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w1ldthoughts · 4 months

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System Reboot

A/n: Anon requested second piece of sad girl winter!!!

Disclaimer: this is a work of FICTION, the characters are fictionalized versions of real life situations and real people. It’s all based on my imagination.

Love was supposed to be patient. Love should have been kind. But lately love was…hard. It made you question your sanity and your self worth. Love wasn’t supposed to exhaust you or desert you. And that’s exactly what love was doing. It’s exactly what Justin was doing.

When you met him he was a rookie and your college friend Gabe’s super tidy and quiet roommate who loved all things Oregon and couldn’t resist a good movie quote. You stayed in touch with him even after Gabe was released by the Chargers and eventually dated him for a few years before getting married. The first few years of marriage were everything they say it is in the movies. You got to spend every single day with your best friend and the love of your life all wrapped into one. There were football games to attend, bruises and injuries along the way that were no match for the love you two shared and eventually you had a child, a perfect little girl named Remi. Your family was your entire world. And maybe somewhere along the way all of your jobs as a wife and a mom clouded your vision as to who you were as an individual.

It’s not like anyone noticed, let alone your husband. He had things to focus on too; games needed to be won, he had his team, the media and Remi of course. Justin was busy but never busy enough to skimp out on his duties as a father. He cherished every moment with her and it was embarrassing to admit that you envied how much effort he put into his relationship with Remi while his relationship with you had become relatively nonexistent. You weren’t jealous of your daughter by any means, you were just struggling to understand how the same person who would go out of his way to bring you your favorite coffee before leaving for practice had barely kissed you goodnight the last few weeks. What changed?

You were pulled out of your thoughts by the garage door opening and Remi running to the back door to wait for her dad.

“Is that my girl?” He immediately picks her up as soon as he comes in and it actually gives you goosebumps watching them interact. Your husband listens intently as the three year old describes her day in vivid detail. “Hi.” Justin says, finally looking at you when Remi leaves him to head back to her playroom.

“Hi. How was practice?”

He shrugs, moving into the kitchen to sit across from you. “It was fine, nothing new. I was actually going to talk to you about—”

“Daddy? It’s your turn tonight for bath time. Come on, let’s go.” Remi holds onto his leg, tugging on his shorts until he stands up.

“It is my turn isn’t it? Okay let’s go get your stuff.” He tells her, grabbing her tiny hand. Justin looks back over at you and whispers, “we’ll talk later.”

You nod and start putting away the dishes and making sure Remi cleaned up all of her toys like you asked. The giggles and talking you hear going on upstairs make you re-evaluate everything you’ve thought about today. Some people have it way worse than you, why in the world would you be complaining when you live in this beautiful house, with this beautifully sweet husband and an angel for a daughter? Instead of continuing to spiral, you headed upstairs to listen to your husband read your daughter a bedtime story and even joined in as the two of them sang the bedtime song, “Hey Jude.” You both kissed Remi goodnight and headed back downstairs.

“What did you want to talk about?” You asked immediately.

“I can’t be the only one that feels like there’s a disconnect between us, right? I mean don’t you think something just feels…off?”

You sigh, feeling a lump growing in your throat. “I don’t know what to do, but I know I want to fix it.”

“Me too.” He reassures you. “Come here.” You slowly make your way into his arms, holding in the tears that are really threatening to appear. And he can tell. “What if we go out to dinner tomorrow night? Just you and me.”

There’s no way you can muster up words so you just nod, letting out a sigh of relief at this potential marriage saving date.

He was late. Not late enough for you to cancel the night altogether but it was annoying. You had to resist the urge to roll your eyes when he walked in apologizing profusely. Now was not the time to make a scene. Dinner was…awkward to say the least. It was like trying to make small talk with an acquaintance from high school that you ran into at the grocery store. Your husband was becoming a stranger and maybe instead of fighting to hold on to something that was dying, you should just pull the plug. You thanked him for dinner and he walked in front of you on the way out of the restaurant. A hand that used to rest in yours or on the small of your back just remained at his side, crushing your spirit even more. The drive home was quiet and you headed straight to your room while your husband relieved the babysitter.

You looked in the mirror at yourself and couldn’t even recognize your own reflection. Staring back at you was a shell of your former self, someone who you vowed never to become and you cried silently the entire time you got ready for bed. All of your energy was focused on not making noise and you didn’t hear Justin come into the bathroom.

“Babe? What’s wrong? What happened?” He frantically asks, kneeling down in front of you as you sat on the edge of the tub.

“Justin, leave me alone please.” It came out a little harsher than you’d intended but maybe deep down you meant it exactly how it came out.

Either way, he was shocked. “I’m not leaving you like this y/n, tell me what’s going on.”

“Fine. If you won’t leave, then I will.” You ran a hand across your face and stood up to head back downstairs, the man trailing cross behind you. It wasn’t fair how long his stride was compared to yours. “Please stop following me. I just really need a minute to myself.”

“Why? You’re clearly upset and I want you to talk to me. I’m your partner, maybe we can figure it out together.” He’s almost begging, holding his hand out to you. Maybe a week ago you would’ve gladly taken his hand and fallen apart in his arms but there just wasn’t anything left for you to give. “Is it because I was late? Because I apologized and I thought we were good but—”

“No! It’s not because you were late.” You’ve never raised your voice at him but you clearly aren’t yourself anymore. “It’s…everything. It’s the fact that I can’t remember the last time we laughed about something that wasn’t related to football or kid stuff. Or that I don’t even know how long it’s been since we had sex. When was the last time you touched me or held me or I don’t know acted like I am the person you want to be with when you’re old and the most exciting thing in the world is sitting in a recliner reminiscing on the good days. These are supposed to be the good days and they’re not Justin. I am miserable and you can’t tell me you’re the happiest you’ve ever been either.”

He sits on the couch with a sigh, running a hand over his face. “I’m not happy. I mean we used to spend all day together, talking and laughing about random stuff and we just spent the last three hours together and couldn’t come up with anything to say.”

“So what do we do?” You ask hesitantly, already guessing where this is going.

“I don’t have any long term solutions but I do know we can’t keep going like this. I’ll sleep in one of the guest rooms tonight. We’ll have to figure out something more functional when the season ends.”

Watching him walk away from you felt real and final…but maybe this was for the best.

The week after the season ends Justin grabs some of his stuff and moves into the guesthouse. Two weeks after that you found yourself in a small coffee shop, googling “divorce lawyers in Los Angeles,” hitting a new emotional low. Nights were the worst. Times that you used to look forward to were just a reminder of everything you were losing. Remi wanted to watch her favorite movie, Elementals but even the sight of romance, even in cartoon form, had you holding back tears. You and your husband had been spending as much time with her as possible, trying to figure out the best way to explain to your child that your marriage was over.

“I mean what does that even do to a child that young? How do we even start? She’s already asking why we don’t do the bedtime song together anymore—”

This entire time since the separation has been hard on him too, even if he wasn’t physically that far away...yet. He’s got this headache that won’t go away and the thought of telling his baby girl something that will cause her pain makes his stomach hurt. So he tries to hide the pain with humor. “We shouldn’t have created a little genius. She’s probably already figured out something is up.”

You could see the pain in his face and hear it in his voice, but it wasn’t your job to nurse his wounds anymore…no matter how much you wanted to. It was decided that Justin would take her to the zoo next week and butter her up, and when they got home you would try your best to explain everything to her and move forward from there. That way you had time to read up on how to deliver difficult news to a toddler. Easy enough.

The week came a lot faster than you could prepare yourself for. On the morning of zoo day, the pain that radiates through your body is double the emotional pain you’ve been experiencing. All of your muscles ache, your sinuses are on fire and you really don’t know how you managed to get your daughter ready while Justin got her snacks, water and stroller in the car.

He took one look at you and knew something was wrong. “You alright?” There was an intense amount of concern in his tone and you nodded slowly, waving them goodbye and counting down the seconds until you could get back into bed and sleep off whatever this was.

In the car, Justin was interrogating his favorite spy. “Mini, are you excited for zoo day?”

“Yeah! I love the zoo. And animals. And you. But mama’s sick so she can’t come.” She says sadly.

“Mama’s sick? How do you know that?”

“Um,” she pauses, trying to put her words together. “She was coughing and blowing her nose, it sounded like an elephant.” He had to hold in a laugh. “And I hear her crying sometimes, maybe she has a really bad owie and you should kiss it better.”

The last part hurt, the thought of you all on your own dealing with all of these emotions and he wasn’t there to be your shoulder to lean on? It made him feel awful. “Maybe I should.” He turns around to face her and make a deal. “Would you be sad if we did zoo day another day? Mama really needs us to take care of her and I know Dr. Herbert is exactly what she needs to feel better.”

Remi had been obsessed with playing doctor lately and he knew she’d be all for it. She nodded excitedly as he drove to the store to pick up everything they would need. They came back into the house 30 minutes later with all of the essentials in hand and extra popsicles for his mini.

You woke up to a hand on your forehead…and then a tiny one. It would’ve been hilarious if you weren’t hot and cold at the same time.

“Her forehead is warm. She needs meic—the yucky stuff.” Remi whispers, holding the miniature stethoscope in her hands. Her dad nods at her and pulls out the medicine from the bag and hands her a bottle of Gatorade to set on the table. The doctor duo heads back downstairs to let you nap.

Two hours later, you woke up feeling refreshed and a lot less…gross. You gingerly walked down the stairs to find the cutest sous chef in the world hard at work.

“Hi mama, we’re making soup for you.” Remi sings, stirring the pot with Justin standing right behind her.

“Thank you baby, it smells amazing.” You give Justin a wink, whispering another “thank you.”

The three of you sit on the couch while you eat, taking in Remi’s movie for the eighth time this week. When you wake up from your third nap of the day, you are surrounded by your favorite people who are fast asleep next to you. At some point Justin must have gone upstairs to grab your favorite blanket because you know you weren’t covered in it when the movie started. These were the moments that you’d overlooked. Life was different now, you and Justin weren’t the 20-somethings that met and fell in love and it was a mistake trying to get back to that. This was your reality now and it could still be full of joy if you allowed it. That night, you asked Justin to stay for the bedtime song and asked to speak to him in the kitchen.

“I know we were supposed to tell Remi about everything today but—”

“Y/n, I don’t want a divorce.” He finishes for you. “This—you, me and mini, this is what I want. And honestly I don’t think we’ve tried hard enough to fight for each other so this is me, fighting for us.”

You reach out for his hand this time, which he happily grabs hold on to. “I don’t want to do this life with anyone else,” you whisper with your eyes watering. “You’re it for me and um…I want to fight for us too. Whatever it takes.”

“Maybe we could try counseling?” He suggests and you nod, vowing to help him look for someone you both liked in the morning. Your marriage wasn’t fixed in a day, but this was a huge step in the right direction.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” You give his hand a squeeze and he smiles, squeezing it back.

“In sickness and in health remember?”

Even in moments of darkness, love is patient, love is kind. And if it’s meant for you? Love will always find its way home.

#Justin Herbert #Justin Herbert imagine #justin herbert x reader #justin herbert angst #justin herbert fanfic

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salamandergoo · 2 months

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STWG Prompt: Outsider POV

Cw: discussion of abuse

Sometimes Joyce felt like she didn't even know her own son. She'd turn around and suddenly Jonathan was different than she remembered. A little more withdrawn, taller, more tired. The first time was when he was little, old enough to watch Will for a little while until Lonnie got home so she could leave for work. She set Will up with a coloring book or some butcher paper to draw on, make sure there was a snack out on the counter in case one of them got hungry, then she would kiss her boys on the head and then leave for work. Jonathan never complained about it, just dutifully sat with his baby brother and watched him draw while fidgeting with her old camera. She couldn't afford film very often, but he loved to take it apart and put it back together, would sit at the little coffee table and arrange all the pieces by size or in order, then do it all again the next day.

And she never even considered that Lonnie might stay out later than she thought. Never considered that Jonathan assumed that human shield was part of big brother duty. It wasn't until she realized he hadn't said a word to her in a week, that she saw the bruises on his wrist that went up his arm, that she saw the new dent in the wall that had apparently been put there by Jonathan's HEAD-

It was still several more days before Jonathan found his voice again after Lonnie had been kicked out, divorce papers following not long after.

And then she felt like she lost sight of him again when he started working. He was the youngest employee at the movie theater, worked more days than he should, but Joyce couldn't bring herself to complain, not when he would smile so big after buying a roll of film or some new crayons for his little brother. But then the water bill went up and she began to find his paychecks tucked into her purse. And when it came down to using that money or going without heat in the dead of February-

They didn't talk about it.

She'd told him he wasn't alone and it felt like a lie sometimes. She'd told him she was there for him, and then he'd planned a funeral by himself and Lonnie was back-

She hadn't gotten the call when he was arrested, she only knew about the fight well after the fact. She'd watched him open a gift from Nancy at Christmas and couldn't bring herself to ask what had happened to his camera. Because she didn't know, had hardly noticed that it hadn't been on the kitchen table or in his hands for what, maybe a month now?

And it kept happening. She'd find herself tangled in grief or anger or even just with a moment's peace, and then begin to wonder what was going on with him. When she'd last sat down and asked him how he was doing. He'd normally give a one word answer and then maybe decide to talk a little more, but he'd never volunteer the information.

She'd watched him say goodbye to Nancy before they left for Lenora, seen the way he gave Will a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before guiding him to the car, but she'd also seen the way his shoulders slumped, the quiet sadness he was carrying.

None of the kids had been handling the transition from Indiana to California particularly gracefully, but Will and El had demanded so much immediate attention that it was two months before she really got a good look at Jonathan. The younger two had gone upstairs for the night and he was sitting on the couch in front of the tv, but he was looking at the wall instead of the screen. "Hey," she murmured, taking a seat next to him.

He jolted, but settled after looking around the room, gaze dragging over the doors and windows. "Hi mom."

"Doing okay?"

"Um. Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. Are... you okay?" His voice had been tentative, but she nodded. "Good, that's- ...good."

"Have you talked to Nancy lately?"

She watched as he seemed to close himself off at the question. She watched as he pulled on foot up onto the couch and held his knee to his chest, back pressing into the corner of the couch. "Once or twice. She's busy with the school paper and college essays, she doesn't have much time for calls."

"College, huh? That's exciting. Are you sending out applications yet?" She should know, she thought. She should've asked that sooner.

"Soon. Um, yeah. Soon. I talked to the counselor at school, he helped me get a couple forms with deadlines. So. I'll be doing that soon." He shrugged. "How's, um, selling...?"

"It's okay. Better than double shifts at Melvald's." She chuckled softly and watched as he gave her a faint smile. "School going okay? Are you making friends?"

"It's okay. Nothing special." He shrugged, but his tiny smile got a bit more... genuine. "Yeah, I made a friend, actually. His name's Argyle, he's pretty cool."

"I'm so happy to hear that, honey."

And she'd felt like that was the best conversation they'd had in years. After that, the name Argyle came up in conversation more than a few times. When Jonathan's car finally kicked the bucket after two years of being on it's last legs, she finally met the mysterious Argyle she'd only heard about.

He was an eccentric young man and after just a few minutes, she could see the way Jonathan was pulled out of his shell around him, the way he leaned into casual touch instead of away from it. The way his smiles actually reached his eyes and were pulled bigger than she usually saw.

Argyle became a more common presence in the house after that. He'd come over after school and on weekends when he wasn't working at the local pizza place. He'd take over the kitchen with Jonathan and they'd bicker over the stove or laugh as they mixed what she thought had to be truly awful combinations of food. They'd spread out on the couch and Jonathan would be pressed in close, leaned in so they could whisper through the movie while El and Will sat on the floor to watch with them.

But she still seemed to be missing a lot, especially when she opened the door to Jonathan's room, bringing up some of his laundry from the dryer, only to find Argyle pinning him down to the bed, both of them panting like they'd run a marathon.

Thankfully, they were fully clothed, but Jonathan's loud yelp of embarrassment was louder than the door slamming shut. Clearly she'd missed a lot. Again. She swore softly and left the basket of laundry outside his room. She'd always kind of thought that Will might- but Jonathan?

And he hadn't mentioned anything about his relationship with Nancy, she'd just assumed things were okay between them. Was he still with her? Was he... cheating on his girlfriend? That didn't seem right, but could she really come to that conclusion?

Footsteps, hesitating and quiet, came down the stairs and she looked up to see Jonathan creeping down with Argyle behind him. "Jonathan-"

"We're going to go pick up- to uh, we'll be at- I'll be home later." He grabbed his left shoe from where it sat by the door and yanked it on, nearly fumbling his balance as he tried to get his other shoe on at the same time. Argyle reached to steady him, but he jerked away from the touch, panic written across his face.

"Honey-"

"We can just pretend you didn't see anything. Because you didn't, there was nothing going on. I'll be back later tonight, we've got something- a thing."

He was out the door like a shot, she'd only seen him move that fast when someone's life was on the line. Argyle hesitated behind him, standing in the empty doorway as he glanced at Joyce. "...I won't keep him out too late," he said quietly before slipping out the door.

Joyce sat in the empty living room with her head in her hands and sighed loudly. She didn't think she knew him, and it felt like that was intentional. She didn't know what was going on in his life, she didn't know when he would come home, and all she could do was sit there and worry.

#stwgdailyprompt #stranger things #jonathan byers #joyce byers #argyle stranger things #jargyle

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dulcesiabits · 7 months

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at the edge of hunger.

summary: Sol gifts Nemmie some honey during the worst food shortage of their lives.

notes: 972 words, fic, she/her pronouns for Sol, set during the famine so discussions of starvation, sapphic teenage yearning, Anemone's nickname as Nemmie

Hunger haunts Nemmie like a knife wound.

It throbs under her skin, a dull ache that beats like a second heart. It clings persistently to the back of her mind, a stray thought that bobs up through the fog of her brain unbidden. The pain will chase her like a dog for the rest of her life; she will never learn to live without it.

The shriveled carrots and dried bread, rationed to her as to the rest of the colony, can only take off the edge of her hunger. She chews the tough meal slowly, trying to make each bite last. When the ache is unbearable, she drinks water until her teeth hurt, pretending it’s a spoonful of soup, a bite of a sandwich, the taste of a cupcake.

Are they going to die like this? It’s a question Nemmie can’t ask, not when Kom comes home exhausted from guard duty, his head in his hands, too tired to play sportsball with her. And

she hasn’t confided in her mom since she was little. Not that her mom would give her a straight answer, anyways, always saying she’s too young to understand, or that the adults will handle it. As if her mom doesn’t spend hours in the kitchen, trying to stretch out the next meal just a little longer.

This time, there’s no glow season monster to defeat, no threat to prepare for. Starvation, the invisible enemy, refuses to die to a plasma blaster.

So, under the hot sun, with nothing else to do, Nemmie runs. There’s nothing else she can do. Keep going, she thinks. She has to keep going. But for what? For who? To protect everyone. But how? Her powerlessness chokes her throat.

When Nemmie trips, landing face-first into the red dirt of the sportsball court, she welcomes the impact, the jolt ringing through her bones, the taste of the planet’s heat in her mouth. Her scales scrape against the ground as she flips herself over.

Nemmie has to do something. She wants to do something. If she wrangles Utopia into letting her go outside, maybe she could hunt down one of those animals for the kitchen, even if Cal will complain about it. Or she could try to scavenge for plants, even though she wasn’t as good at identifying them as Tang. But how else can she keep everyone safe? How else can she be like Kom? How–

A shadow cuts across her face, and Nemmie snaps open her eyes. It’s Sol, more dusty and scraped up than Cal’s old hoverboard. Sol squints down at Nemmie, but there’s a hollowness to her face, a tightness that Nemmie recognizes in the faces of everyone in the colony.

“Are you hungry?” Sol asks.

It’s an absurd question. Nemmie chokes out a laugh, draping a hand over her stomach. “Yeah. Yeah, what else would I be?”

Sol nods, crouches, pulls something out of her pockets. “Don’t tell your mom about this.”

Perched in Sol’s hands, dangling right over Nemmie’s head, is a container of paint. No, not paint; it’s too viscous, too translucent to be paint. It’s a pearly, iridescent color, and the liquid sways in Sol’s grasp.

“What is it?” Nemmie asks.

“Honey.”

“Honey…?”

“Squeegee honey,” Sol clarifies, and Nemmie wrinkles her nose. The name is familiar from the few biology classes her mom forced her to attend, and an image from her holopalm floats to her mind.

“Ew. Squeegees? Those ugly things?”

“It’s sweet,” Sol says, as if that explains everything. She unscrews the top of the container, tilts a corner to her lips, and drinks. A drop rolls down her chin, the hollow of her throat, and Nemmie hungrily tracks the trail as it disappears down Sol’s shirt.

Sol tilts the container towards Nemmie’s mouth, an unspoken question.

“You’re not going to share with the rest of the colony?” she croaks.

“I gave Auntie Seedant most of what I found,” Sol says.

“But then why…”

“I thought you might want some,” she says simply. “I didn’t want you to…” There’s a faraway look on Sol’s face. She gets like that sometimes, staring into a distance, lightyears away. Like she’s not really here. “I want you to be okay,” Sol finishes, but she’s not looking at Nemmie, not really.

A spark of irritation ignites in Nemmie’s gut, and she grabs the container, guzzling it down in messy gulps. It flows down her throat, sweet and thick, a liquid paradise. Her stomach protests at the sudden excess, too used to diminishing meals, but Nemmie doesn’t stop, not until the container is empty. She burps.

Sol smiles, back in Nemmie’s world, no longer too far to reach. “Was it good?”

“Really good,” Nemmie groans.

Sol reaches out her hand, hesitates, then withdraws it. “There’s still some honey around your mouth.”

Nemmie roughly scrubs the back of her mouth with her arm. Why did Sol pull away? She can’t tell if she’s more upset that Sol was going to touch her, or that Sol didn’t.

“Thanks,” Nemmie says.

“If I find more, I’ll give you some,” Sol says.

Nemmie raises one arm, punches Sol lightly on the leg. “You better.”

“I want you to live,” Sol mumbles, but it’s said so quietly Nemmie isn’t sure if it was something she was supposed to hear.

It’s the heat. It’s the hunger. It’s the way Sol acts strangely. But Nemmie grinds her teeth. “I’m not going anymore, Sol. I’m going to stay with you until you’re sick of me.”

“Promise?” Sol asks.

“Promise.”

For some reason, the idea of a future together heats up her brain, makes her heart jump. Nemmie. Nemmie, and Sol. Sol, standing over her like the sun. Despite the still-warm honey settling sluggishly in her stomach, Nemmie feels it again, watching Sol. Hunger, as sharp as a knife.

#liya writes #i was a teenage exocolonist #anemone #sol #exocolonist #anemone exocolonist #sol exocolonist #nemmie x sol #sol x nemmie #iwatex #SORRY I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO TAG THIS LOL #serving nemmie nation #my absolute beloved

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satoruyes · 2 years

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overstaying your welcome.

summary: perv!Jonathan Byers x fem!reader who’s currently staying with the byers while her family is out of state.

♡ warnings: loser/pervert jonathan, smut, male masturbation mentioned, pantayy sniffa!!

m.list | navi

Your parents decided to have a nice affordable vacay amidst the tragedies befalling hawkins indiana, even if that meant leaving you behind to go live with the Byers. Joyce, Jonathan and Will Byers to be particular. “honey, breakfast is ready,” you heard joyce chirp from the hallway. You groaned and stretched as you readied your self for another day in the Byers household. You and Jonathan were the closest in age but he found himself rather caught up in photography to even notice your presence and even sometimes being cold to you. Maybe he also felt animosity towards you for having to share a bed with you. Not like someone else was going to take the spot, so what should he care. “hey uh- mom said food is ready— come eat already,” jonathan says, his scrawny figure leering over your sleepy form. “okay okay i’m coming,” you groan shielding your eyes from the sunlight that dared to creep through jonathans drapes and from the lamp jonathan turned on.

You slid to the bathroom to put on a bra, only taking it off before heading to bed. It was for comfort reasons.. right? As you walked out of his room you were hit with strong whiff of syrup, “did you make waffles joyce, smells delicious,” you say, pulling up a chair to the table. “Thanks honey, glad to know someone likes my cooking,” Joyce said while shooting a glance at her two boys, earning you a quick glare from jonathan. you shot up your arms in defeat, not trying to make him seemingly hate you more.

But little did you know, he didn’t hate you. He fancied you. You were the perfect girl for him, or so he thought. Thoughts often clouded his mind while he was in the shower finding his hand on his dick working his hand up and down his length, his closed eyes giving him a chance to remind himself of the view of your chest rising and falling as you lay deep in slumber next to him.

He remembers all the nights he pulled your covers up, to make sure you were comfortable, not so he could have his hands closer to your boobs. why would he do that? only perverts act that way. He notices the way you act when you’re feeling a certain way. Even notices your demeanor change at school after certain classes. He only acted cold towards you because let’s face it, the fucking loser had to compose himself one way, and shutting you out would do it.

Joyce have never seen her son so chipper to do chores but why would she complain when jonathan offered to do laundry, even getting mad when she tried to. Using the excuse “mom, you already do enough let me have this, okay?” she couldn’t help but smile not even the slightest aware of her sons’ ill intent.

He found himself locked in the laundry room, your underwear in hand, his dick in the other having the most lewd time of his life, even using your panties as a gag to muffle his own moans, fore the stimulation starting to be too much. It was days like this when he started to get more bold, eventually one day even palming himself while you lay sleep next to him, or so he thought you were sleep. Maybe you were, maybe you weren’t.

“jonathan wanna go to the drive-in?” you ask jonathan. “uh- what about w-” before he could finish, “will is going over his friend mikes’ house for the night, cmon it’ll be fun.” you say back. Jonathan agrees and gets ready, he throws on a brown button up and some jeans and gets in the car, taking the duty of driving you two.

About five scenes later into the movie Jonathan decides to make his move, he subtly moves his ragged hand to your thigh, making small circles with his thumb. You notice but you don’t mind, attention still on the movie. He gets more bold and connects your hand with his and plants a kiss to it. He gets even more bold and kisses you, resting his hand on the back of your head, feeling complete when you kiss and embrace him back. fuck this felt like heaven. The light of the projecter being the only illuminater and it allowed you and jonathan to do just about anything on that dark night.

You climbed over to the drivers seat and pushed back the chair, straddling his thighs. You grabbed his face and kissed him and started to get more sloppy and erratic with your kisses, even going as low as his collar bone. “jonathan are you-” before you can finish your sentence, he’s leaning in, chasing the softness of your lips and the way they move perfectly in sync with his. He pulls away but only for a second, “yes i’m sure,” then he returns to kissing you. His fingers running up your back under your shirt, grazing your bra. You lean into his touch, feeling euphoric in the moment.

He pulls at your shirt and you lift your arms allowing him to do so. once your shirt is no longer in the picture he looks at your cleavage admiring them for a moment, then he reaches in the back seat for his camera, “you mind?” you say you don’t care and he snaps a quick photo of you and puts his camera to the passenger seat. he then removes his own shirt, and you both move to the backseat, you lay atop him and you make out even more, he then flips you to your back, and you scoot up to the window. With your back now against the window you help and aid him in taking of your jeans. He removes his pants, only wearing boxers at this point. He moves to your cunt, his face leering over it as he slid your panties to the side. He starts lapping up and down your cunt getting more confident as the moments pass. He gets more bold and rubs his two fingers against the wetness of your cunt and begins to work his way inside of you.

“fu-fuck jonathan im close,” you whine out, moving your hands to his messy hair guiding his head to all the right places. He hums against your cunt letting you know he heard you and he starts pumping you with even more vigor. It’s not long before his fingers start to get messier with your cum. You let out a content sign and pull him up for a kiss. He pulls away and cleans off his fingers with his tongue. “do you want me to do you now?” you ask willing you give this man the world after how hard he made you cum. “no let’s make this about you,” he replies and then he flips you over to your stomach and lifts your hips up to his and your face down to the leather seats. He spits on his hand and start stroking up and down his dick, and then slides his tip between your lips before pushing himself inside. you hear him grunt as he gets through the first few thrusts and he finds shelter in your hips as he grabs them, pulling you back into his thrusts but momentarily before slowing down. “if i keep going at this rate im gonna fucking cum,” he says. He stays idle for a minute then he continues thrusting into you until you both hit your climax on each other.

“that was.. good,” you say now laying on his chest. he grabs a blanket that he previously stored for you movie watching, “yea,” he replies rubbing your back with his hand, you both unpurposely nod off and you are awoken to a knock on the window of the car. “Yo, you can’t still be here,” you hear a gruff voice say. You wake up jonathan and he leans up to the front to roll down the window. “Jonathan? what are you- oh,” he says shaking his head. “you two get out of here the movies been over, and uh- tell joyce i said hi,” said hopper, walking away to get back into his cruiser. You and jonathan get back into your respective seats and laugh. You both drive home in a comfortable silence. “I enjoyed myself,” you say while getting out of the car.

“yea, me too.”

have y’all seen that one edit of him omg he’s so fine

likes, feedback and reblogs are appreciated heh

#i need dick from a fucking loser #jonathan byers #perv!jonathan #jonathan x reader #lulawrites #jonathan please give me a chance bae #jonathan byers x reader

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pogueswrld · 2 years

Text

once again I'm on my robin buckley with a hijabi gf brain rot so here's a lil idea that just came to mind:

so robin and y/n are with steve & eddie on babysitting duty for dustin, lucas & max and let's say they're running in the forest from the cops or maybe jason's group or whatever. whatever the reason that has them running, y/n perhaps ran a bit too hard that a strand escaped her hijab. like maybe there's loose hair on the front of her face and it's not big enough for her to notice it but if you stare at her face for a minute you can definitely see it— and then figure out the color of her hair.

so she doesn't notice, and they all stop to take a breath and steve is checking on the kids with eddie on his knees as he wheezes— he's not used to running miles this fast. then robin turns around to check on y/n in her adorable rolled up mom jeans and her favorite plain t-shirt that's hidden under a striped button up, her hijab is tucked under the t-shirt and her neck and hands are adorned with silver necklaces and cute rings that fit barely halfway into her fingers.

robin almost stops breathing all together, but then y/n looks up to her, barely breathing, and gives her a goofy grin that makes her heart leap. then robin notices it, the single strand of hair just casually loose at the front of her hijab and she doesn't know how to tell her, she's afraid she might be so embarrassed she'll just take off by herself, so instead she approaches her and cups her cheeks in her hands.

y/n is stunned, she almost thinks robin is about to kiss her —and oh how much she'd appreciate that— but then her eyes dart behind her to see steve raising his eyebrows at the two of them and she almost wishes the ground would just swallow the both of them up, then she feels robin's breath fanning across her cheeks and she's suddenly weak at the knees and all she wants to do is just melt into her embrace.

she doesn't even realize what robin is doing until she feels her slander, long fingers push her hair back into her hijab, her back against the boys so they wouldn't see her and it's y/n's turn for her heart to leap. if only they weren't surrounded by people, maybe she'd have the courage to press her lips against the taller girl in front of her. if only.

she almost tears up and she visibly melts into her cold touch— something about robin's hands always being cold to the touch, y/n doesn't mind. as long as she gets to hold them and keep them warm for her. her eyelids flutter open only slightly and robin is reminded of a butterfly, and how y/n's eyes were like a warm day in summer, one of the good ones. how they're so welcoming and inviting she desires to spend the rest of her days just staring at them. she thinks about how this girl in front of her reminds her of all things sweet and lovely and all the good times in the world, how she'd spend the rest of her life holding her and she'd never complain because that in itself is heavenly.

the sigh that escapes robin is almost a whimper, almost a cry for a dream that can possibly never happen, but it is still a dream. one she clutches so tight in her heart and prays everyday to have in her arms.

before it gets weird, and before eddie and the kids notice, robin pulls away and it's entirely too soon for y/n that she reaches out slightly to hold her wrist, a silent beg to not let go of her, to not leave her. and robin tilts her head at the her, a lopsided grin plasters at her face and she wraps an arm around y/n's shoulders, her freckles clear in the sunlight, and she tugs her towards whatever direction dustin sat off to.

it maybe is a dream, but it's one they're both willing to dream about for years to come.

#robin buckley #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley x y/n #robin buckley x you #haddie's wlw content #muslim reader #hijabi reader #poc reader #woc reader

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maybanksbabe · 10 months

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I was look at some grimace angst on tt, y'know as one does. And in one of the videos it shows grimace ALONE on his BIRTHDAY bc of the grimace shake videos calling him a killer. And at the end of the vid he says "at least they're having fun :("

So anyways,I was wondering if rafe ever experienced this back when he first started having his problems. (Goodboy!rafe x psycho!reader)

Rafe was 11 when he first started noticing that he really wasn't like the other kids. He started pushing the other kids a little harder than he expected to and didn't feel the need to apologize. That he was a little bit meaner than his friends, topper and Kelce. While they were chasing the other kids around calling them names they heard there parents say, rafe pushing them off the slide when they weren't going fast enough because he really didn't want to get tagged. He thought nothing of it at the time. They were just playing after all, so why would he get yelled at by his dad for just playing a game? The other kid didn't even get hurt that bad so why is he getting punished?

But it was when his 12th birthday came around did rafe truly knew that, maybe he really was just a brat. He knew exactly what his family was like, even as a preteen. But what he didn't know is why the other kids look at him the way they did. He was a prince, at least for his birthday. His dad said so and there's no reason to disagree with dad. Especially when he told rafe he was gonna get some epic party games. He even told rafe that he was gonna get something special for him on his special day. Rafe suspected that he was gonna get the new call of duty that was coming out, for his PS3 he was gonna replace soon with the new PS4 that was coming out in a couple of days, call of duty ghosts and Bioshock infinite: burial at sea episode i, Rose mentioned she doesn't like him playing those games, rafe didn't care, his dad didn't either. It's not she's his real mom anyways. No matter how much his dad begged him. It only when his dad begged him did rafe really questioned his dad in any capacity. Rafe thought it only pouges that needed to beg, but his dad dropped the topic as soon as Sarah started to complain.

Rafe was sitting at the table, alone. On his special day, the one his dad said he had fully prepared. But as of late his dad's been too busy to pay any of them attention. Even Sarah has been put aside for his work. Which really concerned rafe, he wanted everything to be perfect. This was his one chance to show everyone that he's just as perfect as his precious little sister. God did he hate being compared to her. Even on his day she's being looked after like a little princess by his dad. Rose looked after him that day. Let's just say he wasn't being treated like royalty, he was treated like he special sure but not like his sister was being treated. Three years wasn't a big difference but apparently it meant the world to his dad. Rafe was still happy, at least his birthday wasn't going to be like that other kid on the other half of the island some jack, john, Jake kid. Didn't matter to rafe who he was, only that his party was gonna be better and whoever that kid was can't come to bring down the vibe. Kelce said something about about that little pouge brat that couldn't have a big birthday like they could. All rafe said was that obviously his dad would give him a bigger party, that was four days ago. Rafe ignored the confused look on his friends face, especially when topper started talking about how big his party was last year. Topper was always a little too hyper after they snuck in energy drinks to school. Kelce said something about topper being a light weight. The boys laughed about how 'grown up' they sounded.

Rafe was looking down at the table, he never felt like this. This feeling was totally different from what he felt when his sister got coddled by their dad and he got left with rose. No this feeling was like he was totally forgotten about. His friends said they'd be there. They eventually showed up. Like maybe half an hour later. But for those thirty minutes all rafe could do was wonder why he was so different. And why no one was gonna come to his aid like they would Sarah. Speaking of Sarah, she's over on the swings with that keys girl. She bought rafe some nerf gun, her mom made her bring it. Ward and keys dad (rafe later found out her name was kei instead of keys, he still calls her that whenever he wants to see her mad) were talking about something. The two weren't friends but they had an understanding of some kind, something about knowing what 'it' was like growing up, rafe asked once but his dad brushed it off and told him to go in the pool or something. Sarah and keys were talking about stupid animals the last time rafe came over to torment them. But maybe that's what he could do to pass the time before his friends arrived.

But his friends were only allowed to come bc ward payed their parents. Apparently they weren't allowed to come because of Rafe's 'bad behavior'. Rafe didn't know ward did that but he assumed they were allowed to come because of his amazing apology. Rafe said didn't mean to break that other kids arm and that he was really really sorry. They were fighting and the kid started talking about his mom, he was what his father told him, a pouge. Just another loud mouth pouge talking about his mom and why he had to get a new mom. Rafe couldn't control himself. He didn't see why he had to apologize but if it meant he could top last year's party, he would apologize. That's when topper said maybe that's why the other kids looked at them funny. Topper said it was really an accident and he shouldn't feel bad. He was just defending his family, that they knew rafe didn't mean to push him off the stairs, in fact topper would've done the same if someone said that stuff about his mom. That pouge kid talked about his mom that way and he did what he had to do. Kelce agreed after topper was done comforting him, he didn't like how the pouges treated them like villains in some story. It's not their fault that kooks are just better, and yet somehow it's always their fault never those lame kids. That's when he pulled out energy drinks his dad gave him. He said these were supposed to be stronger. Apparently he had to beg his dad to give him it, like he had to beg his dad to come here. Topper said he had to beg his mom too. Rafe ignored that when topper pulled out a gift from his bag. His mom made him bring that stupid bag. Topper hated he had to bring it around with him whenever he went over to his friends house. He never argued back so he never mentioned anything to her about it. It some toy that's sitting in Rafe's closet now. No one's played with it in a long time. Rafe still has it tho. He liked to remember that day, that everything doesn't have to be so sad and lonely.

His family might've pissed him off at times, but they were still a family. With a little bit of love and Faith, they'll always be there for him and vice versa. His friends were there for him too. And the fact that he has all of them here today, on HIS day and telling him he's special to them. That's why he loves his birthday. He doesn't have to feel that weird feeling of loneliness that's been happening more frequently.

Maybe that's why rafe likes party's so much, like he's subconsciously trying to comfort himself with big party's and such. Maybe that's why he always tries to out do himself after he thought that his dad died for that short time. Now that he know the truth he has to figure out how to live without his dad, psycho is comforting him telling him she's here for him now.

But rafe still gets that funny feeling, the one that tells him that not everyone he cares about is always with him. That's not a complete lie but not even his little brat sister is here, or his old friends. Ward, rose and wheezie would be here if ward wasn't 'dead'. But who needs them? Who cares if they're not here when he's got tannyhill now? He's got his girl on his side and ward is finally has his back. After all these years of treating him like a brat, does he supports rafe and all his ideas. His dad has the Bahamas and he has psycho. And he has all these booze and his pretty cool drug dealer. And now psycho is pulling rafe back in their room, in their house. It was all theirs and now rafe finally gets to know the truth. That psycho was just protecting their family, psycho's playing with her promise ring as she's trying to figure out how to tell him without looking like a bad guy. Like some secret villain in their love story.

How was rafe going to react to this, after everything is finally perfect. That maybe rafe would see her differently, that maybe she was different.

I don't know if that last bit made sense or not 🤷🏽‍♀️ -💜

This was so so good to read anon oh my god you have no idea 😫👌🏻

He's always known he was different he just couldn't figure out why and nothing made sense until Psycho came around and started making him feel better 😵‍💫

There's so many feelings about this I LOVE IT ANON

#💜 anon #rafe cameron x reader #libra speaks

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fandomwriterstuff · 2 years

Text

Achy Heart (Chapter 2)

Steve Harrington x Reader

Rated T

6.6k words

Warnings: mentions of eating disordered reader, fem reader, canon-typical violence, bullying, angst, also fluff though, Billy

Senior year started relatively easily, nothing terrible happened. For that you were thankful, you could fly under the radar. You still hung out with Steve, who got more handsome every day in your opinion.

The only thing you missed, and you would never admit it, was going to parties. It wasn’t the parties themselves, it was that you wanted to hang out and socialize. You missed having friends. You had Steve, but he still went out on occasion.

You couldn’t help but feel jealous when he said he’d spent time with Nancy at Barb’s parents’ house, and then again at a party. Nancy was beautiful and smart, and she had a history with Steve. But you didn’t have any right to feel jealous, he was just your friend, and he would never go for you.

He was driving you home after school on a chilly November day, and you were getting nervous from all of the quiet. You were about to confront him about it when he cleared his throat.

“I have good news and bad news,” his voice was stilted and you gulped.

“Go on.”

“The good news is I got an A on my math test, thank you Miss Tutor,” he smiled at you, but then turned serious. “The bad news is the gate to the Upside Down never closed, Will Byers is possessed, and Dustin has a baby demogorgon trapped in his basement.”

You breathed in through your nose and out through your mouth like the school counselor taught you when you were panicking.

“Okay,” you breathed. “Thanks for not keeping me in the dark.”

“Dustin also asked for my help to catch the demogorgon,” he added quietly and you choked on your own spit.

“Excuse me?” You asked, voice raising an octave.

“Yeah, and he’s a kid so I’m going to help him,” he said, no arguments allowed. Not with that tone of voice. You sighed and put your face in your hands.

“This is exactly what I feared,” you muttered and Steve chuckled.

“This exact scenario?” He was trying to lighten the mood but you frowned over at him.

“Yeah, actually. We didn’t fix it last time all the way, and you’re gonna try to be a hero, and you’re gonna get hurt.”

“I have to do what I can to help,” Steve was serious, and while you didn’t want to push him, you didn’t want him getting hurt.

“Just… Just keep me in the loop,” you sighed as he let you off at home, driving another few feet to his own house.

You don’t see Steve outside of classes and lunch for a few days, and you were beginning to worry. He would often sneak up to your bedroom window to talk and spend time with you, but with this whole Upside Down mess coming back, he was spending more and more time with Dustin. You only hoped he would be careful and find you if he needed anything.

He won’t, you thought to yourself. Remember how useful you were last time? You just stood there.

You shook your head, Steve knew you would back him up. Right?

The answer, you found in the next few days, was no. You didn’t see him at all, and you were stuck in your home listening to your mother rant about you quitting the only good thing in your life.

So, you hid in your bedroom. Alone, again. You hadn’t felt alone since… You couldn’t remember when. Maybe since that day Carol had beat you up? But even then you had Steve to talk to afterwards. Now though, you were alone in your home with nobody to talk to.

Just then, though, the landline rang. You ignored it until your mom picked up downstairs.

“Dumpling?” She called up the stairs, loud enough for you to hear through your closed door. “It’s Steve!” You lurched from your position sorting your cassettes on the floor towards the phone in your room.

“Thanks mom,” you were breathless when you responded, and you waited for her to click off before asking Steve what was up.

“So, I’m on babysitting duty while the others save the world,” he started and your eyes bulged out of your head. You could hear Dustin in the background complaining about not needing a babysitter and you held in the giggle that threatened to erupt.

“Sounds like a respectable and noble job,” you smiled as you twirled the cord around your fingers.

“Yeah, but I wish you were here,” you could hear his pout and you smiled, a little bittersweet. You knew he just didn’t want to be alone with the kids while the others were doing more important things. It wasn’t about you.

“Where are you?” You asked and he gave you the location of the Byers’ house. “I’ll walk over, shouldn’t take too long.”

“Are you sure? It might not be safe,” he was worried about you, but you assured him you would be fine.

After you hung up you threw on a pair of dark jeans, a band t-shirt, and a knit sweater over top to stave off the chill. Then, sneakers on and fuzzy socks tucked under your jeans, you headed out.

“I’m going to meet Steve, I’ll see you later!” You called out to no response from your parents.

The walk wasn’t too long but you did wish you’d brought ear muffs or gloves, the winter chill getting to you. When you finally arrived at the house, you were surprised to see Steve out front of the house talking to… Was that Billy Hargrove?

“What’s going on here?” You wondered as you walked up, skirting around the curly haired boy to stand beside Steve.

“Just looking for my little sister, nothing to get your panties in a twist about,” Billy growled and you gulped, scooting a little closer to Steve at the clear aggression in the other boy’s posture.

“Sorry man, she’s not here,” Steve shrugged, still calm. Though Billy must have seen something behind the two of you because he immediately shoved Steve out of the way, your friend knocking into you in the process. Though Steve made sure you stayed upright, he quickly hurried to follow Billy.

“Stay out here,” he called behind you and you bit your lip. You didn’t want to get in the middle of that, but then you saw Billy attack Lucas from through the window and a wave of something bright and sharp coursed through you. You picked up a shovel that was leaning against the Byers’ house and hurried into the living room where Steve pulled Billy off of Lucas. You stood close to the doorway, mostly out of sight.

Your fingers were frigid as you held the shovel like a bat, though warmth pooled in your stomach when you saw Steve throw a punch at Billy, getting him good in the jaw and protecting the kids. Again, you told yourself. This is the wrong time to be turned on.

You had seen Billy in school and around Max a few times. You hadn’t interacted with him but you couldn’t help but feel a pull of what had to be attraction to his curly hair, strong physique, and mean demeanor.

Aside from Billy, Steve looked incredibly hot while he got a few good hits on Max’ unhinged older brother.

Though right now, you were more scared than anything, your heart pounding in your chest as he broke a plate over Steve’s head and pinned him down.

“Fuck,” you muttered, the kids scattered, trying to figure out a way to help. You revealed yourself, gripping the shovel even tighter, white knuckled.

You closed in on Billy who hadn’t noticed you yet, too busy pummeling Steve. When you were close enough you used all of your strength, anger, fear, everything you had in you to slam the flat end of the shovel across the side of Billy’s head.

It… didn’t work as planned. He did get knocked off of Steve, who was looking at you with wide eyes, but he wasn’t knocked out. You went to swing again, but he caught it in both hands and jerked it towards himself. Your frozen fingers held on and you lurched forward towards the crazed boy.

“You think you’re strong, yeah?” He taunted you before throwing the shovel down and grabbing you tightly by the throat.

All of the commotion around you died down and your brain got fuzzy. Black spots entered your vision, and you weren’t sure if it was from the hand closing around your windpipe or the nibbles of food you’d had over the past few days. You were lost in thought again as fear overtook your brain. Billy was speaking, growling even, but you were zoning out.

“Stupid cunt,” he tossed you like a ragdoll, your body knocking against something hard with sharp edges- a bookshelf? Yeah, you thought to yourself as books came tumbling down on your body. That’s a bookshelf.

You groaned, head pounding as you tried to brush books off of yourself, chilly fingers bumbling as you tried to pick things up. When you finally emerged from the pile of broken wood and books you saw Max inject Billy with something, Billy who had returned to Steve. But as you stood, you missed the rest of the interaction.

There was a sharp pain in your head and your vision spotted with black as you slid to your knees, hands clutching your head. You were too busy trying to figure out if you had a concussion or needed a burger- probably both. You didn’t even notice the rest of the confrontation with Billy until Max was dragging you by the arm towards the front door.

“Where are we going?” You asked, wondering internally if your voice sounded that slurred and messy, or if that was in your head.

“Get in the car,” she shoved you into the backseat with a bloody and unconscious Steve, the rest of the kids piling in and crowding up the car.

“Fuck, Steve,” you mumbled, pulling your sleeves over your hands to gently wipe the blood from Steve’s face, careful not to hurt him.

Your position might be considered compromising if the situation were different. Max was driving, and the other kids were packed into the car, but you were sitting on Steve’s lap, facing him with your thighs resting outside of his as you dabbed at his face.

Steve groaned and his eyes fluttered open, and you were lucky to catch the dusting of a blush on his cheeks as he took in where he was sitting and your closeness in the cramped backseat.

“Your sweater,” he mumbled as you dabbed at his nose. It had finally stopped bleeding and you shrugged at his comment.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “Just sit still.” He must be in so much pain. You sure were. You needed to find a Tylenol and fast. The stabbing in your head was overtaking all of your thoughts. Well, all of your thoughts except Steve.

Steve Steve Steve Steve Steve.

All you could focus on was helping him.

Your heart ached at the sight of him as he rested his bruised hands on your hips, steadying you.

“We’re here,” Max called.

“Where’s here?” Steve asked, looking around. That was when Dustin explained to you Hopper’s dig site, the tunnels, Will Byers. Well… A very shorthanded version of it. You all started piling out of the car, and you reached out to hold onto the roof of the car as your knees weakened.

Dustin had convinced Steve to go in with them, and though you were severely against the idea, you couldn’t really say much.

“I’ll keep watch,” you offered. Your whole body was bruised and aching, your head was pounding, and when you reached up to touch the back of your head it came away with wet blood. Fuck.

Steve looked like he wanted to say something, but only nodded as he followed the kids.

You weren’t sure what you were keeping watch for, but it was all you could do to stay conscious. You were covered in Steve’s and your own blood. At first, you stood by the car, looking out for anyone or anything that might head towards the kids and Steve. Then, you sat on the hood of the car, knotting your cold and bloody fingers together. It was frigid outside in your jeans and sweater, and you regretted your earlier decision to forgo gloves.

As the pounding in your head increased, you ended up sitting on the ground and leaning against a tire. Well, you thought to yourself. I guess if I pass out I’d rather be sitting on the ground than on the hood of the car.

You notice smoke coming from the direction the group went in, and you stood up, panicking and ignoring the little black dots at the edge of your vision as you waited for your friends to reappear.

When they did, your rabbit heart started up again: frantically beating against your ribcage as you took stock. “Okay. Mike, Max, Lucas…” Your brain short circuited for a moment before you saw Dustin and Steve coming up behind the rest. You heaved out a breath, sagging back against the car as the group approached you.

“Steve,” you whispered, throat sore from the earlier altercation. As soon as he was close enough he tugged you into a hug, inhaling deeply and letting out a long sigh as his arm tightened.

“Everything is going to be okay. El closed the gate,” he whispered into your hair and you nodded, feeling that telltale ache behind your eyes but not feeling any tears falling.

Steve took you home and walked you over to your backyard.

“I don’t think I’m gonna be able to climb up there,” you muttered, looking up at your second story window.

“I’ll pull you up,” and you watched Steve’s muscles bunch and stretch as he pulled himself up onto the roof, offering you his hands. “Come on, princess,” and when he was giving you those soft eyes you couldn’t help but trust him.

You reached up and groaned as your bruised body complained. But you made it up and opened the window.

“You coming, pretty boy?” You asked with a little laugh as Steve hesitated before ducking in through your window.

“We should get all that blood off you. I don’t know if it will get off of your sweater though. That may be a lost cause,” he mourned while picking at the bottom of your sleeve where his blood had dried. You shrugged and removed the offending article, wincing as your bruised ribs and arms moved around.

“Hey, Y/N?” Steve asked and you turned to look at him, heart rate picking up as you looked at your long-time crush covered in his own blood and soot.

“What’s wrong?” You were frowning, stepping closer to him. The open window let in a breeze that had you shivering in your band shirt and jeans.

“I almost died today,” he gulped and you blinked up at him. He what? “And all I could think about was you,” he looked at you from under his long lashes and you just knew you were blushing at the attention. “How I told you things would be okay and how I told myself I wouldn’t let you be in danger again. And now you’re covered in blood, standing in front of me now bruised up and probably concussed,” he brushed his hand down over his face and you had the feeling he was holding back some emotion.

“I’m okay, Steve,” you reassured him, stepping closer and reaching out to hold his hands. “I may be a little worse for wear, but we’ll get through this.”

“Are you?” He asked, and you really tried not to get defensive. “I look at you every day, you know,” he let out a sad huff, and it broke your heart a little. “I notice things.”

You looked down, unable to keep his eye contact. “Please talk to me,” he practically begged, resting his hands on your shoulders and rubbing them down your arms before leaning over to close the window. When he came back, you drew him towards your bed where you both sat facing each other.

“I’m lonely a lot,” you started, looking down at your fingers twisting together. “I know I have you, but you’re basically the only person I talk to. My dad ignores me, never paid attention to anything I did, good or bad,” you shrugged. Steve could probably relate to that. “And my mom… You know how she is,” your head was aching. You still hadn’t gotten that Tylenol and you still hadn’t eaten.

“I don’t think I do,” he muttered and you opened your mouth only to close it again.

“I know she loves me,” you started, looking to the side as you prepared to bare your soul. You couldn’t look up at him. “But she’s always getting on my back about what I eat and what I weigh and what I look like. Now that I’m not in cheer, it's just worse. I don’t even like the way I look anymore,” the word vomit was happening and you couldn’t stop it. “I look like some kind of sick bird lady,” you let out a harsh laugh. “Carol was right, too. Nobody would go for an anorexic hag like me. It’s no wonder I’m still single. Nobody would want to deal with… with this,” you gestured at yourself, still not looking at Steve. But he wouldn’t have it. He tilted his head to look at him, angry tears in his eyes.

“Did she really say that?” You gulped, not wanting to divulge the rest of the equation. So you nodded. “Anything else?” You shook your head, but you couldn’t look at him. He could tell you were lying. “What is it?”

“Steve,” you muttered weakly, not wanting to finish this.

“Please.” You looked up at him, embarrassed and wilting with exhaustion and pain.

“She was talking about you. She knew I liked you and she told me… She said you would never want to fuck an anorexic hag like me,” your lower lip threatened to wobble as Steve took in the information, as you opened your chest and held your heart in your hands for him to see.

You couldn’t look at him anymore, choosing to look down at your crossed legs and white knuckled fingers, knotting them together anxiously. He was silent only for another moment, though it felt like years.

“I can’t believe she would-” then he stopped again. “And you must feel-” he stopped, groaned, and leaned forward to pull you into a hug. You weren’t sure it would work well, as you were both sitting cross-legged across from each other, but he totally just pulled you up and plopped you in his lap. When his arms wrapped around you and he tucked his face into your hair, you wrapped your arms around his neck, letting your anxious fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck. He mumbled something into your hair, but you didn’t hear past the ringing in your ears and the ache in your skull.

“What was that?” You inquired, and this time he lifted his head to look down at you, something soft and new in his face.

“I like you too,” he whispered with a tiny smile.

“You do?” You asked, skeptical at first. But he brushed a strand of hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear, and he nodded.

“Totally into you. Have been for quite some time,” he added and you let out a nervous giggle.

“I’m not sure where to go from here,” you admitted shyly, arms still slung around his neck.

“Well, I think we should clean off this blood first,” Steve said very matter-of-factly. “Then maybe, I can kiss you goodnight?”

You were sure your entire body was the color of a tomato. The thought of Steve, your closest friend and biggest crush, kissing you goodnight? It sent heat straight to your core, damn your teenage hormones.

“I think those are good ideas,” you breathed, but then you had to climb out of his lap. Losing his warmth and the smell of his cologne felt very sad, and you couldn’t help the pout forming on your face.

“What’s wrong, princess?” Steve asked, leading you to your bathroom. He found one of your washcloths and soaked it in warm water.

“You smell good and I wish we were still hugging,” you muttered and he smirked over at you. “Is that so?” He asked when you jumped onto the counter next to the sink.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you teased, but when he put his hands on your thighs to spread them and moved to stand between them, your breath hitched. He grabbed the wet washcloth and looked at you, searching your face.

“Is this okay?” You nodded at him, and he found that satisfactory enough to start cleaning up your face and the back of your head.

“You’re going to have to shampoo the shit out of this tomorrow to get all the blood out,” you frowned at his words. You must have really hit your head. “And uh… You’re going to have to explain to your mom why you have a handprint bruise around your throat,” he spoke softly, and you turned towards the mirror to confirm his words.

“Oh,” you whispered. In all the commotion, and with your head hurting so bad, you’d forgotten about your sore throat.

“I hate that I invited you over and got you in trouble,” Steve sighed, turning your face back towards him and wiping the last bit of blood away. He started working on getting his blood off your fingers next, though you would need a nail brush to clean it out from under your fingernails.

“It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known Billy was coming.”

He sighed and shrugged.

“Trouble seems to follow me and those kids, and I’m always getting you in danger. I don’t want to be the one putting you in danger, I want to be the one protecting you,” he murmured, ever so gentle as he finished cleaning your skin.

“Steve,” you said his name like a prayer. Nobody had ever cared about you in this way before. You brushed a piece of his normally perfect hair out of his eyes and took the washcloth from him, rinsing it in the sink next to you for a moment. “Let me help you,” you whispered, and at his nod you gently dabbed the wet washcloth on his face.

You sat in silence, one hand holding his hair back and the other wiping at his face, hairline, and neck. His hands rested on your hips and you tried not to pay attention to it, though you felt like you were burning up with desire.

“All done,” you whispered, leaving the bloody washcloth in the sink for now and turning back to Steve.

“Thanks, beautiful,” his smile was soft, meant only for you, and you felt the icy walls around your heart crack just a little bit. You liked all the cute nicknames he gave you, you felt special and wanted.

“How about that goodnight kiss?” You asked, suddenly feeling shy again but also way too excited to not ask about it.

Steve moved one of his hands from your waist and cupped your jaw with it, drawing you closer as both of your eyes fluttered closed. The anticipation was killing you, every second feeling like years until his soft lips made contact with yours. It was better than you could have ever imagined.

Steve was good at kissing, you noted. His lips were plush and he was gentle with you, his thumb brushing against your jaw. His other hand on your hip pulled you impossibly closer as you wrapped your arms around his neck, wanting more.

You kissed until you both needed to breathe, and even then he kept you close, pressing your foreheads together.

“Maybe,” you trailed off, voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe another?”

That was all Steve needed to hear as he tangled his fingers in your hair and pulled you back in for a searing kiss, still gentle with his hands but more demanding. When his tongue slipped into your mouth, you nearly moaned, only keeping yourself quiet so as to not alert your parents of your situation. You let your hands rest on his chest and gripped his shirt, pulling him in closer and letting your tongue dance with his. He tasted like cherry chapstick and also a little like blood, but you could ignore that.

“We should,” he panted, breathing for a moment before opening his eyes and smiling at your disheveled state. “We should maybe stop for now.” You tried not to pout, but you had a feeling it didn’t work because Steve was smirking down at you. “Don’t worry pretty girl, there’s always more where that came from,” you licked your lips at his words, and you were sure your pupils were blown wide with the twirling feelings of lust and heart-wrenching adoration warming you from the inside. “But we’ve had a long day, I want to make sure you don’t have a concussion. Promise you’ll go to the school nurse tomorrow?”

“Okay,” you nodded. “I’ll figure out something to tell her.”

“Now, let’s get you tucked in,” Steve helped you down from the counter and was gentlemanly enough to wait in the bathroom while you changed into matching pink gingham pajamas.

“You can come out now,” you called softly, unfolding your sheets and comforter from the top of your bed and sitting on the edge, awaiting your knight in shining armor.

“Can I drive you to school tomorrow?” He asked as he approached, hand coming up to cup your cheek. You were dumbfounded by such a soft display of affection from someone so charismatic and strong.

“That would be really nice,” you yawned, and Steve gestured for you to lie down. When you did, he brought your plush blanket up to your shoulders and leaned down to kiss your forehead.

“I’ll see you in the morning then, princess,” and with that, he climbed back out your window and you were alone again.

Within moments you felt the fear creep back in, thinking about the demodogs, the Mind Flayer, and how Steve admitted that he’d almost died. But you tried to put those thoughts to rest as you laid in bed thinking about Steve’s soft hands and even softer kisses.

You hadn’t figured out what to tell your mother about your throat, so after you gingerly showered and removed the rest of the blood from your scalp, you pondered your options.

As you pulled up your light wash jeans and threw on a different knit sweater, a swath of fabric in your closet caught your eye. Aha!

You tugged the baby blue scarf down and wrapped it gracefully around your neck. It clashed a little with the yellow flowers on your sweater, but it would have to do.

When you went downstairs, she didn’t even ask about it. Thank god it’s winter and scarves are normal.

Though she did shoot you the side eye when you grabbed a quick piece of toast with peanut butter for breakfast. You tried to ignore her, and luckily there was a knock at the door. You were finishing your coffee when your mom walked over to open it.

“Oh, Steve! How nice to see you,” you rolled your eyes. She’d barely spoken to you all morning. There was a pause. “What happened to you? Come inside,” she started ushering him in but he paused.

“I would hate to be rude, but Y/N and I will be late for school if we don’t go soon,” your mom paused. She shot her eyes to you and mouthed something along the lines of: ‘why didn’t you tell me?’ and you shrugged.

“That’s awfully kind of you to drive her. You two don’t get into any trouble okay, and have fun at school,” she called after you as you hurried towards Steve. You’d taken a Tylenol when you woke up so the headache was more of a dull ache.

“Good call with the scarf,” Steve commented once you were buckled in. “You look beautiful,” he looked over at you with a smile and you couldn’t help but reciprocate it with a shy one of your own. You liked being on the receiving end of Steve’s flirting.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, pretty boy,” you countered, and were rewarded with a light flush creeping up Steve’s neck as he focused on the road. He always looked good, though. Whether it was his typical school outfits or torn up and bloodied, he always got your heart going.

“I have study hall first period, so I’ll go to the nurse then,” you said once you’d arrived at the school.

“Good, I wouldn’t want you walking around with a concussion and passing out.” When you parted ways, the halls filling with people, you weren’t sure what would happen. You weren’t sure if you wanted Steve to kiss you again in front of all these people, or if that was even a possibility. It was all so new.

“I’ll see you later, princess,” he smiled down at you and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear with the gentlest of movements.

“I’m looking forward to it, Harrington,” you smiled before turning away.

When you did eventually make it to the nurse, you were surprised by how fast the lie came to you. You only hoped you looked convincing.

“I fell down the stairs this morning,” you explained. “I took a Tylenol but it still hurts.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” you’d been here plenty of times for dizziness, or cheer injuries. You knew the nurses well. “Let’s get you sat down,” the older woman ushered you to one of the little cots and pulled the curtain around, and the sudden dimness was like a balm to your achy head.

After a series of examinations, she sighed and tapped her pencil on her clipboard.

“Okay, so I’m going to classify this as a head injury and not a concussion. You don’t need to go to a doctor, but you should be careful when you go to practice for the next few days.”

“Oh,” you muttered. “I’m not in cheer anymore,” you added and she made a face you couldn’t quite read.

“Alright then, even better. Keep at it with the Tylenol, and come back if it gets worse.”

When you saw Steve for lunch, you relayed the information and he was probably more relieved than you were. You felt warm inside having someone care about your wellbeing so openly.

The few days until winter break finally came were unusually normal after another crazy fall. Two years in a row with this Upside Down nonsense?

When the snow started falling a few days in, you trudged over in your winter boots across your yard to Steve’s front door. His parents were traveling and he was home alone.

Steve came to the door after you knocked twice and you were a little shell shocked to see him in a white t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

You found yourself at a loss for words as you took in his exposed biceps.

“Like what you see?” You raised an eyebrow at his cocky smirk and huffed a little laugh, breath puffing in front of you.

“You going to invite me in, smart ass? It’s negative a million degrees,” you gave him a playful glare and he chuckled, opening the door all the way and beckoning you in.

“What brings you over on this fine winter day?” Steve asked and you blushed.

“I would have called first, but my mom would probably listen in on the phone. I thought maybe we could watch a movie? Footloose just came to Family Video,” you dug the VHS out of your purse and held it up in front of you like an offering, and you were rewarded with Steve’s beaming smile.

“That is the best idea I’ve heard all day. Come on, get those boots off. I’ll grab us some soda,” Steve took the VHS and waited while you unlaced and toed off your boots. You hadn’t been at his house in so long, maybe not since you were kids. It was familiar and not.

While he grabbed two soda bottles from the fridge, you thought about the real reason you’d come over: avoiding your mother. Your dad was on a business trip so it was just the two of you. She bought you exercise tapes to do at home since you weren’t in cheer anymore. Even without the exercise you were still uncomfortable in your body. Your shoulders were bony, your collarbones stuck out and your pants were always hanging off your hips.

“Hey, you go somewhere?” Steve asked and you zoned back in, he was standing in front of you with two sodas, one of which you thankfully took.

“Just thinking, as I always am,” you joked and he thankfully let it go, leading you to the living room and popping the movie in before joining you on the comfy couch.

“So what did you tell your mom to let you come over while my parents are away? Sounds suspicious you know,” he smirked and you rolled your eyes.

“She loves you, I told her I was coming here and she got so excited. But,” you added. “With all the snow it’s probably not safe for you to hop up to my window anymore,” you frowned and Steve hummed a little, thinking.

“Maybe not, but I’ll think of something,” and with that, the movie started. You focused on it for a little, but when Steve threw his arm around your shoulders and tugged you closer, you were a goner. You were tucked up against his side, his cologne and shampoo mixing together, and you couldn’t help but love the warmth of being near him. You tried paying attention, you really did. Kevin Bacon was handsome and you liked the movie, but Steve was all you could think about.

He stroked his fingers up and down your arm, and you leaned your head against his shoulder, trying again to get back into the movie.

“I’m not going to remember any of this movie,” you admitted about halfway through.

“And why is that?”

“Kevin Bacon isn’t nearly as handsome as you are, so how am I supposed to pay attention to him when you’re right here looking this good?” You looked up at him and he had a little smile on his face, a flush high on his cheeks.

“You’re a little flirt, you know that?” Steve replied, a little breathy. The sound of his voice a little flustered like that shot straight to your core and you had to think to yourself yet again: Not the time to get turned on. Damn these teenage hormones.

“Only with you,” you muttered, though he heard you.

“That’s just the way I like it,” he smiled brightly.

“Is that so?” Your faces were only a hair’s breadth away at that point, noses nearly touching

He hummed his agreement before leaning forward and pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. He kissed you again, and you reached up to hold the back of his head, threading your fingers through his silky soft hair. Things got heated quickly, and you breathed his name like a prayer when you broke away to breathe. Eyes still closed, eyelashes kissing, you reveled in the feeling of being wrapped up in Steve’s arms.

This time you were the first one to initiate the kiss, and when you slid your tongue into Steve’s mouth he let out a soft moan. The sound sent your poor rabbit heart into overdrive, your stomach fluttering with warmth and desire.

“Come’ere,” Steve muttered, hooking a hand under your knee and pulling you over to straddle his lap. His hands landed respectfully on your waist, and you took advantage of the new position, leaning in to deepen the kiss, tangling your fingers in his hair. He was growing it out a little and you always ached to run your fingers through it. You tugged on it the tiniest bit and the sound he made was something straight out of your most intimate dreams. You mentally cataloged it so you could remember it the next time you were alone in your room, hand between your legs and daydreaming about Steve.

“Fuck,” he muttered, lips brushing against yours. “Fuck, maybe we should pause,” his voice was low and when you slowly opened your eyes, you could see his pupils were wide with lust. You bit your lip. Steve was incredibly hot, and he turned you on beyond measure, but he was right. You probably weren’t ready for more. Not yet anyway.

“Alright,” you whispered, untangling your fingers from his hair and climbing out of his lap. You were content to sit next to him again, and he wrapped his arm around you again to finish the movie. You were too caught up staring at his kiss-swollen lips and flushed cheeks to pay attention. He was just so pretty.

You spent a lot of winter break doing just that: watching movies at Steve’s, making out, and taking a breather when things got too heated.

You knew Steve wasn’t a virgin, and you felt a twinge of guilt that you were making him wait. But you never felt pressured by him, and he was always so considerate of you that you didn’t let the guilt build up.

Occasionally he came over to yours to watch a movie in your living room, much to your mother’s delight, but then you couldn’t kiss him.

It was January in 1985 when school started up again. The spring semester of your senior year. Steve picked you up for school every morning and drove you home every afternoon. Sometimes you hung around for his shenanigans with the middle schoolers. You wondered when he would ask you to be his girlfriend, though. You hoped he would. You didn’t want to hide how much you adored him.

Alas, spring came and you were still having clandestine meetings and acting like good friends at school.

When graduation finally came, and Steve’s parents didn’t show to see him walk, you cornered him afterwards, dragging him into a janitors’ closet. He just looked so dejected and disappointed. You knew he didn’t get the college admissions he was looking for and his parents were disappointed.

“What are you doing?” He asked in the dark room, the only light coming from underneath the door.

“I wanted to see you,” you murmured, grabbing his hands and holding them.

“You sure picked a good room to do it,” he laughed and you rolled your eyes in the dark. You decided to just go with it, and pulled him in for a tight hug, leaning your ear against his chest and listening to his strong heartbeat.

“I wanted to tell you how proud I am of you,” you murmured, and you could swear his heart rate picked up. “And how handsome you look in your fancy graduation clothes,” you added. When he wrapped his arms around you, you felt like the world couldn’t touch you. Your mom’s words couldn’t hurt you here. You were no longer in high school with mean girls and tests and expectations. This would be the best summer yet.

Part 3

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #fluff #angst #fanfiction #fanfic #stranger things #season 2 #billy hargrove

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lorata · 2 years

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Injured Creed AU: Part 4

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The day before the Reaping, summer descends as it always does: thick and heavy and oppressive, knocking the birds silent, wiping out even the faintest breeze, silencing all but the cicadas, their screams the one act of defiance against the burning sun. It’s worse in the inner districts, Dad told him once when Creed complained about having to weed the vegetable garden in the mugginess of day; they don’t have the mountains to shield them and bring the rain, nothing but dry, flat, desert heat — or worse, in the plains, rolling waves of humidity coming off the crops that sticks to your chest and slaps the air right from your lungs. Still others get the weather mixed with lungfuls of pollution from factories or coal mines.

Be grateful for your district, Dad said, as Creed grumbled and scuffed his toes in the soil, overturning a clump of grass he’d been half-heartedly tugging. Not everyone can be so lucky.

Creed is grateful, but the day before his brother stands for the Reaping, he wonders if kids in the districts are allowed to complain about the weather without getting a full lecture about honour and duty. Tomorrow Alec will Volunteer, and Creed — Creed’s faith will see him through, he has already promised. Tomorrow he will meet his brother in the Justice Building, see him face to face for the first time in years and tell Alec exactly what he needs to hear.

But today —

Well. For now, it’s today. And today the cicadas scream in the trees and the leaves hang limp on the branches and the only words Creed can conjure are the ones he knows, he knows he can never say.

It should be me.

Alec can win. He will win, there is no other option, and he is smart enough and strong enough and good enough just like Creed always said when no one else listened, but it’s Creed’s fault he’s here. Alec never liked the Program. He never liked the violence, never liked the killing, never wanted to start fights. If Creed had been smarter, stronger, faster, better, Alec would be home right now, living the life he’s meant to live. Instead Creed stumbled, and now it’s up to Alec to finish what he started. The little brother making up for the eldest’s failures.

It should be me.

A whole lifetime of living other’s dreams. Shouldering other’s expectations. That he braced his feet and bent his knees and took the weight doesn’t make it fair.

He tries to write it down, commit his thoughts to paper to untangle the wild snarl and find something workable in the mess, but when he sits back it’s the same thing over and over, scrawled across the page: it should be me it should be me it shOULD BE ME —

“Creed.”

He drops his fork. Metal clatters with a force that startles him, and when the noise stops rattling his senses there’s Mom studying him from across the table, eyes narrow and intent. “Come on,” she says. “Outside.”

Relief snaps in him like the first hard crack of thunder over the mountains. He pushes his plate away and follows her out; Dad watches them go, a look of tight quiet pinching his features.

Creed and Mom spar … a lot, these days. Way more than they ever did when he was younger. It’s embarrassing, or maybe it would be, if Creed had any room left in him for shame, if he hadn’t burned all that away in those ugly, early weeks, lying in his bed flinging apathy and self-hatred into the universe like clouds of poison. Now he doesn’t care. Most kids outgrow sparring with their parents by the time they’re itching for the Residential signature, while here Creed is, long past Reaping age, desperate for the mental clarity that only comes from throwing down with his mother in the backyard while the squirrels hurl protests at them from the trees.

Mom likes to joke it keeps her sharp. She fights a lot of shitty teenagers at her job (she would never call them shitty, but, let’s call a Twelve a Twelve), cocky ex-Careers fresh out of detox who think they’re the stuff and don’t need to listen to a bunch of civs. As if the Program wouldn’t stock the feeder school with ex-Centre teachers, but it means Mom spends most of her free periods challenging kids out on the lawn. Half for dominance and respect, she says, but also it’s the only thing these kids know. They’ve spent upwards of a decade, some of them, getting slapped down every time they ask a question. If they stirred up trouble and didn’t get called outside to settle it, a third would burn the place down and another third would quit.

Structure, Mom says. Everyone needs structure.

Creed doesn’t mind Mom using him to keep her skills sharp, but tonight he’s not thinking about mouthy fourteen-year-olds drawling what are you gonna do about it in the middle of a civics lesson. He’s thinking about Alec in that big, empty Volunteer suite, freshly scrubbed, the next day’s outfit laid out for him, practicing the entrance he’ll make when the escort calls for volunteers. He’s thinking about Alec’s mentor, up with sponsor files late into the night, and he’s tried to guess who it would be (Emory? Devon?) until it drives him mad.

Mom’s arm catches him across the chest, fingers closed around his arm, leg hitting him firm in the back of the knees, knocking him off-balance. He flies back, slams into the ground hard enough to wallop the air from his lungs. Clarity hits him like a boulder to the chest: for a few wonderful, agonizing moments, the only thought that floods his mind is pain, sharp and searing, and the raw, desperate need to fill his lungs with air.

Mom reaches down, clasps his wrist and hauls him to his feet. Creed bends over, hands on his thighs, sucking in ragged breaths, until the same ugly thought worms its way back in like a muttation scratching at his back door. He pushes himself up, blood hot in his face. “Again.”

She doesn’t ask him. She’s a teacher and a Peacekeeper, not a therapist, she’s not qualified to reach into the mess inside Creed’s head and untangle it into nice, smooth threads. Creed isn’t a trainer, he’s been out of the Program for years now, he can’t tell if it makes his fighting sloppy or if it’s painted all over his face, but Mom was a trained interrogator (he’s pretty sure, though she never said so to her boys) and whenever the hawks in his brain rise to fever-pitch, that’s when she knocks him down. Again, again, again, wordless and impassive and absolutely free of judgement, as first Creed screams, then breaks, then sobs, then finally stands, winded and exhausted, flushed out clean and whole again.

He reaches inside, searching for the guilt. He finds nothing, a hollow that when he knocks it with his knuckles rings clear with purpose. Creed staggers on one foot — Mom might get in trouble with his physiotherapist next month but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care — and now she steadies him by the shoulders and gives him a rare smile. “Better?”

His throat is raw. He could climb to the peak of Eagle Pass and sing at the top of his lungs for hours. “Yeah.”

Mom smiles again. “Good. Go eat your dinner.” He’s halfway back to the house when she calls his name. He turns, glances back at her, the whole line of his body a question. “Fetch your father.”

Creed stands at the back porch and watches her for a moment first, stretching out her neck and shoulder against the golden glow of the evening sun.

*****

The sun burns hot on Reaping Day, the last year when it will matter. Oh, every year matters, every year the sacrifice is real and vital, every year two very living, breathing teenagers will stand up on that stage and dedicate themselves to death or glory, but after this that sacrifice will be a little more distant, more remote, more abstract. Creed won’t know their names, their favourite weapons, the snack they liked to wheedle from the trainers in exchange for joint locks or proper footwork or weapon grips or a clean disarm. He won’t know the worst fear the tracker-jackers conjured up in those final months of testing, the ones they shared crammed knee-to-knee in his room with a pilfered bottle of terrible wine from the staff cupboard that Milo sneaked out the next night to replace.

And the worst part is, it’s already started. He doesn’t have room in his brain for all the others, every year for the rest of his life. Easier to let that fade. He’s not sure whether he understands the grown-ups (he is a grown-up) or hates them.

No time for that now. Now there’s Alec, and only Alec — but it’s Lyme and Callista on the stage.

They told him to come. They’re all there, Dad, Mom, Uncle Paul and Aunt Julia, Uncle Ramon and the others. The Valents didn’t get a card last year, and it wasn’t Selene. That has to mean something — but Callista? Lyme? Alec should be Brutus, or Emory, even Devon. Is it all a joke?

He doesn’t know the girl. Not from their town, must have joined Residential from a different Transition facility. She stands by Lyme, looking proud and stoic with hints of something deeper. So that leaves — no. It can’t be. Not Callista the Butcher. Whatever happened in the past two years, there’s no way —

“I volunteer!”

Creed chokes on his own breath.

His first, idiotic thought is — tall. Last time he saw Alec, across the room during free time, he’d been with a group of his friends at, what, fifteen? Near the end of his growth spurt, or so Creed had thought, and unlikely to get much taller. But now he recalls the smoothies he’d choked down every morning after passing his field exam, the growing pains in the final years as he shot up those extra inches and his muscles expanded. Even so, it must be the stage effect, the double screens and the distance and the delicate Capitol escort who waves him to the stage, because Alec seems gargantuan. Whipcord muscles, not bulked out like Creed had been, but if Creed stands next to his little brother now he swears he’d have to crane his neck to look at him.

Fancy, he tells himself. Imagination. His brain struggling to hold on to something tangible as Alec throws his head back and grins, sharp and feral.

“Ohhhh … shit,” Mom murmurs under her breath, in a tone full of wonder. A ripple of shock at the blasphemy hits Creed like a blast wave, but he doesn’t dare turn to stare at her.

Callista is a golden statue behind his brother, eyes shining with pride.

*****

“Brothers, huh?”

Creed jumps. The Peacekeeper standing guard at Alec’s door grins at him. “I — what? Yeah. I mean, yes sir.” He grips his hands so tight behind his back his fingers ache. Did he limp when he came in? Can they see the scar tissue on his knee through his pant leg? Do they know he tried to come here first, that it should have been him, can they see the years of training and the ghost of the Arena in his eyes? Or do they think he’s like everyone else, letting their little brother make the sacrifice because they weren’t good enough?

(Mom throws him to the ground and waits as he staggers to his feet, hands curled loose at her sides, watching.)

He lets out a breath.

“Yeah, I could tell.” The officer opens the door and winks over his shoulder. “Five minutes.”

Creed had to argue for five minutes alone, jaw set and feet planted. For a weird, sliding moment they’d reenacted the conversation Mom loved to tell at parties, when Creed was far too young to remember — “That’s my baby!” “That’s your baby brother, Creed, but he’s my baby” “No! That’s my baby!” — but all too soon his parents exchanged glances and stepped back, allowing him time with Alec first.

He’s even larger than life in the wood-panelled room, standing with his back to the window, warm, mid-morning light throwing his curls into a glowing halo. Creed can’t breathe. Alec swallows, the tension in his throat the only change in his expression.

“I wanted this,” Alec says, and what? “Don’t try to talk me out of it.”

Creed reels back. “What? Of course you did. You were always good enough, I’m just glad you finally believe it.”

This time the corners of Alec’s eyes tighten. “That’s a weird way to remember it. You used to say you wished you were me because no one cared what I did.”

Creed doesn’t remember that conversation either, but he’s not ending his last conversation with his brother on a fight, not for all the limestone in the quarries. “I don’t care what I said. I was a kid and an idiot. I washed out. You didn’t. I’m proud of you. And you probably don’t need to hear that anymore, and that’s good, but I am, so too late now.”

Alec stares at him for a long moment. “Selene wasn’t kidding, you really are sincere. I couldn’t always see it up close.”

“Thanks so much,” Creed says dryly, and what he’d really like to do is knock Alec to the ground for a wrestling match or catch his head under his arm and ruffle his hair, but he can’t. Alec is a tribute now, not his brother, and he’ll need to leave all that behind once he steps aboard that train. “I know you can do it. Whatever we used to say as kids, you’re strong, the strongest of all of us, and you always were. Even when I was shitty and self-absorbed I knew that. Whatever happens in there, I’m going to watch every single minute of it.”

A long silence passes, and Creed is ready to turn and leave with the awkwardness stretched between them, before Alec finally exhales. “Yeah,” he says. “Thanks.”

“Just remember to sleep,” Creed bursts out. “You always push too hard, you never wanted to look weak, but remember it’s just as important to rest —“

Alec socks him so hard he knows he’ll be tracing bruises well after the Games begin in earnest. “Are you seriously giving me Arena pointers right now? You? Now? Fuck off.” And then he laughs, before Creed can decide whether to be more shocked to the sucker-punch or the swearing. “God, you never change. Look, I’ll call you. On the other side, all right? So don’t be all tragic and weirdly noble about the last time we’ll ever see each other.”

Creed’s eyes snap wide and his breath sticks in his chest. Alec’s grin twists, the savage satisfaction of the Reaping stage but with the edges softened. “Ha, thought so. Loser.”

“Asshole,” Creed shoots back, but his voice cracks. “You’re not allowed to say things like that. I had my whole weirdly noble speech already written out.”

“Too bad.” Alec stretches his arms over his head. He is taller than Creed, only an inch or so, but it feels like a lifetime. “I’ve got plans on plans, motherfucker.”

*****

Alec’s interview suit is a deep blue, with running silver threads like veins of quartz. He sits back in his chair, fielding questions with a confident air that stops just shy of arrogance. Creed sees their mother in him more than ever now, the flashes of dark humour, the sharp smile. too. More than once Dad’s gaze flicks over to her, but he stays quiet.

“So,” Flickerman says, teeth flashing in the light. “You’re handsome young man. Anyone waiting for you back home?”

Odd question for a Two, since they have to pretend they sprang out of the rocks as fully-formed tributes, but Alec rolls with it. “Maybe? I can’t stop anyone from waiting,” he says, and winks when Caesar says ‘Ouch!’ with an exaggerated grimace. “No, I’m kidding, I have better things to do than break hearts. Who has the time? I do have a brother, though, and I look up to him a lot. He got me through a lot of tough times when we were younger.”

Flickerman clasps his hands over his chest. “Oh! Brotherly love. Isn’t that sweet. Are you going to win for him?”

Alec tilts his head, and his eyes catch the light. “For him? No. I’m doing this for me. For me and my district, like I said. But I hope he’s watching all the same.”

Mom reaches over and gives Creed’s knee a reassuring shake.

****

“You’ve been watching me.”

Two days in, Alec corners the boy from One against a tree at the edge of the clearing the Pack has declared as their home base. And either he’s right, or whatever happens next is significant enough for the Games editors to cut it that way, because Creed noticed it too, the last few hours of the broadcast full of shots of 1M shooting Alec long, smouldering looks just barely in-frame.

1M — Leander, the pop-up chyron reminds them, dial in to add funds now! — scowls. “Have not. Ego much?”

“Yeah-huh.” Alec grins at him, slow and sure as his gaze slides down and drags back up, and oh. Oh, there’s the Callista tribute in his brother, holy shit. He looks for ten-year-old Alec playing tributes in the woods, dying dutifully as Selene stabs him with a tree branch, and comes up empty. “Nothing wrong with it. So what do you think? I’m hot, you’re hot, it’s the end of the world.”

Leander’s nostrils flare. He probably would not want to know that the running feed in the corner of the screen with his vitals registers an uptick in his heart-rate. Creed and his family always watch the raw feed, no commentary, but he can only imagine what Flickerman makes of that. “What the fuck is wrong with you? That’s your reason? We’re going to die, let’s make out?”

Alec’s eyes narrow, just a fraction, giving him a look of — not anger, but intensity. Creed has the ridiculous thought that he looks like Selene even before he says, “Why not?”

Leander’s knees buckle when Alec kisses him, but he gets his feet under himself soon enough. Creed lets out a disbelieving noise when the cameras pan up toward the treetops, leaving the sound on to fill in the gaps in viewers’ imaginations, but the Games have always been more skittish about kids groping than killing each other. And if he’s completely honest, he’d rather watch his brother skewer someone than get handsy, so he can’t get too high and mighty.

“Well,” Mom says, desert-dry, the same tone that’s trickled down to both her boys through some magic of genetics, “He didn’t get that from you, Joe.”

A high, sputtering sound cuts the living room silence; Creed turns to see Julia stifling a laugh into her hand. Dad turns his gaze up to the ceiling with the air of a man calling the heavens for eternal patience. “You would have shot me,” he says, and Julia loses it completely.

It’s the first time anyone has spoken since the countdown, and the tension doesn’t ease but it does crack a little, like how the first roll of thunder signals a break in the pre-storm humidity.

****

They call him for an interview when Alec hits the Final Eight.

“What?” Creed says, too shocked to stop himself from questioning Program staff. “But families don’t —“

“He mentioned you,” the woman says, brisk and businesslike in a way that makes Creed think of Uncle Paul when someone very important makes his life very difficult. “On camera. Remember? Can’t exactly go back on that now.”

This isn’t Alec’s one-on-one with Flickerman in the Capitol, on stage under blinding lights played to a screaming crowd. It’s not live, there’s no audience, and the woman from Head Office tells him they’ll cut and edit his answers as they see fit depending on the narrative the Capitol and Alec’s mentor agree to present. The interviewer is a reed-thin man in a feathered suit with sculpted lavender curls who lifts Creed’s hand with two fingers and tells him he has a face meant for the movies.

“Thank you?” Creed’s knee ached as soon as he stepped foot in the Centre building in some kind of weird, sympathetic echo. Stepping into the pretend-Remake room for makeup and an appropriate suit nearly gave him a full-on flashback, but he’s fine. He’s not going to have a fucking regression while Alec is out there fighting for his life.

He’s had half a lifetime of media training and the questions are foam-tipped. He tells them Alec is brave, and driven, that he’s never backed down from a challenge. He doesn’t tell them about giggling together late at night from the bunk bed, or that time Alec got so jealous they rolled around on the front lawn punching each other in the face, or that Alec was too shy to ask for a second cookie after school. “He is the bravest person I know,” Creed says. “And I know it’s cheesy, and he’d roll his eyes so hard if he were here, but I don’t care, if he wants to fight me for it he’ll have to win first. He’s my hero.”

“Thank you for your time,” the Capitol envoy says, and shows him to the door. On his way out Creed passes a big boy Alec’s age dressed in the Capitol’s idea of what normal teenagers wear these days (or maybe Creed is just out of touch). They make eye contact for a long second; the boy shrugs helplessly and slips inside.

****

Poisonous plants. Giant snakes. Monkey mutts with teeth the size of Creed’s hand. Acid rain that eats through foliage, sending Alec diving for cover into a crevasse in the rock face. By the time Alec faces his final opponent on the clifftop, he’s exhausted and bloodied, sepsis racing through his body, arm purple and swollen, the fingers of his right hand refusing to close around his spear haft. It feels sacrilegious to make a noise louder than a breath, now; Paul is the only reason any of them have eaten, coming in with bites of food and water every time he gets up to stretch his leg.

Creed can’t breathe. Can’t move. Can barely blink, terrified to close his eyes for even that hundredth of a second. But then —

But then —

He dislocates his knee victory dancing around the living room. His physiotherapist will tear a strip off his side for the next six months. Creed does not give a single, flying fuck.

Alec won.

He won.

His brother’s coming home.

****

End of summer a letter arrives, rich, thick paper and crimson ink. Creed slices his finger on the flap trying to open it, and he’s sucking a bead of blood when the words sink in: your brother and recovery and improving and asked to see you

After that are two more words, underlined so sharply the pen nib scored the paper. He imagines Callista sitting at an elaborate desk, somehow holding a gilded fountain pen with her dagger-tipped fingernails, underlining once, twice, just in case he’s too thick to understand the first time.

only you

Creed’s breath stops in his chest. Mom finds him still holding the letter, the rest of the mail scattered across the table, the skin of his finger still caught between his teeth. She reads over his shoulder, and when she’s done her breath hisses soft between her teeth. “Mom,” Creed says, choked. “Mom, I can’t, if only one of us can go —“

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Mom spins him around, grips him by the shoulder. “We all knew we would never see him again. Now they’re breaking the rules for you. That’s incredible. We’re not going to waste it.”

We all knew. Except that in the Justice Building, Alec told Creed he would call for him, and Creed never once thought he meant only him. Why wouldn’t he have asked the whole family? He would have said something earlier, if he’d known. Warned them, maybe, or apologized, or — something, besides stand here with the invitation in his hand, staring at Mom and feeling like his whole world tipped sideways.

Mom tweaks his nose like he’s five years old, except Creed was five years old, once, and he’s pretty sure sure never did that then. “Go,” she says. “You deserve it.”

#my writing #we must be killers: tales from district 2 #oc: alec seward #oc: creed seward #fanfiction

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roseonne · 5 months

Text

shifted roles

Shift tries to perform his portrait, one more time.

for everyone's favorite little brother, shift ! ( ao3 link )

"I've always wanted an older brother."

Shift pauses. He takes in a quick breath, the quiet air of the empty theater greeting his lungs. The vacant seats and balconies patiently wait for his next act in anticipation. A single spotlight hovers steadily above his head.

Training, rehearsals, and special private lessons exclusively intended for whoever holds the honorable title of 'top actor' had concluded hours ago. Staff members from almost every department begin taking their respective leaves, one after another. Last time he asked, even Reni and his two favorite seniors were already on their way homes, too.

Despite all that, however, Shift decides he still is miles away from calling it a day. (Talk about a hard worker; he claims to have inherited this trait from a certain someone.)

Hence, after clearing his throat one more time, GOD-za's top actor tries reciting his lines again.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I've always wanted an older brother.

I thought it was cool... Having someone big and strong that I'd want to look up to while growing up. Maybe someone who could protect me when bad people decide to pick on me, one day. Someone I can talk to and rely on about literally anything and everything in the whole wide world.

"Shift!"

Hearing a voice call out to me from outside the comforts of my small room, I poke my head through the door I just opened to catch the rest of the message. It's a little disappointing to have my favorite train of thoughts interrupted, but I do have responsibilities I must attend to. (They're quite big too, actually.)

"I'm about to go now. Take good care of your brother while I'm out, alright?"

Ah... It's a weekend today, so no classes for me. (Thank goodness!) But of course, mom has a job. She works really hard every day to provide for us, her family; to send meーher eldest childーto a decent school; and most importantly, to afford buying my baby brother's medicine.

The rusty old handles of the house gates shut and lock with a distinct clang. Mom is officially off to another day, another strive.

"...Okay, mom."

It's the exact same routine since... forever. But it's not like I have any right nor the luxury to complain, though.

With a sigh, I gather up all the energy I could muster to jump off of my bed and head out, as well. One, last glance filled with longing and a hint of regret is the parting gift I offer my room in the meantime.

"Until tonight," I bid my imaginary indestructible fortress of stacked pillows and tied blankets a semi-bitter farewell.

When I said I have quite the big shoes to fill, this is what I meant.

Arakawa Shift is not a typical school kid.

I don't only have to worry about homework and assessment tests. I can't stay out too late after class playing with my friends (well, I don't have plenty of them in the first place, anyway). What I do have though are personal duties at home that I cannot and must not set aside even for a millisecond.

Every desperate thought and possible attempt of prioritizing acts of self-centeredness in any form ought to be ignored, forgotten, and never be given into. I learned this by watching mom.

When she gets home every night, it looks to me as though she barely has any time left to spare for herself. Immediately fixing her attention onto my little brother, I volunteer to do the rest of the chores to help. Cooking simple meals for supper, washing used dishes, cleaning the houseーname it! I love my mom a whole lot, so if I could help her, I'd willingly do so in a heartbeat.

While on my way to my brother's room, my eyes get caught by the big window in the kitchen.

"Hm. That's odd."

Something tells me I should just look away and move on; but that just made me want to know what exactly is going on out there more badly. And sure enough, within mere moments did my curiosity indeed outweigh my instincts, prompting me to grab the nearest chair to climb onto and take a quick peek at the world spinning beyond my life as a dedicated homebody.

From the parted curtains of the kitchen window, kids around my age and range are running in circles, throwing all sorts of toys at each other and playing every kind of game I could think of (some of which, I have never seen nor heard).

A conflicted smile suddenly appears on my face, surprising even myself; but it didn't do so much as only make me resemble a sad young, dumb, and broke loner.

Oh.

Wait a minute.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not sad though! And I'm certainly not a loner. Heh, why would I be? I mean, I have a cute, little baby brother who I love so much. I could just play with him, and we'd have a lot of fun together! Just the two of us, today. Tomorrow. And always.

Shaking my head at the mess outside, I finally ease myself down from the kitchen counter and move on; all the while defying the tiny sting in my chest by pretending as though I feel absolutely nothing about kids making the most out of their childhood years.

"It's alright, we all have our own timelines. I'll have mine some day..." I try my best to console myself.

Speaking of timelines though, just a little more about my brother, the doctor said he's a little sickly at his current age but his body and condition will improve gradually as he grows. So until he can stand tall on his own two feet, I should act strong on his behalf. I have to. For aside from mom, I'm the only person my baby brother has.

I may not have a biologically-related big brother, but at least I can be that personーa reliable, older siblingーfor somebody else. And if I ever had a chance to go back and choose a life for myself? Nah. I really couldn't ask for a better familial circumstance to be in. Honestly.

"So... I'll do my best!"

That's the promise I made that day. How could I forget? It's the promise I'm more than ever ready to uphold and fulfill for as long as I live. It's... the sole, and same promise I failed to keep.

Starting the day off in a good mood is completely shattered, once inside the quarters of my baby brother. He seems fine, sleeping soundly at first glance; but the horrors of the worst scenario occurring right before my very eyes immediately dominated my entire sense of reason.

While holding my pinky finger close to his nostrils, time freezes.

He's not breathing.

In a state of panic, I frantically lean my ear onto his chest for a signーany signーof hope. Still.

I can't feel a pulse.

And all of a sudden, an ear-splitting scream. I'm not sure where it's coming from, considering I'm the only conscious person in the house.

Oh, wait.

I am screaming.

In that instant, I couldn't see, I couldn't hear, I couldn't feel. Everything else is spinning in a blur, and the only thing I can recall afterwards is sitting alone by the nearest hospital bench; knees weak, fingers trembling, breaths heavily shaky and unsteady.

"This can't be happening. No. I won't forgive myself if anything bad happens to Oruto...!"

Mom had to excuse herself early from work (she had no choice but), immediately rushing home once the neighbors heard my inhumane cries and decided to phone her.

She walks out of the ward that my brother's confined in, together with his doctor, and upon seeing me, they both take a seat on either side of me.

"Don't worry. He's okay. He's okay," the doctor tells me, giving my head gentle pats every couple of seconds.

"It's not your fault, Shift," mom whispers straight into my ear, as she wraps me tightly in her embrace; each of her words carrying a different weight of assurance I badly need to believe... But somehow can't. "I'm just glad you both are safe..."

The tears can't and won't seem to be stopping any time soon.

It's a memoryーa living nightmareーthat'll haunt me in my dreams for the rest of my life; no matter how many days, weeks, months, or even years pass. The image of my brother's face, pale and limp, will forever be engraved at the back of my mind.

I don't think I'll ever fully recover from that. Even if my brother himself is all healed and grown.

But... I have to make it. We have to make it through together, one way or another.

"I'll always protect you, Oruto."

My little brother smiles. When he does that, all the scarring wounds in my heart feel a little lighter; a little better, even.

"Hehe... Nii-san, you can choose you now."

Five words. And after all those years of loving anybody first over me, it takes just five, simple words coming from his mouth to make me begin asking questions I never would have dared construct into actual sentences in the first place.

"Does my brother not need me anymore? Was there even any point in my own selflessness? What is my purpose now that I've been instructed to choose myself by the very person I sworn lifelong protection to?"

I'm lost. Confused. Unsure about where to go, from here. Unsure about a lot of other things. And unsure about the only new door that opened for me.

Direct Invitation for the position of: TOP ACTOR Regards, GOD-za

I had no actual background in theater nor acting; save for the limited knowledge I've gathered from reading plays and reciting lines in scripts I luckily manage to get my hands on at the local library. I'd borrow them, and immerse myself in the tiny universes created by a variety of multiple authors as a way to escape the cruelty life occasionally throws my way.

And although skeptic, initially crestfallen at having been casted aside when no longer needed, it's only upon my brother's very suggestion that I accepted the offer; as the most fabulous theater company in Veludo Way officially scouts me as their reigning top actor.

I couldn't believe it, at first. Receiving a paycheck, people's acknowledgements, and one-on-one special training to prepare me for an upcoming act off. My first show! Ever! With me as the lead! Yay!

The brief phase of adjustment is neither easy nor troublesome, if I say so myself. It's okay for the most part; save for things getting quite tough on some days. One thing's for sure thoughーthis whole, life-changing experience has seemingly helped me grow a new pair of wings to fly with.

I've also met a lot of cool people I now look up to, at GOD-za. Haruto-san, the top actor right after me. Madoka, our new playwright.

"Don't hold me back, newbie," Haruto-san often says.

"If... If there's anything you want to change in the script, you can tell me," Madoka often reminds.

Haruto-san's a little loud, but he's amazing in way more ways than one. Madoka too; extreme talent hiding underneath that soft spoken nature. I can't lose!

Such a tough challenge we had to take on; especially with all the controversies revolving it. And an equally harder acceptance of defeat, fair and square; but there is room for all three of us to grow, individually and collectively. So we did.

But for the first time in my life, I felt okay being myself. I may not have been able to be a child during my earlier years alive and kicking on this planet, but it's never too late to unleash the youthful charm of being unapologetically 'Shift Arakawa'.

"Hehe, I have my two favorite seniors to be grateful for too, of course!"

Hence, it's in GOD-za that my long-standing wish has finally been granted.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"I'm... just not sure if they know this, but Haruto-san and Madoka are the closest to my heart than I ever was myself."

Shift relives every memory he has of the three of them togetherーcreating plays, performing etudes, and hanging out after a long day's worth of hard work in Haruto's apartment. He wouldn't have gotten thus far, if not for the both of them.

"I'm aware that I could be a mouthful sometimes... But, they never asked me to change," he stammers, voice wavering from the amount of emotions he's facing and pouring forth into the world. "They never made me feel that I was weird; and that I did not belong here."

The top actor breathes deeply. Feeling content and satisfaction not only for a successful attempt of doing his portrait, but at the particular shifting of his own roles throughout his fifteen years existing, thriving, and living.

"I've always wanted an older brother," Shift beams, the sparkle in his eyes barely visible now that his wide, signature smile has taken full effect all over his face, "but GOD-za gave me two."

#a3!#shift arakawa #arakawa family bits #haruto asuka #madoka ikaruga #oh my god(za)#godza trio #god troupe? more like found family imo #shift-centric!#other characters are only mentioned (kinda)#inside seonne's head

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invisibleraven · 1 year

Text

Phantom Carols

For the @jatp-adventevent prompt Do they believe in elves or Yetis?

Day Nine: Couple of Misfits <-AO3!

When Carlos is young, his parents assure him that he can be anything he wants to be when he grows up. “You could even become a dentist!” Ray jokes, though Carlos isn’t exactly laughing.

Being an elf in the North Pole leaves the job opportunities rather slim, you see. His mom works in the letter department, composing replies to every child that writes to Santa on a yearly basis. Dad works with the reindeer, keeping them happy and healthy before they start training for sleigh duty. Even his sister Julie is involved, working as an apprentice in the wrapping department, and the things she can do with a roll of tape are frankly, downright scary.

But as much as Carlos loves Christmas, loves everything that Santa does and stands for, he has no wish to work for him. He’s tried interning in every department, and nothing seems to be a right fit for him.

In the toy making department, all his train wheels turned square and his cowboys ended up riding ostriches. He ended up wrapping himself more than the presents when working with Julie. The reindeer seem to dislike him for some reason, maybe because he made one too many jokes about Rudolph when he was little, and nobody bad mouths Rudolph. His mom even tries to get him to help with letters, but all that does is confirm his dyslexia and explains a whole lot about his grades in elf school.

Carlos is flipping through the books in the library when he comes across the historical version of Rudolph. He had been forced to read it and write a sensitivity essay after Blitzen VII almost gored him after an insensitive comment, but that had been ages ago. There’s pictures of Rudolph’s adventures, the famous elf dentist Hermie, the prospector Yukon Cornelius, the Island of Misfit Toys, now long defunct since Santa gathers them up each year.

Then there’s the character that fascinated him the most-the Bumble. The tamed Abominable Snowman who had once tried to eat the heroes, only to have all his teeth removed, and prove useful to Christmastown. There was supposedly a statue of him somewhere near his old cave, a memorial to mark his final resting place. There had been no sightings of more monsters since then.

Carlos kind of wondered why. Surely there couldn’t have just been one Bumble right? Did he have a family in some far off reaches? Was he related to the Yetis that are in the Arctic mountains? A distant relation to the Sasquatch that supposedly roamed the forests of the Americas?

Carlos wanted to find out, (he also really wanted to see a Bumble bounce) and that’s when he realized this is what he wanted to do. Find all the mysteries of the world, and maybe help them find a place in it. Not taming them, but making them feel useful. Discover their secrets, maybe write a guide to them to help others, so that they weren’t driven to extinction or forced back into hiding.

So Carlos resolved to go, and though his parents worried, they wished him luck. Loaded him up with supplies, and even Julie gave him a roll of tape, “Because you never know when you might need it.”

It turned out that the tape proved quite useful for restraining a nasty drude, a bat-like creature that’s bite gave intense nightmares. Carlos brought him to the Sandman, hoping that the master of dreams could rehabilitate him. From there he met other legends and creatures, making notes, taking pictures, befriending those he could, avoiding those he couldn’t.

Eventually he came back to the North Pole, a few years older, a lot wiser. “I still never found another Bumble,” he lamented.

“I truly do think that the original was the last mijo,” Rose said as she forced some food to him, complaining that he had grown far too skinny during his travels.

“Maybe,” Carlos replied, sipping his hot chocolate. “But I want to check out his cave, just in case.”

The cave was deserted, as he knew it would be. But he did manage to find one of the teeth that Hermie had pulled out, which was a pretty sweet souvenir.

And that Christmas, Santa, always the joker, gifted him a plushy Bumble, which Carlos scowled at, but held tight. He might never find the real thing, but he'll treasure this version of the Abominable Snowman for the rest of his days.

Only… the next year, when Snowman Sam comes back around, strumming his banjo and singing about the tales of Rudolph, Carlos has to ask. Sam has been around since Santa first took up the mantle, he must have some idea about the Abominable right?

Sam does, though he’s reluctant to tell Carlos much, but eventually relents, and Carlos heads even further north. Up to were the aurora is shining constantly, and it’s there that he finds the cave; dark and foreboding.

He comes out with the tiny baby Bumble, obviously abandoned, and brings it home. He’s the size of Carlos, but seems tame enough, and with some love, he becomes a part of the Christmastown family. Helps out as much as he can, when he’s not accompanying Carlos on adventures to find more misunderstood creatures.

And yes, it turns out, Bumbles do bounce.

#my stuff #writing #fanfic #carlos molina #jatpadvent2022 #julie and the phantoms

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funkymbtifiction · 2 years

Text

The need to entertain

Hey Charity I always forget to ask, but I've been wondering for a while if this is related to type:

I live with my mom (ENFP) and we've built this habit for years, which is during weekends and vacations we spend time together watching things. Sometimes tv series, but during weekend mornings is cooking videos and competitions. As much as I love it, at times I have other stuff I want to do at the time, yet every time she complains about being bored, I feel compelled to ask her if she wants to watch something. I don't know why, but I just feel this jab of immediate discomfort and have to fix it for her. This is weird to me because I've never felt like this when I was younger and I'm not like this with other people. I cook for us almost 100% of the time even during her vacations and it takes a toll on me, so when she suddenly says "I'm hungry" if it's not close to meal time I can ignore it, I think to myself "She can go and get something". I don't feel the need to provide her everything all the time (I only felt hyper-focused on making her physically comfortable and ok when she's sick), the fact she relies on me for so many things actually annoys me many times. But when it comes to her feeling entertained it seems that somehow I believe it's my role to fill. When I manage to ignore her boredom and just do my thing I feel a bit guilty, like I' doing something wrong. It's weird why I can't just think "She can have fun on her own" being that I've always been totally capable of entertaining myself from childhood. I only feel bored (and then it's maddening, like I'm dying) when I'm cut off from any source of stimulation nothing to read or watch. But it seems like she expects other people to provide her with distractions. And when I'm doing an activity together with anyone I've always been hyper aware if they seem to be enjoying it or not. If they seem to not my reflex is to immediately stop it.

Maybe this is nothing, but I long been curious about it.

Usually when I see this happening with someone, they either turn out to be a high Fe type (FJ) or they have an Enneagram type that is strong on attachment (often 6 or 9) or “duty-driven” (1/2/6). The reason being that Fe struggles to pull away from their attentiveness to other people’s needs in order to carve out space for themselves (a sense of obligation to needing to look after others/prioritize their feelings), which can mean that FJs are often derailed from what they want to do by the needs of those around them, especially when they are also Enneagram types focused on doing the ‘right’ thing or tuning into other people’s needs. So, an FJ 2 is going to see someone bored and think it’s their job to rescue them from boredom, because ‘they need me.’ Or a 6 is going to think along those same lines (a sense of duty ‘forcing’ me to go to their rescue, even if I don’t want to), regardless of their MBTI type, but come at it from a place of loyalty. A 1 would do it out of duty and obligation – the right thing to do is put their needs first and attend to them. Etc.

Do you wish to fix this situation? If so, some of the following advice might be useful. You need to establish some boundaries with your mother, so that you are not always stuck entertaining her when there are other things you want to do. And your mother needs to learn to entertain herself, which she will be forced to do, if you are not always rushing in to rescue her. Typically, this works best if you know in advance what you want/need to do, and can tell her about it (in other words – “Mom, I really want to do X on Sunday morning, but I’m super looking forward to watching a cooking show with you on Saturday, and doing something fun with you in the afternoon!”). Both of you need to know in advance what the schedule is going to be like, so she has something to look forward to, and you can do what you set out to do without guilt. It might also help to learn to ask leading questions, rather than launch into problem-solving mode – oh? What would you like to learn about, Mom? Is there some hobby you want to try that you have never done?

It kind of seems like you’ve slipped into being the “parent” who needs to entertain and feed her, whereas even an ENFP can learn to take care of themselves. But the thing is, people use the same tricks if they are proven to work, so if every time she mentions she’s hungry you get up and fix her something, she has learned that you will give her what she wants. If every time she says she is bored, you give her personal attention by spending time with her, she’s going to expect it from you. By always saying yes, you are allowing her to make you into her ‘crutch.’ If you start tactfully saying no, she will learn that she has to look after herself sometimes. And it will be good for both of you to have a little more distance between you.

Extroverts can often get over-involved with other people, or think that others need to entertain them all the time – but there are books to read, movies to watch, things to go out and experience, hobbies to attend to, yard work that needs done, things to tend to around the house, books on tape to listen to, and any number of things that can fill up their time that don’t directly involve other people. It’s good for them to learn to stay busy and not be too reliant on others all the time.

#question #mbti #ennegram

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river-bottom-nightmare · 3 years

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Gimme them “dick the master manipulator” hcs plz I love them

i love them too babe they may be a bit ooc but they are near and dear to my heart all the same

part of the reason wayne enterprises is doing so tremendously well is largely because of bruce’s kids. tim’s got a perfect mind for business, especially when he works with luke fox. but one of the things that turned the company from an generational, stiff business as forgettable as the hundreds of others just like it to a national giant was dick dick, who went to all of the fundraisers bruce asked him to go to with a skip in his step and a smile on his face. dick, who told stories in his most childlike voice about how good it was living in the manor, and how grateful he was, and how he wished every kid like him could have the same wonderful opportunities. dick, who went to functions outside of gotham with bruce and, with a couple bats of his eyes, was able to secure a whole new group of investors. dick, who remembered all of these high class men’s wives’ names, who flattered them the way only an earnest little kid could, until the wives were telling their husbands they simply had to partner with bruce, because any man with that splendid of a kid was worth knowing. dick, who doesn’t like business work and stays away from wayne enterprises and curls his lip when he thinks of the kinds of men bruce rubs elbows with every day, but was essential to the company all the same.

see, the thing was, wally’s parents weren’t very nice people. that’s not to say they weren’t cordial when wally invited dick over, excited that wally was bringing home a friend from school (though rudy’s dinner manners could use a little refinement). they were perfectly acceptable, up to a certain standard. past that, their biases and hesitation shone brightly, and spilled over into wally, too. dick almost threw up the first time wally asked him if dick could teach him how to pickpocket because he thought it would be useful as a vigilante, and his mom had said dick’s people were good at that sort of thing. his eyes were wide and guileless, unaware of the hurt festering in dick’s stomach, and that’s when dick decided that yeah, no, wally’s upbringing wasn’t going to cut it. (he was doing wally a favour, really, because roy would have just punched the poor guy in the face.) so he took wally to haleé’s the next time the circ rolled into town, and introduced him to all of his old friends, his old family, showing the speedster that they weren’t different or exotic or whatever the hell dick heard rudy spout off sometimes during dinner. and he quietly cheered the next time he was over at wally’s house for dinner, when his father made a comment and wally narrowed his eyes, telling rudy he was wrong. he went with wally to an ice cream parlour in the thick of central city, in the middle of june. he acted like nothing was amiss, ducking under a rainbow flag, while really watching wally out of the corner of his eye, the other boy taking in all the different couples sharing ice cream in the shop. positive reinforcement, he thought as he bought wally a giant ice cream cone after wally hesitantly told the worker behind the glass that he liked their pin. and he went with wally to all sorts of college campus tours, quietly steering him towards the bigger cities, thrusting pamphlets into his hands and pointing out all the different benefits a college far from little old keystone would have. there was a twinge in his heart when wally introduced him to linda, but it was easily ignorable in favour of the pride he felt when he found out wally had started to learn korean for her.

it made him sick sometimes, how far people were willing to go just for a smile. granted, dick’s smiles were usually laced with a dark look in his eyes and deceptively casual body language, light flirting spilling from his lips as easily as his target fell for it. he never liked doing this. being the bats’ chosen honeypot was a job he wouldn’t wish on anyone else, though, so he let himself fall into the role. he took note of every single one of his target’s responses: pupils widening, shoulders relaxing, tense grip on the drink falling slack. and he took that and ran with it. leaning forward to look his target straight in the eye and parting his lips the slightest bit until they were focused on nothing but him, casually bumping hips and touching toes until their body was lax in the chair. it never failed, not even for the most experienced of people. a wink and maybe a kiss later, and he usually had what he needed: a usb drive or a cell phone or a tracker planted in a jacket pocket. his target usually never knew what hit them

dick was well aware of the soft spot clark held for him. it was sweet, a nice change from bruce’s high standards and even higher expectations. clark still saw him as a skinny little kid, swinging on bruce’s shoulders and launching himself at clark for hugs (not that he didn’t still do the latter, just rarely.) he never failed to take advantage of it either. clark kent had a whip-sharp mind and a built in bullshit detector, but uncle clark melted every time dick slumped his shoulders and swung his legs forlornly over the edge of a skyscraper. bruce isn’t letting me pick up basic patrols even though my injury healed over two days ago, he would pout, munching on the doughnuts clark had bought him as the older man made sympathetic noises. in a couple days, bruce would mysteriously clear dick for active duty, citing a “new outlook,” and dick would hide his grin as he raved to clark about bruce’s sudden change of heart. it’s just so difficult getting recommendation letters these days, he’d groan to clark, sprawled over the sofa clark’s apartment, especially since everyone knows me as bruce wayne’s kid, so they’ll never be honest. only a week afterwards, dick knew he could expect a pristine letter of recommendation from pulitzer prize winning author lois lane. i just don’t have the time to deal with him on top of everything going on in bludhaven, he’d complain, suit on but mask off on the roof of the daily planet. i can’t just drop everything the minute slade decides he wants to fight with someone competent. after that, he knew slade wouldn’t be showing up in bludhaven or gotham anytime soon, because superman could be quite terrifying if he wanted to.

#scribbles from the swamp #dick grayson #nightwing #wally west #the flash #clark kent #superman #dc #dick grayson headcanon #nightwing headcanon #wally west headcanon #the flash headcanon #clark kent headcanon #superman headcanon #dc headcanon

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neonlights92 · 3 years

Text

GRACE: Chapter I

Kim Namjoon lost himself when he lost his hand. Things have not been the same for him since. When Taehyung tells him it’s time for him to marry - he isn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of someone else having a front row seat to his struggle with himself.

That’s where you come in. You’re a nurse, as well as a member of Bangtan, and Taehyung is never more sure about a match than he is with you and Namjoon. Feeling like you’ve been chosen to help Namjoon on his journey back to finding who he is, you feel completely out of depth.

It’s only when you start to see the man underneath that you start to fall in love with Kim Namjoon. And maybe after all, you might be his saving grace.

WARNINGS: Language, eventual sex and some violence

A/N:Namjoonie’s story! ENJOOOOY :D

“Kim Taehyung wants to see you, Y/N.”

Your mother’s words dropped between the two of you, like lead. Her eyes avoided your own - and you knew exactly what she actually meant.

Kim Taehyung has found you a husband.

Your chest tightened and you gripped the handle of your coffee mug for dear life.

Your eyes traveled over to your father, his face kind but stern. This wasn’t up for debate.

“Okay.” The word was quiet, “Do I - do you…”

You took a deep breath and collected yourself.

“Who is he?”

The question hung in the air uncomfortably.

Your parents exchanged a look - the same look they’d exchanged your entire life when decisions were made for you and they were afraid you wouldn’t like it.

“I think we should let Taehyung tell you that.” Your father’s voice was steady, “As Capo, it is his right.”

As capo.

You didn’t know Kim Taehyung very well at all. Though the two of you were of a similar age - had grown up together in Bangtan - he had always been groomed for Capo. You on the other hand, had been groomed like most other women in the mob: to believe that your most important duty in life was to carry on your family line.

You knew it was outdated. And you hated it, though you’d never complain.

Life had taught you that complaints got you nowhere - and so you’d learnt to keep your head down and get on with it.

But that didn’t mean you’d never wanted more. That you’d craved freedom and independence like no other.

And when your parents had allowed you to study nursing at university you really had thought maybe things were changing. Until you’d realised that it had been a direct order from Taehyung’s father himself - the Capo at the time.

Bangtan needed their own nurse. Someone who could take care of things quietly and efficiently.

Someone who could help those who were badly injured find some degree of normality.

And that’s what you did.

Still. You loved your job - mob mandated or not.

“Okay.” You whispered, feeling something like dread wash over you.

“His wife has invited you to dinner at theirs,” Your mother finally moved her gaze to connect with your own, “This evening. Eight pm.”

You nodded, on autopilot.

This was what you’d done all your life, wasn’t it?

You listened to orders. You never asked questions. You never challenged Bangtan.

And if the Capo himself wanted to see you, then you knew it could only mean one thing.

He’d found you a husband. And tonight, you would meet him too.

You stood outside Kim Taehyung’s mansion -- because that’s what it was, a mansion -- nervously fingering the hem of your blouse.

This was it.

You’d waited twenty-five years for this moment - the moment someone else decided who you would marry.

You’d always known it would be like this. Your father was too powerful - he held too many cards too close to his chest - and Bangtan could never let someone like him choose his own daughter’s marriage.

He’d told you since you were a young girl to expect this. An arranged betrothal.

And when you were little you thought it was sort of romantic. Like some fairytale - a princess locked away in a tower and a knight who was destined to save her.

Except now you were older and it wasn’t all that romantic anymore.

It was stifling.

You knew your father had come to this agreement with Taehyung himself. You hated that you lived in such a misogynistic world, but it was the way things had always been.

After a long moment and a deep, calming breath, you lifted your hand and knocked, once.

There was a beat and then the portal swung open.

And Kim Taehyung’s wife was smiling widely at you. You forced your own lips up into a smile.

“Hi! Y/N, was it?”

You curtsied a little feeling foolish straight after, “Yeah. Hello Mrs Kim.”

“Ugh Mrs Kim is Taehyung’s mom,” She laughed, “You can call me ___.”

Her eyes were kind as she opened the door further and gestured you inside.

“Come in, please. Dinner is almost ready and the boys are too.”

The boys.

Your heart skipped a beat. For a moment you wondered if perhaps your father had somehow secured a marriage to the last available member of the Special Seven, Kim Namjoon.

But you shook your head.

Your father was important, of course… But surely not that important.

Besides, from what you’d heard through the grapevine - since the accident that had caused Namjoon to lose most of his hand - he had pretty much become a hermit. The rumour mill was rife, of course, with people’s theories of what would become of Bangtan’s most eligible bachelor.

Could it be that Kim Taehyung wanted you to take up that mantle?

“I hope you like pasta,” ___ interrupted your thoughts and you looked up as stopped in front of a large dining room, “We hardly ever use this room anymore, but Taehyung thought it was appropriate for tonight.”

Your eyes widened at the opulence of the room you were stood in. The chandelier that hung in the middle of the ceiling dripped with what you could only guess were the most expensive diamonds money could buy. The long, mahogany table was ornate and rich - a dark colour that spoke of wealth and taste.

“It’s a little much,” ___ spoke up again and you turned to see her rolling her eyes, “But it was like this when we moved in. Taehyung’s dad had a lot of money and apparently not a lot of subtlety.”

She laughed at the comment and you giggled too - relaxing a little as the tension eased from your shoulders slightly. It seemed you’d found something of an ally in Taehyung’s wife and you were thankful for that, at least.

“I know we don’t really know each other,” She started carefully, a perfectly plucked brow pulling up slightly, “But I like to think of myself as a confidant of sorts… Especially when it comes to matters of the heart.”

You raised your own brow, “Matters of the heart?”

She bit her bottom lip and you noticed the pity in her eyes.

As she opened her mouth to answer you, somebody cleared their throat to your left and your head snapped round, finding yourself looking up into the formidable gaze of Kim Taehyung.

He was alone, you noticed immediately, and you tried to keep your expression neutral.

This was the game of Bangtan. A game you’d grown up in.

A game you knew well.

“Taehyung,” You greeted, nodding gently, “Thank you for inviting me. It is an honour.”

His handsome face was cold - barely responsive as he nodded back to you, “Y/N. Welcome to our home.”

Our home.

The words warmed you.

It had been clear for a while now that Kim Taehyung’s only weakness was his wife. He would burn the entire world down for her - and you’d been told of this time and time again.

They had started off as an arranged marriage - almost six years ago now - when Taehyung’s father and his wife’s father had worked so closely with one another they had promised their children’s hand in marriage in an act of loyalty.

But things had changed in the years since.

It was well established that Kim Taehyung loved only one thing more than he loved Bangtan - and that was his wife.

You tried to focus on that - on the fact that loveless marriages could turn into something else - as ___ nudged her husband playfully.

“Don’t be so formal,” She teased and you couldn’t believe you were witnessing this exchange, “Y/N is a friend.”

Taehyung actually rolled his eyes playfully and smiled down at his wife, “I’m still Capo, darling.”

She laughed as well and your chest tightened. You wanted that.

The obvious love they had for one another - the way they seemed to be so comfortable with each other it was like they had found their home.

“Well dinner’s almost ready Taehyung so go and get cleaned up.” ____ said, slipping an arm through yours and leading you towards the ridiculous mahogany table, “Come sit over here, Y/N.”

You noticed for the first time that the table was set for four people.

Your heart pounded against your chest.

“Who is it?”

The question slipped out of you before you even had a chance to think it through. ____ froze. She was slipping into the seat beside you when her eyes turned to your own.

“What?”

“The fourth person,” You whispered, darting your eyes behind you to make sure Taehyung wasn’t within earshot distance, “My future husband. Who is it?”

____ looked genuinely distraught for a moment.

You clicked your tongue.

“I’m a member of the South Korea mafia, ____, I know how this shit works.” You noticed your words were a little sharp and you tried to soften them with a weak smile, “Just tell me who it is. Please.”

____ seemed torn. Her eyes roved your face carefully and she sighed.

“He’s a good guy.” She told you carefully, “Really. I’m not just saying that.”

Your heart dropped. The look in her eyes - the trepidation….

“It’s Kim Namjoon, isn’t it?”

A throat cleared itself loudly from behind you. You snapped your head to the side and watched as the man himself sauntered towards the two of you.

“You rang?” The sarcasm dripped from his tone as he stuck out his prosthetic hand for you to shake. You supposed he was expecting you to be disgusted - maybe to rebuke him - but you were made of stronger stuff than that.

You forced yourself to smile, “Hello Namjoon. I’m Y/N.”

He narrowed his eyes as you shook his prosthetic.

“I know who you are,” He raised a dark brow, “The future Mrs Kim Namjoon.”

The words were like heavy bricks - weighing down on your shoulders.

You knew next to nothing about this man. Despite what ____ had said about him being a good man all you saw was bitterness and anger in his eyes.

“You’re the nurse, aren’t you?”

You nodded carefully and tried to calm your pulse.

“Well now we know why Taehyung chose you for me. The cripple.”

____ cleared her throat and stood up abruptly. Her eyes were dark and angry and she shook her head at Namjoon.

“No. You don’t get to do that to her. Not when she had nothing to do with any of this.” Her bottom lip trembled slightly, “Apologise.” Namjoon’s face was a perfect mask of nonchalance. His eyes flicked between you and ____ and he shrugged.

“What for?”

____ squared her shoulders, “You know exactly what for, Kim Namjoon.”

“I think that’s enough now,” Taehyung entered the room sharply, standing between his wife and friend. His gaze fell on you after a moment, “I see the two of you have met.”

You nodded wordlessly, wondering just what in the hell was going on.

Namjoon was seething apparently, as he sulked to the left of his friend, arms crossed and eyes dangerously black.

“Was he not as welcoming as he’d promised he’d be?”

“This is ridiculous V, we both know that. You’ve chosen her because she’s a nurse and because of this,” He stuck his fake hand in the air and you refused to look away.

Nobody else in the room reacted for a moment.

Taehyung took a deep, calming breath.

“That was part of it, yes.” He said evenly, “Y/N is a trained nurse and therefore she can help you move forward with this. But she’s also a good match. Right age, right height… Her parents are wealthy and important like yours. It is a good union. I have told you this plenty of times Namjoon.”

“I will not marry her because of pity,” Namjoon spat the word out, “I’m not some fucking charity case-”

“I don’t pity you.” The words flew out of you and when three sets of eyes turned to fall on you, you wondered if it was the right choice. You chose to focus on Namjoon.

“What?”

“I don’t pity you,” You told him honestly, gesturing to his prosthetic, “What happened is awful, obviously. And I may never know the full extent of it. But I don’t pity you. You are a man with an obstacle in life. There are many men with obstacles in life. That doesn’t make you worthy of pity.”

Namjoon’s eyes searched your face for something - what you weren’t sure - and she sighed heavily. He seemed so tired. You noticed the bags under his eyes, the lines in his forehead. He was young - just a little older than you - and yet it seemed he’d aged so much recently.

“So you want to marry me? You want to marry a man who’s had to learn how to live - how to do normal every day things like eat with a knife and fork - all over again?”

You shrugged, “I want to do what’s best for Bangtan. If Taehyung says that’s a marriage between the two of us, then so be it.”

A long moment passed between the two of you.

Namjoon seemed to be sizing you up, and you took the opportunity to do the same.

He wasn’t ugly. Far from it. Kim Namjoon was tall and handsome - and from what you’d heard through the grapevine - he was also smart and kind.

People spoke about him of course - he was a member of the Special Seven - and what they said was normally very positive.

He wasn’t like other Bangtan men.

He was grounded. He was softer. A man who used brains instead of braun.

You had to admit, those traits were attractive to you.

Eventually, he spoke.

“Alright then.” He nodded and gave you a strange look - somewhere between admiration and confusion, “I suppose that says it all.”

Namjoon turned to Taehyung and nodded.

“We’ll get married at the earliest convenience.” _____ gasped from behind you but you barely registered the sound.

It had all been well and good in theory… But now what?

Kim Namjoon stuck his hand out to yours - his real hand made of flesh and bones - and smiled sardonically.

“Welcome to the family, Mrs Kim Namjoon.” You smiled back. Mrs Kim Namjoon.

You could do this.

Planning a wedding was easy when you weren’t trusted to do a single thing.

Kim Namjoon’s family had promised to take care of everything - and as a family higher up in the Bangtan hierarchy than your own - there had been no argument to be made.

This was the way things worked in your world, and you’d learned long ago just to accept it.

You barely saw your husband in the ensuing months. He dropped by once to meet your parents and officially ask for your hand in marriage, and once more since then to update you on the wedding arrangements.

But apart from that he was like a ghost - you even forgot sometimes that you were supposed to be marrying him.

You rarely thought about the fact that by the end of this year you would be Mrs Kim Namjoon and despite the relatively long engagement - six months was a long time in the world of Bangtan - you were happy you had the time to get used to the idea of marriage.

It wasn’t until one evening when Kim Namjoon came calling for you that the reality of the situation truly sunk in.

You were leaving work - it had been a particularly difficult day so far, and absolutely nothing seemed to be going smoothly. In fact everything today had felt like it was seconds away from falling apart and you felt like you too, were going to break down.

And as you made your way across the parking lot you found Kim Namjoon, leaning against your car. How he knew which one was yours was beyond you - but you smiled at him questioningly when you were within earshot.

“Hi.” He smiled almost sheepishly, “Hi.”

“What are you doing here?”

He crossed his arms and squinted one eye shut as he stewed in your question for just a moment. Then he sighed heavily.

“I’ve been an asshole.”

“Huh?” You raised a brow.

Namjoon groaned and clicked his tongue, “Are you gonna make this difficult for me?”

“What? No!” You shook your head and shrugged, “I just don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The night I agreed to marry you I was a jerk. And we’ve barely seen each other twice since we got engaged two months ago.” He ran a hand through his hair, “I promised myself I wouldn’t be like that. So I’m sorry.”

You cocked your head to the side, shocked at the show of vulnerability. Namjoon was a Bangtan man - he should be cold and unforgiving - he should push away intimacy and hate the thought of opening himself up to anyone.

And yet here he was, apologising to you for something you’d assumed was just the way things were done when a marriage was arranged.

“Okay.” You nodded slowly, “I forgive you.”

He smiled softly and you found yourself thinking he really did look handsome like that.

“I’d like us to be friends at least,” He shrugged, “If nothing else.”

You smiled back, “Friends sounds good to me.”

“Good. Great. Thank you,” He gestured to your car, “So can you give me a ride home?” You gave him a questioning look, “How did you get here?”

“My driver dropped me off,” He lifted his prosthetic hand, “I can’t really drive anymore.”

There was a moment of almost awkward silence, but you refused to let something Namjoon couldn’t control, ruin the atmosphere. He’d apologised to you - he was making something of an effort - and you owed it to him to do your part.

“I can help you with that,” You told him, pointing at his hand, “Getting used to it. How long have you had it on for?”

“Half a year,” He looked away from you, “It’s still so uncomfortable.”

You took another step towards him and his eyes connected with yours.

“I don’t care.” You told him firmly, “I don’t care about the prosthetic. I swear. And I’m sorry it’s uncomfortable. I’m sorry it happened to you. But I’ll help you. I will. I promise.”

Namjoon’s eyes softened at your words and you were taken back by the way he was suddenly looking at you.

God. He really was so handsome.

“Okay.” He whispered, eyes darting across your face, “Yeah. Thank you. That would mean a lot.” The moment was suspended for another moment more, and you wondered if you might do something crazy like try and kiss him - before Namjoon cleared his throat and the spell was broken.

Jesus.

What was going on with you?

Your pulse was racing as you fumbled around your handbag for your keys and you told yourself the nerves were only because of the day you’d had. It had nothing to do with the handsome man standing in front of you.

“You’re going to have to give me directions to your house,” You told Namjoon as the car unlocked and you both climbed in, “I’ve never had the privilege of visiting.” He snorted a laugh, “It’s a two minute drive from Taehyung’s. If you drive that way I can guide you.”

“Sounds good.”

You buckled yourself in and tried to ignore the way your cheeks were flushing at the idea of you and Namjoon being in such a small space together, focusing instead on the feel of the steering wheel under your fingers, and trying as much as you could not to stare at him through the reflection of the mirrors.

That would be weird.

Weirder than you were suddenly being.

“How was work?” He asked you once you pulled the car out onto the main road.

You groaned, “Awful. Today was a bad one. We have them sometimes but it really lowers your self esteem. Some of my patients seemed like they couldn’t stand my face.”

Namjoon whistled lowly.

“I can imagine that wouldn’t be a very comforting atmosphere to be in.”

“No, not very,” You shrugged and shot him a look, “But that’s the nature of my job. Nurses are treated worse than doctors even though sometimes it feels like we do triple the work.”

Namjoon chuckled and you raised a brow, “What?”

“It’s just…” Out of the corner of your eye you saw him shake his head, “It’s like that with us sometimes. In Bangtan I mean. Taehyung is treated with so much respect and reverence - and he deserves it. Of course he does. But the rest of us… We work our asses off. And we barely get any recognition for it.” He pulled a face, “So I guess I’m trying to say I know how you’re feeling. Kind of.”

You let this information settle with you.

It made sense of course.

Bangtan was the biggest food chain of them all. The Capo demanded respect.

And in the little interaction you’d had with him, you saw how intimidating Kim Taehyung could be. Still. You imagined that had to be annoying.

“Doesn’t it piss you off?” He scoffed, “Of course it does. But that’s just Bangtan. That’s the job. We don’t do it for recognition anyway. We do it because we love Bangtan.”

You smiled at that.

It was exactly how you felt about your job.

“Yeah. I understand what you mean. As much as it sucks that I don’t always get the praise I feel I deserve… I don’t do it for that. I do it to help people.”

There was a heavy moment between you both. Namjoon seemed to be taking in what you’ve said and you found yourself thinking that if it’s this easy to talk to him you might catch yourself falling for your own husband.

“That’s a lovely way to put it,” You felt rather than saw his smile, “My house is just on this curb.”

You slowed the car down and turned to your fiance, surprised when you saw him already smiling at you.

“Thank you. For this.” His eyes were gentle and shimmering almost and you once again had to force yourself not to flush, “It’s been…. Nice.” You grinned back, “Alright. Don’t be a stranger.”

He laughed at that and shook his head.

“I won’t.” He gave you a warm look, “Goodbye Y/N. I’ll call you soon.”

You nodded, “Okay. Bye Namjoon.”

He smiled at you once more before climbing out of the car and waving goodbye at you.

And as you drove away all you could think of was this:

Kim Namjoon might very well be the best thing that could have ever happened to you.

#namjoon x reader #mafia au #arranged marraige au #smut #angst #romance #kpop #fanfic #fanfiction #imagine

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