N, it’s definitely okay to miss one evening.” He laughed lightly, shifting his weight to his other shoulder.

“It’s your birthday.”

“Like I said, it’s just another day.” He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s nothing too big.”

Stop staring at his fucking chest.

“I bought you something,” you blurted out, tightening your grip on your bag. “A birthday present, I mean. I bought you a gift. For your birthday.”

Stop mumbling, you big oaf.

“Y/N,” he complained, “We talked about this. You didn’t have to-“

“It’s a journal,” you interrupted him, scrambling through the contents of your backpack to find it. “Each page has a question. 365 days, 365 questions. I mean, theoretically, it doesn’t work for leap years but, you know, this coming year isn’t one and I-”

You finally grabbed hold of the brown, leather bound book, pulling it out with ease and holding it out to him.  He looked back at you without a word.

“And I know how much you like writing, I just thought it’d be nice to look back on how much you change or how much your thoughts change over the year.” You pushed it forward gently, urging him to take it. He held onto it silently, running his fingers along the pages before flipping open to the first page.

You keep records of their troubles. You’ll learn from them. If you want to Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from. It’s a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn’t education, it’s history.

You watched him read it, his eyes widening slightly once he realized where the excerpt was from.

“That’s- that’s from-”

“The Catcher in the Rye. Yeah.” You shifted uncomfortably when he fell silent again, staring at you without a word.

Great.

“I know it’s stupid and nowhere near anything you’ve gotten me and I can get you something else-”

“I love it.” The look in his eyes made you want to melt. “So fucking much.”

“Really?” You couldn’t hide the surprise from your voice.

“It’s probably one of the most thoughtful things anyone has ever given me.”

“There are some really stupid questions in there, like about memes and stuff because I thought you’d like it, but the rest are relatively normal.”

“It’s absolutely perfect.” He blew a few strands out of his face, letting his hands fall to his side. He opened his mouth to say something else but instead he shut it again.

It was probably the silence that ensues that made your fight or flight instincts take over because the next thing you realized is that you had both your arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug, earning a small ‘woah’ from him.

It took him about a second but he slowly wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you in closer, if that was even possible, dropping his forehead into crook of your shoulder. He smelt of fresh laundry and cinnamon and you couldn’t help the breath that escaped your lips. You could feel his breath tingling your neck and the warmth he exuded seeping in through your sweater. It reminded you of home.

You unwillingly pulled back, stuffing your hands back into your pockets awkwardly. “Happy birthday, James.”

“Thanks,” he said softly, biting his lip. “I, uh, saved you a piece of cake.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Finally he shook himself out of whatever he was thinking, moving and holding open the door invitingly. “Do you- uh- do you want some?”

Just tell him you like him, for the love of God.

“James I-“

“Bucky? Do you know where the tissues- oh hey Y/N!” There was no mistaking who walked out from Bucky’s bathroom. Bucky whipped his head around, confused, before who it was registered in his mind and he turned to look at you again.

“Hey Dot.”

“We missed you today,” she chirped, approaching the doorway, placing a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Yeah, me too.” Something was amiss about her before you finally caught on.

She was wearing his shirt.

Oh.

“Um, I better get going.” You swallowed. It felt like you were missing something crucial. Why would she be wearing his shirt at his place?

“Wait, I thought-“ he furrowed his eyebrows, straightening up.

“It’s getting pretty late, I gotta go.” You half-smiled, pointing behind you to the setting sun. “Maybe some other time.”

“At least let me drop you back. Let me just grab my keys-“ he turned around, ready to walk back into his apartment.

“It’s okay,” you interrupted him, taking a step back. “I could use the fresh air.”

“It’ll be dark out soon.”

“I’ll be fine,” you assured him, continuing to walk backward before waving at him. “I’ll catch you later, Buck. Bye Dot.”

“Y/N-“ he tried again but you just waved again before spinning on your heel and walking off, waiting till you were out of eyesight before fumbling for your phone and calling Nat to come pick you up from his dorm because sure, you may be feeling like shit, but that didn’t mean you were going to walk home in the middle of winter, alone.

Leap of faith, my ass, you thought.

Leap off a fucking cliff was more like it.

Part 9

[accidentally-logince]

Partners in Crime [2]

Heck yeah! Less than a week since the last chapter, I’m actually making progress!

Warnings for mentions of food, mentions of eating disorders (nothing explicitly said, just heavily implied) and crying. I think that’s everything but tell me if there’s anything else that you need tagged!

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

Winter couldn't bring himself to ignore Ronen. In the past, he'd always pushed away people that he grew attached to--maybe that was why he hung out with people who didn't care about him--but every time he refused to answer a text his chest hurt. He let out a a sigh, picking up his phone and rereading the messages that Ronen had sent him.    Hey, wanna go out?    Like hang out I mean, not like a date lol    Winter?   At the last message, Winter's heart gave a tug. He cast a quick glance at the clock: only noon. His dad wouldn't be home until eight. He tapped on the conversation.    Sorry, I was busy for a bit    I think I'd like to hang out   Winter's fingers trembled over the keyboard, but before he sent the message he deleted it. It sounded too dorky. He re-typed it as We can go out, yeah. Then, before he could stop himself, he added I actually have something I wanted to tell you and hit send before he could rethink. His heart started pounding. Was he really ready to tell Ronen how he felt? Wait, but he probably liked girls. Why did Winter forget the possibility that Ronen was straight?    ? And what's that   Winter wasn't ready. Not just yet. He needed to figure out how to say it.    I want to tell you in person.   That should buy him some time. But what happened if Ronen thought he was gross? Oh, God, Winter could handle a rejection if they were still friends, but if he never got to see Ronen again? Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.    Alright. I pick you up in an hour to go to the mall?   Oh, and curse the way Winter's heart jumped at that.    Yeah. See you then.       The hour before Ronen picked him up mostly consisted of Winter staring at the ceiling as he lay on his bed, figuring out what he was going to say. Would he say sorry? No, he couldn't apologize. Not for being gay. It wasn't like he could help it. What happened if it became awkward? God, how did people come out?    He wouldn't cry. Winter decided that and told himself very firmly. Whatever happened, he didn't want to cry over this., He didn't want Ronen to think he was scared of himself. Of being gay. Even if part of him maybe was.    By the time one o'clock rolled around, Winter had decided on the words he wanted to use. How he would say them. He decided that his feelings for Ronen could wait; Winter didn't want to scare him off by coming out and then immediately saying he had a crush on him. No. Today was just coming out. He just needed to tell someone, and his journal pages were not enough of an outlet.    If they were still friends afterwards, Winter could tell Ronen his feelings another time. It wasn't like there was a time limit. Or maybe there was, he didn't know. All he knew was that he was stressed, and he needed to not overwhelm himself. Winter took in a deep breath, steadying his trembling body like Ronen had showed him on that first day.    When the knock finally came at the front door, Winter had calmed himself down. He was used to people disliking him, so really, it wouldn't change much if Ronen didn't accept him. It would hurt. It would definitely hurt, but it wouldn't be anything new. Plus, anything better than that would be a pleasant surprise.    Winter rushed down the stairs, trying not to clutch the handle too hard with nerves as he swung the door open.    "Ready to go?"    "Yeah..."    Today was the first day that Winter had seen Ronen since realizing his feelings--he'd tried to hide away so as not to scare Ronen off--and now it was hard not to pay attention to the warm smile that Ronen was looking at him with, or to stop his heart from jumping when he grabbed winter's hand to walk together to his bike, and oh jeez, Winter was going to have to hold onto him for the drive--    "Everything good?"    Winter snapped out of his thoughts and nodded, putting on his helmet and climbing into the seat behind Ronen, wrapping his arms around him. His fingers curled in the fabric of Ronen's hoodie.    The ride was over too soon, and Winter found that the nervous feeling in his stomach coiled tighter with each step they took. He'd committed to telling Ronen, and given that Winter was a terrible liar, he wouldn't be able to chicken out and make up something else to tell him.    "Did you have something to eat before we came?"    Winter almost didn't reply, too caught up in his thoughts. He said "no" absentmindedly, but realized what had come out of his mouth when Ronen grabbed his hand.    "Let's grab lunch. This'll be the first time we eat together, right? I swear, I haven't seen you eat before. You guys have dinner after your dad gets home, right?"    "Uh, yeah... yeah, when my dad gets home..."    Ronen frowned, turning to face Winter. "Are you okay?"    "I'm just, um..." Winter bit his lip. He was not good at lying, He settled on "nervous."    "Nervous about what you wanted to tell me?" Ronen asked.    "Yes," Winter agreed, a bit too fast. Lying was especially difficult when Ronen was looking at him like that, with genuine concern in his eyes.    But then his expression softened. "It's okay. You can take all the time you need before you tell me. And if that means you never do, that's okay too. It's up to you entirely if you want me to know."    Winter felt something warm sprout in his chest. Were people usually supposed to be this nice, or had he just gotten lucky when finding Ronen?    "C'mon, let's get you something to eat."    And like that, Winter's stomach dropped. "Oh, uh, it's okay, I'm not hungry."    "But didn't you say you haven't eaten?" Ronen's brow furrowed.    "Butterflies," Winter said, trying to cover his tracks. "In my stomach, just... nervous." Nerves gave people nausea.    "It'll still be good to get a little bit of food into your system. It's not good for you to not eat anything all day." Ronen grabbed Winter's hand and they walked together to the food court, Winter trying to hide his shaky hand. Luckily the one in Ronen's own wasn't noticeably trembling.    Winter was overwhelmed by all the colours and smells in the food court. With the overload, he barely heard Ronen ask what he wanted. "I never get fast food," Winter responded blankly.    "Well, there's a bit of everything. Burgers, pizza, chicken, y'know."    "Those are all so greasy." And full of calories, probably, Winter added in his head. "Just... you get something, I'm okay."    Ronen frowned. "Are you sure you're doing alright?" Winter nodded tightly, but Ronen didn't seem satisfied. He pulled Winter away from the crowded area, walking slowly with him until they found a quiet, empty hallway, and Winter collapsed to the floor, head in his hands as he leaned against the wall.    "I didn't want to ruin this," Winter whispers into his hands. "I'm sorry..." He felt lightheaded. More so than usual, This wasn't going how he wanted it to.    "You didn't ruin anything, it's alright," Ronen said softly. "I'm just worried about you. Whatever it is that you want to say, it's bugging you. A lot. I need you to know that you don't have to tell me. If your nerves are because you feel like you have to, I promise you don't. I really don't want you to stress if you're--"    "I'm gay."    Ronen blinked, leaning back from where he'd been holding Winter gently by the shoulders. Winter was tearing up, and he tried desperately to blink the tears back as his eyes drifted away, ashamed of himself.    "I'm gay," he repeated. "And I was scared to tell you, because I thought you would hate me. You're the first real friend I've had, and I really don't want you to hate me."    "Winter..."    "Please don't. I don't want pity." This wasn't going according to plan. Winter was nearly sobbing now, that was the one thing he didn't want. Everything was screwed up. And what was Ronen thinking right now? What was he going to say?    "No, listen. I don't want to give you pity. I just wanted to say that you're really brave. You told me when you were scared, and I'm really proud." He wipes a tear from Winter's cheek, and he hopes Ronen doesn't notice the way that he almost chases the contact when Ronen's hand moves away. "Can I tell you a secret?" Winter nodded slowly. "I'm gay too."    Winter's eyes went wide, and he lifted his head back up. "Wait, what? But you're so cool!" Then he stuttered out, "uh, I didn't mean, like, y'know, I'm just... I'm... going to shut up now."    Ronen laughed, and it was the sweetest sound Winter had ever heard. He felt the tips of his ears heat up.    "Well, I'm glad you think I'm cool," Ronen said jokingly. "I actually just figured out I was gay a little bit ago. But, yeah. Don't worry about it. I don't hate you, and I'm happy you trusted me enough to tell me."    "Do you think we could go home?" Winter asked quietly. "I think I just want to relax right now."    Ronen nodded, offering his hand for Winter to stand up with him. Maybe that didn't go how Winter expected, but he was happy with the end result.        Winter collapsed onto his bed when they got back to his house. The clock told them it was half past two.    "Can I make us something to eat?" Ronen asked.    "My dad will notice if the kitchen is messy," Winter said. He saw Ronen opening his mouth to say something else, and he said, "I'll eat something today. Please don't worry."    "Is there any way we could eat something without your dad knowing I was here? You really do need to eat, I know what it's like to be hungry."    'No you don't,' is the first thing that pops into Winter's head, but he pushes it away. "Give me a minute," he says instead.    It had been awhile since Winter had searched through the cupboards like this. Force of habit from his childhood had him closing everything silently, even though he knew his dad wasn't home.    He made sure to grab things that his dad wouldn't notice were gone--things that had too many pieces to count. He carefully filled a bowl, making a mental note to clean it out and put it back in its place before his dad got back.    Winter heard a drawer closing as he opened his door, and found Ronen sitting on his bed. "What was that?" Winter asked, shutting the door behind him.    "I was just looking around a little bit."    Something seemed off about Ronen's smile, but Winter kept his mouth shut. Like Ronen had said before, Winter only had to tell him things if he wanted to, and Winter figured he should give that same respect to Ronen. He sat on the bed and put the bowl between them    It was a mixture of random things; a sort of demented trail mix that he almost thought Ronen would get upset at him for, but when Winter took a couple small bits from the mix and ate them Ronen looked happy.    "I'm probably not going to stay much longer, my parents want me home for dinner," Ronen says. "Promise you'll try to eat later too, okay?"    A heavy feeling settled in Winter's stomach. Ronen didn't usually act like this, something was wrong. "You're not upset at me are you?" Winter asked softly.    "No, of course not," Ronen said, and this time Winter could tell that his smile was sincere.    The last half hour was spent chatting mindlessly as they both ate from the bowl. Winter took small bits, and in the back of his mind he was worried even that would be too much for him. He wanted to stop, but every time he ate something Ronen would give him this soft smile that Winter just wanted to see forever.    Today had gone well. Winter was surprised that he'd been able to come out to Ronen--to anybody, really--just days after his realization. Maybe Ronen was right. Maybe he was brave. And by the time Ronen said goodbye and drove off, Winter was calm. Things were going well!    And Ronen was gay! Of course, that didn't solidify anything, bu with the stress gone from Winter's body for now, he couldn't help hoping that maybe this meant he had a chance.    Winter went back to his room, a soft smile settling on his face as he opened his drawer. He wanted to write in his journal, this was something that the pages would be enough for him. But when he flipped to the last page with writing on it, he found a passage written in unfamiliar black ink.

---

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[idrawstuffidk]

Rose’s Ref sheet. This is gonna be a long post bc I actually have her story ready right here lol. It’s not the best but here it is. Sara Drisskle was a normal 16 year old, well, normal was an open term, she supposed. PTSD from years of unintentional neglect and emotional abuse from a mother unfit to care for her had taken its toll in making her a little less “normal” than most kids. But still, she was quiet, attentive in class, wore mostly black and kept to herself, so most people left her alone. Exactly how she liked it. There was one girl who could never quite give it up though, constantly picking on her and trying to mess with her, get her to lash out or snap. But most people had low tolerance for that. “Leave her alone, she's not doing anything” “This is getting old, Amy” “Just leave her be, no one thinks you're funny anymore” Needless to say, Amy didn't like her much, but Sara didn't care a whole lot. She was content on her own. Alone. Well, mostly alone anyway. Cindy was there. She was always there Cindy was always so clingy, always finding a way to make Sara smile, or laugh. Always finding some way to make her happy. But she never noticed that man in the trees. The tall man who Cindy swore was Sara’s overactive imagination. But Sara swore that man was there He was always there Cindy and Sara spent every waking moment together, always together. Sara wanted to go out for food? Cindy would go along. Cindy wanted to go shopping, she’d beg Sara to go with her. She desperately wanted to stay by Sara’s side no matter what. Sometimes Cindy tried to get her way, she got cocky and tried to force Sara to do everything her way. But then Sara would say those fateful words “Well, if you don't like what I'm doing, you don't have to do it with me” And Cindy would come crawling back, begging for Sara to stay with her, to be her friend again, begging and begging and begging. More than once she’d broken down in tears. What type of friend would Sara be to tell her no? Of course, once Cindy was comfortable again everything would start all over. She’d make Sara smile, make her laugh, talk to everyone in class and out of it, she’d go back to being that ideal friend who confused everyone with her choice in friends, or rather, friend. And then she'd begin having episodes again, zoning out, staring at blank walls, shutting down all emotions and acting out violently. Every time Sara would try, and succeed, to get away, but Cindy would come back. Sara knew she should just report Cindy, go to the police or just stop being her friend altogether, but then her Cindy would come back. She'd be back to her laughing, happy self that never failed to cheer Sara up. She’d be back to the ideal friend everyone loved, she’d be back to being that lone light in Sara’s traumatized life. The light she needed in her life. To distract her from the past, from the future, from the feeling of her stomach sinking, her mind breaking, and from the tall man that always watched her. So Sara would let her stay. A desperate bid to be happy. It never lasted long, but she always came back. She would always come back “Why are you running, Sara?” Cindy’s sugary sweet voice cut through the air like a blade, chilling Sara to her bones as she backed up against the wall. Eyes trained on the rusty shears held in Cindy's hands “aren't we having fun?” Cindy lunged at Sara, but she was to scared to move, too frozen to get away, her eye stared at Cindy’s blank face as she held the now bloody shears, Sara's left eye hanging from them. Searing pain tore through Her head, but she was unable to move as Cindy walked away, muttering something to herself and tapping her fingers. That's how Sara's parents found her. Her mother screamed. Shut up you fat cow Sara's mind raced back and forth How dare you pretend you know me she thought bitterly how dare you pretend you care Sara's eye went from side to side, desperately searching for a way out she's going to hurt me there was no time. she's going to hurt me again she was closing in. Run run run but now her mother had her fat, disgusting fingers on her, her horrible voice that made Sara want to hurl screaming for help. In the ER Sara got bandaged up, but refused to say how this had happened. “Are you ok, Sara?” Her dad asked “Fuck you” she had retorted. He blamed it on the pain medication, that might have been part of it, yeah, but right now Sara had half a mind to kill anyone who dared to get close. She couldn't trust anyone, they would only kill her, they were here to finish the job. “Sara, sweetie, let's get you to your room” one second, her mother was closing in, coming to hurt her, but her eye landed on the metal bat her father kept by the door ‘for if you ever get a boyfriend’ he had said. Sara's hand landed on the bat and before she had time to even think her hand closed around the handle and she swung, hitting her mother in the head, she swung again and again and again and again until her mother's head was a bloody pulp on the ground. Sara’s breath came in raspy gasps as she continued to pointlessly hit the red, sloppy looking lump. No time she thought there's no time there was no time for this, if she was down, she was down. They were going to come back for her, kill her for killing one of their assassins, he was watching he was there. She knew it, she could feel it. She ran to the room her father was in, her eyes laid briefly on the picture frame on the desk. She took a swing from behind him, cracking the back of his skull, he fell forward, colliding with the desk. Blood ran down his forehead. She beat and mashed the head again, and again, and again, making sure he wouldn't get up. Finally she stood up properly. They were dead She breathed heavily, gasping as adrenaline pumped They were dead The picture frame was broken They were dead? The glass of the picture was cracked They were dead A crack ran over Sara’s now distorted face They were dead Sara braced herself for someone to come from behind her, she looked outside, no one, she looked around the house, no one. She was alone. She ran her fingers over the ornate picture frames, and dragged her thumb over the pictures of her parents' faces. pictures that could never be taken again. Because they were dead. As time progressed over the course of a few weeks, the smell of rotting flesh coming from her parents corpses, of which she had not moved, began to fill the house. She had brought in flowers from the garden and used her parents credit cards to even buy them from the store when they'd run out to combat the stench. It only worked so much, but now that the house looked like a greenhouse, at least that was some form of distraction. She knew she should feel sad or guilty, but she only felt numb, she waited for the adrenaline to go down, but even when it did she still felt numb. She'd have to wait for the guilt to set it. In an act of desperation to rid the place of the stench she had cover the bodies in flowers. They were pretty, like flowerbeds. They covered up the smell some, too. The school was under the impression that Sara was sick, which was not untrue, but she could only send emails posing as her parents so long before someone would inevitably check in on her. So she did the only thing she could do, and returned to school. She hadn't seen Cindy in a while anyway. She was looking forward to having a little chat about what had transpired between them a few weeks prior. So she returned. She got some questions on where she had been, her answer remained constant “just very sick”, if you're going to lie, you may as well keep your story straight. So that's what she did, she couldn't shake the impending feeling of doom that rose from her gut to her chest when those familiar arms wrapped around her, though. “Sara!” Cindy's voice came like razor blades to her ears, mixed with rubbing sweet sugar into the wounds “I was wondering where you were!” Sara gave the same answer as always, she was about to retreat home for lunch before seeing the familiar head of long brown hair sweep through the halls. Not any greeting, not even any kind of acknowledgement. Just a blank face. Whatever possessed Sara to follow her could be damned to hell for all Sara cared, as she followed Cindy into the supply closet. Cindy's slim fingers wrapped around the edges of the ladder in the corner as she slowly pulled it over to rest under the opening in the ceiling, still not acknowledging Sara, despite clearly being able to see her. She climbed the ladder, pushed up on the trapdoor, and pulled herself through. Onto the roof. The cold air assisted Sara’s face as she dragged herself through as well, standing up and walking over to where Cindy stood, teetering on the edge of a 3 story drop. back facing Sara as she approached closer. “I knew you would come” Cindy spoke, her voice was emotionless as ever. “Don't you see?” She turned her head and torso to face Sara from over her shoulder, with her feet unmoving as she teetered more dangerously, her green eyes wide and pupils thin. “He's coming to kill me, I got away, so he's going to kill me” “Who are you talking about?” Sara asked, though she had a feeling she already knew. “You know who, you see him too.” Cindy didn't look at her, but seemed she could see if Sara were to run “he watches you, I escaped so I thought, if I stayed close to you, you would protect me” she finally looked at Sara, eyes wide and crazed as she seemed to stare at nothing and everything at the same time. “He doesn't want to take you for himself, so I was sure you’d protect me” “So you were using me, is that what you mean?” Sara asked, Cindy stared blankly, it was then that Sara noticed the crowbar that Cindy now clutched in her hands, Sara wasn’t scared anymore, not really, if she was about to die, might as well take one more person Down with her. Cindy lunged at her, Sara dodging out of the way and trying to run past her, she stopped, catching her balance on the edge of the roof. Turning around she saw Cindy spun around and lunge at her again,catching her fists in her hands Sara pushed back, no strategy could get her out of this one, it was a battle of pure strength and Sara was rapidly losing. Suddenly, Sara felt herself falling, her right hand tightened on the fists that pushed her and her left reached out to try and grab something, meeting the fabric that made up Cindy’s shirt. She gripped on, hoping that Cindy, through whatever trance she was in, would catch her balance and not let her fall, she held her breath. And a feeling of weightlessness came over her in the brief moment that she was falling, clutching onto Cindy, somehow their position was turned around and Sara felt the cold air hitting her face, she was falling, then, she heard a sickening crunch and felt pain shoot through her as she fell on top of the broken body that used to belong to her friend. With that, it was all over. She was bound to die, surely, she felt her consciousness leave her body and when she woke up, she was in a dull hospital room. She had to get out, of was only a matter of time before they found out that she was the one who killed her parents, strangely, the guilt still hadn’t set in. Was that cause to worry? Probably not. The fiery rage that built up inside her all these years had finally been released on three of the closest people in her life, she was in the clear, or at least, she would be once she got out of this place. There was no cause to panic. No need to be scared. Not even the tall man who continued to watch her. He was still there after all He would always be there.

[all-of-the-imagines-for-eve]

Forget About It ~ Sweet Pea (part 6)

A/n: Oh, you didnt expect this? Well, remember how I saw I wrote a different part 5? Well it was after the part Five I posted so I took what I already had and I changed it to fit what I established as the new part five. I really hope it fits because I desperately tried lol. Tell me what you think!

Word Count: 4586

MASTERLIST

School kept up like that all the way until Christmas. Kids messed with me less and less as Archie stepped in more and more. And then Betty, too. And then Veronica. Veronica less than the other too.

As winter came and people started chucking snowballs at me, I decided to keep my Serpent jacket at the house. Now I just let faded jeans and Sweet Pea’s jacket swallow me whole. The ends of the sleeves covered my hands, and I’d never felt so soft and warm… except when I was in his arms and not just his sleeves.

Despite my strengthening relationship with my brother, school and Serpent business kept me from seeing the other Serpents. We texted and called all the time now but I wanted to hug Sweet Pea. Kiss him....

As time passed without Sweet Pea and Christmas drew closer, I drew quieter and sadder. People just let me fade into the background. Maybe it was the cold weather but god I just missed my boyfriend.

I found myself alone a lot, things happening and time passing without me paying much attention to it. My dad had noticed my little depressional episode and had tried to help, but I was shutting him out too. Kids at school left me alone, unwilling to make me snap even if I was a traiter because it wasn’t fun to bully someone who stared at you blankly with a dead look that sent a chill into your bones and made you feel guilty for doing it.

I was thankful for that. It seemed that after the winter holidays the antagonizing might be gone altogether between the growing guilt that was surfacing as well as Betty and Archie working together to get people to back off. I was sure Cheryl would always have something to say to me but who cares about Cheryl Blossom?

I spent a lot of time in my room these days though. It might have been some of the reason as to why I didn't see Sweet Pea, honestly. I'm sure Archie would have taken me for at least a visit if I'd asked, but I didn't even think about it until I was in bed and it was late and then I'd forget about it the next day, trying to keep my head above the water as I worked on school and lived for the phone calls I had with the others I missed so much.

Speaking of my room, I wasn’t getting much sleep. As my angst grew, my sleep lessened, and I spent that time changing my room around. I stripped the bed of all the pillows and blankets and settled for one pillow and one blanket and a sheet- all from the closet in the hallway. It looked better now. Less like it used to.

I’d started to wear my old clothes but only when I couldn’t bring the energy to spend on watching clothes, and then I’d wear Sweet Pea’s jacket and it would cover the color and North Sider feel of the top I’d doned. It was a nice compromise and I didn't mind it as much as I thought.

Despite my dip in mood, it was an obvious relief to my dad and brother that I was reinstating myself in my room. They'd never said anything about the make shift bed I'd made on the floor but I knew they knew, and they had winced every time I flinched as pain from cricks and sore spots. Now, despite being tired, I wasn't in pain. I was very quiet though. They simply talked to each other, trying to loop me in and cheer me up and mostly failing.

That all changed when Christmas came.

It honestly took me by surprise. When Archie has asked me to help them make cookies, I'd had to ask for what. "It's Christmas tomorrow," Archie told me, concern on his face.

"Oh." So I'd made cookies with them, and I'd be straight lying if I didn't say it didn't cheer me up a lot. We laughed and made jokes and messed with each other and honestly, it was EXACTLY what I'd needed.

When we finished, we watched Christmas movies we'd seen a million times and then talked conspiracy theories and pointed out new things we'd seen this time around. I was feeling way better and that gap that had extended forever before was quickly closing. By some miracle, I was finding out how to balance my blood family and my Serpent family.

When nighttime came, I caught Archie's arm. "Remember when we were kids and we'd camp out in the living room together to wait for Santa? We'd try to stay up all night and always failed but then we'd wake up in the morning and be together?" His face softened at the memory and he nodded. "You wanna do that again?"

His face broke into a smile. "The couches might be a little small for me now... but definitely." I smiled too. We moved pillows and blankets - every single one we could find - into the living room. Instead of leaking on the couch. we made a mass bed in the floor with couch cushions and pillows underneath to make the floor comfortable.

We stayed up late, surprisingly, to talk about my life on the South Side. Before the lack of texts and calls that had been broken when I'd confronted them at FP's party, the only interaction with them was when Jughead had brought me my box. I told him about the clothes and how I'd collected all of them and the progression of it. I told him of sleeping (innocently; I had to enunciate that several times) with Sweet Pea and how warm he was and how happy he made me. I talked about falling for him and going on adventures with him after school sometimes and all the gossip I'd learned from Toni and my prank war with Fangs. I told him about making breakfast for Jughead and wrestling with Hotdog, who probably wasn't at the trailer anymore now that I thought about it.

"It sounds like you had a whole life there," Hw whispered after a while.

I looked at him, both of our happiness strained. "I did," I admitted.

"And they were... nice to you?" I knew he was thinking about the bullies at school and I looked away. I didn't know how to say it without hurting him but I think my silence was answer enough.

We went to sleep after that.

I woke up to my brother and dad by the tree. It seemed they had put it up and taken out the boxes of lights and bulbs but were sitting on the floor, talking. Waiting maybe?

“I just want her to be safe,” my dad mumbled tiredly.

Archie nodded. “But she's not safe dad." He paused a long time. "The kids at school... are terrible to her. Betty and I are trying but there's too many students for the school to do anything about it and honestly I don't think they would even if they could. She’s not happy... Have you heard her tell stories about the South Side? She had a whole set up there. She WAS happy, there. I just- I don't know."

It got awkward and quiet so I interrupted, pretending I was just waking up. Sitting up, I yawned loudly. They both looked over. “Morning fellas. A little early, yeah?”

My brother stood up, forcing himself to cheer up as not to ruin my mood so early. “It’s Christmas. We’ve been waiting for you to wake up to have breakfast and set the tree?” He picked up a gift from the floor and handed it to me. I rose an eyebrow, and he motioned me to open it. I did and inside was a bright green Christmas sweater. I couldn’t help but smile. It reminded me of a time when I would traipse around in cotton candy pink and bubble turquoise. It reminded me of smiling and laughter and a green snake on a black jacket. “Do you like it?” Archie asked.

Looking up at them, I saw them melt with relief at the first sign of the smile they had grown so used to seeing on me before everything went to shit. “I love it,” I whispered tenderly. I tugged Sweet Pea’s jacket off and then a faded, blank grey t-shirt off as well, leaving me in a tank top for just a moment before I pulled the sweater over my head. I sighed, settling into the festivity that had evaded me for so long until last night. “Let’s decorate.” So we did.

We spent the morning pinning lights and baubles and eating popcorn instead of putting it up. We laughed and pushed each other around and messed each other up. For just a moment, we felt like a family again. We were one again united and… and… it was amazing. For just one second.

Then the moment ended when Archie and I walked to school, my arm around his waist and his arm around my shoulders. It stopped when we walked into Riverdale High, and Archie left, and I was left alone, facing my peers in my green sweater and black jeans, hoping no one would look at me in my bright colors and see a Northsider. Or worse, see a Southsider dressed like a Northsider. A threat. A wolf in sheep’s clothing.

My worries were dashed away when someone I recognized waved at me, a small smile on their lips. I nodded in return. Kevin said hi to me by name as he passed. He hadn't really recognized my return yet. Betty touched my shoulder, getting my attention so she could compliment my sweater. Not that her interaction wasn't normal but that it felt so much more casual than standing up for me against bullies that it really stuck with me. Veronica laughed at a joke I'd said quietly in class at the teacher’s expense.

I felt normal and- well, not safe and not apart of these people I couldn't stand on any other day. But not in danger, at least. And I could lie to myself, just for a second, that I was a Northsider. Naive and unaware and innocent and good. As young and small as I had been not even three months ago when I WAS one of these Northside idiots. I felt like my earlier comparison was odd. Not a hidden danger- a wolf in sheep's clothing. No, I felt a fool, denying I was surrounded by obvious danger. A sheep in wolf’s clothing, pretending just for a second.

After school, I joined in on the work at the Christmas Tree farm. One day he asked me to take the work for him because he had something to take care of so I stayed even after he left. It was a nice distraction and really good exercise. I enjoyed it.

That peaceful bliss was messed up when, that night, I found out about all of the chaos with Betty and Archie and the Black Hood. I was waiting anxiously for my dad and brother to get back home and when I saw Archie, I tackled him in a hug. “Oh my god I just heard are you okay?” I gasped, leaning back and scanning his body for any significant injuries.

He chuckled. “Acting like my mom as usual.” He smiled, and we both calmed, reveling in the moment we had just had. It was eerily like so many we had had countless times before. Back then it had been normal. Before the Black Hood. Before the Red Circle. Before the Serpents.

Archie put his hand on my back, moving out of the way. "I talked to dad on the way over here. There's constant chaos and it seems we're never gonna get a break but I thought I'd give you one last present..."

I turned to see Sweet Pea of all people standing there, Toni, Fangs, and Jughead around and behind him. I was absolutely thrilled, my eyes widening as I faced Archie. He nodded at me and then I raced to my friends, tackling Sweet Pea so hard it knocked a laugh out of him. "Hey there, Princess."

I was so overwhelmed. I ran a hand through my hair, looking back at Archie. He had followed after me but kept a respectful distance from the other Serpents. Even if he was on relatively good terms with me and Jughead, Fangs and Toni didn't much like him and Sweet Pea was negatively decided on him thus far. I pushed those thoughts away. "You guys came?" I asked, looking at the others. I pulled away from Sweets to move to them as well, hugging Fangs, Toni, then Jughead. It felt amazing to be in person with them again.

"Nice outfit," Jughead joked when I pulled away from him. I looked down. I was startled to realize how Northside I looked. My jeans were fresh, a pair I’d snagged from the drawer I hadn’t touched until this morning. The collar of my sweater covered my tattoo. I felt… like part of the garden. Where I’d felt like that black smudge when I first came back, I felt out of place around the Serpents again, too neat and put together and pristine. When had I put my hair up? I usually wore it down these days…

I swallowed, looking back at Sweet Pea. His easy expression was unfazed though and suddenly I was relaxed again. He hadn't missed my moment of anxiety and when I returned to him, he quickly whispered, "You look really good."

I whispered back, "I look like a North Sider."

He rolled his eyes. "Wherever I am. Remember?"

The promise we'd made what seemed forever came back to me and I smiled. "Yeah." The last bits of my balancing between South and North side dissipated. What had I said? A North Side Serpent? Yes. They had seen me in the house I’d grown up in, messing with my brother. In my perfect house with my perfect brother in my perfect neighborhood, where everything was pretty and purposeful and pristine. A stark difference to the Southside. I'd thought it would have thrown them off again, but it seemed to cheer them up. Seeing me happy and lively... It had been made clear. I was not half a Serpent, but I still knew where I'd come from. My friends did too. And the friends that mattered didn't care where I started or where I was now. They cared about me.

Jughead cut off the quiet moment between me and Sweet Pea, smiling softly and handing me a small gift. “Toni, Fangs, and I wanted to get you something special. Open it later.” He kissed my forehead.

"Thank you guys," I whispered softly, genuinely touched.

Jughead waved it away. There was a slight pause where he tilted his head. “You’re different today." I rose an eyebrow. "It's just good to see you doing well here. When Betty told me..." He swallowed. "I'm glad you're doing well.

The others stared at me but I shook my head. "Later," I begged them all. They instantly complied.

To distract, Sweet Pea stepped up, pulling me into him. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered. He kissed my hair and I melted into him. He moved away and then behind me, holding me in a way that I would still be able to talk to the others. I wasn’t complaining.

“We just wanted to drop by and say Merry Christmas,” Toni explained. “We’re off to… do some stuff and-”

Jughead’s hand shot out to catch hold of mine. The mood suddenly changed and I realized that there was more to this visit than a social visit. “Y/n..." His eyes were worried. I pulled away f ron Sweet Pea, getting serious. "Penny. It’s blown up. She took a video and is using it as blackmail. She has my dad doing drug runs for her-”

I moved closer to him. “Oh my gosh Jug." My face hardened in anger. No one touched my friends. My family. Especially not some bitch like Penny Peabody. "what can I do?”

He smiled, looking at the others. “Told you she would want to help.”

“Of course,” I agreed. “No Serpent stands alone.” I put my hand up, offering it to him. He grasped it, his eyes meeting mine with pride. We exchanged a nod. “Tell me everything.”

-

After it was all laid out, I went inside to confront my dad. “Hey, the Serpents dropped by.” I paused as he hummed, acknowledging me with a nod. “They were wondering if I could spend the night?” He looked up sharply and I rushed to give my reasons. “Sweet Pea will give me a ride to school in the morning, and I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ve missed them, Dad.” My eye widened in desperation, and he sighed.

He looked at me for a second. “You promise you’ll stay safe?” I nodded. “And… have a good Christmas?” I nodded a second, my face softening. He sighed again. “We have been working all day, figured we’d just head to bed anyway. Archie’s a mess…" He relaxed. "Sure.” I grinned, thanking him, and then took off to my room, ripping off my sweater and putting on a black shirt from the floor and then my Serpent jacket as it hung on the banister of my bed. I pulled my hair out, catching my reflection in the mirror. Damn. Such small changes really had such an effect on how I appeared…

Outside, everyone was waiting for me. I hopped on Sweet Pea’s bike, and we all took off toward Penny Peabody’s place with intentions to destroy. It was messy, and I’m not proud of everything that happened, but I had agreed to be here, and so I was.

After we dealt with Penny, I found myself in the bliss of Sweet Pea’s bed again, wrapped up in his arms. I turned to him. "How doesn't it bother you that I'm a North Sider?"

His hand traced my face. "Because you're not like some North Siders. You don't think you're better than us just because you have better circumstances than us. And, I mean, you're a Serpent." He shrugged as if that covered everything. And it actually did. I thought he was done but then he spoke again. “Your family is the Serpents... But you’re also a Northsider.” He paused. “You have family there too. You’re a...

"Northside Serpent?" I offered.

He smiled. "Yeah." And that was it. He brought up an even less pleasant topic. “I heard you were getting bullied.” I jerked, looking up at him. He grew sad. “It’s true then.” He shook his head, his hand running down my face.

"It's stopped," I whispered. "Archie and Betty helped."

He nodded. "Okay." He smiled a little. “You know, you looked pretty. Looking like a North Sider. Delicate. It actually sort of caught me off guard, but I don’t mind it.” He got closer as he spoke, his next sentence spoken against my lips. “Wherever you are.”

Our words were soft. "I was so scared you were going to forget about me."

He kissed me then, so hard that it knocked the breath out of me. I moaned and his fingers pressed into my skin. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you at all, let alone long enough to forget you,” he mumbled through the kisses. “Not even if I tried.” He moved over me, pausing. “I love you.”

I smiled. “I love you too."

His nose brushed against mine. “I’ve missed you. Your smell. Your lips. Your smile. Your eye. Your hair. Your voice. I’ve had a hard time sleeping. It’s too cold, and I can’t get comfortable without you…” When I met his eyes again, they were darker. I cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t know when I’ll see you again.” He looked at my lips and then the parts of my body he could see, and then back to my face. “I’m ready.”

The air in the room changed immediately. I was NOT expecting that. “Are- are you sure?” I asked.

Leaning down, he nodded. “I want you so bad it’s driving me crazy. Is… it okay with you? If we…?” I chuckled, pulling him closer. Our lips met, and I wasted no time in getting heated.

“Yes,” I answered, muffled by him. “Fuck me, please.” He shivered, his gaze zeroing in on mine a second before he dipped down, attacking my neck. By now, Tall Boy’s bruises were gone, but Sweet Pea made some of his own. He decorated me in love bites, not even trying to hold back. He ground against me, and I gasped, eyes closing.

My hands moved to tug on his shirt, pulling it up his body until he had to lean back on his ankles to take it off. I scrambled out from under him, trying to follow after him. I tugged off my shirt, throwing it into the shadows on the floor. We gazed at each other as I moved slowly to straddle his waist.

Suddenly I burst out laughing, and it startled Sweets. My forehead went to his shoulder. “What?” he asked, the humor in his voice evident as he failed to not smile along with me. I leaned back, running my hand down his face, my fingers tracing his jaw. He was so beautiful. So gentle and kind and so in love with me. How did I get so lucky?

“My dad told me to have a good Christmas,” I told him. He grinned as he realized the irony of his encouragement as we sat in our current situation, moments from crossing a boundary my dad would not approve of.

He pulled me closer. “I have a gift for you,” he told me. “I wasn’t going to give it to you because I got scared but… I have one.”

A frown came onto my face. “I didn’t get you anything.” I looked away. “I didn’t even realize Christmas was coming.” My eyebrows knitted.

Sweet Pea pressed our foreheads together. “I don’t expect you to get me a gift. You’re here- what more can I ask for?”

My smile grew. “Keep my gift for the next holiday,” I whispered. “I just want you to tonight. I want my gift to be you and me, here, now, and nothing else. No worry or stress or Black Hood or Northside. No tomorrow when I have to go back. No Penny Peabody. Please?” He didn’t even pause before nodding, leaning to put me back on the pillow. “I just want to have a good Christmas with the man I love.”

Sweet Pea beamed. “I can do that.” His lips were on my neck and my eyes closed, a sigh passing through my lips. The noise was breathy and smooth, half in pleasure and half in contentedness.

Merry Christmas indeed.

-

Christmas really boosted my spirits.

After our night together and my anxiety as he took me back to school, Sweet Pea's calls and texts came more often. We called in the morning as I walked to school, every night, at lunch. I felt myself relaxing and easing. The distance didn’t hurt so much. I started to mix the Serpent clothes with the ones I already had. I wore both and if I did it right, I could see what people meant when they said clothing choice was self expression. These clothes FIT me.

Unfortunately, my happy disposition on top of my developed confidence seemed to draw people in. Instead of tripping me or pushing me or treating me like I was a disease, people were actively trying to be apart of my life. Curious girls who thought I was super cool and flirty guys who thought I was super hot. Archie was by my side differently than before. Now we stood together, heads up and shoulders back. I didn’t walk behind him, hiding behind him. We had each other’s back.

His actions encouraged Betty to slip more into my life again. For real. Not just in passing or to defend me, but in class and walking to class and at lunch. Texting and calling, gossiping and getting advice and hanging out. Through them I grew a comfortable acquaintance with Veronica, and distantly, Josie as well.

The Bulldogs had actually had my back once or twice when a guy had gotten too in my face and insistent. Reggie had talked to me after but I told him I wasn’t interested and he backed off.

All of these connections I had though felt less genuine and more like a business agreement. With Betty, maybe, but... Where had they been those first few days? Those first few weeks? Where was Reggie when his own Bulldogs were whistling at me and calling me pet names to make me uncomfortable? Where was Josie when I was being pushed around- literally? When I was being trampled? I could only count on Betty and Archie. Veronica too. Maybe.

The Serpents always had my back. I couldn’t help but still think that. They would have my back no matter what side of Riverdale I looked or acted like. They had my back no matter who I was facing. Even before I’d been a Serpent, my own brother had abandoned me while the Serpents had my back. If they were here…

And then they were.

When the announcement sounded, I sat in the lounge, with Betty, Archie, and their friends. I heard the words ring through the halls and I froze, my heart stilling as I dared to hope.

South Side High was being shut down, and some students from there were coming here.

Could I get so lucky? To have my biggest wish come true? To have my brothers and sister here, with me, along with the love of my life? Being in these halls to be in a good school like I’ve wanted to happen for so long?

...How could this go wrong?

This was Riverdale- nothing good happened here. Especially in high school. I couldn't help but wait for a catch.

While everyone freaked out and Veronica tried to calm them all down, I stared at the wall, trying not to bring attention to myself and my complete joy.

Betty noticed me first. We both smiled- after all, Jughead would be coming too. Even in the precarious situation they were in, she couldn’t lie to me at least that some part of her was very excited.

Archie noticed me next, smile just as wide. He was glad to have Jughead back as well. And heck if I could finally have the people I'd missed so much back in my life? Hell yeah! The three of us were ECSTATIC!

Then I saw everyone else's faces. Eyes seeking me out and burning into me. I thought if the weeks of torture and my smile fell away. Nervousness nudged at me.

I called Sweet Pea that night and he confirmed that he, Toni, Fangs, and Jughead were coming to Riverdale High. Honestly, I wasn't as happy about it as I wish I could be. They'd be around again and in a better school. But the students...

My mind filled with the worst scenarios possible and I went to bed the night before uneasy.

Why couldn't I just be happy?

When had my life gotten so complicated?

-

FTL: @alexa-playafricabytoto @chipster-21 @bitchyseawitch @justanotherdaydreamersoul

Story Tags: @reblogserpent @xprblmatcprincess @black-kitten-imagines @foolsgoldxo @90skpophoe

[marinsawakening]

Cracks in Concrete

Fandom: Mob Psycho 100

Wordcount: 4285

Warnings: a panic attack, general mental health issues, canon-typical use of cults (albeit it with minor implications that the Psycho Helmet Cult had more negative influences on its users than portrayed in canon). 

Summary: Character study/character development fic of Mezato, and how she grows up after the Divine Tree Arc. 

Notes: Mezato has ADHD in this fic, because I’m ADHD and I love her. 

///

Mezato woke up in the middle of the street, and around her, a crowd of people did the same. They blinked, stumbled, clutched their head as they looked around in confusion, a cacophony of voices asking each other what had happened, how they’d gotten here. Among the crowd there were members of the Psycho Helmet C ult she recognized, but also classmates, acquaintances, and many, many strangers; it was as if the entire town had simultaneously flowed into the streets for some kind of parade, only to then forget who’d organized the event in the first place.

The ground shook, someone screamed, and then, the Divine Tree was floating. It raised itself up from the earth and towards the sky, following a flock of birds towards the horizon. Still in a daze, Mezato raised her camera to snap a picture, only to find her fingers wouldn’t move.

“It must be Lord Psycho Helmet,” Eiji muttered next to her, wonder in his eyes as he looked up towards the flying broccoli.

Mezato didn’t answer. She simply watched as the Tree disappeared from view.

///

The only thing the News Club would talk about was the Divine Tree, and the mass amnesia the city had experienced. As a matter of fact, it was the only thing any kind of news outlet would talk about, even as the citizens of Seasoning City slowly began to accept and forget it, as they always did when something strange occurred.

“The disappearance of the Divine Tree was most peculiar, yes,” said the news anchor. “But for many people, the most distressing part was finding themselves on the streets with no memory of how they’d gotten there. Of the theories proposed, mass hypnosis seems to have the most credibility, but it’s likely we will never find an answer to the question of what happened that fateful day the Divine Tree uprooted itself.”

Forums on the internet were dedicated to answering that question. What was left of the Psycho Helmet Cult was convinced that it was their Lord who’d done it. They might be right. If anyone was capable of pulling off a stunt like this, it was Mob.

But whenever she thought about it, tried to figure out an answer herself, she got nauseous, and something settled heavily into her chest, an emotion she hadn’t felt in years.

Somehow, Mezato thought that all this might’ve been her fault.

///

Her phone rang and rang, but when she kept ignoring it, eventually, Eiji stopped calling. She should’ve picked up, at least done him the decency of saying she was quitting the cult, but she just couldn��t bring herself to care.

Mob was acting strange. Had been since the Divine Tree incident. Maybe it was just because Mezato watched him much more closely than she had before, but he seemed lost - or well, more lost than normal. Recently, he’d gained confidence and drive, and while he didn’t lose all of that, it seemed a bit off now. Sometimes, he’d drift off in class, or glance at nothing and seemed startled for no reason, or fall still when writing, his pen hovering over his notebook. When he did put pen on paper, he took less notes in class, and just seemed to doodle some kind of cloud over and over again.

It was always hard to tell with Mob, inexpressive as he was, but if you payed attention to the details, you could reasonable draw the conclusion that there was something wrong with him.

Mezato considered pursuing it, like she normally would when she smelled a good story, and this could be a good story indeed. Mob acting like he’d lost something right after the Divine Tree had been removed from the city, combined with the knowledge that Mob had psychic powers, made for a strong possibility that he’d been involved in whatever had happened back then. If she could get the story out of him, she could sell it to actual news outlets, rather than being content with her little part in the school paper. It would be the smart move, and could possibly be interesting, too.

Mezato let it go. They weren’t close enough for these kinds of discussions.

///

None of her pictures had any pizzaz anymore. The composition was flat, the lighting bad, and the meaning missing. She struggled to write anything for the school paper that month, staring blankly at her laptop for hours before finally giving up and slamming it shut.

It wasn’t for a lack of interesting material; there was plenty of that. Even aside from the Divine Tree incident, there was change brewing within Salt Mid; Takane Tsubomi, most popular girl in school, was moving away, bringing all her admirers crawling out of the woodwork. Even Mob was planning to confess, and although, in all honesty, Mezato didn’t expect anything to come from it, she did hope for his sake it would work out.

She could write about the actual lines that had been formed by confessors, how Tsubomi had politely yet firmly turned all of them down, speculate on whether that was because someone else held her heart or because she was moving away soon, pretend that her turning down boys whom she’d never even spoken too before was somehow unreasonable. She had plenty of material to write a salacious story.

And yet, she couldn’t. All she had to show for hours of agonizing work was a blank Word document.

She let the deadline slide by, and didn’t offer any answers when the president came knocking.

///

Without the Psycho Helmet Cult or the News Club to distract her, all Mezato had to do was her schoolwork, and she’d never been good at that. She was plenty smart, but as soon as you put a worksheet in front of her, she lost all ability to think. It didn’t matter how much distractions she removed from her workplace, she would always drift off. Even a blank wall was somehow more interesting than her homework.

So she sat in her room and stared at her books, willing herself to write a summary, to study for the upcoming exams. The words blurred together, there but meaningless; she’d reread this paragraph fifteen times, and still couldn’t tell you what it said. The silence was maddening.

Vaguely, Mezato remembered the reveal of Lord Psycho Helmet, streamed for all Psycho Helmet followers to see. The Lord’s face was blurry, a spot she couldn’t quite place, but she knew it wasn’t Mob, because she’d never gone to pick him up. She couldn’t remember why she hadn’t. She couldn’t remember why she’d dismissed him, the next morning. She couldn’t remember why she’d helped distribute Divine Tree candy. She couldn’t remember why she’d encouraged people to pray to the Divine Tree. Then, she couldn’t remember much of anything.

Had there been something in the candy? Had she somehow helped to brainwash the entire city?

She clicked her pen, again and again and again. She could say that she’d never wanted that, that she’d never wanted to hurt people, but, well, she ran a cult. But it was a nice cult, really more of a club than anything, not anything like the ones you saw on TV, the way the (LOL) Cult had worked, where people became zombies completely dependent on the cult doctrine. It was just a group of people coming together in shared admiration for the mysterious Lord Psycho Helmet.

Only he wasn’t so mysterious to her at all, was he? She knew who he’d been since the start. She could’ve told everyone, put an end to the mystery real soon. And without the mystery, the cult wouldn’t have lasted; much as she wished he was different, Mob simply didn’t have the charisma to keep a group that large together. She’d seen how he’d behaved when he ran for the student council. He wouldn’t have lasted a minute on stage.

So why had she been so insistent to get him up there, then? Why had she kept the cult alive, why had she kept pressuring Mob to lead it? What did she have to gain from it?

Her leg was bouncing, and her pen had started leaking. She laid it aside, calmed her leg, sat back and stared at her textbooks.

She slammed them shut and stood up, shoving the chair so roughly it creaked. She’d take a walk. Maybe afterwards, she would actually be able to concentrate.

///

The boredom was suffocating. The teacher droned on, his words turning to gibberish before they reached her ears, and Mezato tuned it out, staring blankly at the board to give the impression she was paying attention.

In the end, those were the questions she kept returning to, again and again. Why had she lead the Psycho Helmet cult? Why had she tried to force Mob to lead it, despite knowing he couldn’t?

Why had she wanted to start that cult in the first place? Why had she decided to investigate the (LOL) Cult? Why had she joined the News Club?

She was bored. She was restless, but bouncing her leg or drumming her fingers or clicking her pen or anything else would get her in trouble, so she sat as still as she could and tried to ignore the way her muscles itched. Her knuckles were turning white as she gripped her pen, as she gripped it tighter and tighter in an attempt to relieve the stress without actually moving, until -

Crack. It broke, sending the plastic casing flying off her desk and spilling ink all over her hand.

“Miss Mezato, care to explain what happened?”

The whole class was looking at her. Mezato groaned.

“Any day now, Miss Mezato.”

“I broke my pen, sir.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Good. Please go clean your hand, and get cleaning supplies from the janitor to tidy your mess.”

Ink had dripped all over her desk now, too. She stood up, carefully keeping her hands in front of her to avoid more ink onto her uniform, and hurried towards the toilet.

The ink was easy enough to wash off. Mezato watched it disappear down the drain, staring at the streaming water.

She was bored. She was always bored. Things only excited her for so long before she had to move on to something new, something shinier, something that she could explore, until she’d inevitably grow bored of that as well. Was that why she hadn’t been able to write anything for the paper?

Her hand was getting cold under the stream, but she couldn’t get herself to move. Was this how it was going to be? Was she just going to flit from one transient thing to the next for her whole entire life, never satisfied, always hungry for something she’d never get to eat?

Her hands shook. She tried to turn the faucet off, but couldn’t find a grip on the handle. She leaned on the counter, trying to breathe.

She couldn’t study for her exams. She could tell herself that she’d be able to do so next year, but that’s what she’d told herself her entire life. It’s what she told her parents when they scolded her, and she knew it was a lie. She wouldn’t be able to study any better next year, and she’d never be able to get into a good high school, let alone keep up with the studies required there. She’d have to drop out, and what then? What kind of future did she have?

She pressed her hand against her mouth, leaning over until she rested against the mirror, trying to focus on the cold glass against her forehead, but her heart was going a hundred miles an hour and her hand didn’t stop her from hyperventilating and oh god, she was having a panic attack over a stupid broken pen in the filthy school bathroom, great, fantastic, fucking awesome, she thought she was done with this goddamnit, but nooo, something as small as this was enough to set her off again because lord knows her emotions couldn’t just behave normally for once in her fucking life -

A pair of hands pulled her back from the mirror, and in reflex, she punched at them, hitting air. Everything was blurry, and she was pushed towards the ground, and then her head was pushed onto her knees, and she heard someone say something, but couldn’t understand what it was. Her breathing was erratic, and she desperately tried to gasp for air at the same time she tried to remind herself not to, because no, she wasn’t out of breath, she wasn’t dying, she was just hyperventilating and she needed to take less breath not more, she knew that, she did, but it was just so hard.

From somewhere, a voice filtered in. “Breathe in, one, two, three, four, five, hold, one, two, breathe out, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, breathe in, one, two, three, four, five -”

She latched onto the rhythmic counting, matching her breaths to the rhythmic counting, and slowly, slowly, she found herself coming down. The ground beneath her was cool, her uniform somewhat itchy, and the bathroom stalls smelled as horrid as ever. With a final deep breath, she lifted her head, blinking her eyes against the harsh, flat light.

Next to her was Tsubomi, sitting cross-legged on the filthy floor, staring at her with a blank expression.

“Are you okay?” she asked, monotone.

“Yeah,” Mezato said, her voice hoarse. Tsubomi nodded.

“Good. See you.” As she went to stand up, Mezato felt her throat constrict, and without thinking, she grabbed her sleeve.

“Stay,” she said, and tried very hard not to beg.

Tsubomi studied her for a bit, then sat back down. Mezato relaxed, focused on her breathing again, tried to return to a better state of mind.

They sat there for a while, on the bathroom floor underneath the sinks. Mezato barely even noticed Tsubomi, but her presence was just enough to help keep her grounded in reality.

“You know,” she finally said, after her legs relaxed enough for her to move them. “most people stay with someone after a panic attack. To make sure that they’ll be fine.”

Tsubomi just stared at her with that blank expression. “You said you were okay, so I assumed you were.”

There was a flaw in logic there, probably, but her brain was too scattered to find it.

“How did you know what to do?” she asked instead.

Tsubomi shrugged. “Panic attacks really aren’t that special. I know at least five people who get them on the regular.”

“Yourself included?”

“I’m not telling that to the school reporter.”

Mezato managed to snort at that. “C’mon, I’m not fishing for a story here. Haven’t even written anything for them in over a month.”

Tsubomi didn’t ask why. Neither did she answer the question. After a few seconds of silence, Mezato pressed: “Seriously, I won’t tell anyone. I really owe you one after that.”

“I don’t want to tell you,” Tsubomi said bluntly. “I don’t know you, and this is personal.”

Oh. That was... fair, actually.

Mezato shrugged. “Fine. Whatever. It’s your business.”

Again, silence. It was awkward, but Mezato felt that she could be forgiven for not keeping the conversation going, under circumstances.

“Can I have my sleeve back?” Tsubomi asked.

Mezato blinked. Finally, she noticed that she still held Tsubomi’s uniform in a vine-like grip.

She let go, and Tsubomi pulled her arm back. “Are you okay?” she asked.

Mezato’s first instinct was to say yes, but remembering Tsubomi’s earlier reaction, she shook her head.

Tsubomi shifted. “Do you want me to stay for a bit?”

“Yeah.” Mezato drummed her fingers against her leg. “Hey, why did you help me?”

Tsubomi pursed her lips and squinted her eyes, thinking. “It just seemed needlessly mean to leave you there when I could help,” she finally declared.

“You don’t seem like the type of person who cares for people you don’t really know,” Mezato replied, tapping her feet.

Tsubomi raised an eyebrow. “What gave you that idea?”

“You turned down an entire line of suitors one by one, ruthlessly.”

Tsubomi rolled her eyes, quite possibly the loudest expression of emotion she’d made thusfar. “I didn’t even know any of them. I could’ve ignored them entirely, or turned them all down at once. Instead, I took the time to turn them down individually, because that was the polite thing to do.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Just because I don’t let people walk over me doesn’t mean I’m cruel.”

Mezato stared at her for a while, and she stared back, not even blinking.

“How do you do it?” Mezato finally asked.

“Do what?”

“Just...” Mezato gestured to all of her. “You really seem to know what you want.”

“I mean, it’s not hard to figure out you don’t want to date someone you’ve never spoken to,” she said, deadpan.

“Well yeah, but like -” Mezato made a noise of frustration. “I can’t place it. It’s just. I have this feeling that you aren’t easily persuaded to do something you don’t want to do.”

“Well, neither are you,” Tsubomi retorted. “You’re well known for being stubborn, Mezato.”

“I know, but...” she trailed off, closing her eyes. Her feet tapped against the bathroom floor, and she counted to its rhythm. It was strange how infiltrating a cult was easier than speaking honestly.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted, refusing to look at Tsubomi. “I’m probably not gonna get through high school, I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up - I have nothing to do, really. I distract myself with an endless string of hobbies that never go anywhere, and still, I’m always bored, and that’s the only thing I can see for myself in the future. Just an endless sea of boredom.”

Tsubomi blinked, then raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me to give your life meaning in a public bathroom?”

Mezato burst out laughing. She doubled over, clutching her stomach, and laughed harder than she had in months, perhaps even years. When she finally finished, looking up through her tears at Tsubomi, she saw that even she had cracked a smile.

“Alright, fair enough.” She rubbed her eyes. “Guess I gotta figure that out myself.”

“I can’t do that for you,” Tsubomi confirmed. “I barely even know you.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” Mezato waved a hand. “Sorry to dump that on you.”

“It’s okay.” Tsubomi seemed to hesitate for a bit, then added: “Maybe buy a lollipop on your way back home.”

Mezato blinked. “What?”

“They always help me calm down.”

Tsubomi stood up and rubbed the wrinkles out of her skirt. “Are you okay?” she asked, holding out a hand.

Mezato grabbed it, and let Tsubomi help her up. “Yeah,” she answered, and she meant it, this time.

///

Why had she joined the News Club?

Why had she started the Psycho Helmet Cult?

Why had she tried to persuade Mob to lead it?

Because she was bored. Because she needed a goal. Because she needed something to give her life meaning.

Eiji picked up after only one ring. “Mezato!” he cried out, his voice tinny through the phone. “I’m so glad to hear from you!”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” she said, and she didn’t quite mean it, but she was getting there, maybe. “I’ve been going through a rough time lately, and I don’t think I can keep up with you guys. Sorry, I’m going to have to rescind my leadership position.”

Eiji sighed. “That’s a shame, but we did expect something like that. Losing the Divine Tree was hard on us all, and after the earthquake in January, I certainly don’t blame you.”

“Yeah.” She hesitated for a second, tempted to chicken out, but she steeled herself and asked: “Eiji, why do you follow our religion?”

When the answer came, it sounded baffled. “Because Lord Psycho Helmet gives my life meaning, of course. Because he does so for all of us.”

She breathed in. Breathed out. “A word of friendly advice. Find something else to chase.”

“What do you mean?”

She thought. And she thought. “Nevermind,” she finally said.

They hung up, and Mezato stared at the ceiling.

///

Mob had been doing better since the disaster in January. He was much more alert, didn’t look like he lost something, and in many ways, he seemed more relaxed than he’d ever been before. It was a sag of his shoulders, an easier way of talking; small things, like always with Mob, but they made a world of difference.

“Hey, can we talk for a second?”

He turned, waving at his brother to go on, and said “Sure, what is it? Does the Pyscho Helmet Cult want something?”

“Ah, no.” She tapped her fingers on her leg. “I dropped them, honestly.”

Mob raised his eyebrow, only a little bit; she was paying attention and even she barely noticed. “Really? I didn’t think you ever would, to be honest.”

“Well, I guess you could say I got some perspective, recently.”

There fell a silence. Mob stared at her, didn’t make a move to continue the conversation, and for the first time, she understood what he might have seen in Tsubomi. They were unnervingly similar, in a way.

“Listen.” She clenched her fist, then relaxed. “I need to ask you a question, okay?”

Mob cocked his head. “What is it?”

And before she could lose the nerve, she rushed out: “That whole mess with the Divine Tree. Was that my fault?”

Mob blinked. “What makes you think that?”

“It’s pretty clear that the problems started thanks to the Psycho Helmet Cult, which I was directly responsible for.” Her voice sounded steely, confident. Good. “Or at the very least, it wouldn’t have spread as quick as it did without them - without us, me. I don’t remember a whole lot from back then, but I think that, whatever it was, I was at least partly responsible for it. Is that right?”

Mob was silent for a while. “You’re sort of right,” he finally admitted, slow and deliberate. “Without the Psycho Helmet Cult, whatever it was probably wouldn’t have spread as quickly as it did. My memories were also wiped, but I talked with someone whose weren’t, and he confirmed that the Psycho Helmet Cult was instrumental to city’s brainwashing.”

Mezato clenched her fists.

“But,” Mob added. “he could’ve done it without you. You just happened to be there, and be convenient. So I wouldn’t say it’s your fault.”

Mezato let out a deep breath. “I - thanks. That’s nice to hear.”

She stood up, squared her shoulders. “I have one more thing to say.”

“What is it?”

She took a deep breath, and made sure to look him straight in the eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Mob blinked. “What for?”

“For using you.” She looked him in the eyes. “I wanted you to lead the Psycho Helmet Cult not because I thought you genuinely could, but because it would be entertaining to see you try, and because it was entertaining to try and convince you. I’ve grown to genuinely like you, and I started convincing myself I really just wanted to give you a chance, but I was lying to both myself and you. I’m sorry for that.”

“Oh.” Mob shifted, breaking the eye contact. “That’s okay. I’m glad you admitted it, though.”

Mezato blinked. “That’s it?”

Mob stared. “Shouldn’t it be?”

“It’s just...” She started playing with the hem of her shirt. “I treated you pretty badly, because I didn’t really care about you, at first. I don’t care about a lot of people, honestly. I try to, but it’s hard, and I forget to try pretty often. So this just feels a bit too easy, I guess? Shouldn’t you be angrier?”

Mob shrugged. “You apologized, you seem like you mean it, and like you’re trying to do better. It’s in the past, and you won’t do it again, so you’re okay now.”

Mezato gaped. “I just admitted to not really caring about other people, and you think I can do better?”

“Well, at least you’re self aware about it. That’s a good start.” He frowned. “Wasn’t that something you said about Tsubomi, though? That it seemed like she didn’t care about people?”

“Yeah.” Mezato scratched her neck. “I might’ve been projecting a little.”

“That makes sense,” Mob said, shifting his bag. “Was that all?”

For a moment, Mezato floundered, then confirmed: “That was all.”

“Okay. See you later, Mezato.” Mob turned to walk away, but stopped short.

“Actually,” he began, reaching into his bag. “I have a friend that you might like.”

Mezato raised an eyebrow. “A friend?”

“Yes.” He pulled out his phone. “His name’s Hanazawa Teruki, and he goes to Black Vinegar. I think you two might get along.”

He looked up at her. “You want his number?”

She stared at him for a second, then cracked a smile. “Sure,” she said. “Why not.”

///

She made the next deadline for the News Club, turning in an all-out expose on the delinquent war between Salt Mid and Black Vinegar. The president was lyrical and the paper was well-read; the article was a slam success.

She’d written nearly all of it in one go, and when she’d been done, she’d sat back, smiling.

She might not know what she wanted to do in the future, but she knew what she wanted to do right now, and maybe that was okay. She was still young. She had time to grow.

For now, she had a fantastic article, a new friend, a bag of lollipops in her drawer, and she’d be fine.

[a-sweet-pea]

Refuge : Five

Previous

Marcus left the shop and slid straight into a waiting Tram; a gleaming silver bullet, marvel of modern technology that would, driverless, take him all the way to Carrien Square in silence and comfort so that he could then walk the extra five blocks to the apartment because the city government couldn’t be bothered extending the tram any further out than the remotest hipster coffee shop.

Once he’d sat in the cushioned seat, swiped his credit card in the slot (changing it from red to green) and buckled his seatbelt (rather awkwardly with only one available hand) he turned his attention to the other passenger.

Her hands were pressed against the plexiglass on either side of her and she was staring blankly into the distance, much as she had when Danby snatched her out of the containment unit. He unscrewed the lid just enough to break the seal so he wouldn’t have to raise his voice.

“How are you holding up in there?”

She pulled her hands back close to her as though she’d been shocked. But she didn’t say anything or acknowledge him.

“Hello?”

She was entirely closed off. Arms wrapped around herself, head down, unresponsive.

Did Danby do something to her?

Marcus unscrewed the lid the rest of the way and lifted it off. “Are you alright?” That got her attention finally, in a big way. She fell back against the tube and slid along the plexi wall until she was sitting as low and far from Marcus as she possibly could (which, considering that he was holding the tube, wasn’t very far).

“Where is my brother?” Her voice was quiet and strained, like she was reluctant to speak.

Marcus felt a weight off his chest. Little folk who’d been gassed ordinarily recovered within a few hours, but he’d seen a few cases where they were still drowsy and slurring their words days later. She’s with it enough to string a coherent sentence together; that’s a good sign. ”He’s still at the shop.” Although he was whispering, she flinched at the sound of his voice. He continued more quietly; in anything louder than the tram he wouldn’t have been able to hear himself talk. “I’m sorry I couldn’t pick him up as well. I should have negotiated more aggressively on the price, but that sales pitch threw me off.” He smiled sadly. “He was right enough that you’d sell quickly once he got everyone on display. I figured the extra cost was worth making sure I got hold of you first.”

The girl stared silently up at him for a moment, then lowered her face again. She spoke, so quiet he only barely made it out. “Monster.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow, lifting the container up so he could look at her through the clear side. “Marcus, actually.” Her downcast head snapped up. “Look, I’m sorry I left your brother. With any luck, Danby will hold him until I can acquire the funds.” She hardly seemed to process what he was saying. What little color was left in her face drained away as she stumbled backward, pressing her back against the far wall of the tube. This wasn’t first meeting nerves (which even the most socialized tiny was liable to have) this was the kind of raw, wild terror of someone who’d never been handled before today. Or at least, never by someone who wasn’t about to gas them and toss them into a containment unit.

Marcus tugged on his lapel with his free hand so the multicolored enamel bird pinned there would be visible from down in the tube. “Do you know what this is?” The question was superfluous; her behavior answered it clearly. But some part of him held out hope.

Silent frozen staring, then finally she shook her head.

Right.

Marcus looked away from her and grimaced.

I might have realized if I’d taken even a moment to think about it. Kenneth only sent the bulletin out a few weeks ago; and even so, she was picked up in the Old City, not off the streets. How would she have heard?

Damn.

“I…” Marcus turned to face her again, struggling to work out what he could or should say. There was a camera in every tram. The odds that anyone would look at the footage from any particular tram was infinitesimally small (unless he tried to run it off the track or there was some kind of collision) but Marcus had got into the habit of watching his words whenever there was a chance he was being recorded.

But in fairness, Marcus had no idea what he would have said even if there was no surveillance to worry about. She doesn’t know. Marcus couldn’t help going over the earlier transaction in his head, recolored in much darker tones. Rather than a co-conspirator putting on a convincing show for the shopkeeper, the girl had been genuinely terrified, convinced she was being bought by whatever sort of person usually shopped at Danby’s store. And she’s still afraid; afraid of me. Her arms were hugged tight around her, her body rigid.

“I’ll…explain everything when we get home.” A string of words that illuminated nothing. The girl clearly felt the same way; she just stared at him, expression unchanging. The way he was holding the tube, Marcus could see his own fingers curled around the back of the glass behind the girl. He’d held plenty of little people, but only ever colony bred; either purchased from Danby’s or rescued from homes. Never an Independent. I wish Amber was here. She would know how to talk to the girl, make her feel safe.

“I would tell you not to be scared but I can’t imagine that would help.” He moved his hand a little further down the tube; maybe if less of it was visible, the girl would be more comfortable. “That’s what my mother said to me the first time I went on an airplane; ‘Don’t be afraid, Marcus, it’s perfectly safe.” He chuckled at his pathetic attempt to imitate his mother’s high-pitched voice. “I still spent the whole trip hunched over a sick-bag, absolutely sure we were going to crash and die.” He sighed. “This isn’t helping at all, is it?”

The girl’s expression remained inscrutable, if in fact it had changed at all since he started talking. It was difficult to tell.

“I’m just going to stop talking before I embarass myself further. I’ll leave the lid off so you can breathe properly; please let me know if you need anything.” He turned to look out the window at the passing towers of glass and steel. Some first impression.

A/N: Figures that my first update in a million years is for the story no one was asking for lol. #sorrynotsorry

[i-love-you3thousand]

Her Smile

Summary: After Steve lies to protect you, he realizes it wasn’t worth losing your smile.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 2,335

Warning(s): Angst, bad writing

A/N: Hey so I wrote this and I was like what if I just posted this on tumblr lol. Then I was like lol lets do that. It’s in steve’s pov idk why I did that but whatever it’s cool. Umm flashback is italisized. Idk if I’ll ever do this again idk we’ll see how this goes. If you like it tell me and maybe I’ll make something like this again. If you dont then like just dont idk whatever have fun.

I didn't expect to see her, not on this night, not at this party. She normally went out of her way to avoid parties. When we first met, she was doing exactly that, out on the balcony of this same building. Not now, though. No, now she lit up the room as she greeted people with a smile I missed more than anything.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from her, afraid that if I did, she would vanish, and I'd never see that smile again. "Tony," I grabbed the arm of the man beside me, pulling him away from his conversation.

"What?" he demanded, following my gaze. "Oh, right," he placed his arm on my shoulder and turned back around, apologizing to the people who no longer held his interest.

Half the team and I had been gone on a mission for two months, and now since we were back with a successful mission report, Tony decided to throw a party in our honor.  I was reluctant to go, and now I wish I had gone with my instincts.

"Y/N?" Someone called her name, and I watched as her eyes lit up and her mouth fell open.

"Wanda!" I could hear her call with the help of my super-soldier hearing. Wanda had been on the mission with us, and she seemed equally as surprised as me to see Y/N here. She ran through the crowd to give Wanda one of her signature hugs. I watched as she and Wanda spun around in glee, and I wished so badly that it was me. I wished that she would greet me with the excitement that she used to, that she would wrap her arms around me and scold me for being gone so long.

But I knew that wasn't going to happen.

"Cap, I'm sorry," Tony broke me out of my thoughts just as I felt a tear gently fall down my cheek. I quickly wiped it away, hoping he didn't notice, though I knew he did. "I completely forgot to tell you."

I finally tore my eyes away from her and gaped at Tony, "Wh- what is she doing here? Why didn't you tell me she was-"

I would have gone on, but he interrupted, "Listen, Steve." I closed my mouth and stared at him, waiting. He sighed before continuing, "She needed help. Didn't have a place to go-"

"So?" I interrupted, my voice getting a little louder than it should have. I had no right to be mad that she was here. This was just as much her house, her family, as it was mine. She should have been the one angry that I was there. Knowing all of this didn't stop me from yelling at Tony, though. "That's what Shield is for! They have plenty of safe houses," people were beginning to stare, and I swear I saw her head spin around. I didn't get to think about it long, though, because, in an attempt to isolate us, Tony pulled me back into the hallway of his tower. The few guests out there scattered when they saw him adorning a stern frown instead of his normal friendly smile.

Once he was sure no one could hear, he said in a very low voice, "Steve, Shield is what she's running from." I opened my mouth to say something, but he continued, "She didn't tell me much, said she found something out that she wasn't supposed to know. It doesn't matter. She's here. Deal with it."

"And how do you expect me to do that?" I glared at him.

"I don't know! Maybe tell her the truth?" he yelled, sarcasm dripping off his tongue, "You did what you had to that night, Steve. We all know that."

I starred down at my shoes, eyes blurring with tears, "You know I can't do that, Tony. It would hurt her too much."

Tony sighed and placed a hand on my shoulder, "Cap, you have to understand that her not being with you is hurting her way more than why she left in the first place."

My head whipped up, "You don't know that."

"She wouldn't have come here if she didn't miss you."

"But you said she came here because of-" he cut me off.

"I know what I said! That's the excuse she gave me," he sighed. "Steve, she's a strong girl, you and I both know that. She doesn't need us to protect her. If she wanted to stay away, she would've," he stared into my eyes, daring me to challenge him. When I didn't, he continued, "Listen, like it or not, she's gonna be staying here a while. You can either tell her what really happened and fix this, or you can pack your bags because she's staying, and I'm not letting her get hurt again." I didn't have a chance to reply before he spun on his heel and walked back into the party, replacing his frown with a smile to hide the conversation we just had.

What he said hurt me, but I deserved it. He was right; me being here was hurting both of us. I knew that I could never tell her the truth, so I decided leaving was the best option. If I stayed, it was only going to hurt her more. Running my fingers through my hair, I turned to do what Tony said and pack my bags.

I raised my hand to press the elevator button, but stopped cold when I heard a voice call behind me, "Steve?"

I cursed my hearing as I heard each one of her footsteps running to catch up to me. Then, once she was behind me, I heard the water droplets as they fell from her face and hit the floor. "Steve, look at me," she demanded, but I couldn't move, my hand still hovering in the air. "Steve!"

I turned but immediately regretted it as I saw her tear-streaked face. She looked exactly like she did the night I told her everything that had happened. My entire body chilled, and it felt like I was under the ice again as I remembered that night.

Dread filled my body as I walked through the tower, looking for the woman who took up 95% of my headspace. The rest of the team was still on the quin-jet, unloading everything from the mission. "FRIDAY, where’s Y/N?" I asked the A-I.

"The kitchen, waiting for you, I believe, Captain," she replied back to me in her robotic voice.

I nodded and made my way to the kitchen. She was sitting at the small island in the kitchen, a small mug in her hands and her head hung low. I stood in the doorway and gently knocked on the wall. Her head immediately snapped up, and she quickly jumped out of her chair and ran towards me.

"Steve," she breathed out as she hugged my body, collapsing in my arms. "What happened?" she pulled back to look me in the eyes, but I couldn't bring myself to look into hers. "You look awful," she raised a hand to cup my dirt and blood covered cheek. My hand gently found hers as I closed my eyes and leaned into her touch. I wished that it could always be like this, that I could always feel her touch on my skin, but I knew that, after tonight, it was very likely she would never want to see me again.

I sighed and pulled her hand from my face, taking a step back. "Y/N, there's something you need to know," I finally looked into her eyes, regretting my decision immediately after as I saw how much love and worry filled they were. I didn't deserve her worry, much less her love.

"You can tell me in the morning, Sweetheart," I flinched at the pet name. "You need rest right now. Besides, I'm not going anywhere," she smiled her beautiful smile that never failed to make my heart melt.

"You may change your mind about that once I tell you," her eyebrows furrowed and I felt my eyes grow glossy with tears.

"I highly doubt that, Steve," her smile faded, and I realized that it might have been the last time I would ever see it.

I simply shook my head before walking her into the living room and sitting her down on the couch beside me. "Steve, please. Whatever happened can wait 'till the morning," she pleaded with me, and I wished that I could wait until the morning. I wished that I could go take this uniform off and lie in bed with her head resting on my chest, that I could wake up to her peacefully resting beside me. It wasn't going to happen, though. Not tonight, and maybe not ever again.

"Y/N, we found your father," I told her, deciding to get it over with.

"You what?" she immediately jumped up, excitement filling her face. "Where is he? Is he here?"

I gestured for her to sit back down, "No, he's not here." I looked into her eyes, waiting for a reaction. When she didn't give me one, I continued, "He- he didn't make it out."

The excitement immediately dissolved from her face."What do you mean, Steve?" she said it in such a serious tone, a tone so rare it didn't even sound like her voice. I couldn't bring myself to answer her question, but she didn't need me to. "How? How did this happen?"

Tears blurred my vision as I thought back to the second mission we've ever failed. "They had starved him, beat him 'til he couldn't walk." I felt the tears I had been holding back finally begin to pour down my face. "We couldn't get him out in time," suddenly I couldn't breathe, the full gravity of the situation finally settling in on my shoulders.

Nothing we could've done would have saved him, but I couldn't tell her that.

"Steve." Her voice brought me back to reality, and I finally looked into her eyes. I had felt gunshots that hurt less. "You're sure he's gone?" Her words confused me, and I stared blankly into her eyes. "My father," she clarified. "You're sure he's gone?"

I looked down, "Yeah, he- he's gone." The words stung as they left my mouth, and I could only imagine how much they hurt her.

Suddenly, she stood up, tears streaming down her face. "I should've gone." She turned to walk away, but I stopped her before she could take a step.

"Y/N, no. You can't blame yourself for this," she looked into my eyes with so much hurt. I could see the guilt in her eyes, and all I wanted was for it to disappear. So, I did the only thing I could think of to take away the guilt I knew was on her shoulders: lie. "It- it was me. We could have left the second we found him. We should have, but we didn't. I gave the order to stay there and get the intel we originally went for. He got caught in the cross-fire."

More tears streamed down her face as she processed everything I had told her. It wasn't all a lie. We found her father and could have left and got him to a hospital, but we all knew he was too far gone. People would have died if we didn't get what we came for, so I told everyone to go on with the mission. If Y/N were there, she would've done the same thing, but I never told her that.

I watched as the guilt in her eyes transformed into hate. It hurt, but I knew how much more it hurt to blame yourself for the death of a loved one. I never wanted Y/N to feel that, and if hating me is what it took, then so be it.

She wiped the tears from her face and turned again to leave. I didn't stop her this time, and I watched as she left the tower. I wanted so bad to call out to her, to apologize, but I didn't. I knew it wouldn't do any good, wouldn't bring her father back.

"Y/N?" I breathed out, suddenly feeling very dizzy. I felt tears run down my face as I stared at her, frozen in place.

"Steve, I'm so sorry." I couldn't move as I stared into her glossy eyes filled with the same guilt I saw all those nights ago. The guilt that I had fought so hard to shelter her from. My mind raced to figure out why, but I didn't have to wait long for her to tell me. "I shouldn't have left. Those things you told me, I knew they weren't true. I- I should've known, but I didn't realize until it was too late. I'm so sorry."

My mind raced, barely processing what she had said. Her crying intensified so much she had to cover her mouth with her hands to stifle her sobs. I couldn't take it. This is exactly why I lied to her. I needed her not to feel this type of pain.

I grabbed her and pulled her into my arms. I held her the same way I used to when she had bad dreams. "I shouldn't have lied. I was trying to protect you," I could barely get the words out through my sobs, which were quickly intensifying.

"I'm so sorry," we said it at the same time, and I realized we had both been waiting months to do so.

She giggled and pulled back to look up at me, "Stop crying, Steve. Everything's okay now."

I nodded, "You forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive, Sweetheart," she answered as she cupped my face with her hands.

"I love you. So much," I turned to kiss one of her hands.

"I love you, too," she looked into my eyes and smiled the beautiful smile I had waited so long to see.

[acrosstimeandspace]

mermaid AU with you and Chrom?

Thank you for the ask Dylan! And let’s do this! (It’s totally gonna be based off of a Little Mermaid AU, cause I’m a sucker for Disney, lol). It’s all under the cut!

It all started on a dark and stormy night when the prince had crashed overboard into the waves, fighting against the water with all of his might in a losing battle. He stretched his hand out, hoping to try and break the surface, when another had taken it.

Chrom couldn’t see much of this stranger, the darkness of the sea and the lack of oxygen clouding his vision. But he remembered feeling their small arms wrap around him and pull him up up up. They felt so tiny as they carried him through the deadly waves, it surprised him how strong they were, how resilient.

As they reached the surface, the tiny figure held his head above the water, pulling him close to them. He still couldn’t breath, the ocean water clogging his lungs.

The stranger seemed to have noticed, as when they reached the beach they laid him down as far away from the water as they could get, and started to attempt to release the water from his lungs. Using small hands they pressed his chest several times before breathing air into his mouth, and repeating the process until he turned over and spat up the intruding water.

Finally, his vision had returned and he turned to thank his savior. He gasped in shock as he looked at their figure. Shoulder length, choppy cut blonde hair loosely dangling around their face and piercing green eyes stared at him, observing. Their chest was covered in a top made of a tight blue fabric, and at their waist a pale blue tail connected to the rest of their body, with a fin and all. “Y-you, you’re a… hey, wait!”

His hand shot out to grab theirs as they tried to move away, a scared look in their eyes. “Look, I just saved you because, well that’s what people do! But I really should get going now because I hear people and, well.”

“We have to meet up again, so I can thank you properly.” He breathed. “I’m-I’m Chrom. Uh, you know that towering building over there, there’s a small alcove there. Let’s meet up tomorrow morning once the storm has passed.”

The mermaid blinked and glanced over to where he had pointed, then nodded. “Alright, lets.” And then rushed off back into the ocean.

A short while later he had been found by Frederick, who had been in a panicked frenzy and swore to never let Chrom out of his sight again.

Which made sneaking out to see his newest friend rather difficult. Like promised he had met up with the mermaid, who was named Fae, the morning after. They had many little meetups after this, intrigued by the lives they each led.

Chrom was the prince of his kingdom, a noble goofball who was good with a sword. Fae had left their home, which laid deeper in the ocean, in search of something more.

They enjoyed each other’s company a lot, and it wouldn’t have been a lie if Chrom has said feelings had built up over the time he spent with them. It was hard not to smile and feel relaxed with Fae around. It made him feel less like a prince and more human, for once in his life. And he had to confess, tell them his feelings. So when they met up in their usual spot he told them.

“I’ve fallen for you, Fae.” He blushed. “I know it’s odd but, you make me so happy, I couldn’t imagine another person at my side!”

Fae’s face lit up with a blush, and they glanced away. “Y-you do? But, we can’t! I couldn’t even stand at your side! You should be with someone of your own kind. I’m trapped in the ocean, it’d be wrong to trap you here with me.” They shifted away from him, shoulders hunched.

“Fae…” he looked at them forlornly. “Do-do you truly feel trapped?”

They nodded. “How else could I feel? You can explore anywhere you desire. Because of this tail I’m stuck to where there’s water. I-I can’t be with you the way you deserve, Chrom.”

He approached them, wrapping his arms around them and pulling them close. “But you want to be with me?”

He watched the tips of their pointed ears flush, “I-I… yes, I do. More than anything. But there’s no way to be properly with you.”

He frowned and rested his chin on their head. There had to be a way that they could be together, hopefully one that wouldn’t force Fae to sacrifice something. “Maybe I could look in the castle libraries for something? There has to be some sort of answer somewhere! I’m sure you’re not the first mermaid to want to go upon land.”

“You’re right. I’ll go back and look as well. Maybe a certain friend of mine can… she’s good with hexes and magic, I’m sure she knows something!”

“Then it’s settled! When do you want to meet back here?”

“It’ll take about three days to get there and three days to come back, and a few days of research… so two weeks?”

“Two weeks it is. They’ll be the longest of my life but they will be worth it!”

He pulled Fae into a strong embrace, cupping their face in his hand and pressing a long kiss to their forehead. It would be a long two weeks. Filled with disaster and trouble, but they would be so worth it.

In the span of two weeks Fae was able to meet up with Tharja, a sea witch with great knowledge of magic and curses, and Henry, a mischievous merman who could undo any curse he desired. Both were longtime friends of Fae, and were eager to help find a solution.

“I can’t believe that you got a prince to fall for you! That has to be some caws for celebration!” Henry cackled as he scanned the tome in front of him.

“Stop with the puns or I’ll hex your mouth shut!” Tharja snapped.

“You realize he could undo that, right?” Fae questioned.

“Oh who c- oh what is this?” Tharja eyes the page. “This may be what we’ve been looking for.”

Fae and Henry rushed over to her side to look over the page. The three looked at each other, the spell, then each other again.

“We’ve got it.” Fae breathed. “I-I can, if this works!”

“Woohoo! This is great! Now what’s the price!” Henry scanned the page.

“Looks like… nothing really. If Fae were to enter the ocean they’d turn back, but as soon as they’d leave they’d go back to human.”

“For something like this, this can’t be it.” Fae murmured. “There has to be a bigger price. There always is!”

“No, she’s right. Maybe the price is just being stuck as a mermaid in saltwater. Not too bad of a price if I say so myself. Nyahaha!”

“Then, let’s go!”

And the three swam as fast as they could to that little alcove in Ylise.

However, Chrom was not so lucky in his endeavors. All books pointed towards myths and fables, and the closest thing to advice that he got was to go to a back market psychic, which just reaked of disaster. And not only that, but it seemed that his sister had thought of setting him up for a marriage!

“Chrom, you haven’t found anyone yet.” Frederick sighed. “You need to get married. You can’t just wait for the woman who rescued you to show up again!”

“The person who rescued me will return, I know it.” Chrom replied. “Plus, Sumia isn’t into men! She has a thing for Sully and we all know it! Come on, the others have been betting on when and who will confess!”

Frederick sighed again. He knew his liege was right, but the people of Ylise were getting tired of waiting for the crown prince to decide who he was going to marry, even if he wasn’t getting the throne. “To me it sounds like you’ve met this person more than just after they rescued you. But that would be impossible seeing as they never showed up to the castle for thanks or the such.”

“Fae isn’t like that! They were just glad to help me!” Chrom glared, then realized his mistake.

“Ha! So you have been sneaking out behind my back! Do you know how dangerous that is? And of this Fae person, what if they’re a danger to you?”

“They rescued me, they’re no danger.”

“Oh really? Then introduce me to them.”

“I-I can’t. They um, went away to research something.” Gods this was hard, and treading into telling Frederick the entire truth.

“Research what?”

Well, guess it was time to spill the truth then. “They’re a mermaid. That’s how they rescued me.”

Frederick stared at Chrom blankly. “Are you serious, milord?”

Chrom nodded, and the two stood in silence for a few moments before Chrom spoke up. “Listen, there’s only a day left before they return. Can you please wait until then, and help me?”

“We sure can!” Came Lissa’s voice from out of nowhere. “I knew it was suspicious that you were researching! But it’s so cute to know that it was for your love! I can’t wait to meet them!”

Chrom flushed red, but accepted his fate. At least someone was on his side.

It was finally the day of return and Chrom could not be happier. He waited in the usual spot, with Frederick and Lissa with him. It felt like forever before Fae popped their head above the surface with a happy cry of “Chrom!”

Without a second thought he ran right to them, picking them up out of the water with a twirl and pressing a kiss to their lips. “It’s been too long, much too long.” He murmured.

Fae nodded happily, “We’ve found a solution!”

“A mermaid” Frederick muttered.

“Ohmigosh! See he was telling the truth!” Lissa cheered.

Henry and Tharja popped their heads up as they approached, glancing at the strangers. “Well this is happy. But can we get on with the show?” Tharja held up the tome they needed. “We got some magic to work!”

“Two mermaids.” Frederick shook his head.

And in no time Fae sat on the dry surface as Tharja chanted the spell. Anticipation hung in the air as Fae was surrounded by a brilliant light. As it dimmed, Fae sat there with two legs instead of their fin.

Quickly they were covered by Chrom’s cloak, who swooped them into his arms yet again. “I could cry out of joy. Fae, will you be mine? Will you take my hand?”

Fae nodded their head rapidly as they flung their arms around his neck, “Yes, yes!”

And so the two lived happily.

[writing-parker]

A Series of Vignettes- Need You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

A Series of Vignettes Summary: It’s not easy, yours and Bucky’s relationship, but no one ever said it would be. These vignettes follow the big and small moments in Bucky and the reader’s relationship, focusing on the events that shape it. Big and small, sweet or angsty (mostly angsty), these stories lay out the moments in time they carved out for themselves in the crazy world they live in. They all take place in the same universe, but do not need to be read in any particular order.

A Night in Brooklyn | Beautiful World | Johannesburg | Dogs |  Late Night | Dark Winter  Dark Winter II  Dark Winter III | Close | Home |

Chapter Summary: Bucky’s been gone and you’re having a hard time. Warnings: Mentions of death and addiction.

Okay, so this was pretty hard to write and harder to edit. It’s really personal so I’m not sure how big of a hit it will be, but I wrote it for myself so does it really matter? Lol w/e, if you liked it let me know what you think, and if you didn’t you can let me know too I guess but don’t be mean.

________________________________________

You got the call on a normal Wednesday. You were busy at work- with Stark Impact’s fiscal year coming to an end, you barely had time to think, let alone screen your calls.

When your office phone lit up with an unfamiliar number, you didn’t think twice before you answered it.

“This is Y/n Y/l/n,” You said, all business.

“Hi, baby.” A voice slurred into the line, “Long time no talk.”

Your stomach dropped, “Mom? How’d you get this number?” You demanded.

“Right on the internet. All I had to do was google you. I’m proud of your new job, sweetheart. I bet it pays well.” You hadn’t heard from her in years, since right after you moved to New York.

You wanted to hang up, but you couldn’t. You felt paralyzed.

“Aren’t you happy to be hearing from your momma, girl? After all this time?” She’s drunk, you can tell. You would have been more surprised if she was sober.

“What do you want?” You whisper, clenching your hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

“Come on, baby.” She pleads.

You squeeze your eyes shut, “Don’t call me that. What do you want?” You try to make your voice sound strong, authoritative.

“Your father overdosed. Thought I’d give you the common courtesy of letting you know.” She sounds exasperated, like the conversation was exhausting her. Like it was such a trouble to call.

The world stops spinning for a few seconds.

“Is that all?” Your voice is flat. Your eyes stare blankly ahead.

She sighs, cracks her gum, “Listen, honey, things have been so hard. My boyfriend left, you never met this one, but he was nice, I swear. I had stopped drinking and everything, but he took everything. I just need a little bit of help, y/n. I swear this time I’ll pay you back.”

“Don’t call this number again.” You snap before hanging up.

You numbly close the door to your office and lock it, shutting off the lights. Anyone who might need you would think you were on your lunch break.

Your dad was dead.

You lean against the wall, sliding down until you were sitting on your butt, knees pressed to your chest. Your dad was dead and your mom asked you for money in the same breath she used to tell you he was gone.

You let yourself cry. Not for the man he was, no. You cry because any hope you had that he might become the father you deserved was gone. You loved him desperately, until he left, deciding the drugs were more important than you. Spend the first 11 years of your life trying to make him love you more than he loved heroin.

After that, you had secretly hoped and prayed that one day he would sober up. Come find you and tell you he was sorry and he loved you all this time and leaving you was the hardest thing he ever did. Now he never would.

You were mourning the loss of the idea of a real father just as much as you were mourning the flesh-and-bone man.

Was it wrong? You didn’t know if you cared.

You allow yourself fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes to fall apart before it’s time to get back to work.

___________________________________________

The next few days seem to pass in slow motion. You can’t eat or sleep, you feel like you’re floating above the ground. You don’t work, calling in sick Thursday and Friday. Say something about food poisoning.

You can’t get a hold of Bucky. He’s gone with Steve and Nat, on a mission that was supposed to only be 4 days, then a week, now it had been nearly 12 days he’d been gone. A week since you heard from him. You would be worried if you weren’t so caught up in your own shit.

You need him. You need him home.

You lay in bed all day on Friday, alone. When your lease ended last month your roommates told you it was time they got a place of their own. You made enough money to pay for the two bedroom yourself, so you stayed. Turned their old room into an office. You wished they were here.

Bucky calls as soon as he lands.

“Hey,” He rasps into the phone when you answered. “I’m home.”

“I missed you.” You whisper. You don’t know what else to say. “Please come over.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He promises.

He gets caught up in the med-bay for a while, Steve warning the doctors that Bucky could have a concussion. Bucky shoots him a look, but lets the doctor check his head anyway. It wasn’t like he could afford more issues with his brain.

He comes to you, though. Feeling exhausted and over-worked. He’d been gone a lot these past couple months. Instead of talking about it, he would pull you close, make you fall apart, use your body as his comfort. They were long missions, and he wanted you, intimacy, to comfort him, and you were usually more than happy to oblige when you missed your Sergeant.

He didn’t notice that tonight was different. Unlocked the door with the key you gave him to find you curled up on the couch, Netflix’s ‘are you still watching’ message on the screen of the TV. He drops his bag, drops to his knees in front of you, pushes some hair out of your eyes.

“Bucky?” You whisper, eyes fluttering open.

“Hey, doll.” He whispers back, “Sorry it took me so long.”

You offer him a weak smile, standing up. He doesn’t notice your shaky arms or the far off look in your eye.

“It’s okay,” You kiss his cheek then wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close for a hug.

“It was so awful, y/n.” He says into your neck. He talks for a moment about sleeping on the ground of a cave in the mountains of Iran, the people tailing them, everything else they had to go to through to get the files they needed to take down a terror group.

The stress. The Anxiety. The uncertainty. He needed to forget it, get out of his head. He was so on edge, he didn’t even let you get a word out.

His hand grips your hip when he pulls back to kiss you, “Fuck, I missed you.” He growls into your ear, “I need you.” He pants, lips on yours.

His voice has an edge you don’t recognize.

“Bucky.” You whisper, hands on his chest. You tilt your head away and he kisses down your neck. Being with him like this was the last thing on your mind. “Wait.”

He pushes you back against the wall, shoulders uncomfortably digging into the surface. You feel your heart start to race unpleasantly.

His hands are all over you, tugging at your shirt, lips back on yours. He’s not reading any of the signs that you don’t want this. Finally, when his hands tangle in your hair and pull, you push him away.

“What the fuck, Y/n?!” He yells.  

You stumble away from him, wrapping your arms around your body, “I don’t want to.” You try not to yell back, but your words are harsh.

“Then why the fuck would you tell me to come here?” He glares at you.

Because my dad died and I need you.

You can’t say the words because you’re already standing in front of him in pain and he doesn’t care. And it’s all so familiar.

A man, standing in front of you, demanding your body to make themselves feel whole.

A man too caught up in their own feelings to care about yours.

They would take and take until you had nothing left. They didn’t care about the broken girl they left behind. You kept letting them, hoping they would give you their love in return. They never did. You never learned.

But this was Bucky. Why couldn’t he see that you were hurting?

You shut down, turning away from him, feeling stupid for the tears forming in your eyes.

“Jesus, Y/n.” He sighs, sounding annoyed and exasperated at the same time. He doesn’t sound sorry though. Definitely not worried.

A flash of anger surges through you.

“You should go.” You say dismissively, trying to feign bravado.

Bucky finally takes a good look at you. Hunched shoulders, dark circles showing just how tired you are. The look in your eyes makes him pause though. “Y/n…” He repeats your name hesitantly.

“I need you to leave.” You say again.

He slams the door behind him when he goes.

__________________________________________

It’s past dinner the next evening when Wanda knocks on your door. You hadn’t heard from Bucky all day, not that you expected to.

You would be the one to clean up this mess, like always.

“What happened with Bucky?” She demands when she walks in. “He’s been at the tower all day, in a rampage.” She finally looks at you, “Holy, shit, Y/n. You look awful.” She says, eyeing you up and down.

“Thanks.” You roll your eyes.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re telling her everything. From your mom calling to your dad’s death and the way Bucky treated you the night before.

“I can’t believe he would yell at me because I didn’t want to have sex with him.” You shake your head, incredulous. “He made me feel like all I am is a warm body to him.”

Wanda’s fuming.

“And then at that point it felt like I couldn’t tell him about my dad because it really seemed like he could not have cared less about what I was feeling. It seems like that a lot of the time these days, with all of the missions.

“And I just… can’t keep putting him back together when I feel so broken myself.” You level her with your gaze, “I feel like I don’t have anything left to give him.” You whisper.

You feel tears welling up in your eyes and don’t do anything to stop them, unable to conceal your feelings any longer.

Eventually, you sob, “I love him so much. I… I… I don’t know how to talk to him about it. He has so much going on all the time. I don’t want to be a burden, but I really need him right now.”

After nearly 6 months together, you still had trouble opening up to him. Afraid he would decide all of your baggage was too much to handle, when he had so much of his own.

“Does he make you feel like that when you try to talk to him? Like you’re a burden? Have you ever opened up to him about any of this?” She’s referring to your troubling childhood and all of the men who ruined you.

“We never really talk about stuff like this. I’m afraid it would be too much for him.”  And he’d leave me, you don’t say the words out loud, feeling pathetic.  

You talked about his problems, sure, but it never felt right to bring up your mom or your dad or the men who ruined you. They seemed so trivial compared to 70 years of torture.

For once, you’re happy you don’t have to explain out loud. Wanda hears what you’re thinking and wipes the tears from under your eyes.

“Look at me, Y/n.” Her voice is almost harsh. “You are not a burden. You need to talk to him, Y/n.” Wanda tells you. “Just because his issues seem worse than yours doesn’t mean they are. He doesn’t deserve you.” She shakes her head, trying to quell her anger.

“You have to tell him how he made you feel last night. Let him feel bad, let him be sorry. Don’t make yourself small just so he can feel whole.” She grabs your hand and squeezes.

You nod again, “Yeah. You’re right. Tomorrow.”

Wanda nods and takes you to the bathroom to run a brush through your hair before putting some cream under your eyes for the puffiness. You let her take care of you for a little, feeling very grateful you have a friend like her.

“You need to get out of this apartment.”  Wanda declares, “Just a drink.”

“Fine.” You concede, “Just one.”

___________________________________________

Bucky’s locked in his room when his phone rings. When he sees Wanda’s number, he sends it to voicemail. It rings again. He ignores it.

When it rings the third time he answers, “What?” He asks harshly.

“I need your help. I lost Y/n.” Wanda sounds scared. His stomach sinks.

“You lost her?” He grits out.

Wanda explains that the two of you had went out for a drink and a drink turned into drinks and she stepped away for a moment to close the tab and you were gone.  

“Where the fuck are you?” Bucky snaps.

“Don’t talk to me like that.” Wanda says lowly. “This is all your fault.”

“Where are you?” He says again, desperately.

“I’m outside Union Pool.” She tells him, “She was really drunk. Hurry.”

Bucky’s there in less than 15 minutes.

“What happened?” He demands.

Wanda sighs, tells him almost everything. She doesn’t get into the details of why you were so upset, just that something happened last week while he was gone and you haven’t been eating and now you were wasted and alone.

“You fucked up.” She says lowly.

Bucky starts pacing like a caged animal, sinking feeling in his stomach when he thinks about the way he treated you last night.

“We’ll find her, okay?” She says. Bucky nods.

For nearly a half hour they search every bar in a 10 block radius, but there’s no sight of you. Bucky’s losing it, an anxious mess. “What if something happened? Wanda, what if she’s-”

“Shut up.” Wanda says, pulling out her phone.

“Who are you-”

“Tony.” Wanda sighs into the phone, “I need your help.”

In less than 20 minutes, Tony’s pulling up in one of his big black SUVs. Bucky’s practically hyperventilating. He flings the door open before the car is at a full stop and pulls himself into the passenger door.

“Stark,” He says, edge to his voice, “Were you able to find her?”

“Nice to see you too, Bucky. I was happy to help, it was really no problem at all.” Tony replied sarcastically.

Wanda, in the back seat, pipes up, “Thank you so much Tony.”

“We were able to track down her phone. It took 5 minutes. It looks like she’s walking home.” Tony hands Bucky a small tablet. On the screen there’s a map and a red dot that’s moving slowly.

“Jesus Christ,” He mutters. The area you were in was basically a no-mans-land. Between Williamsburg and Bushwick it was home to huge warehouses and not much else. “Can you drive faster?” He snaps at Tony.

Tony almost retorts, but takes one look fear and worry on Bucky’s face and decides to stay quiet. It’s not long before they find you, basically stumbling down a dimly-lit street, shoes in hand. The car screeches to a stop and Bucky jumps out, startling you.

“Bucky?” You hiccup. You’re crying, tears running down your face.

“What were you thinking?!” He demands, both hands on your shoulders. “Y/n, this neighborhood isn’t safe. Are your feet bleeding?”

You shrug, not looking at him.

Wanda steps out of the car and steps in front of Bucky shoots him an angry look, “You can’t just leave like that, Y/n, you had me worried.”

You don’t look at Bucky, he doesn’t sound worried, just angry. “You left.” You whimper.

“Just to close the tab.” She pushes your hair out of your face and wipes your tears away. Bucky feels inexplicably envious of the way she’s touching you.  

“Sorry.” You whisper. “I thought… I don’t know. I just wanted to get home and the train’s not running and I couldn’t find a cab.”  

Wanda cups a hand to your cheek, “You need to take better care of yourself.” She glances between you and Bucky for a moment before sliding back into the car. Bucky expects the two to drive away, but the car idles.

“What’s going on, Y/n?” Bucky asks with a sigh, exasperated, voice raised a little.

You feel your breathing grow heavy, “Why’d you say it like that.” Even through your drunken haze, your voice sounds weak and you hate it.

“Really?” He steps back, “You want to fight over my tone right now? You could have gotten yourself killed.”

You can’t even look at him, “I don’t want to fight.”

“You sure, Y/n? Cause I’ve had a bad couple of fucking weeks, might as well add it to the list.” He throws his hands up in frustration.

“I just want to talk to you,” You whisper. “Why are you so mad at me?”

“Then talk!” You don’t understand why he can’t be as gentle with you right now as you are with him when he’s not feeling right.

You’re quiet, unable to find words, looking at him desperately, silently begging him to understand. He turns away in frustration.

“My dad died on Wednesday.” You finally blurt out.

You stare at your hands as they shake. You hear the sharp breath Bucky takes. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting you to say but it definitely wasn’t that. “He overdosed. Heroin, I think, but I really don’t know.”

Bucky feels suddenly nauseous. He turns back to you and watches you clench your hands into fists to stop the tremors. He wants to cross the sidewalk to you, take you in his arms, but all he can think about is the look you had on your face last night after he yelled at you.

“He left when I was 11. I don’t remember much.” You swallow. “But I remember one time after he picked me up from school then when to his dealers house. He told me to hide under the seat until he got back. I was there for 5 hours. Or when he promised to come to one of my soccer games every year for 4 years straight and never came. I remember wishing I had my dad loved me like my friend’s dads loved them.”

You’re drunkenly rambling, unable to hold back the words.

Bucky stands, rooted to his place on the sidewalk, listening to you heave and cry through your words. He remembers the way he touched you, how rough he was when you had needed the exact opposite.

“He used to send me a card every year on my birthday. I… can’t believe I used to look forward to it. It was my favorite part of the whole day.” You laugh at yourself for being so foolish before it fades into sobs.

Bucky can’t breathe.

“I need you.” You beg. “I needed you last night.”

He crosses the sidewalk in a daze and stands in front of you, feeling like he didn’t deserve to ever touch you again. He hesitates and you cry harder, burying your face in your hands.

“Why don’t- you- care?” You say between heaving sobs.  He can barely make out your words, but they break him.

And the way you were so patient with him with his feelings. Always pressing, always making him talk, making sure he was okay.

He can’t believe how terrible he’s been to you without even realizing it. He gingerly pulls you into him and your knees give out. He scoops you into his arms easily and walks towards the car. He’s trying to stay composed but his knees feel week and his chest feels tight.

Once you realize Tony is driving, your sobs turn to hysterics. You had really thought he had seen you at your lowest when you ended up in the med-bay at Stark Tower the night Bucky woke up not Bucky, but this was a new low.

“I’m so sorry, Tony.” You sob. It seems like now that you’ve started crying you wouldn’t be able to stop.

“It’s okay, kid. I’m here to help.” He says it warmly, paternally, but when his eyes meet Bucky’s in the rear view they’re cold. He had definitely heard everything.

The car is silent aside from your heavy breaths and Bucky’s soft ‘shh’s for a moment. Then, suddenly, your body feels hot and your stomach turns and the motion of the car is all too much.

“Pull over.” You demand, blindly reaching for the door. Tony does so immediately, and before anyone realizes what’s going on, you’re falling out of the SUV and retching all of the alcohol in your stomach onto the sidewalk.

You don’t remember anything after that.

________________________________________________

The next morning you wake with a pounding headache and an awful taste in your mouth. Eyes still closed, you recall the events of the night before and groan out loud.

“Y/n?” A rough voice whispers from beside you.

You open your eyes to see Bucky in an uncomfortable kitchen chair that’s pulled up next to your bed, wearing his clothes from the night before. He offers you a soft smile and you give him one back. You stare at each other for a moment before your eyes drop down to your hands.

“I need to use the bathroom.” You say quietly before maneuvering around him and shutting yourself in the bathroom, feet stinging as you walk.

Barely looking in the mirror, you wash your face and brush your teeth. You take note that you’re dressed in your sleep clothes, Bucky must have helped you change. You pour yourself a cup of water and head back to your bedroom.

Bucky’s eyes follow you as you walk back to him, pulling him onto the bed before crawling into his lap. You nuzzle your face into his neck and he pulls you close, finally able to feel the comfort of his arms around you.

“Why don’t you hate me?” He wonders aloud.

“Could never hate you.” You mumble.

“Y/n, all I can think about is Friday night.” He jumps right into the conversation you needed to have.

You look away, just getting right to the point. “It seems like all you care about is my body these days. How I can make you feel.”

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.” His voice is low.

“You didn’t notice.” You mumble. “I wasn’t okay and you didn’t notice. Or maybe you did and just didn’t care. You made me feel awful.”

Bucky’s quiet, staring at you desperately, not able to find words.

“You made me feel like all I am is what I can give you.” You think it might be harsh, but you need to be honest. “I didn’t give you what you wanted so you left.”

“You asked me to.” He tries.

“You don’t fight for me the way I fight for you.” You accuse.  

You’re right and he knows it.

“Why?” You ask. Looking up at him through your lashes.

He thinks it might be the hardest question anyone has ever asked him. He doesn’t have an answer for you. Your words ring in his head and he can’t reconcile how he feels with the way he’s been acting.

“I don’t know.” He answers. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s not good enough.” You snap, sliding out of his lap. You take a deep breath to calm down.

“This is hard for me, okay?” He runs a hand through his hair, standing.

“What do you think it’s like for me?!” You finally yell, turning to face him. “You tell me you love me and care about me and ‘I’m your world’ and then you act the way you did last and all I can think is that I don’t think that’s love but how would I know?”

You stand in front of him, letting out everything you’ve been feeling the past couple months.

“Every man that’s told me he loved has done this.” You whisper, a fresh onslaught of tears falling down your cheeks. “Why?” You ask again, meeting his eyes desperately, “Why don’t you see me.”

In front of him your hands shake. You take deep, heaving breaths and keep wondering aloud why he doesn’t care. What did you need to do to make him care?

“Oh my god.” Bucky stares at the ceiling, trying not to cry himself. He pulls you close to his chest and lets you cry. “I’m so sorry. I do. I see you.” He repeats the words over and over.

It doesn’t seem like enough.

“I need you.” You gasp out.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m right here.” He sooths you, “I’m not going anywhere.”

When you calm down he sits you down on the bed and drops down next to you.

“I’ve been selfish these last few months.” He starts. “You do everything for me and I treat you like this. You should leave me. I don’t know what I’d do, but you should.” He shakes his head.

“Bucky…” You hate when he says stuff like that.

“I’m so sorry you’ve been feeling like you can’t talk to me. And I’m sorry I didn’t notice something was wrong. I need you to feel like you can talk to me about anything and I need to be more patient with you.” He pushes some hair out of your face. “You’re so much more than a warm body. You’re everything and I haven’t been treating you like it.”

“I need to stop using what happened to me as an excuse to treat you like shit.” He finally says it, taking full responsivity for his actions.

“Anyone.” You correct him.

“What?”

“You need to stop using what happened to you as an excuse to treat anyone like shit. Not just me.” You chastise him.

“You’re right.” He says, staring at you intently. “I just want to be someone who deserves you. Deserves to be loved by you. ”

The look in his eyes makes you believe him.

His words are composed, thought out. His quiet reflection and apology are enough for you, for now.

“You deserve to be loved and happy no matter what, Bucky.” Your hand cups his face and he leans into your touch. “It’s gonna be okay, alright? We’ll figure it out, we don’t have a choice. I love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’ll be better.” He promises. Your fingers trace down his jaw, feather light. The softness of your words and touches are so overwhelming for him he feels tears prick at his eyes.

“Y/n, I swear. I need you so much and I know I always tell you to go and leave me but I don’t mean it… I don’t think I could live without you. And knowing that you were hurting and I was so awful is driving me fucking crazy.”

“I feel like I’m always hurting you or doing something wrong or-”

You cut him off with a press of your lips to his, “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He scoffs, looks away, “Probably more like the worst, but okay.”

“Look, it’s true. You make me so happy all the time. You make me feel like I can do anything. You make me feel beautiful and loved. I learn and grow as a person every day with you.” You offer him an encouraging smile.

You continue, “I should have told you how I was feeling from the start, Bucky, and this could have all been avoided. And yeah, you fucked up a little. You hurt me.”

He casts his eyes down but you slip a finger under his chin and force him to look at you.

“But we’re gonna be okay. I promise. We can get through anything together.”

“I love you.” He whispers before kissing you deeply.

You’re panting by the time he pulls away, “I love you too.”

He stands and pulls you up, noticing the way you flinch when your feet hit the hardwood. He sighs.

“Where are you…?” You wonder aloud as he exits the room for a moment before returning with a warm, soapy washcloth.

He drops to his knees in front of you and reaches for your left foot, gingerly cleaning the dried blood and dirt.

The moment turns so intimate so fast it feels like you have whiplash.

“You don’t have to.” You whisper, looking down at him, eyes wide.

“Let me.” He says desperately, clears his throat, “Let me take care of you.”

One hand on your ankle, he sits in front of you and tends you your cut up, dirty feet. It’s quiet, aside from your heavy breathing. The sun streams through your bedroom windows, lighting the whole room golden.

You think of the humility it requires for him to be on his knees in front of you, cleaning your feet. The vulnerability.

You’re both blushing.

He soothes his Vibranium hand over your skin, goosebumps travel up your leg.

When he’s satisfied with his work on your left foot, he drops and moves to the right, “I think you stepped in glass.”

You hum, enjoying him taking care of you. The feeling of his hands touching you tenderly.

“I’m so sorry about your father.” He murmurs, kissing the inside of your foot. He slides his hand up your calf. “Do you want to talk about it?”

His words hang in the air as he finishes tending to your feet.

You pull him up to your level, kissing him slowly. “I do.” You whisper, voice rough, “I do, but it’s a lot.”

Bucky furrows his eyebrows, “That’s okay, baby. I want to be here for you.”

“Okay.” You whisper. “You can’t get scared and run away because my issues freak you out.”

Bucky laughs out loud, “I bet they’re not scarier than mine.”

You giggle, “Not quite, but still.” You give him a pointed look.

With a sigh, he cups your face, “Nothing you tell me could make me run away. I want to know everything. I love you.” He promises.

“Okay.” You whisper.

There’s a lot to say, more than could be said in one afternoon, but he listens. Constantly reassures you he loves you, that he’ll never leave you. That’s he’s sorry and you don’t deserve the pain and he’ll take it from you and carry it on his shoulders if he has to.

You let him.

_____________________________________________

Addiction is a disease. If you’re struggling with addiction and need help you can call SAMHSA’s National Helpline, 1-800-662-HELP (4357).

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[bunnyscribe]

Sure As the Setting Sun, Chapter 1

Fandoms: Mob Psyco 100, Boku no Hero Academia Warning: Canon-Typical Violence Length: ~7k

“I'm sorry Mob-kun,” Tsubomi says apologetically. “I just can't reciprocate your feelings right now.”

She genuinely does look sorry as she says it, her eyes filled with a gentle sort of pity. A soft smile sits on her face, sad and pretty, but it does nothing to soften the crushing blow of her words.

“I'm not interested in a relationship right now,” she says. “The timing is all wrong. I'm moving, I'm starting high school soon, and I've got my future to worry about. Even if I want to, adding a long distance relationship would just be too much.”

She breaks Mob gaze almost guilty, her eyes shifting down the bouquet of flowers. She bites her lip.

“You understand,” she says, voice quiet, desperate, “don't you?”

Mob stares at her blankly, attempting to make sense of the situation. Emotions roll around like waves under layers of suppression, an invisible counter sitting at seventy-nine...seventy-nine...seventy-nine…

“I understand,” he says finally, less because it's the truth and more because it feels like the right thing to say.

And it seems his intuition has done right by him for once, as Tsubomi looks him in the eyes again, her face warmer than it had been a moment ago.

“Thank you,” she says. She ghosts her fingertips atop Mob’s arm. “I'm glad you understand, we all have to plan for the future.”

Mob suddenly thinks about the blank academic aspersions sheet that he had gotten in class a week prior, sitting on his desk at home and collecting dust. Something stirs in him, though his consciousness instinctively crushes it down before he can even dwell on what it is.

“Yes,” he says, his voice hollow even to his own ears. “The future is very important.”

Tsubomi’s smile twinges as if something had just poked at it. She doesn't falter, however, leaning down to press a light kiss against Mob’s temple.

She pulls back so quickly that Mob barely even has time to process it. He raises a hand, pressing it against the spot where pressure had been. He realizes, despite hoping for this for two years, he actually doesn't know how to react.

The steady pressure in him moves like a heartbeat in response to his confusion; spiking and dipping before evening out again. Mob barely notices.

“Thank you,” Tsubomi says again. She backs away from him, movements delicate as she does, like she's being extra careful not to crack any eggshells she's standing on. “I’ll see you at school, Mob-kun.”

“Wait,” Mob says.

Tsubomi freezes up mid turn, suddenly still as a statue. She slowly turns her head, looking back at Mob with an expression that he can’t read.

“Please,” Mob tacks on a moment too late.

“...Yes?” Tsubomi prompts after a moment of awkward pause.

“Tsubomi-chan, I just wanted to thank you,” Mob says, his gaze drifting down towards his feet. “My master told me recently that is the journey that matters and not the destination. My feelings for you allowed me to grow, so I can not regret them. I-”

Mob risks a glance up, meeting Tsubomi’s awestruck gaze head-on. He flushes with embarrassment, unused to that type of expression being directed at someone as plain as him. His eyes dart back down to his feet, his head tilting so the red of his cheeks won't be as obvious.

“-Thank you for meeting me,” he finishes lamely.

Tsubomi chuckles. “You're a really good person, Mob-kun,” she says. “I hope you find something you really want.”

And with that final, confusing sentiment, Tsubomi turns around and walks away.

Mob watches as she goes, staring after her retreating back until it disappears around a bend in the path. He stands there long after she’s gone, unsure of what to do next.

It’s only the disappearance of the sun that gets him moving again, aware that his family will worry if he arrives home too late after dark.

His body feels heavy as he walks like he had just loaded some kind of burden onto it instead of relieving one. He grasps around inside himself for some kind of solution, an answer to an unknown question, but his subconscious stubbornly keeps it on lockdown.

He makes it to the entrance of the park without recollection of how he got there, and probably would’ve continued home in that trance had someone not laid a hand on his shoulder.

He turns around and finds himself looking up at a smiling mask.

“Hello young man,” says a distinctly feminine voice. “I'd like a moment of your time if you would.”

“I'm not interested in buying anything,” Mob says, and goes to keep walking.

However, the person holding him has other plans. The hand on his shoulder grips tighter, strong enough to lock him into place but not quite enough to hurt. The person's head lolls down as if they were too woozy to keep it upright.

“Now one second, sir,” they say, a slight edge in their voice. The tilt in their head covers the masks in shadow, changing the smiling face into something far more menacing. “You look troubled, I just want to help you.”

“I'm fine,” Mob says. “Thank you though.”

“It must be very difficult coming from such a rough home life,” the person prods, tugging on Mob’s shoulder.

Mob stumbles back a half step. “My home life is good, I love my family very much,” he says. “Could you let me go now?”

The fingers grip tighter, nails biting into his uniform, before easing up. “Are your grades good?” the person asks.

“They're alright,” Mob says, pulling himself forward and breaking the person’s hold on him. “I'm not really concerned about them.”

The person hums as Mob moves to leave, tilting their head backward in an exaggerated motion and pulling their hand up to their chin. “Is it...an issue with love?”

Mob stops in his tracks, throwing a dark look over his shoulder.

“Aha!” the person exclaims. “It seems I've got it!”

“How did you know about that?” Mob asks.

The person in the mask stares at him, the silence growing tenser as the moments pass. “If you are troubled come with me,” they finally say, “I know someone who can help you.”

Mob hesitates. “I have to go home…”

“You'll become popular,” the person says.

Mob thinks of all his training, all that work that went into strengthening his body in order to stop relying on his quirk. He had wanted to find something charming about himself, desperately searching for solutions for problems like love and popularity.

And he had failed.

“Alright,” Mob says. “Let’s go.”

.-.-.

The person takes him to a group of dilapidated apartments little ways away from the park, a poor area that was never truly repaired after a major villain attack a few months back. They stop in front of one that’s not as quite as destroyed as the others, though through a broken windows Mob can see the chaotic toss up of objects and the cracks in its structure.

“I know it doesn’t look like much,” the person says, opening the door before glancing over their shoulder at Mob, “but this is the sacred meeting place of LOL.”

“LOL?” Mob asks, following them inside.

The person says something else, but Mob’s attention jumps to water droplets falling from the ceiling. It hasn’t rained in days as far a Mob knows, so there must be a pool of water on one of the upper levels. He makes a mental note to keep an eye out for mold.

“...And just remember,” the person says, their hand on Mob’s arm snapping him back into the conversation. “LOL is in no way, shape, or form a suspicious cult.”

The person pulls him into a now open elevator. They quickly hit a button, and the doors shut slowly, like a trap triggered in a tomb, sealing away Mob’s last hope of escape.

The elevator is rickety, moving slowly down towards the basement with jolts and groans. Mob tilts his head up and is greeted with a flickering fluorescent light. The sound of machinery grinding is the only sound that fills up the small elevator, it’s occupants both silent and unreadable.

After a few minutes of descent, the elevator creaks to a stop and the doors slide open with a small, barely heard ding. Light floods inside the elevator and Mob has to squint to be able to face it directly. A mass amount of blurry shapes fill the room, all chattering amicably amongst each other.

It takes a second for Mob’s eyes to adjust and realize that they’re all just people, hundreds of them, crammed from wall to wall in the basement. Every one of them bears a smiling mask, hiding their faces from view, and clothes that are in slight disrepair. Whether is filthy shoes, holes in clothing patched together in mismatched fabric, or shirts that look far too big, they all jointly carry some symbol of poverty. Mob wonders to himself if they live around here.

He turns back to ask his guide but finds that they have disappeared.

“Oh!! A boy without a smile mask!” someone shouts.

“A newcomer!” another chimes in.

“We should get him to the stage!!” a third voice says, and a chorus of other voices make noises of agreement.

Mob barely has time to blink before he’s being hoisted into the air by complete strangers. “No,” he says, too quiet to be heard over the jovial crowd. “Please, don’t touch me.”

His request goes unnoticed, as he is flung from person to person in a humanized game of hot potato. With the rise in his discomfort, despite how desperately he attempts to smother his emotions, his counter ticks up.

Eighty percent.

Mob feet finally hit solid wood and he spins around so fast he almost trips, wobbling in place. He looks out over the crowd, but the glaring stage lights are so bright that he can’t see anything past them. Including the elevator, he notes with a level of agitation.

“Mob-kun?” a voice asks, sounding surprised.

He turns, meeting eyes with a girl dressed up in a Salt Middle School uniform. The light blue tint of her skin clashes against the bright red velvet of the curtains, almost washing her out. She stands, back rigidly straight, her posture so taut it almost looks like it hurts. Her finger twitches over the button on the camera hanging around her neck.

She squints at him, as if in disbelief. “Why are you here?” she asks.

Ahh, she’s from my class, Mob thinks as he struggles for a name, unable to pull one out of his brain despite the semblance of familiarity he has with her. He remembers her quirk has something to do with her eyes...maybe?

“Oh,” he says, a polite but unsteady smile forming on his face as he glances from her back out to the crowd. “Someone brought me here, but I’d li-”

Mob is interrupted by the sudden screeching of the crowd. “LORD DIMPLE!!” comes the harmonious cry, followed by applause and whistling.

Mob looks past the girl to where another figure is shuffling out from behind the curtains. He too bears a smiling mask, hiding whatever true expression he has underneath of it. However, whereas the rest of the group dressed in worn down clothes, this man wears an extremely fancy suit. It looks as uncomfortable as it does expensive, and Mob would probably feel bad for the man if he didn’t look so confident in it.

The man steps with clumping steps to the front of the stage and waves a hand above his head.

The cheering audience abruptly goes silent.

“Welcome everyone!!” comes a booming voice from behind the man’s smile mask. “I, Lord Dimple, have arrived to share a wealth of happiness with you all! But first…”

Dimple produces a large bucket, seemingly out of nowhere, and drops it into the hands of a person below him. The person scrambles to pull something out of their pocket and drop it inside. Coins, Mob hazards a guess at the sound of the metallic clink that comes when they hit the bottom. The bucket is passed to the next person and the process is repeated.

“We must give to the church!” Dimple says. “The wealth of the church is the wealth of us all!!”

A man with horns to Mob’s right, also without a smiling mask, scoffs. “So I was right,” he says, loud enough to be heard over the clanking of coins. “This is just all one big scam.”

There's a pause before Dimple’s head slowly tilts, the eyes of the mask almost eerily giving the man a once over. “It appears,” he says, voice dripping in honey, “we have a skeptic.”

The crowd bursts into uproarious laughter, though Mob doesn’t think anyone said anything funny. It stretches on an ungodly amount of time, to the point where the sound of it grates against Mob’s ears like concrete. Can’t they just get to the point already? he thinks, glancing up to the sweating face of the man next to him.

“Stoooooop!!” Dimple shouts, and again, the laughter abruptly comes to a halt. Dimple turns again to look at the man. “My good sir,” he says. “You would not be here if you were entirely doubtful of this organization. Believe me, my power will bring good fortune into your life, a wealth of happiness.”

“You mean your quirk?” the horned man asks.

“No,” Dimple answers, his head tilting and covering all but the eyes of his mask into shadow. “My divine power. A power so powerful it just can’t be contained into the measly word, ‘quirk’! A gift, to me, from the Gods themselves! The power of-” he swoops a hand out towards the crowd- “laughter!!”

The crowd devolves into laughter. Mob feels like this is getting old.

“Now,” Dimple says, turning back to the audience. “Friends, family of the church, today we have three new members joining us! What a wonderful surprise! Today they shall smile and laugh, and their burdens will lessen! For we all know-” his voices drops here, sinking into something far more dangerous that goes right over Mob’s head- “those who don’t laugh will continue with an unhappy life...until death.”

This actually seems to startle a laugh out of the horned man. “Are you serious?” he asks, looking surprised that he’s even speaking. “If just laughter makes your life easier, then you all must not be suffering through any hardships.”

The room is silent after that, tense in a way that Mob can’t quite pick up on. Next to him, the girl from his class twitches, sweat beading down her forehead as her eyes sweep over the crowd. Her gaze lands where the elevator should be.

“Mezato-san?” Mob asks quietly, her name suddenly popping into his brain alongside his concern. “Are you alright?”

She jumps, glancing over at him and then back out towards the elevator. “I-”

“Who is this man?” Dimple asks.

“I found him sitting on a bench in the park,” a person says, raising their hand out of the crowd. “He was looking blankly up at the sky doing nothing.”

“Ahh,” Dimple says. “Ahh, ahh, ahhhh...A victim of the recession, how unlucky.”

The horned man jolts in the corner of Mob’s eye as if having been struck by something.

“However sir, you needn’t worry!” Dimple exclaims. He begins moving over to the three of them on stage, his steps graceful and light like a hunter stalking up to its prey. “We have just the cure here at LOL! You will smile again.”

Mob goes stumbling back down into the crowd.

It takes him a second to realize he’s been pushed, and another to register the hands now grasping at him. They pull him, tugging his arms and legs, fingers tapping his waist, brushing against his face, too much, too suddenly. Sweat pours out of him, hot and horribly uncomfortable.

The hands puppeteer him down to the floor, before disappearing completely.

Mob can still feel the imprints they left against his skin, unnaturally warm spots that feel wrong and foreign.

“Now!” Dimple says, now alone on the stage and standing on the edge. He swoops his arms out in a wide and flowy gesture, the eyes of the smiling mask piercing into Mob’s. “Let’s give our new members a taste of happiness, shall we?”

An object gets thrust over Mob’s face, obstructing his vision momentarily. He blinks, the world coming back slightly darker than it was before. He’s confused for a moment before coming to the conclusion that he’s seeing through a smile mask.

Something buzzes in the back of his head, faint but still there. The urge to please, to obey someone wholeheartedly and find joy in their happiness. However, because it’s so small and so oddly out of place, Mob’s subconscious swallows the feeling whole before he has time to ponder where it might have come from.

“Yes?” Dimple says, speech muffled but curiosity evident in his tone. “It appears you have something on your mind.”

“...Yes,” Mezato says slowly.

Mob turns the sound of her voice and finds her to his right, staring down at the camera she holds in her hands. She bites her lips, her shoulder so tense that they almost are touching her ears. And then, as if a switch has been flicked within, something steels over in her eyes. She straightens herself out, posture relaxing into something confident and authoritative that Mob can only dream of.

“I-” Mezato swallows- “This religious cult, LOL. You were only formed around month ago, weren’t you? And yet, you already have these many supporters? It’s just too suspicious.”

Dimple chuckles, “Oh my...You weren’t brought here by one of my followers, were you?”

At this, Mezato puffs herself up, going from confident to borderline aggressive. She brandishes her camera up like a weapon, holding it up for everyone to see. “I am Mezato! A future investigative reporter! I’ve heard some bad rumors about you, and I’m here to expose them to the public!”

“Bad rumors?”

“You’re brainwashing these people, perhaps with the assistance of a quirk,” Mezato says, unwavering in her accusation.

Dimple huffs, standing up straighter and gripping his hands together behind his back. He radiates confidence to the point where even Mob knows whatever expression is lying under Dimple’s mask is smug.

“I am not a fraud,” Dimple says, no ounce of uncertainty in his voice. “I shall prove it.” He lifts up a hand and gestures over towards the crowd.

Mob catches the sight the horned man from earlier, who has apparently also had a smiling mask shoved onto him. The man reaches up, pulling the mask slightly off of his face to reveal an unsettling smile. His eyes scrunch up as he begins to laugh hysterically, his shoulders bouncing from the force of it. The joy is unprompted, the unnaturalness of throwing Mob off.

“Hun, this is weird…” the horned man says, his fingertips coming up to brush against his lips as if they were a novelty. “I’m not happy, but I’m still smiling…”

People surrounding the man burst into laughter as well, sharing congratulations and telling him how wonderful he looks. The bucket Dimple had handed out before, now filled almost to the brim with loose yen, is thrust in front of the man.

“Give thanks!!” someone shouts, and the rest burst into an enthusiastic agreement.

The man, still laughing, starts feverishly rooting through his pockets. He pulls out a wallet on the third one he checks, jerkily opening it and dumping its contents into the bucket.

“Do you believe us now?” Dimple asks. His voice reminds Mob of his mother’s when she’s asking him a question she already knows the answer to. A scolding tone that screams, there’s a right way to answer this.

Mezato hesitates for the first time since she started talking, her camera shaking in her hand. “It appears...I’ve overstepped my boundaries,” she says, taking a small step backward. “You really do seem to be laughing to feel better. I’m sorry if I caused you any trouble.” Another step back. “I’ll be going now.”

“You think you can come in here, disrespect our happiness, and leave?” Dimple asks, venomous. “You can not just escape the consequences of your actions. You don’t even need to apologize, just show to us that you mean it.”

Mezato squeaks as hands latch onto her arms, keeping her from moving back towards the elevator. “I’m really sorry!” she says, pitch fluctuating with her nerves. “I won’t report anything about this, but I’d really like to leave now.”

The crowd is honing in on Mezato now, surrounding her like a group of ravenous predators after a week with no prey.

Mezato struggles, panic overcoming her features. “Please! I just want to go home!”

“No,” Dimple says. “Not until you laugh.”

“Excuse me.”

Eighty-five percent.

Everything in the room stops suddenly, like a movie put on pause during its climax. All heads slowly turn over to Mob, who has raised his hand in interruption.

“She doesn’t want to laugh,” Mob says bluntly. “You should let her go home, she’s scared.”

“Oh??” Dimple says, tilting his head this way and that as he inspects Mob. “Who is this?”

“I found him at the park looking troubled!” a voice Mob recognizes as the person who brought him here cries out from the middle of the crowd. “He was having trouble with love!”

“Not really,” Mob says, lifting up a hand to pull the smile mask off his face. His expression remains neutral, but agitation lines his posture. “Not enough trouble to stay here.”

The mask hits the floor with a small clatter which seems to break the spell on the room. Hushed, surprised murmurs break out amongst the crowd. Words like “no smile” and “no laugh” are thrown around like curses.

Dimple tenses. “Y-young lad!” he stammers as Mob walks over to Mezato and grabs her arm, guiding her towards the elevator. “If you can’t laugh, how do you hope to live a fulfilling life?! This is your chance to take a hold of your life and change it for the better! Laugh and just let me help you!”

Mob pauses in his walk, throwing a blank look over his shoulder. “I’m not going to laugh,” he says, voice cold enough to send a shock through the room.

Dimple jolts, and looks around at the crowd frantically. The air has gone from manically jovial to anxious confusion in a second. “Why are we here?” a person asks, and is met with nothing but unsure answers. “I don’t know why, but that boy made me not want to laugh,” another says.

Dimple strains, flexing out his hands and waving them over the crowd, which immediately bursts into laughter. “We’re here because we’re happy! That’s right!”

“Followers!” Dimple shouts. He gives a strained chuckle like he’s somehow out of breath despite not moving. “Please take a look! These children, they can not find our treasure trove of happiness on their own! We can not just leave them like this! They’re miserable! Only we can help them! Everyone, combine your strength and restrain them! I shall unleash their laughter!”

Arms start wrapping around Mob’s clinging onto him and weighing him down. Mezato is ripped from his grip, and he can see the same tangle of limbs attaching themselves to her as well. She looks absolutely terrified but still puts on a valiant struggle all the same. Something inside him stirs around furiously as he notices the sheen of tears in her eyes.

“Hold on a second,” Mob says, barely heard over the amicable chattering of the crowd. “Let us go.”

Dimple jumps down into the crowd, moving towards them with rapid steps. The audience parts for him, almost stumbling to get out of his way. He raises a hand towards Mob’s face, “Behold my divine power.”

The hand covers his face and Mob can almost feel his emotions spilling over, the invisible counter ticking up rapidly. Eighty-eight, eighty-nine, ninety, ninety, ninety.

“Why are you resisting so hard?” Dimple asks. “You have no enemies here, who are you fighting? We all just want you to find your happiness. Go with the flow.”

Energy suddenly surrounds Mob, the same urge to please and obey as before only with slightly more intensity than before. The emotional vacuum inside of him consumes it, converting the energy into something new and far more dangerous.

Others around him seem affected though, everyone laughing and wheezing around him like they had just seen the funniest thing. He can even hear Mezato’s laughter ringing out next to him, familiar only in its rarity, as he had only heard her laugh once after a boy in class tripped and ripped a clean hole in the back of his pants.

Mob attempts desperately to figure out what he’s missing, what he’s overlooking that somehow everyone else has noticed.

Mob flashes back to elementary school, to the jeers made about emotionless Mob, to the jokes he could just never understand. “Jeez Mob,” a younger Tsubomi says in his head, “can’t you read the atmosphere already?”

Ninety-four.

The hand on Mob’s face snaps back as if had been electrocuted. “What was that?” Dimple whispers, voice a mixture of furious and awed. He stares down at his hand before glancing back up to Mob’s unsmiling face. “What was that?”

The crowd seems untroubled by their leader’s agitation, simply finding it to be something else to laugh at. “Master Dimple seems upset!” one voice notes among a chorus of amusement.

Hands land on Mob’s face pulling his cheeks this way and that. “Are you dead?!” he shouts, showing no hesitation to invade Mob’s personal space. “Laugh already! Laugh, you brat!”

Oh, Mob thinks, this person is using a quirk.

Ninety-six.

“Look,” Mob says, and the all the hands retreat from him at once. “I cannot laugh to please you, I am just unable to. If even you can’t make me laugh with your power, I don’t think anyone can. I just really suck at going with the flow.”

Ninety-eight.

“I don’t want to stop your fun, so please let me and Mezato-san go now.”

Dimple scoffs. “So you don’t have emotions, do you?” he says, leaning over towards Mob. His smiling mask glints in the light, reflecting Mob’s face in its pupils. “No wonder you’re having trouble with love, you can’t even laugh with the girl you like. Human beings respond to the emotions of others, but you simply cannot. You can’t cry or be moved with others. You’ll simply be alone forever.

This is your last chance to escape that. Laugh,” Dimple orders.

A feeling hot and sharp fills Mob to the brim, overwhelming him in its entirety. He can feel the blood pumping through his veins, thicker somehow as it rushes towards his head at an alarming pace. His palms are sweaty and he clutches them into fists by his sides. He looks up at Dimple through his bangs.

“Use your quirk,” he says, “and make me.”

The crowd stops laughing.

“Mob-kun,” Mezato says.

Mob’s unsure of what kind of expression he’s wearing when he turns to face her, but it must be something unpleasant as she jolts the second their eyes meet. He can almost bring himself to feel guilty about it, but the feeling is quickly drowned out by the bitter fires burning in his brain.

“You…” Dimple says, dragging Mob’s attention back to him. He clutches his head in his hand, and Mob can see veins popping out of it in rage. “I see...your quirk, it’s similar to mine. I tried to start a peaceful religion in order to make money, one without any bloodshed. But brat...you’re just a nuisance.

“In order for me to reach my goals, I must eliminate all nuisances.”

The atmosphere of the room shifts suddenly, the weight of the air pressing down on all the occupants. The crowd shocks to attention, even Mezato seems affected by whatever has spread through the group. Then everyone lurches at Mob, their bodies moving like cheap puppets. They pile on top of him, a mass of bodies pinning him against the floor.

A burst of energy exits Mob, leaving enormous cracks on the floor and lifting all the followers into the air as though they defied gravity. Mob pushes himself up to his feet, slow and deliberate. His hair tosses back and forth as if blown by some kind of invisible wind.

One hundred percent.

Anger.

“I see,” Mob says, lifting up a hand to examine it with almost no interest in the energy pulsating around it. “So the man was right then? This is all just a huge scam? That’s pathetic.”

Dimple stands across from him, his mask ripped off of his face and floating in the air above him. Dimple had hidden the face of a plain man underneath of it, average and ordinary in every way. His lips curled into a furious snarl, with big fat droplets of sweat rolling down his cheeks.

“So you have this type of quirk...No wonder the mask didn’t work on you.”

“Mask?” Mob asks, eyes snapping to Dimple. “So that was part of your trick.”

“Yes,” Dimple says, an unsteady smirk forming on his face. “They’re embedded with my energy, allowing my brainwashing signals to influence whoever's wearing them more directly.”

“It was so weak, I barely even felt it,” Mob says. Dimple bristles in response, opening his mouth, but Mob waves a hand to silence him. “Anyway,” he says, “all your followers are pinned to the ceiling now, you have no control over them. And if killing a member of your group is part of your teachings, then I’m going to have to call the police.”

Dimple stares at Mob, left eye twitching.

“Sorry,” Mob tacks on after a moment of silence.

Dimple laughs so hard that he guffaws. “Call the cops?” he asks incredulously. “What are you five?” He reaches into one of his suit pockets, pulling out a small knife which he twisted in the light. His expression is exaggerated by the shadows underneath his eyes. “I’m going to kill you, you little shit.”

Mob’s frown deepens, his eyes don’t leave the knife. “I’m not going to fight you,” he says.

“Do you think you have a choice?” Dimple asks. And then he lunges.

Mob, caught off guard by the sudden turn of events, allows Dimple one clean hit. A shallow swipe against his cheek forming a cut that barely even bleeds.

Mob lifts up his hand on reflex and a burst of psychic energy that comes from it sends Dimple flying across the room.

A bitter satisfaction fills Mob, the livid parts of him absolutely eager to have landed a hit. However, Dimple takes longer than he should getting up, and when he does something in Mob’s gut twists with the scrapes on his face and arms.

“Come on now,” Dimple says, and the sound of smugness in his tone chases away any guilt Mob might have felt. “Don't act like some kind of pissed off human, you emotionless animal!”

Dimple comes charging again.

The seconds it takes Dimple to close the distance between them feels like an eternity to Mob. He thinks of coins dropping into a bucket, thinks of fancy suits and torn clothes, thinks of Mezato’s panicked face.

He thinks of Tsubomi.

The knife comes towards his face again, but this time Mob’s hand snaps up and catches Dimple’s wrist.

Mob uses psychic energy to push Dimple’s feet out from under him, letting go of his fist and allowing him to fall on his back to the floor.

He stomps Dimple’s wrist, hard enough to force him to drop the knife. Before it can even hit the floor, however, it goes flying and embeds itself in the wall furthest away from them.

“Y...You…” Dimple wheezes, expression stricken.

“You're the one who requested to see my emotions,” Mob tells him, removing his foot. “This is what happens when I let them loose.”

Dimple flips over and scrambles to get away, but Mob slams him towards the ground with his mind before he can get more than a couple inches.

“You can't just escape the consequences of your actions,” Mob says, voice dull with rage.

Dimple throws a panicky look up at him. “You're a monster,” he says.

“I know,” Mob replies, lifting up a foot. “I'm the worst.”

He lands a kick to Dimple’s jaw in just the spot his master taught him. Dimple slumps onto the ground, now thoroughly unconscious.

Mob feels a hollow victory at the sight of a bruise forming on the Dimple’s chin, the angry feelings inside of him, appeased, dissipate as though they were never there in the first place. He ponders the emptiness they leave behind.

From the ceiling, confused shouts and squealing erupts, snapping Mob out of his thoughts. He tilts his head back and is and is met with an extremely frightened crowd of people, hovering in the air.

“Oh,” he says.

.-.-.

It takes five knocks before his master finally cracks open the door. His pajamas are rumpled, his blond hair sticking up in odd directions. He blinks a few times at Mob, appearing to take in his disheveled appearance in stages. His eyes linger against Mob’s cheek. He opens the door the rest of the way.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite apprentice sidekick,” he tells Mob.

“I’m your only sidekick,” Mob says.

“That’s what makes you my favorite,” he says, waving a hand around before disappearing back into the apartment.

Mob lingers at the door. He went to find his master because it seemed like the best option at the time, texting his mother a lame excuse of studying late at a non-existent friend’s house to explain his absence, but he’s suddenly unsure of himself. He shouldn’t be bothering his master this late, should he?

He should just go home.

“Make sure you shut the door behind you Mob!” his master calls from the kitchen.

The request pulls Mob into the apartment before he can think any more about it, shutting the door behind him. He pauses and then snaps the top lock on for good measure.

In the next few minutes, Mob finds himself sitting on a ratty, old chair that he had helped his master move into the apartment. “This is a training of your precision!” he had told Mob at the time, attempting to assemble the TV stand as Mob levitated the chair onto the fourth story balcony.

He snaps out of his reminiscing at a glass being pushed into his hands.

“What’s this?” Mob asks.

“Warm milk,” his master says, taking the seat across from him. “You looked like you needed it.”

Mob doesn’t want to acknowledge that, so he doesn’t, instead taking a tiny sip of the milk.

“What’s that?” Mob asks after a moment of pause, gesturing to an open book on the coffee table.

“A treatise about the effects of the displacement of civilians caused by the destruction that heroics causes,” his master answers without a beat of hesitation, his eyes locked onto Mob. “So...what brings you here?”

“You weren’t at your office.”

His master scoffs, his hand swinging back and forth as though to brush off the statement. “Not this late at night, no.” He stares at Mob, visible concern lining his features. “Do you even know what time it is?”

Mob shakes his head. He had hightailed it out of the building the second he could, not wanting to stick around for the aftermath, and found that the world had shifted from dusk to darkness in the time that he had been stuck in the building.

His master sighs, tilting his head back and rubbing his eyes. “Alright,” he says. “Tell me what happened. Start from the beginning.”

Mob stares down at his cup, taking a few seconds to figure out the best way to recount the evening's events in the least boring way he could.

“I confessed to Tsubomi today,” he says finally because it feels like a good place to start.

He instantly regrets the decision though, as his master perks up in interest. “Oh! Did you? Good job Mob! See, I told you that you could do it! You really have gr-”

“She rejected my feelings.”

His master stops short, his mouth still forming the syllable that his vocal chords hadn’t gotten the chance to release. He deflates, his shoulders picking up tension that had disappeared a second ago. “Oh...Oh, Mob, I’m sorry.”

Mob nods, not understanding the apology but accepting it anyway. “Then a new religious leader tried to brainwash my classmate and kill me, so I stopped him.”

His master just stares.

Mob starts to sweat, glancing up at his master and then back down at his cup. “I didn’t mean to use my quirk on him master, promise. I was scared he was going to hurt Mezato-san and it made me angry. And I was going to call the police like you told me, but he didn’t let me. I’m sorry.”

“Mob,” his master says, and Mob’s head snaps up at the hand that brushes against his. His master is closer now, out of his chair without Mob noticing. He makes a face like he just swallowed something slimy. “Did you get hurt?”

“Just my cheek.”

His master nods. “Alright.” He looks at the cut, his hand leaving Mob’s and brushing against his cheek. “It doesn’t look too deep, but make sure to keep an eye on it and disinfect it when you get home.”

Mob nods and his master leans back, heaving a sigh.

“Alright,” he says again, bringing a hand up to his chin and striking a thoughtful pose. He glances down at Mob, over to the book on the coffee table, and back at Mob. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” his master says and pauses, opens his mouth and closes it again.

It’s rare that his master can’t find the right words to say, but it’s all too common for Mob, and so Mob waits politely.

“I don’t think I have anything else I can teach you,” his master finally settles on.

“What?” Mob asks.

“You’ve been training with me to get a handle on your quirk for a long time now, and with my help and the task of helping others, you’ve gotten a lot more proficient at it. That progress is something to be proud of. However!” his master points a finger in Mob’s face. “My quirk, while powerful, is not suited to combat in the way that yours is.”

“What is your quirk anyway master?” Mob asks suddenly. “I don’t think you’ve ever told me what it’s called.”

His master twirls his finger around before pointing up to the ceiling. “Th-That’s not important right now! What is important, right now, is your quirk. With it, you’re far more likely to wind up making difficult choices in the face of dangerous situations because of its combative power. I’ve taught you some basic self-defense techniques, but,” he glances at Mob’s cheek, “I think you might need more guidance than that, from heroes who specialize in fighting to protect civilians and not just themselves. Mob! Have you filled out your academic aspersions yet?”

Mob shakes his head.

“Then, in order to become a great hero, like All Might or like me, Reigen Arataka; I believe you should enter into the greatest heroics academy in Japan! You’ve strengthened your body, now comes the time to strengthen your heart! You should take the UA entrance exam!”

“But master,” Mob says, “I don’t want to be a hero.”

Reigen stumbles forward, as though the lost momentum in his speech had a physical effect. “What?”

“I don’t want to be a hero,” Mob repeats. “I’m only your sidekick to get better control over my quirk.”

“Mob,” Reigen says. “Today, when you fought against a villainous religious leader, were you fighting for just yourself?”

“Well, no,” Mob says. “I didn’t want him to hurt anyone else.”

“And all those people you’ve helped at my agency, think about them. Would you not have wanted to help them if there was some other way to practice control over your quirk?”

Mob thinks for a long moment. “No, they still needed my help.”

Reigen leans down, putting both of his hands on Mob’s shoulders. “Mob,” he says, “You’re already a hero. Entering into a high school for heroics will just make you a better one, an official one.”

Mob stares blankly at him.

Reigen sighs and stands up. “Just think about it, would you?” he says. Then he pats Mob’s back, flashing a small smile at him. “Now, let’s get you home. You look terrible.”

.-.-.

Mob stares at the sheet of paper, the line getting shorter and shorter as more kids hand in their aspersions papers.

Before he knows it, Mob’s at the front of the line, pushing his paper into the hands of his teacher.

“UA?” his teacher asks, staring down at him with an eyebrow raised. “That’s a hard academy to get into Mob, are you sure you don’t want to add a backup choice?”

“I’m sure,” Mob says, “but thank you for your concern.”

Mob leaves the classroom that day feeling lighter than he has in a long while.

Two percent.