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tenisperfection · 2 years

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More couch drabbles courtesy of this spoiler for 6 x 01. Buck/Eddie.

Like these things go, the innocuous comment lands hard and finds itself a corner in Buck’s brain to fester.

“If my couch was like this one, I’d sleep on it all the time,” Buck groans as he sinks into the new couch in the Diaz household. Christopher, laughing next to him, bumps into his shoulder.

"Buck, you don't even have a couch."

Buck laughs with Eddie at that both because it's funny and because of how Christopher's wit has been growing as quickly as his limbs.

He doesn't think of it throughout dinner or on the drive home. He doesn't feel melancholy, its arms chilling his insides with a slowly tightening grip, until he steps into his loft and sees emptiness where his couch once sat.

There's been nothing there since Taylor moved all her things out, hiring the same movers who brought everything in and took Buck's couch out, never to be seen again. Buck had been meaning to buy another one every day since she left, but by the time month three rolled around, the emptiness looked like it belongs. It festers, and Buck suddenly notices other things he'd taken out of his apartment to make room for Taylor: the side table he liked to put his coffee on the rare days he had time for coffee at home, the lamp shaped like a fire extinguisher that Taylor had called too masculine and Buck had shoved to the back of the downstairs closet.

He's not sure why it still lives there, hidden away. Before he goes upstairs, Buck brings the lamp out again and wipes the dust away, putting it back where it once lived. It doesn't turn on when Buck plugs it in and flicks the switch, and he sighs, making a mental note to grab some light bulbs when he's out.

He goes to bed and tries not to think of the space below him, empty. Dark. Festering.

***

Eddie comes over for a beer the next day and makes himself at home on the balcony. Buck sits next to him in companionable silence and thinks about how he's never known what companionable silence was until Eddie.

Eddie breaks it.

"I'm thinking of getting a grill," Eddie c, eyeing the one in the corner of the balcony.

Buck laughs. "Don't. Just take this one. I haven't touched it except to move it around."

Eddie looks at him, eyebrows raised. "You don't even like grilling," he says, as if remembering a fact he'd learned a lifetime ago that he's forgotten he has the knowledge of. "You think there's no—"

"—point to it," Buck finishes and lets the smile threatening to take over his entire face win. "I'd much rather just eat what other people grill and make all the dips."

Eddie hums. "Why did you get it then? They aren't cheap."

Buck thinks of the couch as he answers.

"I didn't."

Eddie looks at him expectantly.

Buck relents. "I mean, I did, but Ali and I, when I rented this place, we got all the stuff that we might need, and she really has an eye for this stuff, so I kind of let her take the lead."

Eddie nods. "She liked to grill?"

Buck shrugs. "I think so. She left before we ever got to the grilling stage of the relationship." Buck means it to come out as a joke but it falls flat. Eddie stays silent, staring out into space.

"Can I ask you something?" he asks after Buck finishes his beer. Eddie automatically rises and goes back in to the kitchen, and Buck knows that in twenty seconds, he'll have a refill.

"Sure," he calls out after a moment, and Eddie presses a cold bottle into his outstretched hand.

"Why do you not have a couch anymore?" he asks.

Buck blinks.

He could tell Eddie what he's been telling him and Maddie and everyone else; that he's hardly home enough, that he only really uses his apartment to sleep, and that buying a couch that would go unused is like letting your ex-girlfriend talk you into a wine subscription when you don't even like wine that much.

Buck doesn't want to tell Eddie that. Not again, not anymore.

"I'm not sure," he says slowly, "but I have a theory."

"Okay," Eddie says, as if Buck's told him he's hypothesizing about the mysteries that lie in the deepest corners of the oceans.

"Ali picked that couch too," he starts, and Eddie, because he's Eddie, catches on almost immediately judging by the minute twitch to his left eyebrow.

"I liked it when we went shopping," Buck continues, "she said a lot of things about how youthful it would make the place seem while still being classy and understated. She said it wasn't too masculine or feminine, so it would suit both of us, even if I still don't know why we were gendering a couch." Eddie smiles at that, and Buck goes on, suddenly eager to finish now that he's began.

"Anyway, I knew it looked nice and large and that I could afford it even if Ali offered to pay half. I let her and we brought it home and it somehow ended up lasting even after she left."

"I wasn't the biggest fan," Eddie comments, smiling wryly. "I mean, it was a fine couch, but it always was so—"

"—it's the material," Buck finishes, because he's seen Eddie sit on it one too many times to know how he feels. "It felt too posh and cold and it was after Ali left that I realized that in all the talks about getting what would fit the apartment best, we never talked about comfort even once."

Buck looks away from Eddie at that. Eddie's couch, both old and new, molded to Buck like it was welcoming him home, and Buck doesn't want to look at Eddie and see him realize why Buck sleeps like a stone every time he stays over.

"So I guess it was good Taylor made you get rid of it?" Eddie asks quietly. He says Taylor's name with great reluctance, and in spite of himself, Buck smiles.

"Weirdly, I missed it once it was gone."

They lapse into silence again, sipping their beers as the late afternoon sunshine paints everything golden. Buck tries not to be obvious as he steals glances at Eddie, bathed in contrasts of light and shadow in a way that's hard to look away from.

"You still didn't answer my question," Eddie reminds him after their beers are done again. This time, Eddie stays by his side and looks steadily at Buck.

"I didn't get a couch because I guess I don't know what I'm looking for," Buck admits, staring down into his lap, suddenly finding it hard to hold Eddie's gaze. "I've never bought a couch before, not by myself, and not for me."

"Isn't comfort a good place to start?" Eddie asks, and Buck shrugs again. Eddie laughs suddenly.

"You know, your birthday's coming up," he says, running a hand through his hair. "We—Hen, Chim, Maddie and I—we thought we could all chip in and buy you a couch, but Bobby put his foot down on our group gift."

"Oh," Buck says.

"Yeah," Eddie nods, and he plays with the label of his bottle as if contemplating a truth he's just come upon. "Something about how you shouldn't choose a couch or a bed for anyone else."

Buck's throat tightens.

"Guess he's right," he says gruffly. "Though if you guys want to give me money—"

Eddie's laughter breaks the seriousness. "No promises, but I can go with you to bring a couch back. The truck will have room for it."

"Maybe I'll take you up on that," Buck responds, "or maybe I should just steal your couch when you're not looking. It's really the best one I've been on, Eddie."

Buck feels rather like the time he was caught in a grocery store holding laxatives for a cat that he didn't have, except that there's no embarrassment this time, just the quiet agony of having revealed too much.

"Yeah?" Eddie asks quietly. It's the softest his voice has been in an afternoon filled with soft voices and quiet confessions. "You look like you're at home when you're on it."

Eddie doesn't add like you don't when you're here but Buck hears it all the same.

"Maybe I'll just get the exact same couch," Buck says in response.

Eddie smiles. "It's your choice."

Buck echoes the words and the smile. "Yeah," he says. "Mine."

***

The couch Buck ends up getting is similar to Eddie's though not identical, and Eddie, as promised, helps bring it to the apartment.

Seven months later, he helps carry it home. They put it diagonal to what Buck calls the Diaz couch. The two couches, while similar, are mismatched enough that it won't earn them any points from Architectural Digest.

Buck loves them more than he thought it possible to love inanimate objects, pieces of wood and fabric and wire molded together to make an abode. Eddie, passing by, presses a kiss to Buck's shoulder, and Buck makes a mental note to give Bobby a hug when they go into work tomorrow.

"We still have to bring in the coffee table," Eddie says, "Coming?"

"Yeah," Buck says, following. "I'm right behind you."

#i don't know why i keep writing about couches but anyway #911 spoilers #buddiefic #buddie #911fic #i promise i'm done i'm going back to my pirates now #see y'all monday

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ejlovespie · 3 years

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Over Time

Fandom: Supernatural

Author: EJ (@ejlovespie)

Summary: After a nasty argument and a drunken mistake. Dean and the reader have some issues to work through, it’s not easy though.

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 2198

Warnings: Angst/Cursing/Drinking/Cheating/Spanking/a lil’ bit of Angry & Degrading Sex/ Kind of fluff

A/N: Reader’s Request: “Sooo I was wondering if you would do a request please? A little bit of angst with some fluff later...the reader has cheated on Dean and the couple is trying to work through it, but it's been tough.”

Thank you for the request anon; I hope you like it! I also wrote this for one of my @spnkinkbingo squares - Infidelity

I really struggled to write this one but I was hoping that this may bring some perspective into the mind of someone who strays? Any feedback is greatly appreciated and any mistakes are mine. Thank you for reading! :)

Your head pounded violently as you stared into the bright light of the sun. Stumbling out of the dingy motel, you shielded your eyes as you walked. With the start of a new day and a lack of alcohol, you were realizing the huge mistake you had made. You don’t even remember the name of the guy you left in the room; he was just as forgettable as your night together. All you had to take away from it was a severe hangover and an overwhelming amount of guilt. You were a cheater and now you had to go home and tell Dean what you had done. Tears rolled down your cheeks as you walked to the bar where you had left your car. Your stomach rolled violently and you darted sideways into the grass as vomit rose up in your throat. You heaved into the bushes for a moment before groaning in pain. It was a hot day and both the heat and your dehydrated body made the walk painfully slow. By the time you reached your car, it was mid afternoon. You jumped in and turned the key before plugging your dead phone in on the charger you kept there.

Your heart sank when you saw the five missed calls from Dean. Shit. No texts, no voicemails. Your heart started to race thinking about the fight you had last night. It was the same argument you had many times before. It was about work and how you felt like Dean cared more about hunting than you.

"You're always gone Dean and I never know if or when you're coming back. I always get left behind and I'm so scared. We both know that one of these days you're not going to walk back through that door and I don't know what I'm going to do when that happens."

His response was, "You knew what you signed up for." You had gone round and round for hours before you stormed out of the bunker and drove to a bar outside of town. With a sigh, Dean had let you leave without further argument. Your only plan was to get drunk and sleep in your car. However, when the guy at the bar had started to flirt with you, you hadn't told him off or said you had a boyfriend. It was harmless, even flattering at first, but when the drinks kept coming, your inhibitions went out the window. You forgot about your big fight with Dean and all the fear and loneliness you had been feeling and you let him take you to a motel.

Tears rolled down your face as you drove home. What could you say? It didn't matter how sad and lonely you were. It didn't matter how drunk you had been. It didn't matter that it meant nothing to you. You were still a cheater and you knew this would hurt Dean. You knew, even if Dean could forgive you, you would never forgive yourself. The drive was quick and before you knew it, you were pulling into the bunker’s garage. You probably looked just as bad as you felt and you cried harder for a moment before you wiped your eyes and stepped out of the car. Time to face the music you thought to yourself. You found Dean in the kitchen where he was making himself a sandwich. Thankfully, Sam wasn’t there to witness what was about to unfold.

Setting your bag on the table, you cleared your throat and Dean half turned to greet you. Seeing your face, he fully turned around. His eyes were worried but everything else about him was tense as he leaned against the counter, his arms crossed and his jaw shut tight. He didn’t rush over to you and ask if you were okay. He didn’t move or say anything at all, just waited for you to explain. In a sob you rushed out an explanation,

“I was with someone last night. I..I’m so fucking sorry Dean. It didn’t mean anything and I was shit-faced drunk. I...I don’t expect you to forgive me but please know I regret it and I will never ever do it again. I love you..so much and I am just so scared of losing you.” The tears had started again and they ran down your face as the words rushed out of your mouth. You had started hiccuping about half way through and the anxiety and fear in your stomach was growing as Dean continued to stare blankly at you. Oh God. Please say something. After a long moment, Dean turned back around and finished making his sandwich before he walked right past you out of the room. He didn’t say anything; he didn’t even look at you and your heart sank. Dropping into a chair at the table, you buried your head in your hands and sobbed.

It had been days before Dean had even looked at you. After you had come home and told him what you did, you had taken a long shower and had gone back to your shared room to find Dean’s things gone. This was the first time you had not slept together, while Dean was home, since you had started dating a year ago. A few weeks passed and still, Dean had barely spoken to you. Anytime you tried talking to him about anything other than work or meals, he would ignore you and walk away. You knew you had to give him time and space to work through his emotions but you were terrified he would never forgive you. If you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t even know what you guys were anymore. He hadn’t said the words to break up with you and he hadn’t asked you to leave but it was like you had become awkward roommates. Sam had obviously noticed the tension and had asked you a few times what had happened. Eventually you had broken down and told him everything. He was shocked and disappointed but he had hugged you and said something generic like “you guys will work through it.” There was no sincerity in his voice though. Neither of you thought Dean would forgive you. He would most likely push you away completely and then you would be just another person who let him down.

A few weeks turned into a month and nothing changed. Sam and Dean continued to hunt and you continued to stay home, researching and keeping things in order until they got back. Dean had never moved back into your shared room so you had resorted to stealing his clothes and climbing into his bed when he wasn’t home. You missed him desperately. You missed his gorgeous smile and boisterous laugh. You missed his touch. You couldn’t remember the last time Dean had hugged you, let alone kissed you. The loneliness and grief you had felt before had grown tenfold. Most nights you cried yourself to sleep hugging Dean’s pillow or one of his soft shirts.

It had been over a month of walking on eggshells and sleepless nights when things finally changed. The boys had come home from a hunt and you had gone to bed early. Not quite asleep, you were shaken awake violently and your eyes flew open to find Dean’s angry and heated ones, staring at you in the dark. Sitting up in bed, you had reached for him, to ask what was wrong, but Dean growled and flipped you over. Bending your body so you were on your knees, you felt his hand reach out and yank your panties down your legs. Gasping, you cried out when Dean slapped your ass, hard, before bringing his fingers to your sex. This had been the first time you had been touched in weeks and you moaned and pushed yourself onto Dean’s hand. He growled and pulled his hand away before he slapped your ass again. You heard rustling behind you before Dean leaned close to your ear and demanded,

“I want you and I won’t be gentle. Tell me I can have you; tell me you want this.”

Whimpering you nodded in the dark before quietly answering him, “I’m yours, Dean.”

A second later you felt him behind you. He slapped your ass one more time and then plunged into you from behind. You cried out again from surprise, not pain. From this position, he filled you completely and the sensations you were feeling were so intense. It felt so damn good. Dean let you adjust to him for a few seconds before pulling out and slamming into you again. He did this over and over for a while, occasionally grunting or growling like an animal. You moaned at the intense rhythm. It was aggressive and rushed and not at all like your previous lovemaking but it felt amazing. Dean was fucking you, with no consideration of your own pleasure. Your nipples rubbed against your shirt and you reached a hand back to rub your clit but Dean grabbed it. He didn’t want you to find pleasure in this and tears pooled in your eyes as you realized Dean was using you. This was a punishment for what you had done. In a broken voice you croaked, “Dean, stop.”

He did immediately. You felt him pull out of you and the bed dipped as he got off. You flipped over and reached out to turn your lamp on. Dean was already trying to walk out the door and you cried out, “Enough is enough Dean Winchester! You can be pissed at me but you can NOT use me and walk away. I have been patient but we are going to talk. Now.” His steps faltered and he paused at the door before spinning around. You gasped at the look on his face. He was furious.

“You want to talk. Fine.”

You got out of bed at the same time as Dean took three large strides back into the room. You were now standing before each other, both angry and finally ready to talk. Dean practically screamed in your face. “HOW COULD YOU?! Y/N, how could you let some douchebag touch you. How could you let it go so far? How could you stay the night?” His face and voice had changed from rage to sadness. His eyes were so sad it made the tears you had been trying to hold back fall freely. He was so hurt and it was your fault.

“Dean. I..I never would have done it sober. I was so lonely and so sad and scared that you were going to die on a hunt and that I would never see you again. I drank way too much to drown it all out and it just happened. I don’t even remember the encounter. I will never forgive myself but I need to know if we can get past this. If we can’t, then there’s no sense in dragging this out.”

Dean had started crying too and he looked up at the ceiling as if he was looking for some kind of direction from God. In a soft voice he said, “I don’t know if I can get past this Y/N. I don’t know if I will be able to trust you again.” Your heart broke at his words and you let out a long sigh. “What if we go back to what we were before? I know it won’t be easy..but what if we just work on being friends again? Maybe we can work past this over time.” Dean nodded and hope filled your chest for the first time in a long time.

It took close to a year for the wounds to begin healing. You never had any more sexual contact after that night and it was months before Dean hugged you. Your heart fluttered when he did and quietly you had thought to yourself that it was worth the wait. You made an effort to keep the bunker stocked with his favorite things like beer, whiskey, and a wide array of pies that you would bake for him. You started small at first, watching TV and movies or cooking dinner together. After a while you would go on supply runs together and eventually, you were even invited to go on a hunt. You were not allowed to fight or do anything you had no training or experience in but it felt so good to be included. You felt like you were a part of the team and that had started to mend your broken heart. You and Dean had started talking about more than just work. Without either of you saying it, it had felt like he was starting to forgive you. You blushed thinking about the few times where you had caught Dean checking you out; and vice-versa. You still felt the guilt from cheating, that would never really go away, but life was moving on and you knew that you and Dean had a chance of getting past it. Deep down you knew you would be together again and you would be stronger than you were before.

Tags:

@akshi8278 @wellfuckmyexistence @spnkinkbingo

#dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst #sam winchester #spn #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural angst #supernatural fluff #spnkinkbingo

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rainecreatesstuff · 4 years

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LAMP Soulmate AU Bulletfic thing

Word Count: 2569

TW: Mentions and implications of abuse, mentions of anxiety, descriptions of panic attacks, mentions and implications of death + illness

They’re all connected in different ways

Virgil is connected to Patton through that thing where marks on your soulmate’s skin appear of yours too

Roman through a thing where on your eleventh birthday at 11:11pm a name will pop into your head and wow its your soulmate’s

And Logan through the string thing

Roman is connected to Patton through a timer on his wrist

And Logan through a tattoo-like mark on your wrist that says your soulmate’s first words to you

Logan and Patton are connected through a soulmark (A tattoo or raised pattern on your skin that is also on your soulmate)

Patton is blind

so in this au different soulmarkers develop at different ages

So when V’s little he’s super excited to meet his sm, bc his parents are soulmates and everything he’s seen abt them is so sweet and exciting!

He turns six and doesn’t develop a timer, which is what he was hoping for

But that’s ok! There are tons of other soulmarkers!

And then he doesn’t develop a soulmark when he’s seven

Or a sentence on his wrist when he’s eight

And he can see colours

So he’s starting to get nervous

And hey! Mom’s sick, and in the hospital, and she’s just not doing too swell

But then when he turns nine, a beautiful red string has been tied around his ring finger when he wakes up!

And wow! Mom look, I have a soulmate! Just like you and daddy!

And then a few months later he’s doing his homework at the kitchen table and the string goes limp before shriveling up and turning black

The doctors have no explanation, and V’s anxiety has really started to kick in

Mom doesn’t seem to be getting better either

So when he turns ten, he is fully aware that this is probably his last chance to develop a soulmarker

He writes on his forearm the night before his birthday

It says “Hey, I’m V! I guess we’re soulmates?”

When he wakes up there’s nothing new

Which is fine! Because that means his sm is probably in the same time zone as him!

But then he keeps waiting and

Nothing

Nothing for a week.

Eventually his dad convinces him to wash it off

Then on his eleventh birthday he knows how uncommon a soulname connection is, but he needs to try

So it’s 11:10 and he’s sitting at his desk with a marker ready to write it down and then-

Roman Prince

Roman prince? What do you mean Roman prince? That’s not a name! What the hell?!

So he’s really sad and anxious and stuff because he doesn’t have a soulmate and, yknow, that’s kinda upsetting for him

And hey, your mom really isn’t doing too well, we have to visit her after school, okay?

At first Virgil doesn’t understand why mom’s being so dramatic or why she keeps telling him she loves him

Then it hits him

And now he’s sobbing and hugging her and shaking and he can’t breathe he can’t breathe he can’t breathe

Fun fact! Turns out this is a regular thing and he has really bad anxiety.

And mom has been put in a medically induced coma

So a year later dad decides to pull the plug

Virgil’s anxiety has gotten really bad

He’s just not in a good place

High school goes by without much happening

Now he’s going to university! How exciting and stressful!

Roman, too, was entranced by the idea of soulmates. His parents aren’t soulmates, but they encourage his excitement about them!

And when he turns six, he develops a timer on his wrist! Score! What a romantic way to meet the love of your life!

Or friend of your life

His moms are so excited for him! They get him new paints and take him out to dinner to celebrate.

And then he wakes up on his eighth birthday to words on his right wrist

It says “If you could stop talking, it would be vastly appreciated.”

He’s a little pissed

His moms take him to the doctor bc “wtf why does he have TWO soulmarkers?!”

The answer is that he has two soulmates

It’s uncommon, but possible

So while he is ecstatic and ready to parade his soulmarkers around the school, his moms are a little less happy and a little more worried

They may have made the suggestion that he wears long sleeves most days, those ones that he hates because they will not roll up

But he did what they asked because they’re his moms, and he loves them very much

And then a few years later on his birthday he’s typing up a short story for school

It’s due the next day so he’s rushing through it a little bit

It’s still amazing

But anyways, he’s writing, and he suddenly just gets the name “Virgil Miller” stuck in his head

He doesn’t think anything of it bc he’s writing and that’s normal

He ends up naming the main character Virgil

Logan grows up in a bit of a run-down part of town

His Mami and Dad are soulmates (he doesn’t think they should be)

They fight a lot, and sometimes Dad’ll hurt Mami, especially at night when they think he’s asleep

And he’s heard Mami on the phone with his Tia, talking about court cases? And laws, and soulmates?

Needless to say, he isn’t all too enamoured with the idea of soulmates

When he’s seven he gets a soulmark, some bumps over his heart, which is a little distressing

He’s never met this person, but he’s supposed to spend his whole life with them?

He’s very scared that his soulmate will be like Dad

And then he develops the words “Bold of you to assume I can stop talking” on his right wrist

And then a string when he’s nine.

He doesn’t tell his parents about any of them. “Soulless” people existed, and he knew his Mami was hoping he was one of them.

And then later that year Mami sits him down and tells him that she’s going to live with his Tia until she can find her own apartment, and that she and Dad aren’t together anymore

Logan cries for a while, and tells her about all the things he’s heard, and the bruises he’s seen, and begs to go with her

Mami says she was hoping he would

His Dad finds out the day before they leave and he hits Logan

Multiple times

And when his Mami steps in, Dad scowls and yells and stomps away and Mami picks Logan up and they run to the car and leave

When they get to his Tia’s he hides in the guest bedroom they said is his and he takes a pair of scissors and

Snip snip, he’s 33% more “soulless”

He steals Mami’s concealer and puts it on his wrist everyday to cover the words there

The only one he doesn’t cover is the soulmark on his chest, which he almost never sees because of his shirt

Whenever anyone asks, he just tells them he’s soulless

He tries not to get too close to people, but he usually fails and so he has a very small, very tight friend group

Oh also he’s a grade ahead of his year

Patton’s family is very well off

He’s the oldest of four brothers

He’s trans, but his family is v supportive and helped him transition as soon as they found out

His service dog’s name is Cookie and she’s a golden retriever

He’s had her since he was eleven, and he loves her very much

Because he’s blind there��s certain things he didn’t know about growing up

For example, nobody told him about soulmates until he was nine

Which really explains the weird ticking he hears every once in a while, as well as the strange, tiny bumps on his chest (which spell out “Loved” in Braille)

He doesn’t think about it too often, but he’d be lying if the idea didn’t entrance him

He didn’t think he’d ever meet his soulmates, though, and if he did, he wasn’t sure they’d want the responsibility of a blind soulmate

On the day he turns ten, there’s this little tickling on his forearm, like butterflies gently taking off on him

He doesn’t really think anything of it, though

Despite being blind, Patton is super capable

He can’t cook by himself, but if he’s supervised he does a really good job. He’s the most prepared for “real life” out of his siblings, which is strange, considering he’s the oldest

He goes to public school, where most kids are really nice (sometimes antagonistically nice), but there were also some rude kids

“You don’t really need that walking stick, you’ve got a dog, and we need it to play our game!”

The amount of times he’s had to explain that no you dumbass I do still need the stick is ridiculous

But he keeps a smile on his face and forges through it

And then in grade eleven Roman’s studying in the hallway when he sees some kid being bullied

Well, not bullied, but definitely teased. Something was wrong, anyways

He’s been on edge all day because his timer keeps going down

But he’s not really thinking about it rn

So he goes over and gets the idiots to leave and

Holy hell did heaven drop an angel? They must have, because look at this boy with his golden hair and tanned skin and freckles and

Beep beep motherfucker. It’s soulmate o’clock

And Roman is just so happy

“H-hey, I’m Roman!” “Oh, hi, I’m Patton! Did... did your timer go off?” “Uh yeah! It did!”

And Patton

Just grins so wide and there’s tears, and he leaps up and hugs Roman so tight

And Roman is so freaking happy!!!! He asks Patton for his contact because duh and Pat’s like

“Uhhh well I can’t text”

“Why?”

“..... I’m blind?” “OHHHHHHH”

So they figure they can talk over the phone because Patton does have a phone for calling

So they have a cute first date and they fall in love and everything’s good and dandy and Roman’s going to college but Patton’s found this real nifty job that just so happens to be right next to Roman’s college so they move in together and Patton knows about Roman’s other sm and Roman knows about Patton’s other sm

And Roman’s in a lecture now

And he didn’t really notice but he’s been muttering

And he’s just kinda sitting there when he hears it from the guy next to him

So he looks up and here’s this ethereal looking dude with gorgeous brown eyes and dark hair and

“Bold of you to assume I can stop talking.”

He curses every known god for making his first words to his soulmate be a meme

They excuse themselves from class because holy shit

And Logan introduces himself shakily

And Roman asks for his number

And they go on a date where Roman tells him about Patton and Logan mentions having a soulmark over his heart

Logan is really hesitant to join their relationship bc he was hoping he would never meet his soulmates

So they don’t put a label on it right away

But they go on a few dates and hang out a bunch and Logan realizes that he actually really, really likes these guys and he doesn’t really want to live the rest of his life without them

So he talks to them and tells them about some of the stuff that happened when he was a kid

Roman and Patton are horrified but they hug him and promise that they will never lay a finger on him if he asks them not to

And Logan just has a moment of “These guys love me. Like actually love me. And want me to be happy. And I think I feel the same?”

So on their next date Logan asks both of them to be his boyfriends and obviously they say yes

And basically they’re just all really in love

They move into a bigger apartment together at the beginning of year two

So then they’re all cuddling one day when Logan tells them about his string

And so the other two are like “oh shit is there another???”

And Roman says that on his eleventh birthday he just suddenly had this name pop into his head but he just assumed he’d wanted the name for a character so

And Patton says that after getting his soulmark AND a timer he didn’t think to check for anything else

So they’re all kinda like well whoops let’s hope we still meet them!

And Patton’s at his job one day when this guy walks in and he’s one of the new employees

Pat’s got his seeing eye doggo with him but the vest is off cuz they’re both on break

And so V’s like “oh cool dog can I pet him?”

Bc usually he would never just go up and ask but he literally can’t stop himself because here’s this adorable dude in front of him and the universe is screeching at him to say hi

And Pat hears his voice and immediately falls in love

“Oh, yea sure! She’s my eye dog, but she’s on break so it’s all good!”

And V meets Pat and his dog

And they end up exchanging numbers because they are coworkers and well

Yknow

So a couple days later, after him and Patton have been talking a lot, Pat invites him over

So V goes over and meets Roman and Logan

And he hears Roman’s name and

Holy shit

And of course Roman is also freaking out because the name Virgil just really hasn’t left his head since he thought of it

So yknow

Logan’s a little unsure, but then the two get talking about astronomy and he doesn’t care if they’re not soulmates he is going to marry this guy

And they all get really close really fast

And then one day Virgil offhandedly mentions the string thing

And Logan freezes and just

Shows V his right ring finger, where they can both see this rotting string that’s still tied tight around it and

Fuck V can’t breathe are you kidding? right now?

So they help ground him, and Logan explains everything

And Roman tells him what’s up

But they’re not really sure how he’s connected to Patton but then he just

Grabs a marker and draws a heart on his hand and

It’s right there on Patton’s hand holy s h i t

So they take Virgil on a date and stuff and they make it official

And Virgil’s a little nervous bc like those three have been together for a while now and he feels like he’s intruding

But he talks to Logan and L understands bc Roman and Patton had been dating for 2+ years when he found them

He promises that V is not intruding and that they all really love him

And Virgil just full on starts crying because he hasn’t felt this loved since before his mom died and he loves his bfs so much

They find their bfs and just cuddle all night

Virgil moves in with the rest of them at the beginning of third year

They get their happily ever after for the most part

Hopefully y’all liked this! I think I’ll be posting more writing on here, bc I have TONS of wips stacked up in a google docs and I’d like to get them out of there lmao

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buckybarnabus · 3 years

Text

Sleep Well, Bucky

Summary: Bucky has been stressed. Dawn just wants to help.

Warnings: No warnings, unless you’re not into comfort cuddles.

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: Hello! This is my first part in a series involving Bucky Barnes and OFC Dawn. I can’t for the life of me write a whole multi-chaptered story, so this will be a series of one shots in no particular order that may or may not develop into something coherent over time. You can also read on AO3 if you want. Thank you!

Dawn knew Bucky was stressed. It was obvious in the tight line of his jaw, the stiffness in his shoulders. The dark circles under his hard eyes. She knew he was having nightmares, and she didn’t know how to help. She hated just having to sit there and watch him suffer. She knew comfort in soft touches, hugs, things Bucky wouldn’t allow himself to have, but clearly craved. She saw it in his face when she and Sam would touch each other freely, whether it be a joking caress of the cheek, a squeeze of the hand, a friendly pat to the thigh.

Bucky had his boundaries and reservations, Dawn knew that. She respected it. She only ever touched him with a single finger if she had to. But she couldn’t deal with him making himself miserable, shying away from any sort of comfort and stalking around hotel rooms, stewing in his own self deprecation.

She couldn’t take it anymore. Bucky needed someone to care for him, especially if he wouldn’t do it himself. So she came up with a plan.

She had left him in the hotel room watching tv, and came back a while later with a plastic bag in hand. He looked from her to the bag she held as she shut the door.

“What’s that?” he asked, curious.

“I have an idea,” she said brightly, placing the bag on the nearest counter and moving toward him. She leaned against the edge of the bed next to him.

“What’s your idea?” he asked, humoring her. She reached a hand out to him and pinched a strand of his hair between her fingers, tugging it lightly. He almost looked amused.

“I think we should cut your hair,” she said. He furrowed his brows and tilted his head at her, faux offense on his face.

“You think my hair looks that bad, huh?” he asked, half a grin on his lips. Dawn chuckled and rolled her eyes.

“No, not at all. Quite the opposite, really,” she said. Then her voice softened and she looked away from him as she spoke again. “I just... I think it might be good for you. Kind of like letting go of... things.” Bucky didn’t say anything, just watched her with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Only if you want to,” she rushed, awkward and suddenly nervous, taking his silence as a bad sign. “I like it long, really. Not that my opinion matters or anything, it’s your head after all. I think it would look good either way, but I just-“

“Okay,” he interrupted her anxious rambling, voice quiet, but enough to cut her off. Her eyes flicked back to his face.

“Okay?” she echoed. He grinned at her, a small thing, just barely tugging at the corners of his lips. He nodded once.

“Okay.”

They posted up in the bathroom with the supplies Dawn had just bought. She had him sit on a low stool facing the mirror, and she set to work wetting his hair and running a brush through it, careful not to touch him too long. She wanted to ease him into it, work at a pace that might be comfortable for him.

“You’re not going to completely butcher me, are you?” he asked, looking at her reflection in the mirror. She gave him a look.

“Have a little faith in me, Bucky,” she said with a grin. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“Fine, fine,” he said, heaving a dramatic sigh. Dawn paused as she finished brushing his hair, casting him a thoughtful glance in the mirror. He rose a brow in question, but she didn’t say anything. She was afraid if she talked, she’d ruin it all. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and found her music app, finding a playlist she thought would work. She hit the play button and kept the volume low. Didn’t look at him as she placed the phone on the counter, afraid to see what his expression looked like. Music from well before her time flowed through the little speakers, and she got back to work, ignoring the heat in her cheeks as she felt his gaze on her.

She clipped away at his hair for a while, finding a basic shape to play off of before plugging in the electric shears, and they were quiet as the music played. She was brave enough to chance a glance in the mirror every once in a while, enough to watch his face slowly soften as he listened to the music. There was a far away look on his face as she cut, like he was lost in thought.

She let him stay in his head while she went to work with the electric shears, and she was done faster than she thought she would be, lost in her own head. Dawn set the shears down on the counter and almost hesitated before settling her fingers in the now short locks. She did a broad, gentle sweep through the strands with her fingertips, clearing away any stray bits left behind. It didn’t escape her notice as Bucky took in an aborted breath as she ran her fingers over his scalp. She paused for a very brief moment, quickly taking in his reaction. He didn’t seem angry. Just uncertain, stiff.

Hesitantly, meaningfully, she dragged her fingers back through his hair, using her nails to scratch lightly at his scalp. His eyes shut and his brows furrowed. He tried to keep the shuddered breath to himself.

“Does it look okay?” Dawn asked, soft. She pulled her fingers from his hair in order to let him focus. He opened his eyes and looked into the mirror, turning his head this way and that in consideration. She held her breath while he looked at his reflection. His eyes met hers.

“It looks great. Thank you, Dawn,” he said, a soft smile on his face as he touched his fingers to the short locks. She looked at his hair in the mirror, and lifted her hands back to his head, pulling her fingers back through slowly, contemplating her work, as the music continued to pump softy in the background, the smooth croon of a woman filling the air.

“I like it,” she said honestly, a bright smile on her face. Dawn would miss the long hair, of course, but she did like it short as well. He made it work. She pulled away from him after a moment, setting to work cleaning up the mess of hair littering the floor. After she finished cleaning up her mess, she left Bucky to shower and rid himself of any irritating shavings left behind. He didn’t fight against her touch, and Dawn didn’t know what to do with that. He seemed uneasy, that much was certain, but not unwelcoming. Dawn supposed that was as good a sign as any she was going to get. She settled in to watch tv, turning out all the lights aside from the lamp on Bucky’s bedside table. She kept the volume low. The air felt too fragile to break with something loud.

Dawn carefully kept her eyes glued to the tv once Bucky stepped out of the bathroom. She listened to him shuffle quietly around the room as he got settled in for bed, then took her own turn. She took her time under the stream, trying to rid herself of the residual nerves that pulsed through her the entire time she cut his hair.

When Dawn was done, she emerged from the bathroom warm and clean, comfortable in sweatpants and an old t shirt. It may have been a shirt that belonged to Bucky at one point, but they’d shared enough hotel rooms and baggage space that she couldn’t really be sure anymore. He was watching tv, absently petting at his head, eyes heavy. But the same tight line in his jaw remained, the same stiffness in his shoulders. He didn’t want to sleep. Not when a nightmare might be right around the corner.

Dawn was taken over by nerves all over again as she hesitated in the bathroom doorway. But looking at him strengthened her resolve and she padded quietly over to his bed, making brief eye contact as she shut off the lamp and hopped up next to him, pulling the covers over her legs. She turned her gaze to the television and ignored the fact that she could feel him watching her. If she pretended hard enough that it was a normal, every day thing, then maybe it wouldn’t be the scariest thing she’d ever done.

After a while, she shuffled down in the covers to meet him, turning on her side and propping her head up in the palm of her hand. When she looked at him, he was already watching her.

“You should sleep, Buck,” she said, almost whispered. She almost regretted shifting her position. They were so close, suddenly. It felt so personal. Intimate.

“I will,” he said, matching her tone. She grinned, small.

“No you won’t,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

He sighed, a rueful smile on his lips. “I’m fine, Donnie,” he tried. Her heart fluttered just a little at the nickname, but she ignored it. There were more important matters at hand. She wasn’t convinced.

They watched each other for a heavy moment, almost a battle of wills, then Dawn slowly, carefully reached a hand out, stroking feather light fingers down his cheek. His brows pinched together, a frown pulling at his lips.

“Dawn,” he whispered on a sigh. He sounded so tired, so sad. She let him pull away from her touch.

“Bucky,” she echoed. He didn’t meet her gaze, instead he stared somewhere over her shoulder. He swallowed thickly. She tried again, slow and careful, lifting her hand to brush her fingers through his hair. He shut his eyes, brows still pinched. It wasn’t a grimace, it didn’t seem like any dislike of her touch. He was probably just too afraid to look at her.

Dawn shut her own eyes and lazily ran her fingers through his short locks for a while, occasionally scratching at his scalp and the back of his neck. She made no move to do anything else. If this was all the comfort she was allowed to provide, then she would be okay with that. It was still progress. It was still Bucky letting himself have a human moment.

Dawn did it long enough that she was close to drifting off to sleep, but an unexpected feather light pressure on her waist woke her right back up. She was careful not to react for fear of ruining whatever Bucky was letting himself have. His hand rested on her waist, warm and barely there, for a long moment. The television suddenly seemed so loud. She opened her eyes to chance a glance at him and found his eyes already on her face. He looked absolutely terrified. The air between them was so fragile, Dawn was almost afraid to breathe wrong. She just watched him, took in the raw emotion playing on his face, and she could only imagine how hard it must have been for him to show her so much.

He curled his fingers a little tighter, then. Shuffled a little closer. Slowly, carefully, he moved in, and she moved with him. Their feet touched. She hooked her ankle between his. Eventually he had his arm looped fully around her waist, holding her body snug against his, using her as an anchor. She slipped her hand from the nape of his neck to tuck neatly around his side, nuzzling her nose into his neck as he buried his own in her hair.

They were quiet. His breaths were shaky. She could hear his pulse beating wildly, and she simply listened as it slowed over time. Eventually his breathing smoothed.

They stayed like that, just holding onto each other for a while, each of them hyper aware of any tiny movement. Then, with one more wave of movement, Bucky pulled her in tighter against him, held on like he was starving for such a simple thing. He let out a heavy sigh, Dawn wondering if she imagined how relieved the breath sounded. He dragged his hand up her back and buried his fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck, curled them into the strands. Sighed into her hair one more time, more gentle, more content. He scratched his fingers against her scalp purposefully to catch her attention.

“Goodnight, Donnie,” he whispered into her hair.

Her own feelings aside, Dawn was happy to just give him that. Something to hold onto. Something to make him feel a little more human. He deserved that.

“Sleep well, Bucky.”

#bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky x original female character #winter soldier #bucky needs a hug #buckybarnabus writes

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make-it-mavis · 3 years

Text

Homesick (Entry #35)

(cw: discussion of addiction) ----------

01/23/88 4:02 PM

Hey.

So. I’d admitted that I was an addict.

Which was, as I’d realize in the days after, not just a sentence you could say and be over with. It was an admission to so many things, many of which I’d been trying so hard not to believe over the course of my addiction. That it really was that bad. That it wouldn’t just go away with time. That I could not stop of my own free will. That I couldn’t fix myself alone.

That counselling really was my one chance at beating this thing for good.

Which, in itself, was a scary thought. If it was my last chance, I could not screw it up. And I’ve always loved screwing things up. It’s so, so important that I get this thing right, and it’s been really hard at points to picture myself doing that. Even as early as the second step, I felt doomed to fail.

The second step, of course, is Hope.

Hope that a higher power could save us from ourselves.

Yeah. It’s not that I don’t believe in the Devs. I do, unfortunately. It’s just that I’ve always believed they’re fickle dickwads who don’t give a crit about any of us. They’ve only ever been a source of pain for me. Honestly, I outright hate the Devs. So being faced with this idea that if I didn’t find faith, I could not complete this extremely important counselling, I was understandably more than a little stressed. I didn’t get why that had to be part of the deal. So many of the steps are built around this faith. It’s integral. I had to beg the question: Do only Devout deserve saving?

Fix-it’s response to my spirited rants was to suggest that it did not necessarily have to be the Devs, just a higher power. Something bigger than him or me, some deeper meaning to life, something I truly believed in. Like he, himself, while he is a practicing Devout, places more importance on ‘duty’ than anything else. ‘Duty’ informs his actions, ‘duty’ colors his lens of the world. I probably don’t need to tell you the jokes I made out of that. He didn’t seem to get it.

That widened things up, I’ll give him that. But it widened them too much. I could either pick the Devs, or pull something out of my ass and make a religion out of it. The latter sounds like something I’d only enjoy doing while high, for cuss’ sake. I’ve never been too big on philosophies in general. Partying hard had always been enough of a philosophy for me, but then I went and partied too damn hard and wound up the mess that I was. A junkie with no rhyme or reason.

Step two was looking even more depressing than expected.

On the night before my third session, Fix-it brought out a surprise that he thought might help me relax or cheer up or what have you. He laid down a tarp, a few blank canvases, and gave me an assortment of tubes of paint and scraggly, used brushes. I was a little taken aback. I so rarely use normal, boring, non-magical paint. I was worried that using it would just make me feel worse about my brush still being on the fritz, but I was drawn to the naked canvases anyway. Fix-it sat at the table and watched as if he had put down food for a feral raccoon and wanted to give it space. Having him watch may have bothered me at one point in time, but he had done a genuinely pretty cool thing for me. I’d deal.

And let’s be real -- I am a feral raccoon.

It didn’t take me long to decide what to paint. The one thing that had been consistently on my mind: Revenge on Worluk. All in various gruesome ways. In one painting, I’d ripped her throat out with my teeth. In another, I crushed her with a giant fly swatter. The last one, which was my favorite, showed her dismembered and built into a chair that I was sitting on.

Fix-it said they were all beautiful, and they’d look so good on the shelf in the broom closet. I argued for a place in the kitchen, but no, he insisted that they’d look better in the closet.

As I worked, as I painted the gnarly details on that bug’s face, I couldn’t help but wonder what she had done for step two. What was her higher power? What could she possibly turn to for peace after what she had done to me? The Devs? Duty? Or are there just some things you can never make peace with? That is, if she even felt remorse for it at all. I couldn’t imagine a remorseful pixel in her body.

And then that led to me thinking, of course… What about me? What could ever really bring me peace? I knew for sure that I felt remorse. I definitely wished I had not gone down the path I did over the course of… well, ever since you left. I’d seen and done some really awful things. There was Tapper, there was that poor sap I threatened for a hit of GC, there was… everyone else I’d come in contact with, really. My actions had taken a darker turn than I’d ever gone down before, even in my past pits of depression. My mind was so haunted by then, I didn’t recognize it anymore. Relentless, nightmarish thoughts plagued me all the time. Trauma, guilt, hopelessness, existential questions without answers. Your death, and the blame I placed on myself. My Dev-given, meaningless lot in life. Hatred from what felt like the entire arcade over a crime I didn’t commit, enough to nearly get me killed. All this weighed down on me. It had trapped me. And the only escape I could ever see was in buffs. The thing that I felt the most fondness for, the thing that I had come to long for above all else, was a mind-numbing high. Buffs could save me from my mind, even if they ended up killing it in the process.

That was my argument in favor of the addiction.

I had to find something, anything, that would bring a counter-argument strong enough to hold up. My guilt for hurting Tapper, while it was very deep and genuine, would only have so many legs to stand on. I even remembered my weird, buff-induced conversation with the river, wherein I realized I owed my own survival to you… and to myself. That had been a groundbreaking epiphany at the time. But it was not enough. I knew that. Because I remembered what it felt like to be in the thick of my addiction, and I remembered how no one around me mattered anymore. Nothing I owed to anyone else would make a difference to me if I relapsed and fell back into that state of mind. Neither would anything I owed myself, certainly, not with my self-preservation offline. And in the face of all those facts... I was scared.

I didn’t feel safe. I felt like the floor beneath me could have broken at any moment, and I’d lose control again. I needed something to hold onto that could actually bear my weight, because I had become quite heavily burdened. But I had no idea what that thing could be.

It was so frustrating, nearly enough to bring me to tears as I painted. I kept remembering what Wreck-it told me when we fought, about how I didn’t actually want to get better, how I just wanted to keep using everybody, so there was no use helping me. That in particular stuck with me. I didn’t understand why at first. Maybe that was true when he said it. But it wasn’t anymore.

I didn’t want to be miserable anymore. I didn’t want to be a plague on everyone around me, not really. I wanted to get better. But the means to do so felt like a cruel puzzle I couldn’t solve. Like a battle I had already lost.

Fix-it went to bed, but I stayed up into the night painting and pondering. Even after I was done, I took one of the paintings and began slowly and idly covering it with lazy patches of color. I did some serious soul-searching that night. I tried to harness whatever it was that drove me as a living being. Whatever it was, it must have been old. Older than my knowledge of the Devs, even. I tried to cast my mind back to my very first days and remember what inspired me then, before the Devs’ gospel tainted my life. But I couldn’t come up with anything substantial. Fun, mischief, laughter, all very important things, but no solid foundations for philosophies. Philosophies that could keep me away from substances, mind you.

It seemed hopeless. But I tried to relax with my painting. I took deep breaths and let the color flow, creating no image in particular. Just beautiful, abstract motions that felt self-soothing in the cleanest way I had attempted in a while. It really did feel great to have access to a full spectrum of color again, even if it was real, physical paint and not magical like mine. I so deeply missed having full functionality of my tools. All that time without it, I’d felt like I was hobbling around with a missing limb. I need my color. It’s just embedded in who I am. Always has been.

My very first coherent thoughts after being plugged in were about the color pulsing inside my code.

I froze.

Was that it?

Could that even work?

The force bigger than me, the deeper meaning to life, the one thing that had been with me since the very first second I remember entering consciousness… well, that was color. I see it and feel it in all things, and always have. It inspires me. It does guide my actions, in a sense.

But color? It felt too obvious, almost. It was one of the most important things in the world to me. But could I really pull a philosophy out of it?

I felt cold, but not in a bad way -- more like a refreshing breeze on a sweaty day. But that breeze also felt hundreds of miles high, with me suspended on this one new idea that I had to strengthen before it could break. What if there was something even bigger than the Devs? Something that ignored games, roles, class, age, gender? Something that, if I played my cards right, could free me from the life I felt trapped in?

Something strong enough to weaponize against the Devs’ presence in my mind?

Even kill it for good?

I remember bursting into Fix-it’s room and scaring the bits out of him. I leapt onto his bed and stained the blanket with my paint-splattered hands.

“Color,” I said firmly.

Fix-it stammered, reaching to turn on the lamp. “Wha-- Wha-- What’s-- Mavy?”

“Color,” I repeated. “That’s my higher power. I think. The thing I believe in? I think it might be color.”

He was quiet for a second, his hands raised cautiously, his mouth open in hesitation to speak. “Mavy-- Mavy, settle down, now--” he said, not really registering my relatively controlled demeanor after my very aggressive entrance.

“Don’t tell me to settle down,” I told him. For some reason, I was shaking with adrenaline. I was so unsure. I wanted to be right, but I barely felt like I had an idea.

“Oh, it’s-- It’s just that last time you started goin’ on about color, you went and stabbed your hand with a fork, so, I just wanna make sure you’re not gonna--”

“Oh...” I said, the memories blowing up in my brain. “The kaleidoscope. In my dreams-- trips-- whatever-- the kaleidoscope… Me becoming color…”

I held my sticky wet glove to my forehead, my mind connecting more and more wires. Every thought and memory coming into my head was telling me that I was right. I stared past Fix-it, feeling my heart pound. “That can’t be a coincidence. There’s no way. That all has to mean something, right?”

“C-Color?”

“Yes!” I jabbed him in the shoulder, at which he groaned in pain. “That’s it! My stupid higher power homework. I think I’ve got it!”

I heard him give vague and confused murmurs of encouragement as he sank back down to the pillows. “That’s great, Mavy, that’s wonderful… I’m so… so happy for you...” And he was out like a light, even with the light still on.

Whatever, I thought. Maybe he didn’t understand, but I… sort of did. That was what mattered.

The following night, though, I’d have to put that thought to the test. I went into my third session of counselling with a nervous sweat. I would have to explain my revelation to the group in words, when so much of it was just… how I felt. I’d been running through my speech again and again up until the moment I sat in that circle of chairs, and as I did, I began to doubt myself more and more. I don’t know anything about making solid philosophies, or if what I made could even be considered a philosophy. Maybe my idea was actually garbage, and they wouldn’t accept it. It was so vague. I hadn’t even worked out all the kinks in it yet. I just hoped I would understand it more as I said it out loud.

Stage fright has never been a problem for me. I’m a born performer. But this was not a performance. This was real life. I had trouble opening up like that even to you, and now here I was in a room with sprites I barely knew, including one who tried to kill me. I definitely didn’t like the idea of showing vulnerability in front of her. I didn’t want her to know anything about me.

But I knew the drill. Just deal with it.

When the turns eventually came to me, I introduced myself as an addict, and told everyone that I’d done some work on step two. There were a couple claps and nods.

“Except,” I told them, “I, uh, didn’t pick the Devs as my higher power. That’s not against the rules, is it?”

“No, no, of course not,” Clyde told me. “We have a few others here who also picked their own.”

“Charity,” someone said, waving slightly.

Another piped in, “Honor.”

Then, to my shock, the raspy voice of Worluk chimed in, with just about the most unexpected word I could think of.

“Friendship.”

Yeah. That threw me off. I tried not to raise my eyebrows so obviously at her, but I had to glance at least. I found her still not quite looking my way, but without a hint of shame in her body language. Who the hell was this chick?

I told myself to shake it off. The spotlight was on me, and I had no time to be tripped up by murderous mosquitoes.

“What about you?” Clyde asked me. “Would you like to share?”

I swallowed. Now or never. “Sure. I picked, uh… color.”

Clyde’s featureless brows raised a bit, making my stomach clench in embarrassment. “Really? Well, that’s one we haven’t heard of before. What does color mean to you, Mavis?”

I looked out at the expectant faces. Except Worluk, who was still not looking, which I tried not to read into and just carry on. She could not ruin this for me. I had to be strong and confident, like I know I am. All I had to do was say a few words. It seemed like a simple thing to do, but I felt so damn seen, and I didn’t like it. I saw some impatient frowns from sprites who still didn’t want me there, I saw some eyes full of curiosity over what I’d say, but the rest just looked… neutral. Like I was just another part of the process. Like it didn’t matter to them either way if I fumbled or stuck the landing.

Normally, I’d hate that. But in this context? It seemed to take so much pressure off. It wasn’t about them. It was my step to take, and they were just witnesses to it.

So I took a deep breath, and I just started talking.

“Color is… everything. I mean, it’s what I do, but it’s also who I am. Y’know, inside. Color is the first thing I remember from the moment I was plugged in. I don’t just see it, I feel it. And it’s… I mean, it’s in everything. Almost all of our games have color. That’s all we are at the end of the day, just blotches of color behind screens, and that’s… that’s kind of awesome, when you think about it. It’s something everyone has in common, no matter what game or role you’re programmed into. That makes things a bit simpler, y’know, to think of yourself not as a Good Guy or a Bad Guy or an Easter Egg, you’re just… a living splash of color.”

I wasn’t sure if I was actually making any sense, but to my surprise, I saw quite a few receptive faces even leaning in a bit to listen. They were intrigued, which was encouraging. So I took it a step further.

“As far as philosophies or things to live by, well… It just got me thinkin’ like... I’m an artist. And artists know that every color is useful. Any color can be mixed, or painted over, in any shade, in any shape. And usually…it takes a lot of different colors and shades to make a beautiful painting. So when you’ve been using the same color again and again, just monochrome, or even analogous, like I have… you’re not gonna be happy. There are so many things I’ve believed, so many things that I’ve thought to be absolute truths that have led me to take buffs. Like… I’ve never been into the whole Easter Egg thing. And I thought buffs were the only thing that could save me from that. But… maybe they’re not. Color, to me, feels like…”

I sighed, trying to pull the words out of myself. “...Flexibility. Possibility. An open mind, I guess. A new color is like a new way of thinking. And... there’s always another color. There’s always another way. And… y’know, it’s probably high time I started acting like it.”

There was silence for a moment.

But then I saw smiles, and I heard claps, even some small words of encouragement. They were congratulating me and thanking me for sharing. Even some sprites that had given me standoffish looks before were giving me grudging nods.

I… did it. I did it right.

I could hardly believe it. I felt like I’d just spilled out some of my ugliest, most confusing guts, but they loved it.

I wanted to run. I wanted to scream. It was too heavy. I was too vulnerable.

But all I could do was… grin.

“Mavis,” Clyde said, “thank you so much for sharing. That’s just fantastic to hear. You’re gonna do great things here -- and remember that even when you stumble, it’s that faith of yours that’s going to lift you back up again. You’re going to have to hold onto it from here on out. Don’t forget that.”

“Yeah,” I sighed so hard, it made me dizzy. “Yeah, of course.”

There was a bit more discussion, and the meeting carried on as usual, as if I hadn’t just done something incredible (for me, anyway). But I had a feeling I was going to have to get used to that. Bending myself in unnatural ways to reach this lofty goal of sobriety, and then carrying on as if everything was normal.

Because that was going to be the new normal, after all.

And my first night in that new normal, I tried to find ways to embody my colorful philosophy in whatever small way I could. I looked around at everyone in the circle, and I asked myself to examine the colors that each of them made me feel, beyond what I could see. Specifically Worluk, the one who had been giving me so much trouble, making me so much more nervous than I already was.

To me, she felt… like a toxic yellow. Barely touched with green. Just bright, garish, nauseating and impossible to ignore. While everyone else just blended into each other’s vague, muted tones. It became very apparent just how much I had been ignoring the rest of the group and honing in on her.

Surely, there was something I could do about that.

I wasn’t sure how effective it would be, but I dared to challenge myself with this: If I could not mute Worluk’s color in my mind, maybe I could at least let the rest of the group grow brighter.

#fanfiction #fanfic #wreck it ralph #fix it felix #make it mavis #original character #homesick

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rosedavid · 5 years

Note

Tyrus + 85

thank you! :)

85. “It doesn’t bother me.”

...

Tonight is TJ and Cyrus’s first sleepover ever, and to Cyrus it’s a momentous occasion. The first sleepover of a friendship is a celebration. In fact, to this day Cyrus clearly remembers his first sleepover with Buffy and Andi. It was a huge ordeal for all of them. Before, it was just recess during school and playdates after, but staying overnight? It signified a turning point in their friendship, the point when they morphed from school friends to best friends.

Although it may not hold just an important meaning to most people now that they’re older, it still does in the back of Cyrus’s mind. After all, even though TJ somehow wanted to become his friend, their friendship is new enough that Cyrus worries any little thing he does wrong will put TJ off. Therefore, this sleepover has to be perfect.

Everything is going according to plan so far. TJ came over (dressed in basketball shorts and a sweatshirt that he insists are his pajamas), and the two of them watched a funny movie while tearing into a load of snacks. Now, they’re finishing up another round of ping pong (which Cyrus is dominating at).

“How!” TJ sighs in frustration as yet another shot gets past him. He throws his hand up, dropping his paddle on the carpet. “I give up!”

“You can’t give up now!” Cyrus encourages. “You’re doing so much better.”

“If by better you mean I finally scored more than one point against you, then I guess that would be correct. How are you so good at this?”

Figuring the game is over, Cyrus puts his own paddle down on the table. “Lots of practice, I suppose. I didn’t think I was that good.”

“Trust me, you’re good. I would not want to get in a ping pong tournament against you.”

They both start laughing, collapsing on the bean bag chairs that Cyrus has in his basement. They’re probably more than is warranted given the situation, however, both of them are getting exhausted, not having realized that it’s already past midnight. Although TJ is used to staying up late, the endless activities Cyrus had planned wore him out. Cyrus, on the other hand, is usually in bed by 10 o’clock, so being able to stay up this late is extraordinary for him.

A giant yawn from Cyrus interrupts their joking. Immediately, TJ follows with another yawn. As is goes, they keep yawning in a never ending circle. Soon, their joking turns into mild mannered chatting until neither of them can keep their eyes open. At that point, they decide it’s better to head off to bed.

Walking up the stairs sleepily, Cyrus is ready to crawl into bed completely satisfied with the sleepover. Suddenly, though, he notices a familiar light shining from his otherwise pitch black room. He squeaks, feeling much more awake than before as he realizes the problem at hand.

“You okay?” TJ yawns, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Y-yeah,” Cyrus stammers, “Fine. Bathroom’s across the hall for you to change!”

TJ notices Cyrus’s odd behavior, but he blames it on tiredness on the part of them both. He simply nods, taking his bag into the bathroom and closing it shut behind him. With the sound of the door shutting, Cyrus breathes in a deep sigh of relief as he races toward his room, flips the light switch on, and unplugs his dinosaur night light from the wall. He then shoves the nightlight in his desk drawer, heart thumping.

To Andi and Buffy, it’s no secret that he sleeps with a nightlight. Although they tease him about it, he knows they don’t mind. They’ve come to accept it, but who knows what TJ might think. After all, kids their age don’t sleep with a nightlight. Cyrus shouldn’t need one, especially a dinosaur one. But there’s just something about the darkness at night that scares him while he’s trying to fall asleep. He hasn’t ever slept without his nightlight, but it’s looking like tonight will be it. It shouldn’t be a big deal, anymore. After all, TJ will be there with him, and it’s just the dark.

“Hey,” TJ greets, entering the room slowly. “You ready for bed?”

“Let me just brush my teeth.”

...

Unplugging the nightlight was NOT a good idea. Cyrus realizes this only a few minutes after getting into bed and turning off his lamp. He can’t see anything in his room, not even his own hands right beneath his face. Not to mention, his eyes can’t seem to get adjusted to anything. He feels so trapped and enclosed that he can hardly stand it let alone relax enough to fall asleep.

He tosses and turns, trying not to make any noise as to bother TJ, but he’s moving around so often that TJ picks up on it. From his spot on the ground, he whispers, “Are you alright?”

Maybe it’s the fear or the lack of sleep catching up to him, but Cyrus finally admits, “No, I can’t...I can’t sleep like this.”

TJ sits up quickly and turns the lamp on. Relief floods through Cyrus, and he sits up as well, rubbing at his eyes.

“Sorry,” TJ apologizes. “Am I annoying you?”

“What, no. That’s not it at all.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

Cyrus bites his lip, pulling the blankets up closer to his chest. “I just...it’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Cyrus, you don’t need to be embarrassed. I’m not going to judge you,” TJ promises.

Finally giving in, Cyrus twists his body out of bed, stepping gingerly around TJ’s makeshift bed on the floor beside him. He then goes back toward his desk drawer to grab the stored nightlight. He stares at it for a second before grasping it and slamming the drawer shut.

“I just, I can’t sleep without my nightlight,” Cyrus starts rambling, hoping that if he doesn’t stop talking, TJ won’t have a chance to comment. “And I know it’s stupid and childish, but I just hate it when it’s completely dark. I’m sorry if it bothers you, if it does then I can probably just do without it--”

“It doesn’t bother me.”

The next words on Cyrus’s lips die out. “Wait, what?”

“It doesn’t bother me,” TJ repeats, standing up himself to meet Cyrus over by his desk. He takes the nightlight from Cyrus, looking it over with a fond smile.

“Are you sure? It’s kind of bright.”

“I’m sure,” TJ says, amused. He goes over to plug it in beside the door. “It’s ok, really. You don’t need to be embarrassed over something like this. I was worried you were going to say that you wet the bed or something.”

Cyrus chuckles, “Luckily, I stopped doing that when I was four. Wait, was that too much information? I’m sorry, I’m still new at this.”

“Don’t worry about it, Underdog. Just try to get some sleep.”

They climb back into their respective beds, and Cyrus flips the lamp back off. The nightlight lightens the room to the tolerable level Cyrus is used to, and he immediately feels better. In fact, he can feel the weariness falling back over him in just seconds. Before he can fully fall asleep, though, TJ pipes up from the floor.

“I wet my bed until I was seven. Beat that.”

Cyrus giggles, hugging his pillow closer to his chest. “Thanks, TJ.”

“Anytime.”

#tyrus #tyrus fic #andi mack #andi mack fanfic #tyrus fanfic #cyrus goodman #tj kippen #prompts #fanfiction #answered #asks #tj x cyrus #cyrus x tj #fluff #tyrus fanfiction #andi mack fanfiction

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oneletteredwondered · 5 years

Text

Chairs

In the mind palace living room, each side has a chair that is catered to them and their needs. Though in some ways, chair is a loose term.

Warnings: uh, swearing probably, growing up nonsense, sympathetic deceit scattered throughout, who needs timelines

Pairings: none but hey if you see it go for it

–

When a side first comes to be in the mindscape, after their body formation and center in Thomas’s mind is created, they are tasked with imagining their own room. It’s one of the first things they do, in general and for themselves. It’s the first glimpse into their own personality within the trait they harbor. It helps establish themselves as a part of Thomas.

Once they are an established part of him, heard, seen, and accepted, they get a chair. This chair manifests itself in front of a screen in the main part of the mindpalace. The screen is a link to the outside world and what Thomas sees, but also acts as a thing to watch movies on and even the occasional memory scan. It’s a sign that Thomas values their input.

Patton is the first to get a chair. He is the first side and the first one Thomas knows. He is Feelings back then in Thomas’s youth, and his chair is a beanbag, bright blue and never goes flat. He watches Thomas’s life through the screen with love in his soul and happiness on his face.

As he grows, his sense of right and wrong grows with him. There is one other side with him now and even though Curiosity doesn’t share his human name just yet, Patton feels wrong having a chair when they don’t. So his chair morphs to his needs and becomes bigger. A bigger comfier bean bag chair.

“Why?” Curiosity asks him when Patton pulls the other trait to sit next to him. They fall into the bean bag with an ‘oof’. Patton giggles as they end up snuggling slightly.

“Because! Me having a spot and you not having a spot doesn’t feel right! So now we both have a spot!” Patton tells them. Curiosity gets flustered, a small tinge of pink on their ears slowly getting red.

“Oh,” They say, and sit next to Patton with their arms touching as days go by. It’s not until Thomas starts school does Curiosity get his own ‘chair’. It’s a small carpet square, dark blue in color, with a white number 1. It’s just big enough for Curiosity to sit in, and he does so happily, watching the screen with renewed vigor as Thomas learns. When the lessons turns from numbers to letters, an A appears in place of the 1. Patton watches from his bean bag with a smile on his face.

“You can shrink your bag back to fit you,” Curiosity says to him, watching as his carpet square changes again, this time an ‘L’ on top. Patton shakes his head hard.

“What if you want to sit next to me again? I’ll just keep it big, just in case,” Patton says plainly and Curiosity spits his name out in confusion to the kindness. Patton beams, and does so every time Logan decides to sit next to him instead of in his own chair, for whatever reason.

Other sides do appear, but never for long, they never get chairs. The house changes so Patton thinks they have rooms, but he’s never seen their doors. Some of them stick around while others skirt away as quick as possible to wherever. Patton does his best to make friends with them, it only works sometimes.

One of the sides he makes friends with is Caution, their over sized purple sweater swallows their body whole. It takes some subtle and soft convincing but they do sit next to Patton in his bean bag, fiddling with his sleeves. They speak quietly of things to look out for, the lamp table in the hallway, and things to avoid, the electric plugs. Logan writes these things down in a small pad of paper. It makes Caution smile when he does

Caution pops up often but doesn’t stick around long, just says his thing and leaves. Patton always manages to get a hug from them before they go.

Another side he manages to make friends with is a lot more outspoken. They banter with him about right and wrong, even Logan smiles a little when he joins in. Though Patton feels a little off when Pranks talks about how keeping people in the dark isn’t too bad, he likes Prank’s mismatched eyes and when they elongate their ‘s’s.

But Pranks and Caution don’t get chairs, and Patton never finds the door to their rooms.

Patton keeps his beanbag for a long while, it’s a good sharing spot, but Logan’s chair changes very much over the years, morphing into the kind of chair Thomas sits in for school every year. It’s just a year after Logan’s first chair change into an actual little chair, does a new chair actually appear.

It’s.. grand to say the least. It’s a small throne of bark and leaves, but there’s glowing lights that float around it like fireflies. The side that comes with it is just as wild, dressed in leaves that remind Patton of the boy who never grows up. Imagination stands on his throne, proclaiming leadership with his wooden sword. Though Logan twists up his nose, Patton claps along and is willing to follow in the games.

“It’s called follow the leader!” Imagination would tell them all sorts of things to do and Patton would giggle. Logan had problems when the games made no sense, which a lot of them did. It caused a few problems between the two of them, Logan claiming the games didn’t have any rules, Imagination claiming that’s what made them fun.

Sometimes though, and those are the times when Patton stepped in to calm them down, the two would get along and the games they would come up with, the intensity in which they came up with them, would blow Patton away with how amazing they were. He would be silly to not play along.

When Pranks pops up, he and Imagination do wild things, but Patton feels odd when they tease each other a little too much. Imagination gets frustrated when Pranks gets a little too mean and puts out his own insults. Pranks hisses and disappears then, still, Imagination is the first person he seeks out when he comes back.

Caution hides behind Patton when he shows up. Imagination is loud and bold and nothing like Caution is. There is something charming however, about the way Imagination claims that he would protect them all and the little way Caution smiles at the declaration. But Caution doesn’t stick around either.

His visits, and Pranks as well, get few and far between as Thomas grows. So it’s just Patton, Logan, and him.

“My name is Roman, but you may call me sir, or leader, or king, if you like,” Imagination tells them one day. Patton laughs some more and Logan snorts.

“I like Roman,” He says. It may have been intended as an insult in some way, but both Logan and Roman are smiling, so it’s okay. They turn their smiles to Patton and in a burst of childish energy, tackle him into the bean bag. Maybe, just maybe, Patton makes it grow a bit bigger for all three of them to sit in comfortably snuggled together.

Roman’s chair goes through phases as well, the biggest one when Thomas is older and realizes two things. One: that he can’t fly, and two: he is growing up. His throne of tree bark and leaves is nothing but a husk of itself as Roman’s lost boy outfit doesn’t fit him as well anymore. It tears Roman up inside to know he has to change, but Logan and Patton are there for him.

“You can do the more big people things now,” Logan tells him.

“You can help more people,” Patton tells him too.

“You can fight the monsters in the closet.” A new voice tells him as well. They turn then. The new side stands there awkwardly, wrapped in a purple blanket that covers half his face. He shakes in his spot and he doesn’t have a chair.

“The monsters in the closet?” Logan asks curiously. Patton shrugs, but Roman gets angry.

“The monsters in the closet aren’t scary!” He shouts. He knows those monsters, thought of them. The new side flinches.

“Yes they are!” He screams back and the mind palace creaks with something unknown. The new side flinches again, hiding his face more in his blanket. Thomas has recently become scared of new things, discovering spiders and the dark more in depth than he ever has before, taking the shirts Roman thought looked like a creature, and making it something terrible.

“I’m not scared of monsters.” Roman says defiantly and stalks off towards his room. He doesn’t reappear for a few days. The new side stands in the corners, hiding in their blanket. It reminds Patton of Caution when he first appeared but this side has a room. The door is black and sits right next to Logan’s.

The new side and Roman don’t agree on what is scary versus what isn’t. Logan tries to understand their concerns but doesn’t get when they are seemingly afraid of nothing. Patton speaks soft with him and tries to get him to smile and relax. Only a few times do they join Patton on his beanbag, curling into a ball and keeping himself from touching anybody.

“What’s your name?” Patton asks him one night, both of them curled a little closer than normal, a cartoon playing in front of their eyes. The side glances at Patton and mumbles into their hands.

“’m Fear now,” They say. Patton smiles softly and holds their hand through the night. He’s unsure what to do when they wake up with a nightmare crawling in their system. They scream and cry and Patton wishes he could do something. He’s relieved when Roman does. He barrels down from his room, sword drawn, and slides to a stop in front of Fear with a look of determination in his face.

“Where is it? Where is it? I’ll fight it off! Where is it?” He boasts. Fear just clings to himself and Patton can only hug him and hope it helps. Roman spins around and growls. He turns on the lights and moves about the room.

“Nothing under Logan’s chair,” He announces, getting up from a kneeling position in front of the chair in question. Fear peeks up then, watching Roman go to his throne.

“Nothing under my chair,” He announces as well. He huffs and goes to their kitchen, cabinets opening and closing with little care.

“Nothing hiding in here either,” Roman huffs out with a hand on his hip. His sword once wood, is now a shiny metal. Patton eyes it carefully about how dangerous it is, but Roman seems confident with it.

“There’s no monster to fight,” In a way, Roman sounds disappointed, but Fear has stopped shaking from the dream, staring at Roman with a bit of wonder in their eyes.

“Thank you,” He chokes out. Roman looks down at him and scoffs.

“It’s nothing. I’m.. supposed to fight for things, I said I would protect you all.” Roman says bringing up an old promise. Patton smiles up at him, proud at the growing he’s doing. Roman stays with them that night, sword in one hand, holding Fear’s hand in the other. In a sleepy haze Fear calls Roman a knight, or even a prince. Roman hides his smile in his hand. It’s a tense truce, and one that doesn’t last.

Roman’s and Fear’s way of thinking clash. They get in fights and arguments that both Logan and Patton try to stop, but they can only do so much. Roman wants Thomas to run and jump and leap off buildings. Fear wants Thomas to stay home and be safe in bed. They do not get along. Roman has stopped going to Fear when he screams from the nightmares.

Logan’s chair now has a desktop to it, and a place for books underneath, his trait name as changed to Learning. Patton’s beanbag has form now, looking more and more like a couch every passing day, and big enough for all of them. Roman, now Daydreams, with his new found role of fighting for things and his flair for dramatics, his chair has a gold tint to it, no longer made of leaves but of polished wood. Fear still doesn’t have a chair.

It’s around the time Thomas is in middle school that Fear goes to his room, and doesn’t come out. Patton calls him for food and Logan does so because he’s asked. Roman does once but he receives no response either. Eventually Fear’s door goes grey and disappears all together, but they can still feel his presence when Thomas is scared, a creaking of something unknown in the house.

No other side appears for a long time. No visits from any of the others either.

High school has Patton’s chair becoming a big, comfy couch, reminiscent of an old TV show. Perfect for friends and family and thankfully not as big. Logan and Roman join him on it sometimes to watch Thomas in his day, or even the occasional movie. Logan’s chair still looks like Thomas’s school desks. Every so often Patton will try to convince him to have something more practical, or soft.

“Not necessary, I can gain knowledge perfectly fine like this,” Logan would say and continue to write in a notebook, one of many he will go through.

Roman’s throne has grown more elaborate with his style. His old leaves have been traded out for a dashing suit of red and white. Sometimes Patton sees him in a crown and bows accordingly. Roman laughs but Patton thinks he appreciates the gestures.

With Thomas growing and knowing new things, becoming a more worldly person, Patton’s name has changed. He’s still Thomas’s feelings, but he knows better now. His sense of Morality has grown and Patton loves his new role. Logan praises him and Roman calls him a ‘compass for true love’. Patton isn’t sure what that means, but he likes it.

Roman has taken a new flair, belting out songs at every chance instead of thinking about them. His name changes again, this time to Theatrics. Thomas has taken a liking to theater and Roman throws himself into the ideas that it brings, the flair it has. Logan is off put, but he makes sure Thomas practices and Roman doesn’t get too carried away. There’s a certain something every time Thomas gets on stage however, that creaks the house with something unknown, before Roman lets loose.

It’s not until Thomas’s first panic attack that the word is used, and a new chair appears. Logan does his research, Roman gets bristled, and Patton, well, Patton is instantly curious about what kind of side would want just a plain wooden stool as a chair.

“It’s called anxiety, when a person feels like that,” Logan told them, eyeing the new chair curiously. It’s a plain three legged stool that looks like it could be found in a haunted house or an antique store. Roman sneers in annoyance.

“Thomas can get over that easily,” Roman says. Patton sighs.

“It happened once it’s likely to happen again, it doesn’t just go away,” Logan says tensely. Roman makes a face and Patton glares at them both. Hopefully this new side can help them out.

The new side doesn’t show right away. They stay locked in their room, their door right where Fear’s had disappeared years ago and somehow even more black. Patton can only wonder. Fortunately, or rather unfortunate if you ask Roman, he doesn’t have to wonder long.

“He doesn’t feel okay,” Patton whimpers, hands tense on his legs as he sits in the very middle of his couch.

“Why is he freaking out?” Roman hisses to Logan, leaning forward in his throne with his sword bouncing on his leg.

“I don’t know,” Logan hisses back, books open on his desk and hands in his hair.

“Maybe because being on stage to be judged by a bunch of people is scary,” A new voice says. They all jerk towards the new side, finally out of their room. They wear a black hoodie that covers half their face and their arms cover their chest. They slink into the now silent room, flop down on the wooden stool, and manage to pull their legs up underneath them to sit criss-cross.

They raise their hand and make a grabbing motion, and Thomas’s breathing gets caught in his throat. He’s backing away from the stage and turning to another actor looking to audition.

“I can’t do it,” Thomas says. It sets off a train reaction among the sides. Roman screaming about their chance, the new side screaming back about how bad it will go. It all feels vaguely familiar to Patton.

“This is for his dream of being in a big production and you’re here to ruin that!” Roman spits out.

“No, I’m here to save him from making a huge idiot of himself Princey!” The new side spits back. Suddenly Roman’s blinking dumbly with his mouth dropped open. Logan’s book as fallen out of his hands and to the floor. Patton carefully stands.

“Fear?” He quietly guesses. The new side snorts.

“Been there, done that, got insomnia from it. I’m Anxiety now,” They say and just as they came, they slink out of the living area and back to their room. Patton looks to the wooden stool. Fear never got a chair, but he’s different now, he’s stronger now.

But some things aren’t different. Like the way Roman and Anxiety clash. As Thomas continues to grow up, the two butt heads hard, never bothering to try and talk things through like Patton asks them to do, never looking it at from another perspective like Logan suggests. They fight and bicker and it puts strain on all of them.

Patton sits alone on his couch most days.

He wants to be friends with Anxiety, as much as he can at least, but Anxiety keeps to himself. He rarely talks and when he does it’s something mean and sarcastic. Patton isn’t sure what to do when Anxiety looks guilty for talking like that, but he knows it doesn’t feel right. So he keeps inviting him for dinners and breakfasts and even late night hot chocolate no matter what the other two say.

One day during Thomas’s later high school years Patton goes downstairs and hears Anxiety’s voice talking at length. He’s curious, but the person he’s talking to sets Patton on edge in a way he can’t describe to the point he stops dead on the stairs.

“I can’t just do that Secrets,” Anxiety says bitterly to the other side unaware of Patton’s presence. He’s sitting on his stool, hunched over and sounding very displeased. The other side scoffs and crosses their arms. They wear black like Anxiety does, but something a little more dapper with yellow suspenders and a fedora with yellow trim.

“Oh come on friend! It’s not hurting anybody if he keepsss it to himssself.” They hiss and Patton swallow hard at their words. There’s something familiar yet unnerving about their mismatched eyes.

“Someone is going to find out eventually and I’m not looking forward to the work load that comes with either option, so just shut up!” Anxiety’s voice goes deep, distorted, and the house creaks with something unknown as he stands. The other side, Secrets, goes wide eyed for a moment then glowers back at Anxiety.

“Ffffine.” Secrets sinks out then. Patton watches silently for a moment as Anxiety stumbles back to his stool and curls in on himself. The shadows in the room seem to grow. Patton takes the chance to go closer. He places a soft hand on Anxiety’s shoulder.

“What’s the matter kiddo?” He asks. Anxiety claws at his face but looks up at Patton with a pained expression.

“Thomas is gay,” He says quietly. Patton blinks down at him.

“Yes,” He says plainly back. Though he may not have ever used the word himself, Patton always felt more flutter at cute boys. He knows more than the others.

“What are we going to do?” Anxiety asks then and he looks so small, so scared, just a boy wrapped in a hoodie that’s too big for him with the world crushing down on his shoulders. Patton hums.

“Well,” He meanders and sits on his couch, the shadows creeping away from his presence. He pats the cushion next to him and though Anxiety audibly swallows he stands and joins Patton on the couch. All it takes is Patton opening his arms in a silent invitation for Anxiety to hide in his shirt.

“We’re going to be okay,” Patton says.

The entire mind palace is in turmoil for a while. Anxiety doesn’t mean to have as much influence as he does when the house creaks with that something unknown, but Patton sticks up for him as many times as it takes to make Roman stop blaming him for everything. And Patton is right, eventually, things go back to being okay. Hot chocolate at night becomes a lot less lonely with Anxiety joining him, if only sometimes.

Logan is enamored with college, his chair reminiscent of the lecture halls Thomas spends his days in. His name has changed too, to fit Thomas’s new thoughts and what he can do with them. Logic is very proud of his new trait title, and likes to prove it at length. Patton likes to hear him talk.

Roman has taken to acting more, thinking of new stories off new stories and getting lost in his own head. His theatrical nature surely hasn’t died down, and his throne of plush red cushions and golden trim on a white marble base proves that. Thomas’s Creativity has a shining spot, and Roman loves the light.

College is when Logan and Anxiety almost get along. It’s an uneasy thing, but they both work hard to make sure Thomas finishes his homework on time. Though there are times Patton has to drag away a fuming Logan from the endless spiral of ‘did we, did we not?’ that Anxiety can spur them into. Patton knows Anxiety feels guilty when that happens. Luckily, Logan forgives him.

Roman doesn’t talk much to the other side, though Anxiety avoids him too. Only once during a Disney movie did he see them get along, and that’s when Anxiety sang along quietly to the bad guy song. Roman started the song over and played it louder, singing along as well, so that Anxiety could sing louder too but still have his voice covered.

Patton likes Anxiety, is wary sometimes, but likes him all the same. There’s something in him that makes Patton think even with the new name, new chair, new weird double voice, that Anxiety is still just a scared little boy wrapped in a blanket. He gets glimpses of that when Roman enters a room too loudly and Anxiety jumps, or when someone accidentally touches him and his body recoils.

But there are times when Patton, who has found a love for jokes, makes a little funny, and Anxiety hides his mouth with a sleeve covered hand. There’s something more to his dark and scary demeanor. Patton wants that part of him to come out, for him to be comfortable showing that part of him.

Thomas gets thrown into a world of social media and making videos. Roman thrives in the attention and the ability to burst with creativity. Logan is a little on edge about the stability of it all, but likes looking up new information for Roman to use. The writing process is a joint effort for them both. Patton loves the motives and helps Roman put as much love into the work as they can.

It’s here that Roman gains his peace with Anxiety. It’s the editing process. Roman knows his vision, and although Anxiety takes overthinking to a new level, he’s there on his stool watching the video being cut down properly, picking it apart for the best bits and refusing to use things that make it look bad. With his input, Roman begrudgingly admits, the videos turn out better. It’s a tense truce once more. But Thomas is older, he understands the world more, and the truce stays.

“Why don’t you change your chair?” Patton asks Logan one day. It’s still shaped like the old college chairs Thomas used to sit in. Logan shrugs.

“I don’t see a reason too,” He says. Roman snorts and continues to paint his nails a bold red.

“Come on Poindexter, that can’t be good for you anymore,” Roman waves a newly painted fingers in the chair’s direction. Logan sighs.

“I shall consider it.” Luckily he does. Patton knows that chair couldn’t have been good for his back or easy for Logan to change. He knows Logan wishes Thomas would have a more stable job, or even took more stock in his college years. Changing his chair from the lecture hall days to something new is admitting that things are changing and maybe not the way he wishes for them to.

However, one day it’s an easy lounge chair. There’s still a desk top to it but closer to the side, perfect for putting a cup of coffee on, or even another book like Logan has now. Patton just smiles at him, proud as can be, and Logan buries his head deeper in his book at the affection. He’s proud of himself too.

Roman’s throne hasn’t changed much, and he still throws a leg over the armrest dramatically when he feels the need. Patton’s couch is big enough for them all, and now that Anxiety is more accepted, getting slowly more comfortable, he joins them.

“You can change your chair too ya know,” Roman says during a movie night. Anxiety laughs it off nervously, rubbing at his arms, giving his creaky wobbly stool an odd look.

“I don’t know, am I allowed to?” He asks. Patton giggles and Logan twists up his nose.

“Did someone say you can’t?” Anxiety flinches at that.

“No, not really I just. That’s all it’s ever been.” Patton doesn’t like the uneasy look in Anxiety’s eyes. He holds his hand tight as Anxiety tells them where his room disappeared to when he still went by Fear. The subconscious part of Thomas’s mind is a bit darker. It’s nothing too bad, but the other sides living there can be. Anxiety only got to come back because some part of Thomas accepted that he did have anxiety and it was there to stay. The others will have their chance once Thomas can admit his faults.

“All our chairs are like that,” He gestures to the wooden unsteady stool.

“I was told that’s all I had, it felt weird to change it,” He shrugs and Roman grumbles about rudeness.

“You can if you want to,” He says. Anxiety smiles at him and shares his human name for the first time.

Soon those other sides do begin to show up again knowing Thomas is more willing to accept them. One by one and never for long, making appearances and leaving just as quick, just like they did when Thomas was younger, testing the waters. Virgil hisses at them a lot.

One side hisses back and for a moment Virgil actually stops short. It’s tense as they just stare at each other but they both snort out a laugh and though none of them could feel it, something in the house settles.

It takes a couple weeks for the change to happen, and no body makes a big deal of it, for that Virgil is thankful. He sits curled up in his new chair, legs still pulled underneath him, but the cushions to his rocking chair are plush purple and the chair creaks softly when he moves back and forth. There’s a smile on his face now as he watches the screen with them.

The side that hisses back shows up the most and sticks around longer than the others, gently hissing, as gentle as hissing can be, at Virgil as if they could talk in such a language. Logan took to try and detail their conversation once, he got a headache afterwords and the two other sides snickering into their hands.

Patton gets a weird feeling from them, a little something off. It’s not until he hears Virgil and this side whispering soft apologies and talking about a disagreement over Thomas’s safety they had so long ago does he know who they are. He feels much better knowing Virgil and Secrets have gotten past their spat. It’s not until the side is laying on the compliments to Roman does Patton know who they used to be. Pranks has certainly changed a lot. He and Virgil spend a lot of time together, finding comfort in the other from where they used to live. His appearance has changed for something dramatic as has his trait name.

Deceit makes them uneasy in some ways, but his debates with Logan are something to witness, only comparable to when Deceit and Roman get on the stage together being as wild as they once were. He seems to fit in despite his mismatched eyes and darker way of looking at things.

It’s why none of them are surprised when a new chair appears, somewhat behind Logan’s and Patton’s. Patton simply drags his fingers across his couch to make it grow just a bit longer for them all to sit on. The new chair is big enough for two people if they squished, or for one if they want stretch room. It’s made of wood with a thick black cushion and reminds them of a futon that doubles as a bed, but smaller. The lamp up top confuses them the most though Logan’s guess is it’s for reading.

It’s not until Dee and Virgil come downstairs, groggy from a night staying up talking about the truth of mankind that they all find out. Vigil flops to his rocking chair, not ready to deal with people, and Dee eyes the chair suspiciously. He taps it with his fist, presses on the cushions to check for softness, and runs his fingers over the wood. When he turns on the lamp, his eyes widen.

He sinks out, and appears back just as quick with a large black and yellow blanket. He curls himself in it and curls onto the chair, and under the heat lamp happily hissing as he does.

Patton giggles to himself while Roman rolls his eyes fondly. Logan takes a notebook out of thin air and makes a quick note about snakes and heat. Patton serves them all breakfast, bringing Virgil’s and Dee’s to them with a quick ‘be careful not to spill’. They are all important to Thomas in some way, and now they all have a place to be.

#dlamp #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #all sanders #fic #polyamsanders #i guess #sort of #my post

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treehousepublishing · 5 years

Text

Multiply Me | Chapter 35 | Finale

Synopsis: Ella Sommers decides her biggest mission is also her last. Despite wanting to correct the Reestablishment’s mistakes, there are bigger things at stake now. Things not even her friends can know about.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading everyone! I really had a blast writing this - and it was supposed to be just a self-indulgent thing for myself, but I’m glad someone else could enjoy it. Final reminder that I only post Multiply Me in this account and my actual writeblr is @beanenigma. Also, I might post some other warnette stories in the universe of this fanfic, so keep an eye on my AO3 account! Bye-bye for now!

AO3 link | First Chapter | Index

AARON

Our front yard has never looked so busy. Not that there are that many people here. Today is family only.

In a very sunny evening, everyone is sitting around the tables Connor and I put together from old wood and barrels. We had even gone to extremes of hanging up colorful little paper flags Ella and Pyp made. I don’t have a lot of experience with parties, but this is all very festive.

Pyp is showing her Unky around, pulling him by the hand, making sure everyone knows it’s his birthday - despite them having come all this way especially for the occasion. She made him a paper crown to make sure no one could miss him in the small crowd.

Connor is showing up his speed by running next to some cans to make them fall. Kenji and Nazeera seem pretty impressed - or at least, they’re pretending very well.

I barely notice Kent until he pops a can next to me. I turn to him, accepting his offer. These are not my preferred beverages, but I could make an effort in the name of brotherhood.

“Thanks for the party, man”, he says, leaning against the porch next to me.

“I’m just the muscle behind the operation. It was all Connor’s idea.”

“So I’ve heard”, we both smile when Connor takes a bow after dropping one more tower of cans. Everyone around claps. In that moment, I can almost feel the invisible bond the two of us share. Despite it being the ghost of a man none of us wanted to remember… It could be something else. “You have something really precious here.”

I nod. “I know.”

“I hope I can have something half this nice one day.”

“Well, it’s not as easy as I make it seem.” I try to make a joke. I’m unable to tell if I failed or not.

He hardly registers my comment, taking a big gulp. His eyes are one his wife, who has Pyp in her arms. My daughter is presenting her uncle to her (even though he is her brother-in-law and they live in the same house).

“We’re expecting”, he confesses, lowering his voice like he’s telling me war secrets. I blink, surprised, though I’m not sure why.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you”, Kent says, but it sounds like a mere reflex.

We both sip on our cans. I frown at the taste and decide to not do it anymore. I feel like he’s waiting for me to say something. So I tell him what I wish someone had told me when we first got to this house, alone and afraid.

“I’m going to save you some time and tell you that you are not our father. And neither am I.” Despite my hunch, he is surprised that I said something. Or, rather, he is surprised by what I said. His shoulders tense up, but his eyes remain on me, rigid. I look at Connor, who’s asking for help to put his cans back in position. “You’ll be afraid, sure. It’s terrifying. Every day. When will I go back to my old instincts? How long until I become just like him? But that’s not all. You’ll be scared for her, and you’ll be scared for the baby. Labor beats any battle I’ve been in. And if you think that’s terrible, wait until you get the little thing in your hands and it needs you for everything…”

My eyes travel to Pyp, who transports to the table when Ella tells her she can’t have cake yet. I watch with a smile as Ella tries to save the cake and Sonya tries to stop the toddler to stomp on the rest of the food, while Ian laughs at the whole scene.

“You’ll learn to be scared of things you never imagined. Water, furniture corners, electric plugs. You’ll be so scared of making afraid. But at the end of the day… Children need love. They don’t need a specific kind of parent. They need their parent.”

Adam seems shook. I touch his shoulder, allowing myself to smile at him.

“Also, good luck making kids as cute as mine.”

I see a glint of fun in his eyes as I walk away.

When the last car disappears in the horizon, Pyp is already fast asleep in my arms. Finding out she had a second Unky and soon a cousin was too much for her. I give her to Ella so she can take her to bed. Connor helps me clean up. He does most of the work with the plates, cups and cutlery - despite me telling him not to run with breakables and/or knives. He doesn’t listen to me, as per usual. I take down the tables, but leave the colorful flags. There’s nothing wrong with keeping the colors up a little longer.

When we are done, I take Connor upstairs. He’s saying he’s not tired mid-yawn. I set up a shower for him and he tells me he can do it by himself. I wait out in the hallway. Ella closes the door to Pyp’s room.

“She was so tired she didn’t even ask to sleep with us…” Ella wraps her arms around my waist. I hug her shoulders, touching my chin to the top of her head.

“She did have a lot of fun.”

“That she did”, Ella nods, closing her own eyes. “I’m glad we did this.”

“Me too.”

She raises her face to me and smiles. I can’t help but smile back. I kiss her briefly and her eyes flutter closed. She lets out a satisfied sigh.

“You know what this whole thing made me realise?”

“Hm?”

“I don’t want to go back. Not really. We can keep in touch and visit and they can come a any time… But I would never give up what we built here.”

I nod.

“Me either, love.” I touch her face, smiling. “I love you. I love you every day and every night. And even a day without you and the kids was torture.”

Ella holds my hand and kisses my palm.

“Let me make it up to you?”

I look back at the bathroom door.

“If I throw some toys at him, he’ll be entertained for a couple of hours.”

Ella laughs and shakes her head, opening the doors and rushing Connor to finish up. I watch from the door was she wraps him up in a towel and carries him to his room. He’s barely awake when she puts him in pajamas, but he still asks us to hang around a little longer.

I tuck him in and kiss his forehead. Ella kisses it too. Connor smiles at her and at me and yawns, closing his eyes. Safe. Warm. Secure. Loved. All I’d always dream to be as a child. He falls asleep, knowing he’ll wake up tomorrow and have another bright day.

I take Ella’s hand. She smiles at me and we stand up carefully. We leave Connor’s bedside lamp on just in case he needs it. But he doesn’t. He knows where to find us.

tag list: @welcometothespeaknowworldtour @zarleybookworm @mariamuses

#defy me spoilers #shatter me fanfiction #tahereh mafi #warnette #aaronella

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phantomofsilence · 5 years

Text

Title : Just Married

Warning : Curse words, violence . Personalised fic , requested.

Request

Basically Winter soldier/avenger Bucky falls in love with one of the richest business men in the world spoiled daughter (me) duh 😂 , who was destined for a more socialite match, such as slick family friend(name of your choosing) they still get married against the wishes her friends and family and go to Europe for their honeymoon. Unfortunately for them, her parents send her ex-boyfriend (name of your choosing) to break up the happy marriage.Although they're some scenes from the movie i want them to be included if you don't mind?

Author’s Note : It was done for a while but tumblr wouldn’t let me post it. This fic is based on a movie Just Married, i hope you like it ! As always gifs are not mine, they are all of Google.

Sitting at the airport waiting for their flight Mara leaned her head on Bucky’s shoulder and allowed her mind to flash back from now to the moment they met. James Buchanan Barnes was a working-class man and Mara upper-class woman, they met when James accidentally hit Mara with a football. It seemed like from the very start the world was against them, Mara’s family opposed them claiming James was not the right man for Mara but despite it in few short months they got married.

“Passports please.”

Both James and Mara took out their passports and gave them to the man working at the customs control. ” Are you leaving with any fruit or vegetables over 10000 dollars?”

Smirking up at the man Mara replied in a serious tone.” No. No, but my husband does have two pounds of hash hidden in his rectum.”

That joke resulted in James having a full body check or as he put it when he was finally allowed to board limping ‘the first sex that he had on his honeymoon was with a man named Santino’ which made Mara chuckle.

Thinking back Mara knew she wasn’t being fully honest with James, as she didn’t tell James that she slept with Mark Prentiss, a childhood friend and her family’s friend, after she and James had started dating, but she wasn’t the only one with a secret, James didn’t tell Mara that he accidentally killed her dog.

They flue to Europe for their honeymoon, and even attempted to consummate their marriage by joining the mile high club, but failed rather publicly. When they arrived at their classy hotel at the foot of the Alps they found that Mark had sent them a bottle of cognac “with love”, while James’s friend Sam had sent them a Thunderstruck A-200 sex toy.

Stupidly James has tried to force the toy’s American plug into the European outlet and managed to shut down the entire village’s electricity. After a heated argument with the hotel owner James and Mara had to leave the hotel and pay a large bill to repair the power.

As they were trying to find another hotel they crashed their undersized car into a snowbank, and got stuck until daylight and once again were unable to consummate their marriage. Fortunately they make their way to Venice, and stay at a pansion recommended by Mark’s father. The pansion turns out to be a wreck, but they tried to make the best of it but decide to check out when a cockroach crawls over James when they tried to have sex.

Thank’s to Mara’s father’s financial help they manage to secure a far better Venetian hotel. After checking in Mara and James decide to go and explore but after a short period of time James got bored with it and left Mara, so he could get to a bar and watch sports. On her way to the hotel Mara runs into Mark, who is staying at their hotel on business.

Upon returning to her room she initiated a conversation with James in which he revealed that he accidentally killed her dog, and she revealed she slept with Mark. After the confession both of them storm out of the hotel and each go their way. James went back to the bar, where he met an American tourist Wendy, and Mara went sightseeing, where Mark followed her.

In the bar Wendy flirts and dances with James, who after he finds out that she wants to have sex with him escapes through a bathroom window. He returns to the hotel, only to learn from the maître d’ that Mara has gone out with Mark for the evening. James in his state decided to return to the bar, where Wendy joins him again. After a while James finds himself in his hotel room with a half naked Wendy who upon entering took her entire top of, as she tried to have sex with him James blurted out that he is married and is on his honeymoon, which prompts the girl to leave.

On the other side of the city Mara got drunk so Mark takes her back to the hotel, and kisses her at the entrance, after which she slaps him and reminds him that she’s on her honeymoon but all James sees from the balcony is a kiss but not the slap.

“You slut!” James yelled out as Mara entered their room.

“Excuse me?!”

“You let him put his tongue down your throat, i saw it out the window!” James threw a glass he was holding, breaking it on a wall. Keeping her voice as calm as possible Mara replied.” Did you see me slap him, then?”

“Ah, don’t give me that. Some part of you wants him. Just say it!”

“Fine,I’m not gonna lie anymore. Certain things would be easier given his background. And a small part of me thought that i wanted it once, a very small part.” As she said it Mara walked past by James as he continued talking.

”Why would you invite him on our honeymoon?”

“I didn’t invite him, i don’t know how he found us.” Mara said but James wasn’t pleased with her answer, thou she didn’t pay much attention to it as she saw a flash of red on a chair next to their bed.”Oh yeah, oh maybe it was magic. Peter is a warlock.”

She got closer and picked it up to inspect it. A woman’s bra. A red woman’s bra. She turned towards James still holding the bra. At the site of the bra James temper calmed, he gestured towards the bra and with his voice cracking said.

”That’s yours.” The audacity! Thought Mara as she scoffed and hit him with the bra.” Yeah, sure. It matches perfect with my call girl panties!”

“Okay, i met woman at a bar. Nothing happened.”

“You picked up a total stranger at a bar, brought her to back our honeymoon suit and took of her disgusting red bra!”

“Nothing happened, i swear.”

“No, no, no, the bra just jumped of her naked breasts.” Said Mara and threw the bra at him, and moved passed him towards the table.

“Mara…”

“You sit there and make me feel guilty of a kiss. A kiss i didn’t want in the first place!’ After those words the anger in Bucky returned.“Don’t tell me you didn’t want it.You wanted it. I could see from the balcony, you wanted it!”

Enraged without a thought Mara grabbed an object closest to her and threw it at James, the object happen to be a pretty large ashtray and it landed right on James’s face knocking him down to the ground. As it hit him, Mara grasped her face with her hands realizing what she did.

“I’m sorry.Oh my God.’’ She approached him and knelt next to him. “Son of a beatch! My scull is on fire!” As she went to access the damage a knock was heard. ” Who is it?”

“Room service.”

Mara rose from the floor and opened the door, On the other side was Mark,as soon as she saw him she tried to choose the door in his was telling him to leave, but he wouldn’t budge.” No, listen. I’m leaving, last chance. Come with me to Seattle.”

“Hello, Mark! So glad you could join us. Welcome to the honeymoon from hell.” James rose up from the ground and was holding a fire poker, As Mark saw the fire poker in James’s hands he hid behind Mara who spread out her hands protecting Mark.

” What are you doing, James?”

”I think it’s time for Mark and i to tango!” Using the fire poker James broke a lamp in front of him, Mara moved away from Mark towards the wall protecting herself from the glass shards.

“See you have no future with this lunatic!” Yelled out Mark glaring at James.

”Shut up, Mark! Buck, you’re acting like a crazy person!”

“Maybe it’s cuz i just got hit in a head with a ten pound ashtray!”

“I gotta warn you, Barnes. I studied karate with a Chinese grand master.”

“Yeah, well i hope he showed ya, how to put a fire poker out of your ass!”

“James. Put the poker down.” Mara gestured towards the poker, while Mark took that to his advantage, pushing Mara in front of James as he bolted out of the room, James following right behind.

As he descended down the stairs he ordered the receptionist to phone the police. As he reached the lobby James swung the fire poker repeatedly trying to hit Mark.

“You sat at our wedding! You heard us take our wows! You still had the nerve to show up on our honeymoon, and try to have sex with my wife!”

That fight was what led them to jail, still without consummating their marriage. It was Mark that bailed them out of jail, but the damage was already done, both James and Mara decided to return home alone. Right after they returned Mara moved out of their apartment and moved back to her parents home.

James was crushed by her choice, he loved his wife and wanted her back, so he made a decision to try, one last time to win back the woman he loves. After talking to his mother who encourages him to try, James attempted to see Mara on her family’s estate, his friend Sam decides to join him for support but even after he rammed his car into the gate remains unsuccessful. Once last time. If she doesn’t want me, than I’ll leave.

“Listen Yuan, Willie, whoever else is listening. You don’t want me to be with Mara and i can’t change that. In ten, twenty, forty years. i don’t know who we’re gonna be. I don’t know if I’m ever gonna be able to give her all of this.There are a million things that i don’t know. But there is one thing that i do. And that’s that i love Mara. And i am going to love her day in and day out for the rest of my life. Now will you please…please…open the gate so i can tell that to my wife.”

James brokenhearted with tears in his eyes slumps against the side of his car defeat. She doesn’t want me. It’s over. Just as it seemed that all hope is lost the gate opens and James takes off running. After hearing the speech Mara opened the gate herself, her father stared at her and all she said was that she loves him.

“Then go get him.” Her father said and Mara gave him a hug before taking of herself towards James, they both keep running until they meet outside of her house. They stopped and said hi to each other. Bucky was the first one to speak.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“I miss wreaking airplane bathrooms with you.”

“I miss sleeping with you inside a snowball.”

“Torching hotels in Europe.”

“I miss doing time in prison with you.”

“Do you wanna try to?”

“Definitely.”

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kiruuuuu · 5 years

Text

Oneshot in which Thermite, Bandit and Kapkan, uh, deal with the... unusual aftermath of a mission. (Rating T, supernatural shenanigans, ~1.5k words) - written for @r6shippingdelivery! 💗

It starts out entirely innocent.

Well, maybe not really since raiding a White Mask lab intended to research biochemical warfare is inherently not innocent at all, but the quiet week afterwards is – Thermite is recovering from a graze shot, Bandit broke a finger and Kapkan got stabbed, so they’re out of the mix and don’t have to worry about clean-up duty or chasing the terrorists over several continents. Instead, they laze around at base, throw popcorn at each other, gossip and waste time. Worrying about their teammates is second nature but it becomes significantly more bearable with the impromptu barbecues Thermite keeps initiating, the sips of vodka here and there which Kapkan provides and the innumerable activities Bandit thinks up to stave off boredom.

Still, Thermite wasn’t prepared to wake up one morning with the two operators sitting on the bed opposite him and staring into his soul. With a heartfelt curse, the American jolts upright, heart racing and mind already providing the worst case scenarios. “What happened? Did anyone die?”

Bandit softens a little (which is an unusual sight) and shakes his head. “No, everything’s fine. …Well, mostly.”

This doesn’t bode well. “What’s up? Why are you here?”

“Promise to not tell anyone and promise not to scream”, Kapkan demands quietly and Thermite nods straightaway. He’s always up for being let in on a secret and though he might not be the best one at keeping it when he’s loose and relaxed and drunk, he tries his best.

Before his eyes, Kapkan disappears.

Thermite screams.

When the blackness fades again, Bandit is holding him down with a look of concern and amusement. “That was about my reaction too”, he informs the still thrashing Thermite casually. “Only I didn’t throw pillows at him.”

Kapkan, now again fully visible, scoffs. “You threw a knife. As if I could be defeated by that.”

“What the fuck”, Thermite breathes and shakes the German off to rub at his face. “What the fuck, Maxim. Can you -”

Next to him, Bandit holds up his index fingers and turns them into fucking Tesla coils or something because suddenly, there’s lightning arcing from one to the other and the electricity makes Thermite’s arm hair stand up.

He screams again.

“The White Masks are fucking with things that should’ve been left unfucked”, Kapkan grumbles while Bandit struggles to calm down an agitated Thermite. “My guess is that our injuries allowed some shit in the air to react in our bodies.”

Wait.

“Wait”, says Thermite. “Are you saying -”

“Try it.” Bandit nods encouragingly. “It’s a bit like flexing a muscle in your temple. At first, it was really exhausting and hard to do, but we’ve already become better at it.”

Because he’s still too dumbstruck to second-guess his friends’ words, he obliges. There really is something, almost like a new limb or one he never felt like this before, and like Bandit said, it’s hard to isolate. He closes his eyes, focuses and tenses the new addition to his body, tries again and again -

And then the smoke alarm starts going nuts.

“Shit”, Kapkan mutters and defeatedly eyes the burning mattress next to him.

“We can’t let anyone know.” The disembodied voice follows the soft sound of footsteps around the workshop. Thermite is trying to burn HARRY SUX into the surface of one of the old tables, yet his control isn’t advanced enough and so the first three letters only end up spelling out GAY. Bandit is charging his phone and looking horrendously smug. “They’re gonna cart us off and treat us like zoo animals. So let’s keep it low, shall we?”

“I’m definitely telling my boys”, Bandit objects. “They’ll be dying of envy, Mark especially.”

“No. No telling. Do you want to end up dissected on some mad scientist’s table?”

“Shouldn’t we at least tell Six? In case the White Masks have injected themselves with this stuff and gone Hulk.”

Kapkan is silent for a moment and makes Thermite jump when he accidentally brushes against him. It’s still horribly uncanny. “All the material has been reviewed already. Doc would know if the formula to this… whatever it is was among the intel we recovered. You likely blew it up, Jordan.”

“From all we know, this doesn’t protect us against bullets anyway, so we’re good. As long as they don’t manage to use these abilities to put on a circus show so distracting we forget to do our jobs, I think we’ll be fine.” Bandit turns the overhead lamp into a strobe light which gets old after about four seconds.

“So that’s it? We just don’t let anyone know and never use this shit?” Thermite can’t believe it. He’s become a real life firebender and Kapkan is demoting him immediately.

“I mean – I never said we wouldn’t use it.”

The next week is the best of Thermite’s entire life so far.

He learns how to make crème brûlée purely so he can caramelise the sugar on top, constantly ignites Kapkan’s vodka shots and has no trouble heating up his food anymore. He develops the precision necessary to burn single words off a page and to turn up the heat until he can melt metal, does a few failed experiments trying to form glass and eventually makes his own out of sand and annoys both his friends by making cutlery unusable.

Kapkan figures out how to make other objects invisible and thus forces the other two to remember the exact layout and furniture of every room on base lest their toes suffer some more, and he causes them to sharpen their hearing if they don’t want to end up covered in yoghurt again. When he realises his invisible form isn’t bound to his normal physical shape but more bendable, they start smuggling him into public places in a bag and then watch other people’s confusion when they walk back out together. They also eat like kings after Kapkan wrestles a deer while invisible.

Bandit makes light switches and electric plugs obsolete, powers the coffee machine from his bed whenever he’s lazy and texts them to bring him a cup, fries his phone in a demonstration of how fast he can charge it and manages to type on a keyboard without using his fingers. He realises he can hotwire vehicles without messing with cables and has to be deterred from stealing an admittedly fetching Lamborghini they spot one day, but the highlight is him going outside during a thunderstorm, hands outstretched towards the heavens, disregarding the rain, and yelling against the thunder until lightning strikes him directly.

All three of them are in awe and horror.

“We can’t let anyone know”, Bandit reiterates and tries unsuccessfully to flatten his wild hair.

The next day, the others return. Making up excuses becomes second nature.

“I microwaved a grape earlier, that’s why it’s broken”, Kapkan lies in passing and gracefully accepts the bollocking which follows.

“I must’ve dropped a cigarette, that’s why it’s burnt”, Bandit lies casually and shrugs at the lecture he receives.

“I was watching a film, that’s what you must’ve heard”, Thermite lies easily and dismisses the concerns about a ghost on the base.

And then, a few days later, Thermite organises a barbecue, starts preparing everything outside while humming to himself, singing along to the small wireless and taking a sip of the beer Ash brought him from the States, and he’s content, relaxed, and unfocused. While lighting the coal, he juggles a little with a flame, makes it dance in the air and eventually spell out his name, and then someone gasps and the sound of something shattering echoes between the buildings. A single glance tells Thermite it wasn’t only the glasses Dokkaebi was carrying but also his dreams.

She’s white as a sheet.

“Neat magic trick, huh?”, he tries lamely.

Harry has his head in his hands.

“When were you planning to tell me?”, he wants to know quietly.

“Well”, says Kapkan. “You know”, says Bandit. “Actually”, says Thermite.

“Talk to Doc. Explain it to him. Get a thorough check-up. Report to Olivier, James, anyone who might have more information on this. And please, please don’t go out in public or blow anything up.”

It fades. As fun as it was, it’s a bit of a relief for everyone involved because it makes their lives that much easier. Doc can finally sleep again after researching himself silly, the worried glances from their friends and teammates stop and they don’t have to hold back anymore. That was the worst part: living in fear of accidentally causing harm. All three agree it’s for the better and go back to their usual routine, sighing in annoyance when they have to switch the television on manually, but going back is a lot easier.

And when Bandit sometimes smokes despite having forgotten his lighter, and when Kapkan’s phone has a suspiciously long battery life, and when Thermite knows a little too much about how Fuze’s date went, they still don’t tell anyone.

#rainbow six siege #thermite #bandit #kapkan #fanfic #oneshot #request #this had so much more potential but I didn't want these to be long #well oops #imagine how terrifying this must be for the others #they promise they're up to no good

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sweetboybucky · 6 years

Text

Pumpkin

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Word Count: 1700

Warnings: It’s all floof, y’all. It might kill you. Maybe a swear somewhere in there.

Summary: You come home with a fun little surprise for the boys.

A/N: This is my piece for Mimi’s Fall Into Marvel Challenge hosted by @captain-rogers-beard . My prompt was “carving jack o’ lanterns” and it turned into completely pointless fluff. There is basically no plot here, just happy stuff because nothing has changed and I am still a flower. This could be read as a sequel to Flowers, but you don’t have to read that to understand this. Also, I know I just posted something about having a bit of writer’s block right now, but this just came out and I wanted to post it. I’m not sure how I feel about it, but I hope you like it.

This is also dedicated to my love and light, @marvelous-avengers because she is incredible and I adore her. I hope it makes you smile, angel.

My Masterlist

***

Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it.

The soft scent of vanilla coming from the air freshener you plugged into the wall. Warm, autumn colors littering the walls. Filling the vases and draped over the back of your favorite chair in a thick quilt. Weight against his side, Bucky’s body under his arm as those steely eyes trace over the video playing on his phone. Something Steve can’t understand.

Your house around him.

No, that’s not right anymore.

His house.

Because you opened it up for them. Let them in. Gave them a home in the walls around him and in your heart, as well. Kissed them and told them they could stay. They could always stay.

He smiles.

He’ll never get used to it.

Blue eyes flick around the maroon decorations you bought at the beginning of the season. The oranges and pale yellows. The new crimson, fuzzy blanket resting on his lap. Lying under the book he has resting there and pulled up to Bucky’s chin.

Fingers run through the dark hair fanned around his chest. Strong shoulders shake at the happy hum he gets in return.

And it’s like all those years ago in Brooklyn, in some ways. Holding Bucky. Bucky holding him. Resting on the couch with that familiar weight pressed into him. Tilting his head and kissing the pale skin of Bucky’s temple. Looking at a face he’s known for a century, a face he’ll never tire of seeing.

But it’s different, too.

Because they’re not hiding anymore. They don’t need to.

And there’s you.

Stepping through the door. Grocery bags in hand - more than Steve assumes necessary for a simple trip to the store, like you’d told him you were making.

He catches your eye once the latch clicks. Once you’ve started making your way to the little table. And there’s a moment where you seem to search the scene in front of you. Watch the way Bucky nuzzles into Steve’s chest, pulls his phone a little closer to his face.

A fond smile curls your lips, and Steve finds a grin of his own at the sight.

Because you’re beautiful.

His jacket blanketing your shoulders. Deep blue and heavy. Bucky’s sweater resting beneath that, thick and dark gray. Warm. Sweet in the careful darkness of early evening coming in through the windows.

He looks the glow of the dim light in the room around you, the only source being the lamp on the end table. The lamp he flicked on to read a book he’s long since abandoned in favor of looking at the man next to him. Thinking of you.

“Hey,” he whispers, lips parting just enough to form the word. Still sitting in that soft smile. “Find everything you need?”

You chuckle. Swipe a hand across your face and start pulling something out of one of the bags. “Mostly things I didn’t need. But what’s new?”

And Steve laughs because it’s true. Because he wonders why he ever lets you do the shopping. Can already imagine the new array of things you bought that will never be eaten or used.

But then orange comes into view, more than the shades tinting the decorations you scattered around the house. Brows furrow and the head on his collarbone shifts a little before lifting entirely, that handsome face looking so adorably sleepy from where Steve can see it out of the corner of his eye.

“What’s that?”

Bucky beats Steve to questioning. Rubs his eyes and sits up.

You smile. “It’s a pumpkin.”

Steve blinks.

“Why did you buy a pumpkin?”

A laugh punches from your chest. Makes your eyes fall shut and that beautiful smile on your face grow. And Steve wants to laugh with you, but he wants an answer to Bucky’s question, too, confusion and curiosity rising within him.

“I thought we could carve them,” you say, holding the little thing up and tracing one of the ridges with your fingers. “Got one for each of us.”

Bucky makes a happy, appreciative sound. Stands and steps over to you, scoops the pumpkin from your hands and inspects it.

Steve watches with careful consideration. Measured silence as Bucky gives you an excited look before turning back to him, another set of eyes landing on him as you follow suit.

And there’s this hesitant happiness in your gazes as flesh and metal alike skim against the skin of the small pumpkin. A look Steve hasn’t seen on Bucky in a long time. A look he would like to see on you more often.

So he sighs. Thinks he has more kids than partners as he says, “Okay.”

Happy noises fill the room. Feet pad across the floor as you step over to him. Wrap him in your embrace as he stands to meet you. Kiss his jaw and the base of his throat.

“But we need to cover the table.”

A laugh against his skin. Your next words are muffled into the cotton of his shirt, “Why?”

He scoffs. Runs his fingers against your sides and feels a familiar warmth blooming in his chest at the noise you make. Looks down at you and answers, “So it doesn’t get pumpkin guts all over it.”

You wrinkle your nose. Steve wants to kiss it. “Who cares if pumpkin guts get all over the table?”

“I do.”

“I bought that table,” you counter.

“Want me to reimburse you?”

“Okay,” you quip. There’s no bite behind it, but Steve can see that little spark burning in your eyes. “We can cover the table.”

“Gosh, Stevie,” Bucky begins, “Don’t you know half the fun is the mess?”

“Yeah,” Steve answers, dropping a kiss to your hair before untangling himself from your grasp. “I’m sure you two ditching me to clean the mess myself would have been really fun.”

Bucky barks out a laugh. And Steve catches you covering your own amused grin with your hand as you round the table.

Everything is so wonderfully foreign. The domesticity he’s found. The morning coffee you make for him and the routine kisses against his back as he makes breakfast and the way you both fall asleep on him on the couch most nights. The prospect of carving pumpkins with the loves of his life in his cute little house just outside the city.

And he may not be used to this, the life he’s lucky enough to lead, now.

But he’s happy to have it.

It’s minutes later that you’ve found a tarp to cover the surface of the table - Bucky asking, “Where the hell did that come from?” - and everything is set out. Steve is looking at the two of you, grinning like kids.

Bucky has three knives in front of him. Knives Steve is sure didn’t come from the drawer in the kitchen. And they’re already at work before Steve can say anything about it, the two of you slicing into the flesh of the things. Getting started.

It isn’t until you look at him, cock your head to the side just a little and give him a questioning glance that he realizes he’s worlds behind the two of you. That he’d been so caught up with memorizing your happy expressions, he hadn’t started his own carving.

“You going to do some carving there, Steve?”

It’s teasing. Breathed through careful laughter as your hands still where they’ve started to cut into the pumpkin in front of you, seeds littering the table.

Bucky doesn’t even look up as he answers for Steve, “He’s just scared that my pumpkin is going to turn out better than his.”

Laughter parts full lips. Fans out into the air as ocean eyes shield themselves behind pale lids. Steve can hear your amusement joining his. Your voice scolding Bucky as he finally leans forward and lifts his gaze. Finds that happy little smirk on familiar lips.

Steve sighs another quiet chuckle. “Sure, Buck,” he answers. “You got me.”

Bucky’s eyes flash with a certain fondness. One Steve feels so deeply. One he’s happy to share with the two of you.

And it’s that - the affection resting in his heart - that makes the stress of pumpkin carving better. The number of times he nearly slices off his thumb. The choked laughter from Bucky as Steve struggles to get the basic shapes down.

“Thought you were an artist,” Bucky says.

Bucky’s name is light on your lips. Gentle scolding and a soft smile curling around the letters.

Steve finishes his pumpkin long after you and Bucky. Takes one look at the lopsided, ugly little face he’s carved into the ochre flesh and tilts his head down, chuckling to himself.

A hand squeezes his shoulder as Bucky moves to stand behind him, muttering a teasing, “You finally done?” before he’s howling beside him. Doubling over and spitting out unintelligible sentences.

He doesn’t care.

He hopes Bucky never stops laughing like that.

“Is it that bad?” he asks anyway, keeping his eyes on Bucky. A metal hand waves in the air, a gesture Steve can’t decipher the meaning of as flesh fingers wipe at a tear that managed to escape one of Bucky’s steely eyes.

You’re coming around soon enough. Draping your arm across Steve’s shoulders and leaning into him. He tucks himself into your embrace, presses his nose to your ribs and feels them shake with your amused words.

“I think it’s cute,” you tell him. Fingers stroke through golden hair as another hand reaches for the stem and places the pumpkin in his lap.

He looks up at you, then. Lets the pads of his fingers ghost over your cheekbone as you lean down and press your lips to his forehead. Whisper, “Just like you.”

And Steve doesn’t really know what to say to that. He isn’t sure what words can capture what your gentle statement makes him feel. What he feels for you and the man trying to squeeze onto his lap, laughing the whole time.

“A work of art you’ve got there, pal,” Bucky tells him, pressing his nose to the side of Steve’s neck.

“Think you’re talking about the two of you, Buck.”

Bucky huffs out quiet laughter but smiles something genuine and full despite it all. Drops a sloppy kiss to the spot just under Steve’s ear and whispers, “Real smooth, pumpkin.”

A chuckle rumbles through his chest. And Steve can feel your amusement, too. Pressed into his side, muffled into his hair.

Steve holds the two of you close, listens to the laughter that fills your home.

His home.

MAIN TAG LIST:

@solarbarnes II @akamaiden II @my-meant-to-find-blog II @marvelous-avengers II @jack4xx II @buckyforbreakfast II @theglowstickofdestiny II @bucky-at-bedtime II @notimetoblog II @deceivedeer II @teawithbucky II @veronicalei II @part-time-patronus II @thunderous-flower II @thelostverse II @delicatecapnerd II @pizzarollpatrol II @laurfangirl424 II @stevieboyharrington II @yknott81 II @bucky-smiles II @buckysb-tch II @a-watson-in-search-of-a-sherlock II @heartssick II @spxder-bxck II @bottled-starr II @buckybarneshairpullingkink II @yenneffersstuff II @fangirlfictionmain

#mimi's fall into marvel challenge #stucky x reader #steve x reader x bucky #bucky x reader x steve #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #stucky imagine #stucky fanfiction #stucky fluff #stucky x reader fanfiction #stucky x reader fluff #stucky x reader imagine #reader #reader insert #fluff #oneshot #My writing

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somerandomwriter1234 · 5 years

Text

GMW Fanfic - Farkle and Smackle: The Best Friend Ever

Summary: In this tale, Farkle and Smackle find themselves looking back at their long friendship; from when they meet as young kids through their current young adult years. And it results in the two making an important realization of what they are to each other.

-Long ago in the past: a little boy named Farkle was walking onto the home plate of an outdoor kickball field wearing black sunglasses and a very large jersey shirt that went down to his feet. A ball was rolled towards him by another young boy. Farkle attempted to kick the ball but stepped on his giant jersey and fell down. Many boys that were around Farkle began to laugh including a very tall boy near him named Derrick.

Derrick: Man Minkus. That is such a stupid outfit you're wearing.

Farkle: But you said wearing this would make me look cool.

Derrick: Yeah, last week when it was cool. Now it's just stupid.

-Many of the boys began to laugh as Farkle stood up.

Farkle: Can I try kicking again?

Derrick: Naw. Get off the field. We don't need any stupid people out here.

-An upset Farkle walked away from the field. He then walked over to a bench where a little girl was sitting.

Farkle: Hi there. Hey. You go to Einstein Academy right? Smackle, right?

Smackle: Isadora Smackle actually. And yeah. I started there in kindergarten last year. And you're Farkle Minkus. We competed in that 4-6 year old science competition last year. Unless the aliens that abducted me last night altered my memories.

Farkle: Uh… okay. Can I sit on this bench next to you? No one else wants me to hang out with them.

Smackle: Why not?

Farkle: Because I can't be cool like anyone. I try to dress up, and talk, and do all the stuff the cool kids do. But none of them like me.

Smackle: Well I think you're cool. I liked your science project you made for last year's competition. Of course don't expect too much praise from me since we are academic rivals. Ooo. Did you see my science project involving a lamp being powered by pink kittens from Taiwan?

Farkle: Um… I didn't. You know… you're a little strange.

Smackle: Yeah. That's why no one sits with me either. Are you gonna get up and leave me too now?

Farkle: No. I'm cool with hanging out with somebody who is a little bit strange.

Smackle: Would you still hang out with me if I was very strange?

Farkle: Smackle, you have the strangest mind in all of existence.

-In the present: an adult Farkle and Smackle were standing in front of a group of children in the before and after care auditorium.

Smackle: But it makes perfect sense that the seven dwarves Snow White met: were actually aliens from another planet.

Farkle: But the planet: FANBOY!?

Smackle: Well of course. All of those other names people have been told over the years were just their aliases. The seven dwarves' real names are: Trekkie, Whovian, Ringer, Potter Head, Tributes, and of course… Marvel and DC. With their supreme overlord back home of course being "King Star Wars".

Farkle: Why do you do this Smackle? Why?

Smackle: Not important. What is important is that we get back to the part of the story where the evil Queen locates the dwarves' hidden spaceship and proceeds to blow it apart.

Farkle: Ah! It's gonna blow!

-In the past: a young Farkle was standing near a computer that was shaking in the middle of an elementary school auditorium where a science fair was occurring. The computer then had a few sparks come out of it and then all of the lights in the building went off.

Farkle: Aww no.

-An older teacher stood up and spoke loudly to everyone.

Older Teacher: It's okay. Just a minor power surge. The custodian just told me that this has happened before and he'll have the power back up in no time. Just remember students: next time you're connecting twenty plugs through extension cords to one outlet… let a teacher know first.

-Farkle began to hang his head low as Derrick walked over to Farkle.

Derrick: Man Minkus. First you're pathetic at trying to be cool. Then you're pathetic at just trying to be stupid you.

-Farkle turned his head away from Derrick and then quickly went over to sit in a corner by himself. From nearby Smackle quickly rushed over to Farkle and sat next to him.

Smackle: Sorry your experiment didn't work.

Farkle: Ugg. I can't do anything right. I'm so stupid.

Smackle: You're not stupid Farkle. You're just really different. And sometimes it's hard to figure out how to be your best in your own way when you're the only one doing things your own way.

Farkle: Yeah… I guess you're right.

Smackle: Just be like me Farkle. Well… don't be just like me. Because then you'd have a chance of beating me in these science fair competitions from friendly rival. However you should do one thing I've learned. Stop trying to be cool and be exactly like other people, and instead just help others in your own way.

Farkle: Hmm. That's… actually good advice. You got any more?

Smackle: Yeah! Prince Charming actually knew who Snow White was because his body and mind had been combined with the Prince Charming of Earth 2 during the events of the Flashpoint Zero Crisis Hour on Infinite Realities event.

-In the present: an adult Farkle and Smackle were standing in front of a group of children in the before and after care auditorium.

Farkle: Where the heck did that all come from?

Smackle: Online wiki's. And you know they never lie.

Farkle: Smackle. We were seconds away from a simple fairy tale ending where the prince meets the princess and then they get married and live happily ever after. Why must you always change the endings of every story I try to tell with your own insane tales!?

Smackle: Well maybe your endings happened pre-Crisis. But they're not in continuity anymore.

Farkle: SMACKLE! WILL YOU JUST… I… I need to walk away and think for a bit.

-Farkle then began to walk towards the door to outside.

Smackle: Wait, Farkle! You're going home early!? You'll be right back soon, right?

-Farkle looked back at Smackle and called out to her very loudly.

Farkle: No Smackle. This time I'm gonna be gone for… quite a while.

-Farkle then walked out of the building. Smackle stood looking slightly shocked.

Smackle: Is… is he mad at me?

Farkle: Ugg. I am feeling so mad right now.

-In the past: in a large living room, a teenage Farkle was laying down on a couch. He had a pillow behind his head and a blanket covering most of his body. Farkle looked up at the ceiling as he had a very sick look on his face.

Farkle: I hate being sick…. especially today. Well… mom and dad are gone now. And here I am. Laying here all alone, feeling so sick and exhausted. What is someone like me in this condition supposed to do?

-Farkle's spoken thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a teenage Smackle walking into the living room with a plate and glass of water.

Smackle: What you're going to do is stay on the couch as I give you this medicine along with this glass of water.

-Farkle looked at Smackle with a very surprised look on his face.

Farkle: Smackle!? What are you doing here?

Smackle: I called earlier and your mom told me that you were gonna be here alone for five hours. Soon after that, I told her that I would love to help take care of you during that time. She seemed cool with it, and so now here I am.

Farkle: But… what about your exams?

Smackle: I'll just take them during the makeup day. Which you will as well.

Farkle: But I'm not getting any better right now. In fact, I may never be in school again if this fever of mine keeps getting worse.

Smackle: Believe me Farkle. You will be better by the time the makeup day comes.

Farkle: And what makes you so sure of yourself?

-Smackle then held the glass of water she was holding closer to Farkle's face.

Smackle: Because I've got water and medicine here. Now drink up!

Farkle: But I'm still feeling…

Smackle: Now!

-Farkle quickly swallowed the medicine and water that Smackle had given him.

Farkle: Gee. You didn't have to shove it down my throat.

-Smackle then held a plate with toast on it closer to Farkle's face.

Smackle: I've got toast. It's buttery. Now eat it!

-Farkle then quickly ate the toast. As Farkle swallowed the last of his food, Smackle sat in a chair next to Farkle. Farkle then cleared his throat and looked right at Smackle.

Farkle: Smackle. What is up with you right now!? You're shouting demands at me to eat food and drink water.

Smackle: Is it wrong to ask a friend to do something to make his life better?

Farkle: Well… no.

Smackle: Farkle, there are so many people in this world who know how to live a healthy and good lifestyle. Yet they shut their mouths so often and continue to allow other people around them to live their lives however they feel like. Well I'm not gonna be like that.

Farkle: Wow. That's pretty deep.

Smackle: Thank you.

Farkle: So… wanna check out what cartoons are on cable right now?

Smackle: Sounds cool.

-Farkle then grabbed a remote near him and turned on the TV. Farkle and Smackle then began to watch the TV. However as they watched, Farkle's eyes began to turn to look at Smackle. After a moment of looking at her, Farkle then spoke up.

Farkle: Smackle.

Smackle: Yeah?

Farkle: I'm glad I sat down next to that strange little girl I met on that bench all those years ago.

Smackle: Me too. By the way, if we can't find anything good to watch on TV, I can always read you my Star Wars fanfiction where my little ponies join the Jedi order.

Maya: Smackle, are you sure you're all right?

-In the present - in the before and after care auditorium: Smackle and her friend Maya, along with one of their students: Grace were all sitting at a table together.

Smackle: I know I tell stories different than him but… did I cross a line today?

Maya: Smackle, you were being yourself. If Farkle had a problem with you just being you, he would've walked away years ago.

Grace: Yeah. Besides, you're really fun Miss Smackle.

Smackle: Aww. Thanks Grace.

Maya: Hey Grace. Since you're the only student in here now, let's go outside where all of the other kids are.

Grace: Okay.

-Maya and Grace then got up and walked out of the room. Smackle remained where she was and sighed. Suddenly her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door opening nearby. Smackle turned her head and saw Farkle walking back into the building towards her. Smackle then got up and walked over to Farkle. The two both stopped once they were right in front of the other.

Smackle: Farkle. Listen. I've been thinking and… I just wanna say I'm sorry that I changed the ending to that fairy tale story on you. I didn't think it would make you…

-Farkle then held a hand up for a quick moment and then spoke.

Farkle: No. I'm glad that you are always you Smackle. And I'm glad you wanted to change the end of that silly little fairy tale. Because we probably shouldn't tell these kids the story of a prince and princess that meet up and just super quickly fall in love. Because that's not how love works. It takes time to grow. And it takes time to recognize it.

Smackle: Farkle, what are you saying?

Farkle: I should never let some crazy… quirks in a person's personality keep me from seeing what's most important about them. Smackle… I've been unfair to you.

Smackle: Huh? How?

-Farkle then had his hands grab Smackle's as the two looked right at each other.

Farkle: I let my frustrations over the ridiculous crazy little things you do keep me from seeing what is most important about you. Which is that you are the kindest, most patient, and most loving person I know. Smackle, you're the best friend ever. And I don't wanna walk away from you like I did ever again. In fact… I want to do the complete opposite of that.

-Farkle then suddenly pulled out of his pocket a small box and then got down on one knee. Farkle then immediately opened the box showing inside was a diamond ring. Smackle's eyes got huge as she saw what was happening and then fell down onto her own knees as she kept looking right at Farkle.

Farkle: Isadora Smackle… will you marry me?

-Smackle remained still as she had a look of uncertainty on her face. She was completely quiet for several moments, and then finally… she spoke.

Smackle: You were wrong about just one thing. Farkle… you're the best friend ever. And I will.

Farkle: You will what?

Smackle: What you just asked. It's a yes. Yes, Farkle… I will marry you!

THE END

#girl meets world #girl meets world fanfiction #smarkle #farkle #smackle #farkle and smackle #farkle x smackle

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mikeshanlon · 6 years

Text

he’s all that: chapter two

fandom: it

pairing: reddie (richie tozier/eddie kaspbrak)

word count: 5k

one | on ao3

summary:

Richie smiled smugly, “You’ve got spunk Kaspbrak. I like that.”

“Why don’t you try shutting the fuck up Tozier,” Eddie retorted as the line moved forward, “So what is this, if not some ploy to get me to tutor you? Some sort of dork outreach program? Because I’m not interested.”

—

Or: The one where Richie Tozier has six weeks to get into a relationship and make someone fall for him. Only problem? That someone is the anxiety ridden, goody two shoes Eddie Kaspbrak, and he can’t even stand to be in the same room as Richie.

warnings: there is drug use in that bev/mike/richie are HUGE stoners. also this chapter there is mentions to maggie being an alcoholic.

a/n: hey! decided to post two weeks in a row just to get the ball rolling (which is why i still dont have all the chapters figured out as promised, my apologies). i'll probably start the every other week thing for next update (so chapter three should be up by march 4th). i would try to do every week but im a college student who has Stuff to do and also makes gifs and im horrible at finishing my writing so, giving myself a realistic deadline that will still hopefully produce quality work. anyways, richie and eddie finally interact this chapter! it's....................... a bit messy though. and we get to see the rest of the losers club in this one too.

tag list: @richietoaster, @wintersember, @howellhxlic, @ed-txzier, @clara-farl3y

After standing in the hallway arguing with Bev for ten minutes, (“I mean really Bevs, fuck!” “You said anyone.” “How do we even know he’s gay?!” “Richie, please.”) Richie resigned himself to the fact that he was going to find some way to charm Eddie. Maybe Beverly would let him borrow that spellbook she bought junior year when she had become obsessed with witchcraft and hexing the patriarchy.

Once school was finally over, Richie dropped off Mike at his farm per usual, ranting about the bet the whole ride over. The farm boy nodded along, but he knew the words ‘told you so’ sat on the tip of his tongue.

They pulled up to his house, the engine idling so he wouldn’t have to spend time getting it to start again, “Don’t wait up for me tonight if you wanna smoke. Got lotsa research in store,” Richie said as Mike grabbed his backpack and got out of the car.

Mike raised a brow, leaning into the passenger window (which in its broken state always stayed down), “I’m surprised Rich. You never do your homework.”

“Homework shmomwork,” he tapped the end of his cigarette out the window before taking another drag, “Gotta figure out what little ol’ Edward likes. Time for some deep dark internet exploration.”

“Ah, you’re gonna stalk him. Wasting time on social media does sound much more in character,” Mike smiled.

“It’s not a waste Mikey darlin’, a shit ton of preemo dank is on the line.”

The other boy laughed and shook his head, “Godspeed Tozier.”

Richie saluted Mike as he reversed out back to the main road, Bigmouth Strikes Again blasting on the old car radio.

He weaved through the streets filled with kids walking home or trying to find something to do in this shit-hole town. Long afternoons spent at The Aladdin watching the newest releases or aggressively slamming his fingers down on his favorite game at the arcade came to mind; along with going out of his way to bother just about everyone in his path. Richie never really had many friends when he was younger, spending most of his time alone. He was grateful he crossed paths with Bev and Mike, to fate, luck, God if it existed. The universe was rarely kind to him, but finding them was the best thing that ever happened to him.

Plus, the first time he had smoked weed, but that was with them too.

Turning onto his street, Richie pulled up to the unsuspecting two-story white house. It was straight out of a handbook on the American Dream; but the closer one looked, the imperfections started to appear.

The box overflowing with bottles once filled with alcohol next to the recycling bin, which was already too full with more empty bottles. A crooked ‘Home Sweet Home’ sign by the front door. Dying grass, overgrown and conquered with the little weeds Richie used to make wishes on before blowing the seeds into the summer air (I wish for friends. I wish for better parents. I wish to be loved).

He parked the station wagon on the curb, saving the space next to his Mom’s car for his father.

Maggie’s car hadn’t been driven in months (years?), and Richie absently wondered if it would even work anymore. It was nice, a decent heater and it drove well, at least it did when she had bothered to drop him off at school as a kid. Despite her general lack of care for the wellbeing of others, Mrs. Tozier did not drink and drive. Meaning, she didn’t drive at all, as she was drunk off her ass most of the time.

Richie grabbed his books from the backseat and clambered out, fumbling to find his house key among the mess of weird keychains he bought while high.

He didn’t bother stating his presence, even as a pretense, giving up the habit long ago.

Maggie Tozier sat outside, her back facing the screen door in the kitchen. A cigarette rested from her fingertips, and Richie wasn’t sure if she was actually smoking it or just watching it burn. Of course, her other hand gripped a bottle of beer, and a wine cooler sat at her feet.

Richie scoffed and bounded up the stairs to his room, a ‘KEEP OUT’ sign and band posters adorning the door.

It was often said that one’s room reflected who they were as a person, and Richie was no exception. That is, to say, his room was an absolute fucking mess. His bed was never made, and clothes and knick knacks littered the floor (he had already tripped over some beat up sneakers as he walked in). Old mugs, comics, a lava lamp, lotion, and an ashtray Bev had made him in ceramics sat on his bedside table (read: an old wooden apple carton). The only thing that he kept clear was his record player and vinyls at the edge of the bed, which were meticulously organized.

He tossed his notebooks on his desk, alongside stolen pens, his laptop, and his bong. If his parents actually fucking talked to him he would bother to hide his shit, but it didn’t really matter.

Picking up his laptop and its charger, Richie was on his way out again. He could stay home to conduct his research, but he hated the stuffiness and how lifeless the house felt. It wasn’t really even a home, at least not his. Plus, coffee. It was a necessity, especially for the amount of bullshit he’d have to go through just for the tiny brat.

Richie drove to the Starbucks on Main and Belmont, strolling up to barista and ordering his usual: venti quadruple-shot, black. While he often gorged himself on sweets, his need for caffeine could only be sated by the purest form the coffeeshop could offer.

Per usual, the barista gave him a look, “You sure?”

“Listen, I’ve already made a shit ton of horrible decisions today. Trust me, this is not the worst of them,” Richie answered, sliding the cash across the counter

She raised her brows but said nothing else, handing him the change.

He set up shop at a table by the window in the back, away enough from the other patrons. Most of the time Richie threw caution to the wind, but he figured it would suspicious if someone saw him furiously stalking someone who looked like they hadn’t even graduated from middle school.

After retrieving his coffee, opening his MacBook, and plugging his headphones in, Richie scoured Instagram first. ‘Eddie.k’ didn’t post much, mostly some artsy photos, including ones of Bill and Stanley Uris (their other best friend). There were only one or two selfies, much to Richie’s disappointment. Eddie wasn’t actually too bad looking if you ignored his clothes, his hair, his… everything. Freckles dusted his face, concentrated around his little nose, a few on his lips. Cute lips. Cute cheeks. He had the urge to pinch them. But Jesus, that combover. What was he, a balding man in the 80’s?

Other than those pictures, Eddie hadn’t really posted to Instagram in months. He moved onto his tagged photos. They had some more substance, although Eddie had pretty much only been tagged in pictures by Bill and Stan. It wasn’t like Richie wasn’t in the same boat of having only a few close friends, but at least he hung out with other people.

For the most part, the pictures were pretty normal, the three of them hanging out. Richie couldn’t help but snort at a picture of the three, presumably after a sleepover. They looked exhausted, hair messy, and were brushing their teeth. Pretty mundane, but Eddie had pulled a ridiculous face in the mirror. It was silly, but Richie hadn’t even thought Eddie was capable of making jokes or doing weird shit. The fucker was always uptight, serious even when they had a substitute. Unsurprisingly, Eddie did not appreciate the post.

eddie.k: literally stan delete this!!!!!!

stantheman: @eddie.k, sorry sweatie (:

Richie grinned and continued to scroll, stopping at a picture of Eddie lying down on the grass, laughing. He wore a red tracksuit, the one students wore to P.E. when the bitter chill of autumn came to Derry. His hair must’ve been a little sweaty, because it was curling up into a messy halo around his grinning face. Richie wanted to know this Eddie, see him curl up laughing, but he knew that would never happen.

He perused their profiles for a while before growing bored, downing a third of his coffee before moving on. Except Eddie didn’t seem to have a Twitter, or a Snapchat. A quick google search of his name only came up with a few images and… a Facebook profile?

Richie prayed that it was an old one Eddie had never deleted, but after the page loaded he saw that the most recent status was made last night.

“Oh my fucking god,” he whispered to himself.

Eddie’s profile picture made him look particularly child-like, a weird picture of him pointing to the camera like he was cool, even though the same hand had a clunky old watch wrapped around it. His header picture displayed the quote ‘there is bravery in being soft’.

Richie snorted, “Yeah, a soft fucking dick!”

Another patron scoffed at his fowl mouth, and he shot her a smug grin.

Eddie only had 40 friends on the site, which consisted of Bill, Stan, some of the other nerds at Derry High, and his mother and her friends. It wasn’t like someone’s Facebook friends actually mattered, especially because only middle aged mothers who posted minion memes about their alcoholism used it anymore, but it was still kinda pitiful.

His posts were generally uninteresting, stuff like ‘super nervous for the math test’, or ‘soooooooooooo bored ://///’. Otherwise, he mostly just shared pictures of cute dogs and DIY videos.

It was hard to find any useful information on Eddie, since he obviously lied a lot. Not in the way of bragging, or saying that he did things he didn’t (like Richie did). But there were comments from Mrs. Kaspbrak’s friends calling him a lady killer, or a few posts calling Carly Rae Jepsen cute (please, Run Away With Me is the one of gayest songs of all time). Eddie was closeted, and Richie knew from experience that someone could never really be themselves around others if they weren’t out.

What his profile lacked in useable information, it more than made up with blackmail material.

Take, for instance, little Eddie in possibly the gayest fucking hat imaginable.

He screeched as he saw the picture of the eleven year old, a white fedora-bucket hat hybrid sitting atop his tiny head, before breaking out into a full on wheeze. Richie was laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe, and then he thought about Eddie using his inhaler in that gay ass hat and laughed even harder.

The other customers began to stare, some concerned, and others pissed off at the disturbance.

Once he had collected himself somewhat, Richie sent a screenshot to the group chat.

the losers

bev: oh my fucking G O D

richie: I CANT FUCKIN BREATHE ELRNKKLNERG

richie: LIKE F U C K !!! KLJKLGRJKLLEJK

richie: LOOK AT HIS GAY HAT

richie: LIKE, IT’S GAYER THAN WEARING NOTHING BUT A PRIDE FLAG AND GLITTER

richie: HE LOOKS LIKE A TWINKY SKIPPER

richie: HOW IS THAT HAT MORE GAY THAN EVERY SINGLE ONE RYAN EVANS WORE IN THE ENTIRE HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL FRANCHISE COMBINED

bev: i’m muting you

mike: me too

mike: also that hat isn’t that bad

“‘Not that bad?!’” Richie squawked, not that he’d be able to hear him.

(Really, Richie had no authority on the subject. He still donned the occasional Hawaiian shirt over his tees).

He refreshed Eddie’s profile, seeing that he had made a new status.

Eddie Kaspbrak: big night friday, nervous but excited !!!!

Richie raised his brows in intrigue, seeing that Bill and a handful of other people liked the status. What was going on Friday?

He checked to see if Bill had posted anything, if Eddie was going somewhere, chances were Bill was too.

Bill Denbrough: almost the weekend, finally ready to let loose

Seriously, it would’ve been so much easier if Bill was the guy Richie had to woo. Kid was probably fucking nervous for a party, a place where you threw caution to the wind and had a good time. Still, he made a mental note about finding out what their Friday plans were.

Richie sighed, taking another swig of his coffee, “God, what a fucking loser.”

Suddenly, his headphones were being tugged out of his ear by an angry middle-aged woman with short-layered hair and eye bags.

“Hey, what the fuck?” Richie glared, snatching back his headphones.

The woman returned the look, putting her hands on her hips, “Don’t you have respect for the other customers?!”

“Sweetheart, I don’t have respect for myself, let alone some PTA moms-- like the post-divorce haircut by the way.”

Apparently, his finger guns did not soften the blow, because the lady started to scream at him.

And, apparently, this lady was also the manager, and was pushing him out the door.

So great, Eddie and his dumb gay hat got him banned from Starbucks.

Even though he was wounded from Eddie’s betrayal, (because Richie getting kicked out was definitely not his fault-- it was Eddie’s homosexual headwear. An anthropomorphic device of chaos, that Eddie owned, so, yeah, it was Kaspbrak’s fucking fault.) Richie still skipped smoking on Thursday to spend his lunch with the tiny fuck.

Obviously, they hadn’t made plans to do so, but Richie had, and he really couldn’t delay starting the bet. There was a lot on the line.

So, after getting out of econ (turning in an unstudied for but probably aced quiz), and throwing his shit in his locker, Richie detoured to the cafeteria.

The place was a fucking mess, and it reminded Richie just why he avoided the place. It was pure chaos, loud and overwhelming, a million things to get distracted by. Freshman with their stupid rolling backpacks kept whizzing by, making Richie trip or get his feet ran over. The tables were already filled, the honor roll kids, the partiers, Gretta and her gang. Fucking cliches.

He got in line, picking up a tray and proceeding to fiddle with the buttons at the cuff of his black and white flannel; trying to tune out the buzz of conversation. It was weird, at parties he thrived on the noise and disorder, but here all it was doing was fucking with his ADHD.

Richie drummed a beat onto his tray as the line moved forward and picked the most edible looking slop from the menu. The lunch lady glowered at him as he reached for his money only to realize he had put it in the other pocket, fumbling to put the bills and coins on the counter.

As she put the money in the register, Richie looked around the room, checking to see where Eddie was sitting. He was sat near one of the exits, carefully taking out his lunch and swinging his legs. And he was alone. Perfect.

“Kid, do you want a receipt or not?” the lunch lady snapped from across from him.

Richie blinked back into focus, “Uh, sure, sorry.”

She sighed and printed out the receipt, slamming it down on the tray, “Next!”

Grabbing his tray, Richie plucked up some plastic cutlery and made his way through the sea of students to Eddie Kaspbrak. He had to twist and lift his tray a bit, but eventually the crowds started to part a bit. A chorus of whispers started to erupt. Stupid small town.

“Is that Richie Tozier?”

“I think, but doesn’t he always get high with his stoner friends?”

“What is he doing here?”

“God, he’s so hot.”

Richie smirked, sending a wink at the girl’s praise before sitting across from Eddie. He watched for a moment as the boy continued to focus on on unpacking his utensils and napkins before clearing his throat.

Eddie’s eyes snapped up from his lunchbox, widening when he saw Richie.

“What the fuck?” It was meant to be a whisper to himself, but Eddie’s voice was louder than expected.

Richie grinned at the blushing boy, “Well, hello to you to Eds.”

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie snapped, returning to his food.

Richie waited for him to say something else, at least fucking look at him, but the little fuck kept his eyes glued to his grapes, nails aggressively ripping the fruit from their stems.

“Okay,” he started, taking a sip of his apple juice, “So, you may be wondering why I’m sitting with you—“

Eddie interrupted, annoyance apparent in every fiber of his being, “Is this gonna be quick or not?”

“I’m hoping it’s not quick, although given how hot I am it’s difficult for people to control themselves.”

A long, deep sigh came from Eddie’s (cute, soft) lips. Eddie grabbed at Richie’s hands, flipping them over so that the palms faced upwards.

“Wow, a bit forward, but I’m liking your style Kaspbrak,” Richie winked.

Eddie rolled his eyes and proceed to take out hand sanitizer from his fanny pack, squirting the floral scented product into Richie’s hands.

Honestly, what the fuck?

He must’ve sent the same message to Eddie with his face, because Eddie said, “You obviously aren’t gonna leave me the fuck alone, and if you’re gonna be in my space, you need to be clean.”

Richie raised a brow at this but rubbed the hand sanitizer into his hands anyways.

Jesus Christ, what a weird, defensive little bitch.

Eddie watched with focused eyes, and only spoke when Richie was finished.

“Continue.”

It took a moment for Richie to gain his bearings once more. This mission seemed dead on arrival, but he had to keep trying anyways.

“So, Eddie…” Richie trailed off, twirling the pasta on his plate before his eyes lit up, “Eddie Spaghetti, Eduardo, what’s up?”

Eddie scowled, “That’s not my fucking name!” he squeaked, “And ‘what’s up?’ I mean, we’ve barely even talked before. You think I’m just gonna put up with this because you’re Richie Tozier? I swear to god, if this is some fucking bullying thing...”

Around them, people began to stare and eavesdrop at the sound of Eddie yelling. Fucking perfect.

Richie blinked back at the boy across from him, now red in the face for a different reason, “Calm down, I’m just trying to get to know you.”

“Fat fucking chance.”

Okay, wow. Richie had more work cut out for him than expected. He thought of what to say next as he watched Eddie finish his grapes.

“This isn’t, like, a joke,” (it wasn’t real either), “I just wanna hang out.”

“Hang out?” Eddie’s chocolate brown eyes met Richie’s, his tone mocking.

Richie nodded, “Yeah, ya know, kick it with the homies. Make out a little if you’re down. Friend stuff.”

Eddie’s jaw clenched, “You’re unbelievable. Just fucking unbe— you know, how can you even say any of that shit? How can we be ‘homies’ if we’ve never ‘hung out’ before? And don’t want to-- I’m not-- you don’t know me!”

There was something underlying in Eddie’s voice as he snapped, wavering at the end. Richie, like most things in life, was completely and utterly fucking up.

“Well then, how about we fix that?” Richie leaned forward, “I was wondering if maybe you’d wanna—“

Abruptly, Eddie stood up, grabbing his food and walked off, making his way towards the cafeteria line where Bill and Stan were paying for their lunch.

Richie looked around at all the watching faces, some snickering and others as shocked as he was.

“...Embarrass me horribly in front of all these people.”

He took a deep breath, and shoved some spaghetti in his mouth, his frown growing larger at the disgusting taste. Richie was often considered a wild card, but this was when routine was a good thing. He should’ve just avoided this and sparked up with Bev and Mike.

Actually, he was going to do just that. There was still some left in lunch, and no reason for him to stay in the cafeteria if Eddie was giving him the cold shoulder. More like a giant fucking iceberg but still, pointless. Besides, he really needed to get high now. Eddie ruined his whole mood and pissed him the fuck off.

Richie got up and tossed out the inedible garbage before going to the usual spot, finger itching for a joint.

He used his foot to push open the door, which would’ve been cool, except with his clumsiness and horrible luck he tripped forward, narrowly avoiding falling down the steps and face planting by grabbing the railing.

As Richie caught his breath and stabilized himself, he could hear his friends laughing.

“Back so soon?” Bev smirked knowingly, taking a drag.

Richie huffed, “Ha ha. Let’s yuck it up for my misfortune,” he grabbed her joint and took a long hit, “This fucking kid, Bev. I don’t think I can do this!”

“As in, you’re morally incapable of leading him on?” Mike asked hopefully.

“Please, let’s be realistic here Mikey. No, that kid is like, the fuckin devil incarnate. Shithead is fucking crazy!” Richie paced, smoking from the joint.

Bev laughed, “What makes you say that?”

“Why don’t ya ask the whole fucking school?” Richie snapped, though the anger wasn’t directed at her, “They were watching it all go down. If that wheezy asshole ruins my reputation—“

“What reputation?” Mike interjected.

Richie rolled his eyes and flipped him off.

Another voice spoke up, “I dunno, Richie’s pretty well known. I like him well enough.”

Richie whirled around, just noticing a new face among the usual group, Ben Hanscom.

The eternal new kid, since no one ever moved to ass backwards Derry, was not someone he’d expect to be behind the art building. Maybe reciting poetry or some shit, but not blazing. Ben was sweet and genuine, albeit a little shy. He was no longer the chubby kid he once was, more stocky and muscular now. They weren’t too close, as the tawny haired boy spent more time with Mike and Bev, and if not them, the other dorks (like Eddie and his friends). But either way, dude was pretty chill. Richie just didn’t really want him there mid-meltdown.

“Haystack?! You smoke?!” he whistled, “Ho-ly shit, who woulda thought!”

Ben shook his head, “Uh, no I don’t. Mike and I just had to study for history next block.”

His deep brown eyes flitted to Beverly, who had now stolen back her joint and was playing with the key that hung from her neck. Yeah, studying was the only reason. Not Ben’s excruciatingly obvious crush on the red head.

“We would’ve just gone to the library, but Bev and I made a bet about if you’d be successful or not today,” Mike said.

Richie gasped, “Betting on my failure? Fuck you guys, Benny Boy is my new best friend.”

“I didn’t sign up for that.”

“Hey, I bet on you succeeding,” Mike put his hands up in surrender, “She’s the one who thought you’d screw it up.”

“And I was right. Pay up,” Bev smiled, holding out her palm.

Mike dropped a candy bar in it with a deep sigh. She tore open the wrapping, taking a savage bite of the chocolatey sweet.

“I think you have a gambling problem,” Mike quipped.

Bev shrugged, “Not a problem if I keep winning.”

She grinned, her teeth covered in chocolate and spit. Gross. Ben still looked enraptured. Double gross.

“Anyways, can we focus on the important bet, and the fact that this fuck is impossible! Seriously, Bev, babygirl, pick anyone else!” Richie whined, plopping his bony ass on the cement.

“First off, don’t call me ‘babygirl’,” she flicked the ash off the end of the joint at him, “Second, the deal was anyone. You either woo him or you don’t.”

Richie opened his mouth to complain again but Ben beat him to it.

“I’m sorry, but what are we talking about?”

The other three looked at each other in panic. Ben was friends with Eddie, there was no way he could find out what was going on. The whole thing would be ruined before it started.

“Nothin!” Richie squeaked, “Just uh… bet that I couldn’t ace a group project. I usually just bullshit a lot of that stuff and leave it up to the others if I can. Partner’s just a little… high strung.”

Bev groaned and Mike sighed. A horrible fucking lie. Richie was already trying to formulate a better one in his head.

Ben smiled, “That’s nice, a wholesome, supportive bet. But you really should just communicate with your partner. They might be nervous because of your history is all.”

Richie let out a sound of relief before realizing Ben’s advice could actually be helpful.

“Sure, but I already tried to talk to him and it didn’t go well,” he explained.

Bev and Mike raised their brows, catching on.

“Well, how did you talk to him?” Ben asked, “Was it an ambush or a friendly conversation?

Bev snorted, “Ambush, knowing Richie. He doesn’t do friendly conversations.”

“Maybe with you, because you’re on my ass all the time,” Richie shot back, “But uh, she’s right. Shouldn’t matter though, everyone knows that’s how Tough Guy Tozier does his business.”

Mike groaned, “Please don’t call yourself that ever again.”

“You’re just coming on too strong. You have to consider what he likes, what he wants. A good partnership comes with compromise and communication,” Ben nodded sagely.

Richie ruffled his hair, putting on his trusty British voice, “Thank you Advisor Hanscom. Your wisdom is greatly appreciated.”

Ben smiled awkwardly, his eyes going to Bev once again, “Course.”

He took the joint from Bev, inhaling the musty smoke and blowing it out his nostrils, the burning sensation familiar and welcome.

“And maybe, you should talk to him sober next time,” Mike suggested.

Richie laughed, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

By the time the final bell rang, he was still feeling defeated and unsure of his next move. Sure, he’d have to dial back his trashmouth charm, try to seem actually invested in Eddie but… that wasn’t going to happen if the brat never talked to him again. Richie had to find a way to break the tension between them, start fresh.

He sulked to his locker, pulling out his shit from the looming mess. Loose binder paper and pencils fell onto the ground, and Richie just wanted to bang his head against the wall of metal. Also, go home and smoke while playing video games but, mostly, hit his head repeatedly. Maybe he’d lose enough brain cells to forget the entire day.

After a few moments of excessive cursing, Richie grabbed what he needed and got everything that fell back into the locker. He noticed a new post it on the door just before he closed it.

Don’t give up :) <3 - mike

Richie smiled, and slammed the locker shut with a resounding clang. With a little stretch and a fix of his glasses, he strolled through the halls, making his way to the parking lot to wait for Mike.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bill and Stan loitering around the halls as well, engaged in (an undoubtedly boring) conversation.

He remembered Bill and Eddie’s facebook status’ about exciting plans for tomorrow night and decided he should investigate.

“Billiam! Staniel!” Richie called as he approached them, “What’s up?”

The two stopped talking and looked up, Bill smiling while Stan rolled his eyes.

“H-hey, Richie,” Bill waved. Richie noted that his stutter had gotten a lot better just over the past year. The two of them had shared a few classes when they were juniors and were pretty friendly with one another. At least compared to his relationship with Eddie and Stan, who also seemed to hate him for no reason.

Speaking of, the prim and proper boy was glaring at him, “Didn’t get enough of being a nuisance at lunch?”

Richie raised a brow, “Whatever do you mean?”

Stan scoffed, and opened his mouth to respond, but Bill put a hand on his shoulder, “N-nothing. Stan’s just… on edge. What’s up w-with you?”

“Not much, just trying to figure out what my plans are for tomorrow,” Richie shrugged, “Got any suggestions?”

“The only thing on your mind is where to party? Not surprised,” Stan quipped.

Richie shoved his hands in his pockets, biting his tongue. Snapping at Eddie was what caused his whole operation to go south, and he couldn’t mess up this second chance.

Bill ignored the tension between them, “Well, usually w-we don’t do t-t-too m-much, but it’s s-senior year. Probably going to Peter Gordon's party.”

“That kid’s an ass.”

“Coming from you, that’s rich,” Stan commented, his arms crossed.

His grinned, “Well, yeah, I am Rich.”

Stan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, he is, but he’s also s-super wealthy,” Bill avoided another ‘rich’ pun, “Meaning he’ll h-h-ave q-q-quality shit.”

Richie beamed, “Ah, I get it. You’re Robin Hood-ing that fuck. I like your style Billy Boy.”

He clapped Bill on the shoulder, and the other boy blushed slightly, “W-well, it wasn’t j-just my idea. Eddie and Stan helped.”

“Eddie? He’s coming with you guys?”

Bill shook his head, “N-no. He was supposed to, b-b-but that art thing came up so he h-had to cancel.”

“Art thing?” Richie asked, suddenly intrigued. This was the information he wanted.

“Yeah,” Bill nodded, “It’s this show that happens every month. At Jester Theatre. He always goes.”

Stan not so subtly elbowed Bill in the ribs, hissing at him to shut up.

“W-what?!”

“Yeah, what’s got your steamed panties in a twist Uris?” Richie smirked.

Stan sent him a scowl, “You know very well Tozier. Eddie told us all about what you did at lunch. Back the fuck off.”

“S-stan, I don’t think he meant--”

“No, Bill, he did,” Stan interrupted, “I don’t know what your game is, but if you hurt him…”

Richie put his hands up in surrender, “Hey, I’m not going to hurt him. He seems pretty strong anyways. I mean no harm.”

Stan didn’t look convinced at all. Fair enough.

The air between the two was tense, but Bill broke it by clearing his throat, “So, uh, will w-we see you at the p-p-party?”

Richie shook his head ‘no’, “Probably not. I have some more sophisticated plans lined up.”

a/n: hope you liked it! next chapter is p much all richie and eddie so get excited. if you enjoyed i would love hearing your feedback

oh and this is eddie’s gay hat if you were curious

#reddie #reddie fic #he's all that #my writing #it fic #yeah still have no idea how to tag this

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cielpurrple · 6 years

Text

Make Me 19.3

Pairing/s: Jimin x Reader x Got7 Jaebum

Word count: : 5195

Warning/s: Cursing

Songs: 1 | 2

You don’t know how long you’ve been staring into nothingness and it’s been a while since you woke up from your slumber. The faint light from the nearby lamp post didn’t help in shedding some illumination into your bedroom. You searched for your phone in the darkness. When you found it, you quickly pressed the home button but it remained dead so you slowly get up and turned on the light, making you squint in the process.

As soon as you spotted your bag, you get your charger and plugged the gadget, waiting for the phone to tell you that it’s charging.

You approached the door and went downstairs as quiet as you could to get some water and snacks.

When you returned to your room, you turned your phone on and let it do it’s job.

You munched on rice crackers, while staring at your phone. When it lits up, you picked it and stared at the notifications that’s starting to pop.

35 messages from Jimin.

Your thumb trembles as it ticked the said notification, and with blurry eyes, you start to read the messages one by one and you stopped at several messages that are two sentences or more until you began crying once again.

-please come back soon.

You exhaled slowly, trying to control your sobs. One thing’s for sure, although it’s obvious, you wouldn’t believe those pictures unless Jimin told you something –if not everything about it.

You didn’t reply to any of his messages for two days now. Instead, you’re determined to bury yourself from whatever distraction you could put yourself into. The good thing here is that your parents are there beside you, supporting you plus, you still have a week left for school this year.

It’s a school day and your father taught you which buses to take so you wouldn’t get lost going to school and you took a note of it. You bid them good bye and you went to the bus stop.

You’re walking towards the gates when a car honked behind you. It’s unfamiliar, and your flight response suddenly kicked in so you walked faster but of course the car catches up.

“Hey, I think I know you, you’re Y/N, right?”

His face is quite familiar, and as you recalled it, it’s Wonho from the hotel at your hometown.

“Whonho?”

“Yep. The one and only. Going to school? I can drive you there.” He offered.

“No, thank you, I’m trying to memorize my way via public transport,” you declined and started to walk.

You heard the car door open and shut, he jogged towards you.

“It’s freezing out here! Please, let me take you there? Okay, I’ll teach you the way while I drive.” He offered.

“Okay,” you agreed and he gave you a wide smile. He opened the door for you and you thanked him. He started driving and when you passed by the bus stops, he told you several options on which buses to take. After a few more minutes, you reached the entrance of the university.

“Here you go,” he said as he stopped the car.

“Thank you,” you replied as you remove your seatbelt.

“I’ll see you around, Y/N.” He said before you alighted the vehicle.

You have him a slight smile and walked towards the university.

Your classes went by slower than the usual until Yoongi’s class came. It’s an extended deadline for the others who had their projects returned the week before. When he looked at your way, his eyes stayed longer on your direction until you met his. He squinted and you exactly knew why—your eyes are puffy but you don’t care anymore.

You sighed and looked at the windows when you felt your phone vibrated from the pocket of your jacket.

You glanced at Yoongi and by the looks it, he’s the one who texted you.

When he dismissed the class, that’s the time you checked your phone and true enough it’s him plus Jungkook, and Jimin.

[From: Yoongi

My office, after class.]

You glanced at his direction and he’s placing the papers on his leather bag. You followed the other remaining students and exited the classroom.

You read Jungkook’s message asking you where you are and when you didn’t respond, he texted you again, telling you that he’s gonna hang out at the cafe.

Your classes ended earlier than your other classmates since you passed one of the subjects last week and instead of going to Yoongi’s office, you decided to go back to your parents’ house.

You’re half way through your destination when you felt like going down to spend some time outside since you don’t have anything else to do at home anyway when you remembered the unique coffee shop that you visited. It’s just a few blocks away from the bus stop and you’re even more delighted to see that the place isn’t as crowded as other coffee shops.

The barista greeted you and you ordered pasta and a smoothie. You chose the spot where you find the book that you read and you started to find the page where you left off.

You passed two chapters when your order arrived. You didn’t mind because you’re so engrossed with the book, unaware that someone’s closely watching you.

Once you finished your food, you instantly regretted it because you’re going to part with the book once more but the barista who served you approached you and told you that you can borrow the book as long as you’d avail of their membership and she offered it to you for a very cheap price so you instantly agreed.

You’re so gllad that when you exited the coffee shop, you began reading it until you bumped into someone, spilling something on your shoes.

“Oh I’m so sorry!” he exclaimed. A tall, good – looking man who resembles Jack Frost because of his silvery-blonde hair appeared before you, his cheeks, nose, and lips are a little bit pink.

“No, it’s my fault I’m not looking, oh no the book!” You panicked, seeing the book completely drenched in what you think is carrot shake or something due to its orange color.

“I’m so sorry about the book, I would be glad to replace it,” he offered.

“I just borrowed this, around ten minutues ago, from that coffee shop,” you said in a worried manner.

“Ah, that? Don’t worry about the book, your shoes, you should definitely worry about your shoes.”

You looked at your white sneakers, now on a dirty-orangey hue.

You bit your lower lip, you felt quite annoyed but still you kept your composure.

“I’m sorry if it has some sort of sentimental value but please, let me help. Let me replace those, please?”

You don’t know why but you just nod, earning a sigh and a smile of relief from him.

“I’m Minhyuk by the way, Lee Minhyuk.” He extended his hand to you.

“I’m Y/N,” you accepted his hand and you gave it a little shake.

“My car’s just there, let’s go to the mall, so I can replace that.” He said and you responded with a nod. You followed him and he opened the door for you. He started talking as soon as he entered the car, overpowering the upbeat pop song from the radio.

While he drives, he gave you some wet tissues for the meantime so you can clean your shoes. When he’s done parking, you wrapped up your cleaning and the two of you went straight to the shoe store. He even asked how to clean that kind of mess and the store keeper gladly offered cleaning services that would take about three days to one week. He payed for it and you gave the store keeper your shoes, wearing the new ones.

“Thank you for accepting my offer. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” He again said as the two of you exited the establishment.

“Here’s my card, please update me if you already got your shoes.” he said.

“Okay, will do.” You accepted his business card and you politely said good bye to him. You went to the bus stop and this time, you’re going straight home.

As soon as you hit the bed, your head wanders to Jimin. What he’s doing right now, is he doing fine? You hoped he has eaten his meals today. And yes, you could text him but there’s something inside of you that’s stopping you from doing so. You checked your phone and there it is, an incoming call from Jimin.

You wanted to swipe to the right but you couldn’t.

You stared at it until the call ended, adding another missed call on your notification.

You noticed a message from Yoongi so you opened it.

From: Yoongi

Where are you?

To: Yoongi

Home. I’m sorry I don’t want to talk to anybody right now.

You turned your phone into silent so you wouldn’t be aware of anybody’s message and placed it on the furthest part of your desk. You just want to sleep so you did.

Jimin couldn’t function properly since the day you left. It has been two days since he last saw you. And the way you left, all he could feel is regret. He managed to go to work, focusing on his task. He returned to his habits—either coming home drunk or dead tired.

The only thing that he clings to, is the promise that you said you’ll come back, probably before or after Christmas.

He couldn’t help but to text you but it made him sad whenever he stares on the screen and there’s no sign that you’ve read it.

He tried controlling himself, limiting his texts, but he ended up calling you instead.

This routine goes on for days and Taehyung noticed how his work starts to change.

“I’m here for two reasons, first as a boss,” he began.

Jimin, who looked as like he haven’t slept in days looked at Taehyung.

“I suggest you take some time off of work.” He said in a tone a concenred boss would.

Jimin doesn’t reply, he just continued staring at him.

“And, second I came here as a friend.” Taehyung sat on the leather couch near Jimin’s table then a moment of silence passed.

“You looked worst than shit, hyung,” Taehyung suddenly commented while the older man sighed in response.

“She’s staying at her parents’ house. They were promoted and transferred here.” The older man replied.

“Why is she staying at her parents’ house again?”

Jimin fell silent.

“The last thing I remembered was her father’s furious when he called her. She haven’t returned for a week now,” he slowly replied, recalling the events in his mind.

Of course, Taehyung wouldn’t buy this kinds of replies. He’s the type of person that would do everything to know what he has to know so, he just looked at Jimin who’s pretending to be busy looking at the computer.

“Ah, shit.” Jimin almost threw the wireless mouse when he saw the way Taehyung looked at his direction, he knew that look—he knew something. Jimin gave up and started speaking.

“Jaebum sent some mementos,” Jimin started to open up.

Taehyung’s expresion became serious. His full attention’s now on him.

“I was about to burn it but she found it so...” he began to rock the swivel chair sideways, he’s looking at the ceiling as he speak.

“I think she saw everything because when I returned she was mad, asking me who she really is.”

“And still, you didn’t tell her anything?” Taehyung’s tone is somewhat annoyed.

Jimin replied with a long sigh.

“Pardon me but what the actual fuck are you doing? Hyung, I hate to say this to you but because of what happened, you probably know what’s the worst case scenario,” Taehyung cannot give anymore pep talk about this.

“Yes.” Jimin replied.

“But, I know Y/N. She’s the type of person that would doubt everything unless it came from the person himself,” he said.

Jimin looked at him and the younger man gave him a nod.

“Why don’t you reach out to her? Just give it a try,” Taehyung said.

“Okay.” Jimin said.

“Take leave from work and talk to her,” Taehyung went closer to him and gave him a pat on the arm and left while Jimin looked at his figure disappear and he followed after.

It’s two days before Christmas and you enjoyed staying with your parents at home, chilling or just doing whatever task you wanted to do. They told you they might not be home during Christmas eve and Christmas day so they allow you to do whatever plans you have in mind.

You’re busy hanging some ornaments on your Christmas tree when you saw your phone light up.

You finished what you’re doing first before you get your phone and when you saw the sender, you inhaled as many oxygen as you could. You opened the message as slow as you could while you try to keep your emotions as normal as you could.

[From: Jimin]

Can we meet?

This is one of the things that you wanted to happen with the hopes that he would finally say something about the girl.

You replied with ‘okay’ and he immediately replied with an offer to get you but you declined so he told you the name of the coffee shop where he’s going to be.

[To: Jimin

I’ll just get ready. See you.]

You took a bath, dressed yourself and texted your parents you’re heading out.

You tried to calm yourself down but as you get closer and closer to the coffee shop, your heart keeps pounding faster and faster inside your chest.

You quickly spotted him despite of his bundled appearance. He really knows how to dress well, grays, whites and blacks and his hair’s with a tinge of orange.

Your heart couldn’t stop feeling excited and hurt at the same time.

As you approached him, you gave him a sincere smile. When he caught your eyes, he immediately stood up.

You sat down and he followed.

You cannot lie, you miss those warm brown eyes looking back at yours. You noticed that he looks tired behind those glasses.

“How are you?”

Was the first sentence you heard from him.

“In general, I am fine, thank you,” you replied.

“Shall I order?” He asked.

“Sure, if you wish then, yes go ahead.” You responded.

He went to the counter and you let out a sigh, absentmindedly fiddling with the rings on your hands which has been a habit of yours whenever you felt uncomfortable.

When he returned, he has a tray full of food and coffee.

“Thank you,” you replied as he placed food on your side.

You sipped your cofee a couple of times, obvious that neither of you wants to start the conversaton.

You sighed, and looked at him.

“So, what are we going to do, just drink coffee?” you asked as polite as you could.

You saw him gulp.

You paused and watch him sigh and open his mouth.

“When are you coming back home? I miss you there.”

“Honestly, I don’t know Jimin, maybe I’ll stay with my parents for the meantime.” You firmly replied.

“Please, come back home, Y/N.” His voice is soft.

You know he wouldn’t let this end until you say yes or be mad at him again.

“Okay, Jimin do you even know why l left?”

His face suddenly looked sad.

“I don’t know how long we’d have to stay here for you to tell me anything about her but it seems that you don’t have any plans in letting me know who that girl is. But I think, I have the right to know because you wanted me to marry you right?”

He slowly nod.

“So, can you tell me who she is?”

Again, he nods.

“Then who is she.” You replied.

He took in a lot of air and slowly exhaled.

“Baby, whatever you saw on that box it’s not like that,” Jimin’s voice breaks.

You closed your eyes to control the bubbling anger that’s about to take over you once again.

“I saw a huge picture of you and her on the day the helpers came in to clean the house,” you revealed.

You saw him looked so surprised, and he turned pale

“The day I left, my father called me and he said that you’re not telling me something,” you continued.

“I’m just waiting for you to tell me, Jimin. Tell me something. I gave you two chances and this? This is the third time. If it hurts you, what do you think I’m feeling right now?” Your emotions starts to get the best of you.

He kept silent. And for you, his silence means the worst.

“I’m sorry baby, please give me some time,” he pleaded.

“Jimin, this is it. This is the time that you’ve been asking. If you still can’t tell me who she is then I’ll accept what these are saying.”

You pulled the pictures from your bag, pushed towards his side of the table and left.

You still heard him run after you, called you but you’re too hurt to even care about his feelings right now.

When Jimin saw the pictures you left, he felt his world came crumbling down.

With low spirits, he grabbed the pictures and went back home.

You tried to keep yourself as composed as possible during your bus rides but as you got closer, your emotions starts to sway your composure.You entered your house with tears on your eyes.

You kept on crying until your eyes grew tired, you fell asleep.

On the other hand, Jimin spends his time in the basement, beating up the punching bag. As much as he wanted to cry, he couldn’t.

He doesn’t feel anything. He could look for a fight right now and be beaten, he’s sure he wouldn’t feel anything.

When his body gave up, he lied there, staring at the ceiling he stayed on that position for quite some time. When he got up, he went to the bathroom and filled the tub with water.

He retrieved the pictures plus a lighter and as he sink into the tub, he burned the photos that you left with him one by one.

You woke up with no texts from any of your friends and you’re somewhat relieved. You just asked your parents if they’re going home but your father replied they’re unsure so you spent the rest of the evening watching TV until wee hours of christmas eve.

As you watch, your eyes got distracted as the beautiful ring on your finger sparkles whenever you move.

You sigh and you went back to your room and scanned your surroundings.

Your head and feelings have been at war for the past week and you finally decided who’s the winner.

So, you grab your coat and went out.

Lucky you, the first trip for that day was about to leave. You digested the familiar surroundings around this part of the city, the ones that make the city ‘home’ for you while your parents are away. You alighted the bus, walked a few blocks and when you finally reached your destination, the guards from the inside of Jimin’s house greeted you.

You waved and smiled at them. You walked slowly, trying to engrave how his garden looks like during winter.

You reached the front door and you slowly punched the security code and entered the house.

The sweet scent of the house welcomes you, you smiled at the thought of it, and the memories you shared. You don’t know if he’s at home and you don’t have any plans in checking his room.

You slowly twisted the knob of your room and to your surprise, you saw him sitting on your bed, him hugging his knees close, his head resting on it.

This image of him breaks your heart. You don’t know what to say and you tried to be as quiet as possible but the door creaked.

When he heard the soft creak of the door, his head automatically looked to your direction.

His face lights up, you don’t know how he did it, you just find yourself under his embrace.

“You came back...” he whispered.

You closed your eyes and let yourself memorize how he smelled, how he felt, you embraced him back and you don’t know how long you stayed in that position.

“I came here to get my things.”

You hate to break it to him but you have to.

“What?” he looked so confused.

“I came here to get my few remaining things,”you repeated.

You stared at each other and when he doesn’t move, you started moving. You started placing your stuff on the large shopping bag you brought. You cleared your dresser, removing the cosmetics there. You removed all of the pictures that’s beautifully placed on your memory wall. You went to the closet to get the dresses his grandmother gave to you almost a year ago. You threw your toothbrush, and other toiletries.

What you’re doing right now hurts but it hurts more to see Jimin just standing there, doing nothing besides watching you with a sad expression.

When you’re done, you saw him call a number and shortly, two from his security team came knocking. You accepted the help he’s offering. You let his men carry your stuffs.

You again were left alone.

You cleared your throat, summoning all of the courage that you have in your system.

“Abut your nightmares, you need to see a doctor.”

You looked at him and he’s already looking at you with an even sadder expression.

“Don’t skip your meals okay? Don’t drink too much please. Or if you could, don’t drink liquor at all.” You continued.

“Why are you doing this?” He said.

“I think, this is the best for the two of us, Jimin.” you replied.

You gave him a slight smile, and speak again.

“You know I love you, right? It’s not me that you need right now. That’s why I’m doing this,” you went closer to him, your voice starts to break.

“No, no, please, Y/N don’t do this.” He begged and his voice cracked, he’s now crying.

“I have to.” You whispered.

This, by far is the biggest and most painful decision you’ve ever made. You don’t want to but your situation right now gives you no choice.

You slowly lifted your left hand and pulled the engagement ring out of it.

He grabbed you and hugged you again.

“Y/N, don’t do this please. I need you. I love you.” He cried.

“I know, and I love you too. But Jimin I’m not what you need right now.”

You pushed him as slowly as you could. He begged you to stay but you pushed his arms away from you.

You jogged downstairs, straight to the car where your things are and for the las time, you told the driver to take you to the bus station where your stop is.

Before you completely exited the house, you saw Jimin being held by the rest of the security team, preventing him from chasing the car.

He did dropped you there. You thanked him and bid him farewell.

You returned to your house and again, cried your heart out, whispering apologetic words to him. You don’t have a choice but to do this, you have to break up with him so he can find himself again.

You’re sure he’s the one for you but you’re not sure if you’re the one for him.

Although it hurts, you have to move forward, even that means you’re going to do it alone.

You neatly placed all of the things that remind you of him on a box and hide it under your bed except for the magnolia ring that he wore on your finger. You don’t have the strength to do it.

You have to keep yourself busy so you cooked for your parents although they’re sure they wouldn’t make it since it’s peak season at the hotel.

You managed to create a lot of food within a short span of time. You remembered your friends and you decided to bake for them too because that might be the last time that you will.

After another couple of hours, the muffins are now baked. You felt tired but it’s fulfilling.

You placed them on a presentable containers, bagged them and when it’s done, you decided to get some rest.

As Taehyung entered Jimin’s house, his boots created a crushing sound. He immediately located the light switch and what he saw made him look around—everything’s a mess, broken pieces of different decorations that was once neatly and beautifully placed on now clear shelves.

He skipped all of the small pieces and run towards the staircase while calling someone.

He looked for Jimin in all of the rooms and found him in yours.

“What in the world’s happened here?” He looked at Jimin, who’s hugging his knee and when he noticed the older man’s hand, it’s bleeding.

“Jeezus, let me take you to the hospital!”

He refused.

A few moments passed, the rest of the boys came in and they managed to convince him to go to the hospital. When the procedure’s finished, they were transferred to the out patient unit, they were all silent.

“I called an emergency cleaning services, they’re on their way to your house. For the meantime, stay in mine,” Taehyung told Jimin who just remained quiet.

“Can you please tell us what happened?” Jungkook spoke which he earned frowns from the others.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” Namjoon stood up, Jin and Yoongi assited Jimin while Taehyung gave Jungkook a short and whispered lecture.

They went to the nearby coffee shop and waited for Jimin to talk.

He fished something from his pocket, and everyone on the table made a silent surprised look upon seeing what he placed on the table.

It’s the ring that you returned to him including the keys to his house.

He started sobbing while his friends consoled him in silence and after that, they went to Taehyung’s house where they managed to convince him to sleep.

“I wonder how Y/N’s doing,” Jungkook sighed.

“I know right? If he’s like that, I am sure it’s more than two times painful for Y/N,” Taehyung spoke.

“I hate to say this but this is his fault,” Yoongi blurted.

Jin and Namjoon couldn’t help but agree but they still feel sorry about what happened.

“I hope this wouldn’t affect the relationship his grandmother and Y/N has,” Namjoon said.

“Yeah, I really feel bad about this, I don’t know how we’d celebrate later.” Taehyung pouted.

“Why don’t you and Kook meet up with Y/N, To check and celebrate with her?/” Jin suggested.

“Okay,” Taehyung replied while Jungkook flashed a thumbs up.

It’s already 7PM when you woke up and instead of feeling refreshed, you feel tired. You slowly rubbed your eyes and went downstairs to fulfill your protesting stomach. You checked your phone and there’s four missed calls, two are from Taehyung and the other’s from Jungkook.

You left your phone on top of the counter and you hopped in the shower. You plan to spend the remaining hours of this day outside with the hopes that you’ll be entertained.

In the middle of your preparation, your phone blasted Taehyung’s ringtone and you accepted the call.

[Come out wherever you are, Y/N, we’ll celebrate!]

You frowned and remained quiet.

[I came too enthusiastic, don’t I?]

“It’s fine, where are you going to celebrate?”

[Let’s meet up first, shall we?]

You’re quite hesitant because you’re afraid that Jimin might be there.

“Tae, is Jimin with you?”

[He’s not. I assure you.]

“Okay, text me the address”

You hang up and returned to your preparation and when you received the location from Taehyung, you head out, bringing the muffins with you.

When you arrived, you saw Taehyung and Jungkook, looking handsome as ever, although they’re wearing just their casual clothes.

You smiled as wide as you could but as soon as they see you approaching, they closed the distance and they both hugged you, making you tear up a bit.

“My gifts, they might get squished!” you joked and they let you go.

Taehyung pat your head and placed the large shopping bag on the vacant side of the table.

“I’m sorry, this happened,” Taehyung said, while he gazes on your finger. And he felt somewhat relieved seeing the Magnolia ring on it. You gave him a wide smile but as you do, tears filled your eyes, making the festive lights around you mix and became blurry, making you remember not just the ring but also the promise that symbolizes it.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt him. But I have to do it, this is for our own good,” you said as you weep, Jungkook held your hand that’s close to him and gently squeezes it while Taehyung rubbed your back.

“No, in behalf of him, we’re the one’s who should apologize to you, Y/N believe me, if we could do something besides convincing him in telling you what you wanted to know, we could’ve done it.” Taehyung said.

“I know, well I guess, he’s not ready yet, so I think it’s better to give him time.” You replied.

“I hate to say this but, I tagged along because I want to make you happy, Y/N. Shall we make that happen right now?” Jungkook complained.

You let a soft chuckle while he handed you tissues. Taehyung carried the shopping bag that you brought.

You watched an event wherein anybody can sing and the two of them didn’t hesitate to be on the stage just to make you smile.

They sang two songs because the crowd loved their voices.

“Wow, I didn’t know you sing that well! Wow, just WOW!” you chirped giving them a pat on their arms with a smile on your face.

“Well, anything for you, our dear Y/N,” Taehyung beamed back.

You ate dinner at a restaurant where they have a reservation. When it’s a minute before christmas, you called your parents but neither of them answered so you sent them a video message greeting them.

Though you gave Taehyung and Jungkook the sincerest smiles and laughter, at the back of your mind, you still wonder how’s Jimin doing right now.

It’s a little bit past 1 AM when you returned home, you let them bring your gifts for the rest of the gang and as you sink into your bed, you couldn’t help but to remember that exactly a year ago, you said ‘yes’ to Jimin to be his girlfriend and now, you’re the one who ended it.

As you remember the days you felt so happy with him,

You have to say good bye to those memories sooner or later but for now, you envelope yourself in the pain of his absence and the broken promise of what was supposed to last for a lifetime.

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