#but having little kids say they like my colorful hair
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anything for you
chapter 3
“So, I googled you.” It was the first thing I could think to say. I wish I’d gone with “you look nice,” or maybe “good to see you again,” but I went with, “So, I googled you.”
“Did you find anything good?” He was perfectly relaxed, and he really did look nice. Suit and tie, hair perfectly fluffy.
“Broadway isn’t exactly a small stage.” I said, easing into it. He could see where I was going with this.
“I liked that you didn’t know who I was. Also, I would’ve seemed like a dick if I’d read off my entire professional resume. ‘Did you want my extra bag of peanuts? Also, I wanted to let you know I was nominated for a Tony.’ I’d only bring it up in casual conversation if i’d won.”
"West Side Story isn't exactly a 'short film' either. There's pictures of you standing next to Steven. Spielberg." I talked about it like this was news to him, like it wasn't literally his life and his memories. He seemed amused.
"Are you angry I didn't tell you?"
"Not angry so much as just shocked. I assumed I was flirting with a super low-key struggle-for-your-art kinda guy. Not a guy who knows what Steven Spielberg smells like."
"Kind of citrus-y. Maybe a little earthy tone to it." I hated myself for all the questions I had to ask. But I couldn't not ask.
"So if you're that famous, how come you weren't flying on a private jet situation?"
"I'm not private jet famous. I mean, don't get me wrong, I definitely get recognized, it's just more by theater people. Dear Evan Hansen fans, West Side, Newsies, you get it."
"See, that was you reading off your professional resume. But I figured that's what it was. I was never super into musicals. I tried to be, I could just never get it to stick in my brain. I went in and out of a lot of phases as a kid." I was dying to ask more of the juicy details, but I couldn't. Not yet. On the other hand, I found myself just wanting to know more about him personally, and I wanted him to know more about me. All the lame stuff like his favorite color, his favorites movies when he was a little kid, what his parents are like, etc. But I also wanted to know what it would be like to touch him. To kiss his beautiful face. To breathe him in. I asked all the questions and I let him go on and on. He'd try to steer the conversation to something about me and I'd turn it right back around to him. Anything just to stare at that gorgeous face just one second longer. Dinner was coming to an end and I hadn't even noticed how much time had passed until he brought it up.
"I'm sorry, I feel like I've just talked about only myself for the last three hours. Is that a total turn-off?" He was so fucking adorable.
"You could talk to me about anything and it wouldn't be a turn-off." And I meant it too. He seemed to like this answer.
"So if I started to talk about calculus or hip dysplasia or microbiology, you'd still want to go back to my hotel room with me?"
"Do you even know enough about those things to have an actual conversation about them?" I was avoiding the question.
"You're avoiding the question.. and no, I don't. I'm a dramatic arts school drop out. Sexy, right?"
I was eager, and he could tell. "Are you ready to go now?" I asked, gaining confidence.
"I was waiting for you to say that." Mike quickly paid the bill and stretched his hand out to mine to lead me out of the restaurant and into the cool, London air. He placed his hand on the small of my back as we walked to his hotel. I began to feel so incredibly nervous. Would he want to see me again if I gave it all away so soon? Would he still respect me? Does he even respect me now? A million questions were flooding through my mind, but I did my best to just relax. I decided to take things slow and let him take the lead. Maybe I was over thinking everything and he was just leading me back to his hotel room so we could order room service dessert and watch movies together, fully clothed and sitting six feet away from each other on opposite ends of the room. Maybe I was completely delusional and nothing remotely exciting was going to happen.
When we got to his hotel and the elevator doors shut to take us up to his room, I felt the sexual tension. At that point, I didn't care if he respected me. I needed to touch him and I needed him to touch me. I started slow, taking my hand from his and reaching further up his arm to wrap my hand around his bicep.
"Are you nervous?" He was a mind reader apparently.
"A hundred percent. But I really like you. Really really like you. I'm trying to be present and in the moment and spontaneous, and-"
He cut me off by pressing each of his hands on the sides of my face, pushing my hair behind my ears and walking me back against the wall of the elevator. He looked into my eyes and whispered, so delicately, "I'm going to kiss you now, okay?" Him asking only made it a million times more attractive. Cheeks flushed and heart in my stomach, I could only nod. He pressed his lips to mine. Slowly, our mouths melted together as I wrapped my hands around his slender waist, pulling him into me. Needing him even closer than he already was if that was even possible. As we both grew more passionate, more needy for each other, the elevator doors opened to his floor. We both pull ourselves away at the sound of someone clearing their throat, clearly not prepared to walk in on the scene we'd created.
"Oh! Uh, um- we're very sorry," Mike says as he grabs my hand and pulls me out of the elevator, rushing me down the hallway while simultaneously fishing for his key in his pants pocket. I laugh so hard my stomach begins to cramp.
The second we're inside his hotel room, I feel myself being picked up and thrown over Mike's shoulder. Both laughing, he places me on his bed and leans over, propping himself up on his hands.
"I'm going to fuck you now, is that okay?"
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okay okay i did another one! charles/logan/erik
“Here, take this.”
“Oka- Wait! What am I supposed to do with a baby!?”
Erik wasn’t exactly pleased that he had to leave the mansion. It was strange that, after so long fighting it, the place had finally become home to the point that he wanted to stay. But he could stand a day or two away. He had to.
After all, it wasn’t everyday one learned he had sired a child and the mother wanted nothing to do with her. A child that he had been informed about by an organization wanting to know if he would take the child or if the child would be placed in the system.
Even if that meant leaving Charles alone with Wolverine, he would have to make that sacrifice.
But he was back now, walking into the school with a little girl with green hair in his arms and a pastel pink backpack thrown over his shoulder.
He located the metal chair with ease and, sure enough, the metal coated skeleton only a foot or so away in Charles’s personal living room upstairs. So that was where he was heading.
They had set up a basic nursery across from their bedroom. It wasn’t fully furnished yet—with Erik gone the other two only had a couple of days to work—but a glance inside on his way, and Erik ensured there was a cot for her and a changing table along with a stack of diapers. It would have to do for now.
Then he was going down the short hall to join the other two, a small smile on his face as he heard his daughter making little sounds, just staring to wake up from her nap.
“There you are,” Charles said with a smile, his eyes landing on Erik and the baby immediately. “And that hair.”
“Kids a mutant if I ever saw one,” Logan said, watching just as closely but not smiling. Erik wasn’t sure the man knew the meaning of the word.
“No,” Erik replied, “I just stopped to dye her hair on the way here. Didn’t want any cops to recognize her.”
“You say that, but I wouldn’t be surprised at all if you did something like that, Mags,” The man countered and Erik rolled his eyes, trying to not let his amusement show as he sat on the couch with the two of them.
“It’s her natural color,” Erik said, just in case, “They said her mother took one look at her and refused her. Just because of her hair color.” He shifted the little girl in his arms so they could see her face.
“What’s her name?” Charles asked, his hand going out, the back of one finger gently rubbing over her little cheek.
“Lorna,” Erik said quietly, watching his partner interacting with their new child. “Lorna Dane Lehnsherr.”
“She’s adorable,” He cooed as she yawned, “Isn’t she cute, Logan?”
“Precious,” Logan said in a gruff voice that would lead one to believe he wasn’t being serious. Erik decided it was best not to ask, this wasn’t the time to be getting into a fight with his partner’s boyfriend.
“And your’s too, darling. Stop being so difficult,” Charles reminded him with a telepathic nudge.
“Just because we get along in bed at night doesn’t mean he’s my boyfriend,” Erik countered.
“Oh, of course not, no,” Charles sounded nothing but patronizing but Erik decided to let it pass.
Mostly because their daughters bottom lip trembled before she started crying and that distracted Erik. He started trying to juggle the backpack and Lorna before deciding there were better ways.
“Here, take this,” He said, passing Lorna to his right, into Logan’s hands.
The man accepted the baby with ease, though he was holding her in front of him, one hand under each of her arms, keeping her well away from him. “Oka- Wait! What am I supposed to do with a baby!?”
“Well, not that,” Charles said, almost sounding offended as Erik scrambled through the diaper bag, “She’s not diseased, love.”
“She came out of the magnet, we don’t know what she has,” Logan countered as Charles tried to help him hold her like one was supposed to hold a baby.
“Now that you’re holding her, she might have fleas,” Erik replied as he finally pulled out the bottle he had been looking for and set out to the small kitchen across the room to heat it.
When he came back, the two were holding his daughter in a joint effort, both of their arms under her and Erik wondered if Charles didn’t trust Logan or if Logan didn’t trust himself.
Either way, he sat down with a warmed bottle and held it out. Charles took the bottle, his hand moving slowly at first to make sure Logan had her, and then he brought the bottle to Lorna’s mouth, watching her latch on.
For a while, the three of them just watched her drinking her milk happily. Then Logan glanced at Erik and back at the girl, “I have to say, Mags, you done good.”
Erik smiled, leaning against the man just a little, his right arm pressed against Logan’s left as he watched the other two feed their daughter.
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mistakes and apologies.
group: stray kids !
pairing: ex-cupid!hwang hyunjin x human f!reader
genre: angst, fluff, suggestive
warnings + additional info: reader is referred to as y/n, hyunjin is referred to as jin, jinnie, hyune, blood (ish?), reader kinda is a dumbass, intimacy, mentions of sex (no smut), ANGSTTT, taehyun is readers ex-boyfriend, harin is taehyuns girlfriend, pregnancy, mentions of cheating, new relationships and the pain thata goes along with it, hyunjin starting his life as a human being, hyun = taehyun hyunjin = hyune (its meant to sound similar so jinnie gets jelly >:)) ), crying, drinking and alcohol.
authors note: (pt. 2 of cupid's arrow) repost of an old fic but took out the smut part of this bc... it didnt seem important. there are still sexual parts in this fic !!! remember that before reading please :) this is also not proofread. english is not my first language, so please excuse any grammatical or spelling errors. happy reading :)
wc: 5892
“y/n! i’m home!”
you walk over to the door, excited to see your boyfriend after he went out for groceries. he took a lot longer than you usually would, but you guess it’s because he’s never been grocery shopping before.
the second you saw him though, you realized you were completely wrong. your heart felt like it was going to explode again.
“how do i look?”
you walk over to him, twirling a couple strands of his now black hair around your finger. you beam at him, “it looks so pretty, jinnie...”
hyunjin’s heart swells in his chest. you’ve done this so many times before. when in bed, doing his makeup, while you’re reading, you always have your hands in his hair, but you’ve never done it simply just to admire it.
the look in your eyes slowly has him shying away, averting your gaze and settling his eyes onto your shoulder instead. “thank you…”
you grab some of the bags from his hand, bringing them to the kitchen and putting some things in the fridge. “i’m sorry, i wanted to look more… you know… human i guess? the pink stood out a little.”
you walk over to him and smile, tucking some of the black wisps of hair behind his ear. “why are you apologizing jinnie? i said it looks pretty on you! i love it.”
“oh. i dunno, i just- i know how much you loved my pink hair.”
he sets down the bags onto the counter, eyeing you as you approach him. you cup his face in your hands, smiling at him.
his cheeks burn red at the proximity of your faces, and you finally give him a quick peck on his lips. “i love you hyune, you know that right? a hair color isn’t going to change how i feel about you, dummy”, you giggle.
he hasn’t gotten used to the whole relationship thing, but it’s safe to say he’s loving it so far.
“thank you, i love you too”
“i got the job!”
you jump up, walking over to hug him. “i’m glad, you deserve it. you’re really talented hyune”
though it’s happened many times, he’ll never get used to your praise. it seems like you always know what to say in the moment, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
he holds onto you tight, pulling away a little to kiss your cheek. he giggles, “thanks y/n…”
after a moment of comfortable silence, you pull away and take his hand in yours. “come eat, i made dinner”
you both sit down at the table, talking more about his new job as a dance instructor. “when do you start working?”
“monday, and i only work weekdays”
you hum in acknowledgement, taking another bite of the jjajangmyeon you made. “how long do you work? just so i know in case we have to schedule things.”
“four hours a day, i start at four”
“hmm… okay”
he continues eating, surprised he’s never had this dish before, but then again, food was different up there. you grab onto his hand, smiling at him while you wait for him to finish eating.
he finishes his bowl not too long after, only to turn and see you staring right at him. you giggle, trying not to sputter out a laugh. “is something wrong?”
you smile at him, “you have a little sauce on your face”
“what? where?”
you point to where it is, but he misses. “here, let me”
you swipe the sauce away from his lip, and look back up into his eyes. he stares back with wide eyes, inevitably getting flustered at the little action. you pull him down by his shirt to kiss him once, pulling away not long after and bringing the bowls to the sink.
he stays sat at the table in surprise, is it normal to be so flustered all the time?
“hyune? are you in- oh…”
the pale yellow glow of his wings lit up the room just enough to see what was in front of him. he quickly shuts off his phone, where he has the reference photo, and almost knocks over the canvas in the process.
“don’t look…”
you giggle, walking over him and hugging him from behind. “awh… jinnie”
you watch as his cheeks flush red, and he brings his hands up to cover his face. “shut up…”
you pry his hands off his face and kiss him on the cheek, exaggerating it with a loud ‘mwah’. you see the smile erupt on his face, and you couldn’t stop anymore. you begin peppering kisses all over his face, sitting down on his lap somewhere in between.
he finally pulls away, only to finally kiss your lips. you deepen it, running your tongue along his bottom lip, silently asking for permission. of course, it’s not like he can resist anyways.
you tug some of his hair, earning a groan from him, and your heart feels like it’s going to explode. “hyune…”, you whisper.
he doesn’t let you continue, kissing you again and standing up, holding you against him. you wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you to the bedroom, the painting long forgotten.
he climbs onto you, tugging on your shirt with his hands. you quickly throw it off, taking his off next.
“need you…”
“are you okay? do you need anything?”
“hyune, you’ve asked me that like… six times”
“oh… sorry”
you giggle at him, grabbing his arms and pulling him back down onto the bed. “come here”
hyunjin has put on a shirt already, but you’re still completely bare. you hold him close to you, giving him little kisses on his face and watching him giggle.
his eyes are fixed onto your face, practically unable to wander anywhere else when he has this gorgeous sight in front of him. “you’re so beautiful”, me mutters as he kisses your cheek.
“i love you hyune”
his eyes widen again, it seems like he hasn’t gotten used to you saying it yet. he nuzzles into your chest, looking up at you again and kissing over your collarbone. “i love you too”
he wraps his arms around you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. “you know, i look forward to this everyday.”
you giggle, “what, sex?”
he smiles, “no, just to hold you.”
you blush, “oh, i-“
“shh… just rest now. need you close to me…”
your fingers graze his wings a little, and he immediately relaxes into your hold. yeah, you can definitely get used to this.
“open it!”
“i’m scared, is a spider going to jump out of it or something?”
“what?! no! just… just open it.”
you slowly take off the lid, spotting what looks like a mini photo book inside. “what’s this?”
“my sketchbook.”
you look back up at him, “don’t you need this?”
“it’s my old one, look inside”
you hold the book, admiring the work done at the front. pretty flowers are scribbled onto the cover, and you run your fingers along the grooves. you open the book, and your jaw drops instantly.
you flip through the countless photos he’s drawn of you, even one of you on your first “date” at the cafe. you still remember how your nose bled so bad that day, and you smile to yourself.
“well, do you-“
before he can get his question out, you pull him into a soft kiss, smiling when you hear his surprised yelp.
“i love it. its beautiful, hyune…”
his heart swells in his chest again, something about these moments felt so special to him. he hopes he’ll remember these moments forever.
the honeymoon phase can only last so long, right?
you walk over to the snacks section, trying to find those chips that hyunjin really likes, but you can’t remember what they’re called. you stroll through the aisle, looking for the packaging.
you spot the light purple bag, picking it up until you hear a voice from beside you. “y/n?”
you turn your head to where you heard it come from, “hyun? hey!”
he walks over to you, it’s been a while since you’ve seen him last, only ever seeing his posts with his girlfriend. “how are you?”
he giggles at the question, but you’re not sure why. “good, i see you’ve been doing well.”
you give him a questioning look, until he begins playfully nudging your shoulder. “so thankful for my hyunnie”, he says in a mocking voice.
you quickly push him off of you, “shut up, taehyun”
“awhh, but you love him don’t you?”, he asks with pleading eyes. “yes, i do, now shut up about him.”
he giggles again, “is someone getting flustered?”
you finally turn towards him, rolling your eyes, “fine then, how’s your girlfriend hyun? don’t you love her so much?”, you giggle.
you watch as he flushes red, god you’re both in deep shit. after laughing at him for a little, he speaks up. “i actually came here to um… get a pregnancy test”
your eyes go wide, and your head shoots up to look at him. “wait… really?!”
he smiles, nodding at you. “we’ve been trying for a while”
“that’s great! you should probably get going now then, i don’t want you to worry her.”
he hums in agreement, smiling and bidding his goodbyes. you remind yourself to text him later to ask about it.
you’re glad you stayed on good terms.
“what? really?! she’s really pregnant?”
“yes!”
“oh my gosh! i’m so happy for you guys!”
“how are you and hyunjin?”
the conversation went on for hours, it’s been a long time since you’ve really talked. you missed taehyun. not as a lover of course, but as a friend. he always knew how to listen to you and help you.
you try to block out the bad memories, the rejection and heartbreak. you wished you stayed friends, maybe it would be a lot easier to talk to him without all that history.
you start making the jjajangmyeon, hyunjin’s new favorite dish, with the phone at your side. “yeah he’s really come to like my jjajangmyeon so i make it a bunch”
“ah i see, harin loves jjajangmyeon too! maybe we should plan a double date”, he giggles.
you were so lost in the conversation that you didn’t even hear him coming through the door. he hugs you from behind, almost causing you to drop the pot you were holding.
“god! you scared me…”
you pick up your phone, “sorry hyun, hyunjin just got home. i’ll talk to you later, yeah?”
“of course! enjoy the food”
“thanks, bye hyun!”
“bye byeee”
you end the call, turning around to hug hyunjin properly. “dinners ready, i made you your favorite”
he gives you a tired smile, and you both sit down at the table with your plates. “who were you talking to earlier?”
you know he wasn’t being suspicious, and it was just out of pure curiosity, but the way he said it made you giggle. “oh, that was taehyun”
he hummed in acknowledgement. “never heard of them before”, he smiled. “yeah, he’s an old friend”
“ah… i see”, he takes another bite of his food, almost deep in thought. he knows very well who taehyun is, hyunjin was your cupid after all. but it seemed to fly over your head, you thought of hyunjin as a normal person now, your lover.
“hyune? you okay?”
he looks up at you, smiling again and kissing your cheek. “just tired. missed you…”
you giggle again, hyunjin never fails to make you smile. “i missed you too hon.”
the silence felt truly comfortable with hyunjin. not too long after, you bring him to the bedroom, running a bath for him and slowly undressing him.
“thank you…”
you give him a little kiss, “don’t thank me. this should be the bare minimum.”
after a moment of silence, you wonder why he hasn’t gone in yet. “is something wrong?”
“yes.”
he quickly undresses you, and you let him of course, although you’re a little confused. you expected him to be tired, not wanting any intimacy right now.
instead of sitting on the bed, he picks you up and sets you down in the bathtub, settling in with you not long after.
“need to be close to you…”
you massage his aching limbs with the foamy bubbles, smiling and kissing his face every so often. you know he’s working hard, and you just want to take care of him for now. “sorry for being so clingy.”
“don’t apologize, i need you just as much.”
you’ve finished the movie you were watching with hyunjin, finally grabbing the new book you bought to read. hyunjin stays put in your lap, enveloping himself in your warmth.
you start to read, the room completely silence aside from your breathing. “y/n?”
you were a little startled by his voice, but answered him. “yes jinnie?”
“can you… um- read to me?”
you giggle at him, poking his nose. “of course darling.”
you continue to read the romance novel, reading most of the soft scenes. hyunjin can’t help but imagine the both of you two in the book instead of the characters.
his breathing stills, but he’s still awake. you don’t know that though. you continue to read, until you get a phone call. “hello? taehyun?”
hyunjin continues to act like hes asleep, scared that you’ll get mad if he interrupts. “hey y/n! how are you?”
“oh i’m pretty good, just reading a book right now. why what’s up?”
“well, harin wanted me to invite you over! i think she’s crazy but she really wants to meet you. says you remind her of her sister.”
you giggle, “oh yeah of course! when?”
“when are you free?”
“well, i can come over right now if that’s okay with you”
“of course! will you be bringing hyunjin?”
“no i don’t think so, he’s sleeping right now”
you both say your goodbyes, and you carefully slip off the couch, setting hyunjin’s head down into a pillow and covering him with a blanket.
you quickly get ready, leaving hyunjin a note on the table and giving him a peck on the forehead. you enter your car not long after, driving over to taehyuns.
hyunjin quickly got off the couch to check the note.
‘going to taehyuns! he wanted to see me. i’ll be back soon love, make sure to eat!’
of course, hyunjin couldn’t hear the other end of h the phone call. he didn’t really know that taehyun had a girlfriend, or that you were going more to meet her rather than see taehyun.
maybe you should’ve worded it better…
it’s been happening a lot now, you’ve been leaving the house to talk to harin and taehyun almost everyday.
of course, hyunjin didn’t want to talk to you about it though, he didn’t want to overstep any boundaries. he didn’t want to be jealous, he really did trust you but… he just couldn’t help himself.
he didn’t know how to approach you about it, so he planned on telling you when he got home. he just wanted to talk to you for a little bit, because truthfully, he just missed you.
“y/n? i’m home!”
he continues looking for you, but you’re nowhere to be found. he lets his wings out, wanting to relax for a bit. he looks for the note you’ve probably left on the counter.
picking it up, he reads it, but it’s no surprise you’re at taehyuns. at least you leave a note, right? he walks over to the kitchen. maybe it’ll be better to talk about this over dinner?
it probably would be, if his wing didn’t get stuck between the door to the pantry. “fuck-“
he tries opening the door, but only folds the part of the wing. he screams in pain, trying to get it out carefully. it doesn’t budge. tears start leaving his eyes, he can’t escape. he does the only thing he can, and grabs his phone out of his pocket.
he calls you. no answer. he calls you again. no answer. fuck it.
hyunjin: y/n i need your help.
hyunjin: it’s urgent, come home please
hyunjin: y/n please?
no. answer.
shit. what now?
he tries prying himself out, but he pulls too hard. a loud scream echos through the empty house, hyunjin falling onto the floor. the half of the wing that’s been torn off has completely disintegrated into various colors of glitter.
a pink liquid drips from the inside of his torn wing, and he quickly grabs a tissue to stop it. he waits for it all to dry, and puts away his wings.
maybe it’s better to rest for now. all of a sudden, he gets a phone call from an unknown number.
“hello?”
“hi! is this hyunjin?”
“yes it is, what can i help you with?”
“oh! im taehyun, im sure y/n has told you about me. long story short, we went clubbing for some fun and she got incredibly drunk… i don’t think she’s in proper condition to drive. is it okay if she stays over for the night?”
his heart sinks into his chest, he prays taehyun won’t take advantage of your vulnerable state right now.
“oh yeah, of course. thanks for taking care of her.”
taehyun can hear the pain in his voice. “hyunjin, are you okay? i can drop her off and pick her up later to get her car if you’re more comfortable with that?”
“oh i’m okay! sorry… just hurt myself a little earlier and im a bit tired”
“ah i see, hope you feel better soon!”
“thanks taehyun. have a good night, text me if you need me”
he couldn’t stand waiting for a goodbye from taehyun, only hanging up and opening his messages again.
he unsends all the messages he sent you, scared you’ll feel bad for not being there. it’s okay, you were just drunk right? you wouldnt ignore him.
at least he hopes so.
“hyune? i’m home!”
“hey baby”, you hear from the couch behind you.
“oh gosh! you scared me”
he lets out a giggle, but you heard a different emotion laced into the sound. “sorry, just wanted to relax here for a bit.
“is something wrong? you texted me yesterday but it said you unsent the messages.”
“oh, no nothing happened. i was just asking about if you were coming home, but taehyun called me”
“oh okay! do we have any juice?”
“yeah, i bought some for your hangover. check the fridge.”, he replied a little coldly.
your heart clenched a little, confused as to why he was acting like this. you grab the juice and pour yourself a glass.
you notice traces of glitter on the floor outside of the pantry. “hyune, why is there glitter on the floor?”
“oh, just residue from my wings.”
“oh…”
it’s quiet once again, and you walk towards the couch.
“are you okay?”, you ask a little quietly.
“just tired”
“oh… okay”
a moment of silence passes. normally it’s comfortable in eachothers presence, but this time it felt suffocating.
“i love you hyune”
he doesn’t say anything for a moment, clenching his fists to ease the pain coursing through his veins.
“i love you too”, he answers, a little slower than usual.
you sit down next to him, nuzzling into his warmth. he has every right to be mad, but he wraps his arms around you anyways. he’s still upset, but he’ll talk to you when you’re in the right mind.
that time never came. you went over to harin’s every day since then, normally coming home to see hyunjin already asleep.
this time though, you don’t expect him to be standing right at the door waiting for you.
“where were you?”
“what? you know where i was. i was at hyuns”
he didn’t mean for the next question to come out so harsh, but he couldn’t help it. “are you cheating?”
your eyes go wide, “w-what?”
“are you cheating on me with taehyun?”, he asks again sternly.
“hyunjin that’s crazy, why would you even ask that?”
“you’re really gonna say “thats crazy” instead of denying it?”
you scoff incredulously, “no, i’m not cheating on you.”
“i- i don’t know if i can believe you anymore.”
“then why would you even ask if you’re so certain?”
he goes silent. a tear leaves his eye, his entire façade cracking. your heart felt like it was going to explode… not in the good way.
“i… i wanted to trust you. i wanted to believe you- but you… i don’t know anymore.”
“fine. text me when you realize you’re wrong. i’m sleeping over at harins.”
“who’s harin?”
“taehyuns fiancé.”
his heart stops.
“what? why didn’t you say he had one?”
“because, i thought you’d trust me to begin with.”
hyunjin’s eyes go wide, but before he can say anything, you turn around and leave. his heart feels like it’s been torn into a million pieces.
was it his fault then…? no… surely not…
life felt empty without you. hyunjin didn’t even have a life before he turned human, but it felt even worse without you. the person he’s been with since birth. the person he’s been through everything with, even if you weren’t aware of it.
his life was basically ruined without you. he doesn’t know when you’re coming back. it’s been two days already. the house is cleaned, he makes your favorite foods for dinner just hoping you’ll come back, but you don’t.
he spends his time painting, but he’s painted all he can. he has no reference photos of you anymore, he’s run out.
days pass… he’s forgetting the sound of your voice. he doesn’t want to. he sends you apologetic voicemails everyday praying you’ll send one back. you don’t.
taehyun has been calling him a lot too, assuring him that you just need time. he didn’t say it, but he knows you should’ve told hyunjin about his fiance first. maybe this could have all been avoided.
hyunjin can’t help but think it’s all his fault. he let his insecurities get in the way of rational thinking. of course you would never cheat! but… was the love you had even real?
it was all because of that stupid arrow, right? what if the spark you had was finally gone? he doesn’t want to think about it.
he quickly picks up another small painting, laying in bed and holding it in his hands. he doesn’t know if it’s right, or if it’s obsessive. all he knows is that he misses you. it’s been almost two weeks.
he’s been off at work, not as great as he used to be. he’s not the same without you, and it’s eating him alive.
“hey y/n… it’s been almost two weeks now. i miss you a lot. i’m sorry for not trusting you even though ive said it so many times, im just scared you’re going to fall out of love with me. maybe you already have… im sorry i have no way to get these feelings out other than to talk to a photo. i’m sorry i ever summoned that arrow, and im sorry i tore my wing. i wish i was good enough for you, i really do, and im sorry im not. i love you, and i miss you. please, come home soon. i just want to see you again. goodnight”
it’s become a regular routine after you didn’t answer his text or voicemails at night. he couldn’t call you, he couldn’t reach you in any way, but talking to you, or something that resembles you, helped him get those feelings out.
he drifts off to sleep almost and hour and a half later, he’s been having a lot of trouble with that lately.
you walk up to the house and unlock the door, trying to be as quiet as possible in case hyunjin was sleeping.
you almost cry at the sight of him again, various paintings piled up onto the dresser on your side of the bed. you take off your clothes and change into more comfortable ones, sliding into bed and being careful not to wake him up. you don’t succeed though.
hyunjin notices you in bed, but waits till you’re asleep to say anything. he knows you need rest, and you need a lot of time too.
you fall asleep not too long after, your breathing becoming even. should he really do this right now? it’s not like he had a choice, anyways.
he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest and burying his face in your shoulder. he whispers to you, afraid you’ll be mad again if he wakes you.
“hey y/n… i missed you a lot. im so sorry for pushing you away from me. i shouldn’t have done it, and ill take the blame for what happened. i know i should’ve trusted you, and im sorry i didnt. i also really regret summoning that arrow when we met. why did you have to stab yourself with it? you know you’d be much better off without me, right?”
you feel a teardrop fall onto your neck, but you don’t dare make a noise. you need to hear all of this and plan out your apology.
“i’m glad you’re back. i was scared i’d forget your voice. ive learned how to cook just for you, and i made your favorite foods in case you came home. i made so many paintings of you. i even… i even read that book. the one you read to me that night before you went to taehyuns house for the first time. i read over the paragraphs that you read to me, trying to hear your voice say the words again. it didn’t work.”
you turn around finally, almost sobbing when you see him again. his eyes go wide, scared that he’s hurting you even more, and he backs away. “no! hyune… don’t go. tell me how you feel, please.”
he hesitates for a moment, but when you hold his hand in yours it all comes crashing down.
“i love you so much y/n, but i can’t help but think you’d be better with someone else. im trying my hardest, but i always let insecurities get in the way of us. i should’ve trusted you. i don’t know why, but i just can’t see myself with you anymore because i know you don’t deserve it. you don’t deserve someone like me. you were forced to love me. you didn’t have a choice… but now you do. now you can get over me and fall in love with someone else, now that you know what it feels like. and… i can go back to being your cupid again. is that… okay with you?”
your heart stops. “what? no! no that’s not okay with me?! how could you even ask that hyune? i… i love you… i needed time to figure out how to apologize because… hyunjin- none of this is even your fault! it’s mine. i always went out with taehyun and never invited you, and i never even mentioned his fiancé! no wonder you got jealous… and even then i- i didn’t even give you any time. i always came home when you were asleep and that… that’s not okay. that’s on me. this is my fault hyune… please don’t blame yourself.”
“i’m sorry im asking you this again, and i really don’t want you to say anything to just sugarcoat it. promise you’ll be honest?”
“i promise. whats going on hyunjin?”
“do you really love me? it’s okay if you say no! i’ll understand, i promise… it’s just because of the arrow, right? i’m sorry i-“
you cut him off with a kiss, you couldn’t stand it anymore. teardrops dripped everywhere, collecting at the bottom of your chins as you began to sit up. “no… you’ve got it all wrong. i love you hyunjin. i promise”
more tears leave his eyes, small whimpers leaving his lips too. your heart cracked at every noise he made, but you hugged him tight while straddling him, splaying a hand across his cheek to soothe him.
“i’m so sorry hyunjin… this is all my fault, really. don’t blame yourself for anything. i’m sorry you had to deal with all these thoughts alone. i should’ve been there for you.”
“it’s okay… i just need you close now. can we talk tomorrow? please?”
you nod, kissing him again and laying down with him. you held him close to you, wrapping yourself around him to provide comfort. light sobs from him filled the room. you chose not to comment on it… it would only make you more upset.
you’ll make it up to him. you know you will.
“good morning, hyune”
his eyes flutter open, tears instantly run down his face as he looks at you, taking in your features in the light again.
“woah woah woah, what’s wrong?”
“nothing… i missed you”
your heart cracking more and more, this had to have been worse than the pain of rejection.
“i’m sorry. i should have come back earlier… i just wasn’t in the right mind.”
“it’s okay, love… just stay for now.”
you pull him closer to you, burying his face in your chest. “you know… my mom asked about you. i didn’t know how to tell her what i did, but it just all poured out. she told me to come here.”
“oh…”
“coming back into the house felt like a dream. i haven’t been here in so long, but i think what scared me was the paintings.”
“what… like my ‘shrine’?”
you giggle, “no hyune, not your little ‘shrine’, the ones outside. there were paintings in our house, and i had each stroke memorized by heart. our first picnic date, and the coffee date we had… i remember everything. but when i came home… they were all replaced with paintings of just me. i thought you left…”
you could feel your sleep shirt getting wetter and wetter from his tears, but you just pull him closer. “im sorry for hurting such a pure heart like yours, hyune. you didn’t deserve it.”
“i love you.”, he mumbles.
“hm?”
“i love you, y/n.”
“i love you too.”
he leans up to kiss your cheek. you know you have to make everything up to him, but for now you just wanted to enjoy this moment with him.
it’s been a couple days since then. you’re getting settled again with him, and it’s not going too terribly. he’s been opening up about his feelings more, and you’ve been listening to the voicemails he sent you while you were away.
you walk back into his art studio, rushing to him when you see his wings out. “hyune? what happened?”
he turns to you, “hm?”
he quickly traces your eyes, realizing that you’re looking at his wings, and he immediately hides them. “take them out again… please? i want to see…”
he sighs, taking them out again. “oh baby… how did this happen?”
“it got stuck in the middle of the door hinge. i tried to get it out but it tore.”
“oh… why didn’t you call me?”
he stays silent. you think back to the day you came home, and the glitter you found on the floor near the pantry.
“shit… it was- you did call me… but i was drunk, wasn’t i?”
“don’t feel bad about it please, it wasn’t your fault. you were just drunk”
you kneel down next to him, grabbing his legs and pulling so he’s staring at you. he drops his paintbrush onto the easel. “what are you doing?”
you quickly pull his shirt off, earning a questioning look from him. “y/n, is this really the time to be-“
you cut him off when you gently touch his wing over the tear, finally reaching up to kiss it. you kiss all over the edge, earning giggles from him. “stop! it tickles”
you look at him, hugging him at his waist again, then leaning over to kiss his chest. “my mom always used to kiss my scars. i’m sorry i can’t kiss the ones ive left on your heart.”
his eyes widen, tears flowing down his cheeks, and you bring your hand up to swipe them away.
“don’t cry baby… you don’t deserve it. i’m so sorry i hurt you.”
he kicks his chair to the side, kneeling so that he’s level with you. “thank you… but that’s not your job. you know that. you’ve apologized, i forgive you.”
tears leave your eyes again, he sounds so sincere, even though you’ve broken his heart already. “i love you… im so sorry.”
“i love you too. please don’t apologize.”
you pull him into another hug, still sniffling from your tears. “i’ll be better. i promise, hyune.”
“you’re okay… calm down, my love”
“wow… hes so beautiful…”
hyunjin cradles little minjoon in his arms, watching him thrash and blubber.
“thank you, hyunjin”, harin smiles at him. taehyun is right at his side, watching hyunjin play with minjoon.
your heart swells in your chest, he looks so cute with him, you can’t wait to have one of your own.
not long after, the two of you leave, walking into your home together and discussing your little trip. “thank you for letting me meet them… you didn’t have to.”
“of course i did! they’re my best friends now, it’s kind of required”
he giggles, picking you up and setting you down on the counter. “i really do love you, y/n.”
“i know… i love you too”
he lets his wings out, a purple glow filling the room. “baby?”
he picks you up, bringing you to the bedroom. “let’s have a baby.”
“what?!”
he sighs, “fuck… seeing minjoon…”
“oh my god… because of minjoon?!”
“please?”
you pull him closer, “fine… but you’re doing all the work this time.”
“i’ll do anything for you, darling”
“hyune!”
he rushes to the bathroom, a big smile on his face. “yes?”
“i’m pregnant!”
he picks you up, spinning you around and kissing your face repeatedly.
“really? are you sure?”
“im sure! i took three to check!”
“agghhhh! i love you so much!”
“i love you too, hyune.”
he looks at you again, a lovesick look in his eyes, and he promptly sinks to his knees. he pulls your shirt up, kissing over your tummy and hugging you close.
“can’t wait to see you all swollen with my baby…”
“god hyune, you’re so whipped”
“i know i am, but only for you, dear”
you pull him back up from the ground, bringing him to the bedroom and laying down with him. “you’re so cheesy.”
“and you love me”
“so much, hyune. you don’t even know.”
“you’re the light of my life.”
you nuzzle back into his shoulder, smiling until you feel a teardrop hit your cheek. you look up at him, slightly confused.
“you’re so pretty my love…”
“why are you crying?”, you giggle. “i can’t believe you’re really mine…” you hug him tight, kissing his shoulder.
“always yours. only yours.”
<3
#atinyniki#skz hyunjin#skz x reader#skz x y/n#hyunjin#hwang hyunjin#hyunjin x y/n#hyunjin x reader#hyunjin straykids#hyunjin stray kids#hyunjin angst#hyunjin fluff#skz angst#skz imagines
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Wholesome Shit!
So I was at the grocery store, shoppin' as one does. And note I have very long blue to pink obre hair. I had an old lady come up to me and be like "excuse me dear. I just can't help but admire your hair. I was a beautician back, oh, say about 60 years ago. Oh, how far we have come to make something so beautiful."
I also have a very large tattoo of a woman's face (no one in particular). This tattoo has brought at least 2 men to tears. One who told me it reminded him of his lovely grandmother whom he loved dearly and missed. Another who said it reminded him of his mother who had passed away many years ago. This man then proceeded to show me a multitude of pictures of his mother from when she was young while telling me stories of her for at least 15 minutes while I was at work.
Just a way to say. Be yourself. Don't be afraid to get a tattoo, dye your hair, wear outlandish make-up, wear your favorite outfit, etc. If people don't like it, well it ain't their fucking life and it ain't their fucking body. Do what you like, and sometimes you'll see, you're not alone. You'll run into people who like it too. You'll find a way to make someone's day, to touch someone's heart, to bring happiness to others. It may not make everyone happy, but if you can make just one person's day, even if it's yours, it's worth it!
#body modification#dyed hair#blue hair#pink hair#blue and pink hair#tattoo#tattoos#wholesome#something wholesome#old ladies#old lady#old guys#men#men cry#a man who loves his grandmother#a man who loves his mother#my grandmother called tattoos grotesque before she saw mine#dont worry she appologized#but yeah i get weird and hateful looks#but having little kids say they like my colorful hair#or a kid telling me my hair reminds them of a mermaid#or someone telling me my tattoo reminds them of a passed away loved one#it makes it worth it#to know i made them happy#to know i reminded them of a loved one#to hear people tell me stories of their passed away loved ones#it fills my heart#love yourself#do what makes you happy#i think my hair looks like a mermaid too hehe
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Say it
Audio - The Grumps @ 3:16
#THIS TOOK ME WAY TOO LONG BECAUSE OF PROCRASTINATION#I'm not done there's gonna be more lego monkie grumps where that came from#I'm just gonna say it now ANY audio of Arin losing his shit and Dan being In chill bottom text is Pigsy and Sandy#onto the lore of this four second video#when drawing the little DBK I drew it like how I think Red Son would#by being unnecessarily aggressive#it ended up making the coloring somewhat work oops it's supposed to be more messy than that#I colored over the lines for good measure ( • ▽ • )#ha promare fire#MK is drawing Red Son as the elmo meme#I had that idea while drawing the little DBK and it was real funny to me#MK's chill drawing face unintentionally makes it look like Spicynoodles implied#it isn't but feel free to see it however you want I don't care ¯\_(= ▽ =)_/¯#also can you tell I'm insane over molding Red Son's hair to have bull ears and horns#I'd be able to interpret bull ears better if his hair down TvT#my art#lego monkie kid#monkie kid#lego monkie kid fanart#monkie kid fanart#lmk red son#lmk mk
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IOVANNA (hotd) 🔮 // UNA (hotd) 🐍
ALAIA (tlou) 🍄 // VANJA (aot) 🫖
VIOLANTE (dbd) 🕯 // VERUSHA (various) ⚖️
TAGGED BY the dears @nightbloodraelle, @leviiackrman, @corvosattano and @marivenah to make a few loves in this cutest picrew! ty ty! <3
TAGGING: @griffin-wood, @feystepped, @kingsroad, @jendoe, @phillipsgraves, @risingsh0t, @denerims, @chuckhansen, @shellibisshe, @queennymeria, @unholymilf, @florbelles, @confidentandgood, @adelaidedrubman, @leondaltons. @roofgeese, @loriane-elmuerto, @weisshaupts, @aartyom, @arklay, @girlbosselrond, @blissfulalchemist and you!
#only if you want to! 🤍🕊#oc: iovanna dayne#oc: una nathaira uller#oc: alaia alcántara#oc: vanja tybur#oc: violante valtieri#oc: verusha kuang#UNAA U LITTLE HELLION YOU GODD the green eyes THE WILDFIRE-LIKE COLOR THE CANNIBALS DRAGONFIRE LIKE SHADE THEY POSSESS !!!!!#and iovannas violet eyes and the purple outfit like? these fit so well for them PLEASEE they’re the LOVELIEST <3#una: ive never done a wrong thing in my life. 🕊💚😌#aegon: i know this and i love you. ✨🥴#GODD THEM…!!!!? they’re so!#pov: ur daemy and u are getting 🔮 the look 🔮 for whatever nonsense u just did or say to attempt to woo her ✨🥴#(funny thing is it works skjsjzjx 🔮💜😵💫)#tommy come get your wife she’s pouting that she got blood on a vintage 2003 juicy jacket and u had to lend her yours 🤎🥴 thanks beloved!#(LISTENN the jacket is blue ik but the brown worked with her aesthetic aksjzxh ✨😖)#vanja in marley looks ✨😒🤍 how soon can she leave levi home is NOT where the heart is ✨😖#(though who is she kidding her home is standing next to her but admitting that she’ll eat rocks skzjjx ✨😵💫)#( WELL WHEN YOU WORRY ABOUT HIS WELL BEING HALF (ALL) THE TIME AND CHASTISE FOR NEAR FATAL INSTANCES it’s hard to fool anyone babe! )#local medic and aristocrat on the run will have gray hairs before she turns thirty bc of l*vi a*kerman more @ 11#vio here to remind the general public that blood rituals require blood! who knew! sksjzj it’s for a good cause (saving vitos behind again!)#verusha will likely have 3 verses if things are going the way i planned them <3 (a h*eroes r*ise / m*cu / and maybe something else?)#there was something else and i cant remember to save my life ✨😖 (im thinking m*cu wise she would be a lovely mirror to chiara?)#leg.tagged#leg.ocs#t: picrews
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ABOUT YOU | LUKE CASTELLAN
pairing: luke castellan x aphrodite!reader
request: luke x reader fluff w like an aphrodite!reader? reader is all sunshine and flowers and makes luke all soft/campers teasing luke abt the way reader changed him 🤭
word count: 1.6k
a/n: this is probably my favorite luke fic that i've written so far thank u so much anon for sending this request in! writing aphrodite!reader is so much fun, i'm such a sucker for the opposites trope. hope you all enjoy 🤍
You were the human embodiment of sunshine, a real life angel. Gentle, kind, and lovely— in other words, the complete and total opposite of Luke Castellan. He was dark and broody, strong and rough, and not totally unfriendly, but definitely intimidating.
But even if you weren’t the daughter of Aphrodite, Luke believed that you would still be just as beautiful. There was something in the way you carried yourself that had made his heart surrender the second he laid eyes on you. You became the one and only exception in his long list of grievances.
So it came as no surprise to anyone at camp when the two of you started dating, just to the dismay of many of your admirers and a few of Luke’s as well. If there was one thing you had in common, it was your beauty. With his puppy dog eyes and curly brown hair, Luke was a sight for sore eyes, almost as much as you were.
One day, you were walking hand in hand when one of the younger campers accidentally bumped into Luke. On any other occasion, Luke might have started an altercation, but today, he simply smiled and said, “Just be careful next time.” The camper stared at him, wide-eyed and shocked into place as you softly giggled.
“What?” he smiled, looking over at you as the kid took it as an opportunity to run away.
“Nothing,” you mused. “Just that I think you’re getting soft, Luke Castellan.” You poked a finger at his chest playfully.
“What?” he shook his head. “No, I’m not.”
Though he attempts to keep a serious face, you could see the amusement in his eyes. He often looked at you like this, ready to go along with anything you said— no matter how silly or whimsical your remarks.
“Okay, lover boy. Whatever you say,” you shrugged, offering him a kiss on his cheek that instantly causes color to rush into his face. Ignoring that he’s just proven your point, he attempts to hide his expression by seeking solace in the crook of your neck. He would never admit it to anyone, but he often thought his favorite place at camp was the spot in between your jaw and collarbone.
Even though most of the campers were still a little frightened by the idea of approaching Luke, his closest friends were not afraid to speak their minds.
“Dude, you’re like, totally whipped for her,” Percy remarked over lunch once.
“And you’re like, totally fourteen years old,” Luke said.
“I think the fourteen year old’s right,” Chris jumped in.
“Dude! I thought you were supposed to have my back,” Luke throws up his arms in mock aggravation.
The two boys snickered, causing Luke to speak up again. “I am not whipped for Y/N.”
“Oh, sure,” Chris began. “So the reason you’re practically skipping around camp and letting whatever team Aphrodite cabin is in win Capture the Flag is because…?”
“Oh, and don’t forget the constant checking his phone to see if she texted back and sharing his blanket with her at the campfire!” Percy pointed out. “Meanwhile, I’m over here freezing…”
“Maybe,” Luke scrambled to come up with an answer. “Maybe, I was just in a really good mood those days. It could have absolutely nothing to do with Y/N.”
He barely believed the words himself, and Chris and Percy were certainly not convinced. Luke wasn’t even sure why he felt the need to defend himself.
“Dude, it’s okay if you are, she’s literally your girlfriend,” Chris said.
“Hey! I have an idea, let’s ask Annabeth!” Percy declared.
“Annabeth? Why her?” Luke furrowed his brow.
“Because, she’s a girl. And she’s known you the longest, she can give us a real answer,” Percy said matter-of-factly.
Luke thought it over. The young boy was technically right, Annabeth was like a little sister to him. If anyone could tell if he had changed since dating you, it would be her. This came as both a good and bad realization to him, because what if he had changed? Gods, was it that obvious?
Before he could agree to asking Annabeth, the young girl was already at their table. Percy must have called her over while Luke was thinking.
“What’s up?” she asked, sitting down across from him with her plate of food.
“Oh, nothing, just talking about how soft Luke has gotten since he started dating Y/N,” Chris explained with a grin on his face.
“Oh?” Annabeth said, seemingly amused.
“Yeah, we actually wanted to get your opinion,” Percy continued. “Would you say you agree or disagree, that you know, Luke is nicer now that he’s with Y/N?”
Annabeth seemed to think it over for a second. “Gods, you guys are such children,” she scoffed.
“Thank you!” Luke cut in.
“I mean, all of you,” she looked at Luke pointedly. “Why do you care what a bunch of kids think about you anyway? And not that it matters, but you, Castellan, are most definitely whipped for Y/N.”
That shut Luke up immediately, and caused cheers to erupt from Chris and Percy, who were clapping each other on their backs as if they had just won Capture the Flag.
Annabeth smiled and shrugged her shoulders, as if to say “Sorry, Luke. It’s true.”
Later that night, Luke snuck over to the Aphrodite Cabin to find you. You were surprised when Luke woke you up, it had been a while since he came seeking your comfort in the middle of the night. He used to have bad nightmares, but you noticed he had gotten better since you started dating. You’d like to think it was because of you, but perhaps that would be thinking too highly of yourself.
In an effort to clear his mind, you suggested to go on a walk together. He agreed, and you climbed out of bed as quietly as you could.
You allowed him a few minutes of silence until his heavy breathing had slowed down and his grip on your hand had loosened.
“What’s on your mind, hon?” you asked softly.
Luke didn’t respond at first, distracting himself by tracing the lines on the palm of your hand. You were happy to give him as much time as he needed, placing your other hand on his back and gently drawing circles.
After a while, he did speak up. “Uhm, do you think that I’m, like, unapproachable?”
Your heart sank and you stopped in your tracks. “What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know, it’s just something that’s been on my mind recently.”
“Luke, is this about what I said to you the other day? Because I didn’t mean it like that—”
“No, baby,” he rushed. The last thing he wanted was for you to think you had done something wrong. He wasn’t sure that you could ever do wrong, not in his eyes. “I was just talking to Percy and Chris at lunch today and they were kind of teasing me.”
You couldn’t help but giggle at the thought of your boyfriend, Mr. Tough Guy, being teased by a few kids younger than him. “I’m sorry, babe. Continue,” you placed a supportive hand on his chest as you regained your composure.
“They said that I’ve changed since we started dating.”
Though you were an expert in human emotion, there were still times you couldn’t read the expression on Luke’s face. You couldn’t tell if he thought of this as a bad thing, or if he was just curious to see what you thought. You decided on the latter. “Changed how so?”
“They think I’m soft now because I’m always in a good mood and stuff…” he trailed off. Even now, in the dark of the night, you could tell he was blushing.
“Well,” you started, trying to find the right words. “You know, I was just teasing you the other day, babe. I think you’ve always been this way.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I think you’ve always been a giant teddy bear,” you grinned, unable to contain yourself. “Luke, you’re not as bad as everyone thinks you are.”
By now, both of you had stopped walking. Ever since Luke arrived at camp, he had been characterized as the tough, stony, and slightly antagonistic guy. All because of a scar he carried and the stories of what he had gone through with Annabeth and Thalia. Many people were still intimidated by him, despite his position as the counselor in Hermes and his job to welcome newcomers. It had been so long, he wasn’t sure if this was the way he was, or the way that he was made to be.
As if reading his thoughts, you said, “You don’t have to be what they tell you to be. Do you know the words I use to describe you when someone asks me about you?”
Unable to speak, Luke simply shook his head.
“Gentle, kind, and lovely.”
Luke wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but certainly nothing close to the words you had chosen. “You do not,” he objected.
“I'm serious, baby,” you placed your hands on his cheeks and pulled him in until your foreheads were touching. “I think you’re the most wonderful and caring guy I’ve ever met. I think you always have been, you just don’t always show it.”
He stared at you intently before pulling a loose strand of hair out of your face. You kissed the top of his head, “I must be one lucky girl.”
“Hey, if there’s one thing I’m sure about, it’s that I’m the lucky one,” he said, before pulling you in for a kiss.
#luke castellan#luke castellan x reader#percy jackson series#percy jackson#pjo#charlie bushnell#charlie bushnell x reader#luke castellan imagine#percy jackson x reader#pjo x you#luke castellan x you
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"Mom," Steve whispered in the inky blackness of his parents' room. "Mom, there's something under my bed."
Patricia Harrington turned over. "Steven, go back to sleep," she murmured.
"I can't." Steve said. "There's a monster."
"No such thing." his mom said, angrier, more awake. "Go to bed now, and if I catch you out of bed again you can forget going to Tommy's this weekend."
Steve nodded and padded back down the hall, pausing at his door then taking a running jump into bed.
The room was silent.
"I know you're here." Steve whispered, making sure all his limbs were tucked safely away under the covers. "You don't scare me."
A couple minutes of quiet, then Steve heard a scraping sound come from under his bed. He squeaked and pulled his blankets up to his nose.
A horrible, raspy laugh came from below him. "I do scare you!" said a voice. "You lied!"
"No-no you don't!" Steve said boldly. He clutched his blanket tighter, then said, "I can't be scared of something I can't see! That's just dumb."
Something dark began to slither across the floor out of the corner of Steve's eye. Oh, I'm gonna regret that, he thought.
The thing began to pull itself up, looming over Steve. It cracked a smile, and sharp white teeth gleamed in the light from his closet.
Steve screamed.
"Shut up!" his dad shouted angrily from downstairs, and Steve clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes flicking between the shadow and the door like he wasn't sure which monster to be more afraid of.
The monster crept toward him, and Steve dug his fingernails into his face, scooting away from the horror. He whimpered, not daring to close his eyes.
Then the monster began to shrink.
It shriveled away, changing color and backing up, until a little boy, about Steve's age, stood in front of him. He had long curly hair and was dressed in a t-shirt that was way too big on him. When he opened his eyes, Steve flinched, because the whites of his eyes simply...weren't there. His eyes were an onyx black.
"Hi," the boy said. "I'm Eddie."
Steve was too stunned to speak, but he did uncover his mouth.
"I'm the monster under your bed!" Eddie said. "I'm supposed to scare you, but, um-" he risked a quick look at the door "-I don't think you need my help for that."
"Why are you supposed to scare me?" Steve asked.
Eddie shrugged. "Dunno. Every kid's got one. It's just how it works. I was made to be your monster, forever!" He sat down on the edge Steve's bed, bumping Steve's shoulder against his. "Weird to be on this side of the bed. No dust bunnies or anything."
Steve giggled, forgetting his fear. "You're fun!"
Eddie grinned at him. "Thank you! None of the other monsters think my jokes are funny."
"So you have to scare me?" Steve asked. "But you're not scary. Not after talking to me."
Eddie paused. "Oh, right. I'm not supposed to talk to you. Um..."
"What if we just say you're scaring me?" Steve asked. "I'll pretend I'm really scared of the monster under my bed, and you pretend you scare me every single night. But really we're hanging out instead of scaring!"
"Ooh, I like that idea!" Eddie struck a dramatic pose. "I'll be the monster under your bed, but I'll be ready to protect you if you need it too!"
Steve stuck out his hand like he saw his dad do for business deals. "Deal?"
Eddie shook it. "Deal."
-
Steve sprinted through the forest, the kids hot on his heels. "There!" he shouted. "Everyone in!"
The kids bolted to the abandoned cabin, and Steve slammed the door shut. "Is there a bed in here?" he called. "A couch? A fridge?"
"Bed's in here!" Will yelled, and Steve followed his voice to the cluttered bedroom, complete with partially-caved-in bedframe. He gingerly took a seat on the mattress, cringing when it crackled. He did not need to know what was on this.
"Eddie?" he called, tapping on the flaky painted wood.
The shitheads crowded in, and Mike murmured. "What the fuck is he doing?"
Steve ignored him. "Eddie, come on, I need your help."
Something tall, dark, and lanky slid out from under the bed, and all the kids jumped back in fright, raising their various weapons. Steve leapt to get in front of them, raising his hands as a shield. "Chill! Calm down, this is Eddie!"
Eddie shrank into his human form, draping himself over Steve. "You had to summon me to the nastiest bed in Indiana? Really, Steve?"
Steve shrugged. "This was the closest one. We need your help, Eds."
"We?" He focused on the Party. "Well, these must be the infamous buttheads." Eddie slid into the shadows and reappeared behind the Party, inspecting them. "Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Will, El, Max, right?" he said, pointing at each one as he said their names.
"What the fuck are you?" Dustin asked.
Suddenly Eddie was under Steve's arm, wrapping a hand around his waist. "I'm Steve's monster under the bed." he said. "I'm just... friendlier with Steve than most of the monsters I work with."
Steve rolled his eyes. "You can tell him you're my boyfriend, they know I'm bi." He kissed Eddie on the cheek.
The kids all broke into gasps, except for Max, who fake gagged. "Don't be gross!" she yelled. "Demogorgon outside, remember?"
"Ah, right." Steve said. "Eds, can you-"
"On it." Eddie kissed Steve. "I'll be back."
The kids watched Eddie melt into shadows, then wheeled on Steve. "Steven Don't-Know-Your-Middle-Name Harrington," Dustin said. "You have a lot of explaining to do."
edit: i did not expect this response to the short little thing that took me 30 mins max at 2am!! i’m planning on rewriting it and turning it into a full length fic, so i’ll come back and edit this with the link!
edit #2: if there’s anything you guys want to see in the full length version of this please let me know!! i’m trying my best to make it a slowburn which is horrid for my adhd so let me know if there’s anything you want!!
#weirdest au ive ever written LMAO#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie#idk where this came from either
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Hello! I've read your soap and price fics and you are amazing!!!
I had an idea for a fic for Ghost. The reader would be Soaps slightly older sister who isnt like Johnny at all. Im thinking she either picks up soap from base after an op or from the bar. I'll leave alot of this up to you but i just wanna see Soaps Sister meeting Ghost!!
Brother's Coworker
PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Soap's Sister!Reader
SYNOPSIS: In the dim illumination of the streetlights, Ghost lays eyes on a woman leaning against the body of a vintage Hillman Imp.
WORDCOUNT: 4.2k
WARNINGS: Little bit of angst, but mostly fluff and pre-relationship pining, loads of sibling banter, conflicting emotions, etc.
A/N: Finally able to use my sibling experiences for a fic lmfao, enjoy!
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
The woman was leaning against the body of a vintage Hillman Imp, the custom color a deep forest green along the sides and a cream white coating the upper third. Ghost stared at her as the rest of the men filed out of the bar one after the other—Johnny and Gaz being especially loud. He blinks slowly, hands inside his blackened pockets.
Across the way, your ears perk slowly at the sound of rapturous shouts, but you only continue to look down the sidewalk at the long illuminations of street lamps and the glints of broken bottles on the ground. Over your chest, your hands shift in their hold on your biceps, your thin jacket crinkling. Light dances in your irises.
“Oi, is that who I think it is?!” Familiar Scottish drawl brings a smirk to your face, and you turn slowly to huff, snapping out of your silent thoughts.
“Who else would it be, ya bloody git,” your voice carries, but it lacks the sheer volume of your brother’s; the great boom that reminds you of the bombs he’d used to make out of your mother’s hair spray bottles.
Never a dull day in your childhood home, really.
“‘Bout gave me a heart attack, not answerin’ my calls like that!” Johnny laughs loudly, obviously drunk, and stumbles over merrily. You’re taken into a chest-breaking hug in mere moments, leaving you squirming with a deep grunt. “Should have your head, MacTavish.” You manage to squeak out, “Put me the fuck down, you horror. And what in the hell have you done to your hair?!”
“Oh, my dear sister.” Your brother lets you go as the three other men slink over, amused with the scene but some momentarily confused by the sudden introduction. Gaz laughs, and the Captain huffs a chuckle before fixing the position of his beanie on his head.
Ghost, as always, chooses to watch like a looming shadow above the rest.
Johnny puts a hand to his chest, the other remaining on your shoulder, “You wound me. Such cruelty stuck in your black soul; I say now, mother was always right—”
You smack the side of his head and Johnny grunts.
“Ow!” He yells, glaring at you. “What the fuck?!”
“Open your mouth again and I’ll wring you out, you arse. You know I will.” Grumbling, the Scot rubs the side of his head as you raise a brow at him. The stare-off lasts for a decent bit, and before the rest of the group knows what’s going on, the two of you are embracing each other once more; laughing loudly.
Ghost’s eyebrows pull in slowly.
“Ah, it’s good to be back!” Johnny chuckles, holding you close as you pat his back.
“Of course, I’d find my kid brother at a damn pub on his first day home.” Taking a step away from the hulk of a boy, you brush down your shirt and jacket with a scoff. Looking up, you come to face the remaining men with an exasperated look. “He’s full of shite half the time, y’know, now. Can’t imagine what he puts you all through.”
“Bloody hell, Soap, you were holding out on us,” Gaz chuckles loudly, sticking out a hand for you to shake while he glances at the mohawked Scot who looks giddy despite being insulted by who’s very obviously his older sister. “Never knew you had siblings, Mate.” You take the man’s hand as he smiles brightly at you.
“Kyle.” He says, and you beam back, “But Gaz’ll do just fine.”
“A pleasure,” your voice carries to John who you raise a brow at teasingly. “Well, look who the Reaper’s yet to drag down…Good to see you again, Captain.”
Price shakes his head, a smirk peeling his lips as Gaz steps back.
“Still on that land of yours, then, Love?” The brunette asks gruffly, leaning back on his heels for a moment while you sag your side into Johnny’s arm. Your brother scoffs and loops his limb over the bridge of your shoulders as you nod.
“You know it. Proper quiet when the neighbors aren’t up to a ruckus racin’ down the streets. Christ, those kids are devils—worse than Johnny and I when we were young.”
“Now that’s hard to believe, eh?” The man beside you laughs through his slurred words and you roll your eyes.
Chuckling in return, you blink, spying on the intent black figure behind everyone else. Piercing brown eyes dig past flesh like a scalpel while you tilt your head to the side, interest alighting behind your skull. He doesn’t move or even greet you, just looks over you and then turns his attention to the street like a roaming bear would; hell, he certainly could be a bear with how big he was. Bigger than Johnny, even.
This stranger wears a large brown leather jacket, the hood of his underclothes pulled up to cover most of the pale skin that would otherwise be visible. The long swish of light lashes captures you as you study the way he blinks slowly across the road. On his chin and on the top of his forehead, the fabric of a skeletal-painted balaclava shrouds him. Cargo pants and large black combat boots sit on his feet.
He stands like a statue.
“Who’s this then?” You call easily, and those eyes travel back to you even as the head doesn’t. It’s strange the way you seem to brush aside the blatant intimidation he exudes simply by standing.
“Ah,” John grunts, chuckling, before stepping to the side. “Simon, introduce yourself.”
A low voice lowly wafts after a moment to silence, Manchester accent spearing you in the ears with its rough make-up, “Ghost.”
You blink over at the Captain, but he just shakes his head and you move on. Johnny chuckles and whispers to you, “Don’t mind ‘em, Lt’s a bit rough around the edges.”
Plastering on a polite smile, your chin moves in a nod, “Pleasure to meet you, Ghost. Good to know the other two who look after Johnny out there.” The man beside you feels his face burn, free hand going to itch at his neck.
Ghost grunts and shrugs off the veiled praise, large muscles stiff.
“You’re actin’ like I’m not the one savin’ their skins half the time,” Gaz interjects on the Scot’s point.
“Is that what you call it?” You share an amused glance at John.
Though, your eyes always sway back to Ghost, or Simon, depending on who you ask. He listens to the chatter, obviously, but he seems much more content to only stay with his hands inside of his pockets and study the street for...what exactly? The beast wasn’t shy, no, just…silent. If you didn’t know better you’d call him aggressively casual with the way his shoulders sit.
Stance relaxed but the underlying threat was palpable on the wind. Like a wolf rubbing his cheeks on the ancient trees of his territory. ‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ - it seems his very DNA states that.
Brown eyes suddenly lock with your own as if snapping into place and before you can release a squeak of alarm, you swiftly dart your gaze away back to the arguing Sergeants; face burning.
Christ, how long had you been staring at him?
“Alright, you two, ease off it!” Trying to distract yourself, you wave a hand. “You’re both too drunk to be gettin’ into street fights at this hour. Johnny, into the car ya fool.”
Your brother slashes you with a grin.
“Fuckin’ finally, a decent bed!” It was tradition to give Johnny the spare room when he was back home—proper meals.
“You’re callin’ mother, y’know.” You unlock your car and motion to the passenger seat with a frown. “I dinnae care if you’re trapped for hours—give the woman a rest of all her worrying.”
“You heard the woman, Sergeant,” John forces the gravel out of his throat, rubbing at his beard. Something hits your chest as your brother opens his door as you stand in the cold. You glance at each man in turn; eyebrows pulling in with thought.
“Ah, what the hell,” your voice huffs out. Ghost watches you closely, blinking as he lifts a hand to itch at his neck from under his hood. The leather jacket crumples with tiny shifts of worn-out material.
“Don’t suppose you boys need any good beds to rest your heads on for the night?” Wiggling your keys, you pat the top of your Hillman as you slide to the driver's side. Johnny slinks inside his own and chuckles as he closes the barrier with a careful thunk.
“Hospitality finally leakin’ in?”
“Next time I hit ya,” you send him a bland look, “I’ll aim for the neck.” Fake flinching towards him, the man squeaks and snaps quickly back into the car door as you snicker lively.
“Beast!” Johnny exclaims. You roll your eyes and shimmy down the window behind him, calling out as the rest share glances.
“Get in if you’re comin’ over! If not all the food I made yesterday’ll go to waste!” That seemed to get Gaz into the back, with only Price and Simon left behind.
Brown meets blue and John’s beard pulls back with a smirk. He clears his throat, “Well, I’m not one to spit in her face.” The Captain walks over and grunts as he bends down.
Ghost sighs under his breath and follows, impartial as to where this night is going. He wouldn’t sleep tonight, no doubt. The hard and unforgiving beds on base were the only things he could rest on now save the ground. And food? He could go without food for days.
Though, being Johnny’s sister bought you some favor, trust wasn’t something that Simon gave around freely. But the car you drove was nice, and the company of his Task Force was easy to basque in until they shipped out again.
Simon sits down on the refurbished seat and softly closes the door behind him. Dead-eyed, he stares at Johnny’s headrest as you glance at him from the rearview mirror—seeing his shoulder dig into the glass of the window.
You shove down a joke and hum. “Good, then, it’ll free my fridge at the very least.”
“Thank you, Ma’am,” Gaz offers as you start up the engine, “it’s awfully nice of you to do this for us.”
“Ah,” Simon hears you dismiss as he turns to stare out of the window; so often feeling his gaze drawn back to you as a leaf attached to a tree might act. “Don’t worry your head about it. I like the company.”
“Aye, just how she is,” Johnny says earnestly. “Was always the one to let me over with my pals when the football games were over—’cept we were usually covered in mud.”
“I’m still finding grass in my rugs, Johnny Boy,” you mumble, focusing on the road as a slight squeaking emanates from the front of the car. Simon picks up on it easily, not preoccupied with speaking. He glances at you but mentions nothing beyond a shuffling of his thighs.
Outside the land slides past in shades of verdant green and gray as the town falls away.
He was confused, rightly. You’d seen his standoffish nature but had chosen to extend hospitality as the old Greeks did just off a growl of his name. But maybe it was just because he was your brother’s coworker.
Simon grunts to himself and rubs at his wrist. Throughout the ride, the two of you would glance at each other and try to forget that you had; when the long driveway of a large secluded home expands out above the car, Gaz whistles lowly.
“Bloody hell, Ma’am,” he states and John chuckles. You easily smile and roll your eyes.
“Trust me, it was more work than it was worth.” Ghost’s attention is slightly peaked.
“You worked on it?” His tone implies he doesn’t care, but his eyes gore into the mirror to lock with your own. Blinking in surprise, even the others seem to be taken aback by the man's lack of venom in his speech.
Ghost wasn’t afraid to speak his mind when he needed to, but he didn’t do mindless chatter. Your eyes cycle between the driveway and the masked Brit before you clear your throat. Johnny glances at you with a raised brow, slight confusion in his brows.
“Mostly—left the nasty bits to people more knowledgeable than I am, but I did most of the grunt work, eh?” Simon hums as the car pulls to a stop inside the garage, eyes not leaving the back of your head.
Your neck bristles at the sensation of unrelenting contact, but the burning that joins it is telltale. Licking your lips you twist the keys out and quickly shuffle out of the door to dispel the electricity in the air.
“Alright,” you say, “out. All of ya…Johnny, you’ll be helping me with the bedding.”
A groan is cut by an unimpressed glare. “...Yes, Ma’am.”
You huff and smirk.
“Trainin’ him well I see,” teasing John as they all file out of the car, he shakes his head at the two of you as Simon scoffs. Gaz openly laughs as Soap’s offended look grows.
You all enter the house as you direct them to the kitchen after they’ve taken off their boots and hung their jackets. “It’s all in the fridge, heat what you want, and don’t bother fightin’ Johnny if he takes too much. Tell me and I’ll make him sleep in the back near the chickens.” Your voice tells them as you pat your brother on the shoulder.
Johnny grumbles and kisses the top of your head. “You’re horrible to me,” He jokes but his eyes shimmer with affection. As you leave to get a head start on the rooms, you smile and call out to him.
“That’s my job!”
Backing out into the hallway, you leave with a deep well of happiness in you. You don’t even realize that the party had only contained three men instead of four until you’re in the linen closet and a shadow suddenly blacks out the light from the bulbs. Jumping slightly, your head swivels as you carry very many sheets and pillowcases in your grip.
“Oh,” you mumble through cotton, smile growing as the flip in your stomach does, “Ghost! Done eating already?”
The man is still and silent as he glances from your face to the sheets. Without a word, he halves the load and steals them as your jaw loosens in shock.
“Johnny’s outside callin’ your mum.” Ghost turns and walks out, but waits for you in the hallway to be directed.
You push down the tightness to your throat and see the man’s feet shift on the hardwood. He looks funny, such a big man carrying bed sheets. His actions make your heart speed up. Brown eyes blink at you like a cat.
“Well,” you chuckle, “always was one to get out of housework.” Trying a smidge more, you shift past him and turn off the light. “His barracks room dirty?”
“Pigsty.” Simon blandly states, walking slightly behind you. Your pace slows so you can stay beside him. He side-eyes you but says nothing.
Leaning in slightly, you quip as Ghost tenses, “Can’t say I’m surprised. The man’s used to me bailin’ him out.” Chuckling, you go into the first bedroom and put everything on the bed.
Simon grabs the pillows and starts to dress them quickly and efficiently.
“But thank you,” you say, and the Brit pauses to look up at you, something swirling in his murky gaze. Earnestly, you tilt your head with a smile. “Ya can go back and eat more if you want. No need to help—you’re a guest.”
“Not hungry,” is all he answers, and gets back to work. You watch for a moment, perplexed, but not at all about to deny the assistance. A genuine grin twitches your lips.
“Johnny writes about you, y’know,” your fingers pull at the fabric and you chuckle as Ghost’s incredulous look turns to you—face hidden but confusion is obviously seen. “Says he looks up to you quite a bit; something about Mexico.”
Your face dips slightly, and Simon’s body stills. Along the pillow, his grip carefully tightens. He can’t find it in himself to walk out of the door and stand outside even if he knows he should.
“I really can’t imagine what it’s like,” you mutter, shaking your head. Gazing at him, you study his wound muscles and secret flesh like a tapestry—wondering if he hides himself because of the safe anonymity or a sense of numb fear.
He wouldn’t admit to either, you know. But something about Simon had captured your attention and now you had a face, or just a body really, to put to the written name like a puzzle piece.
You take a long breath, “But you’ll never know how grateful I am.”
By the way his chest stops moving and his body goes frozen, you think you hit something inside of him; the minute widening of his eyelids like pedals opening in the light. Simon peers at your expression, his eyes sliding from one point to another.
Like he can’t really pinpoint what you want.
Ironic really, because you didn’t want anything.
“Don’t thank me,” is what he settles on, moving back to the pillow as if your words hadn’t stabbed him. “Johnny knows what he’s doing.”
Your small snort enters the air above the sliding sheets. “There’s no argument there.” A sigh echoes as you finish up, putting your hands on your hips. Across the bed, you two stare as Simon tosses down the pillows. The remainder of the sheets sit on the end of the bed.
The man’s eyes narrow on you, and he clenches his jaw under his balaclava.
“The only thing that I do know is that every time my brother comes back he smiles less than he did before.” You side-eye him seriously as you move. “I can only guess what all of it does to the others who don’t have anyone else to go back to.”
Simon’s breath halts in his chest before he finds the means to take down a slow inhale. Brown eyes glare intently, jaw tight, but it’s not the fire that gets to you…it’s the lack thereof.
Ghost doesn’t like this feeling, and your candidness was something he hadn’t expected.
“So,” you drawl, “I’m thanking you for giving him someone to joke around with—a distraction,” a teasing smirk, “no matter how blunt.”
“I just told you—”
“Well, I don’t bloody care, do I?” Huffing, you smirk and tip your head back before snatching the rest of the sheets. “C’mon, we have three more rooms.”
Simon watches you leave and tries to fight the rampage in his chest; the merciless slam of his heart to his ribcage. What had you done to him? A hand comes up and rubs into the bridge of his nose, fingers heavy and tight.
What in the hell was going on?
Growling under his breath, Ghost stalks out of the room only to see your back disappear into the next. In the hallway, he takes a long inhale and closes his eyes to steady himself.
“Fuckin’ hell,” the man grunts. The tension in his shoulders was plainly visible.
For the remainder of the room, Ghost would send you tight glances as he worked but didn’t utter another peep. You had taken his voice, or what little left of it there was.
In many ways, you were like your loudmouth brother—your snark and your stubbornness. But you were different too.
He feels his eyes trail down your form slowly from time to time. Capable; hardy. Simon blinked away and grunted under his breath aggressively.
When everyone was done with their food and Johnny had come back in from his call to his mother, with a soft smile on his face, you knew it was time for bed.
“Alright,” you strut into the kitchen with Ghost on your heels—his large arms crossed over his chest as he caught Soap's intense stare. The Lieutenant's brow raises, but Johnny only frowns in conspiracy before he looks over to you and itches at his chin. “Beds are made. You can all thank Simon for that, seein’ as Johnny used our mother as an excuse yet again.”
“And she was very pleased to hear from me!” Your brother points to you.
“She’s our mother,” you deadpan, “It’s her job to be, ya arse-face.”
The boys all follow you down the halls as you point to the rooms. Gaz shakes your hand again and gives you a tiny hug in thanks while John pats your shoulder and calls a soft, “Goodnight, Sweetheart.”
Both close their doors and you hear the large sighs through the wood. You have to wonder when they’d had a good bed to sleep on and a good meal. Last was your brother and Ghost, the latter of which kisses your head and hugs you tightly.
“It’s good to see you, truly. Been missing you, little Hen. Thanks for lettin’ me over all the time when I’m home.” You melt and grip his shirt.
“You’ll always have a place here, you know that. One call away…Now go to sleep. You smell like a pub.” He lightly chuckles against you. With a bond this tight, the two of you never had to say that you loved each other—it was just known.
Johnny squeezes you one last time before pulling away and slinking into his room, giving an unrecognizable glance to Ghost on his way in before the barrier slips into place with a quiet thunk of wood. The two of you look at and stare for a moment.
“Lucky you,” your voice is quiet but easy to hear, “you get the room with a view of the field.”
“Color me surprised,” he mutters, not looking enthusiastic. Against the tone, the look makes your mouth jerk in a laugh, and you cover your lips after a moment.
Simon’s eyes unconsciously soften.
You wave a hand, chest light, “Let’s go then, you brute.”
“Brute?” Simon grumbles, “Gettin’ familiar?”
“Please,” you shake your head and walk to the last door in this section of the house. “You all became familiar the second we met.”
The man rolls his eyes but has his smirk hidden as you open the door for him. He tilts his head in thanks and strolls inside.
You hum, crossing your arms ahead of you and leaning on the doorframe as he looks around, “Don’t think too much over it… The baseline is, you’ll always have a bed here if you need it.”
Ghost slips out, “What are you? Bloody boarding house?” The swelling in his chest made his words harsher than intended, but you just smile cheekily at him as eyes lock.
“Hell’s bells, if you want ta’ get me a business card just go ahead and print ‘em off already. I’ve no problem with it.” He stares and you laugh, shrugging. “Makes me feel good.”
Splaying your hands, you back out.
“I know you probably won’t sleep,” Simon pauses, feeling caught but not showing it. “Libraries down the hall—if you smoke, use the back door. Kitchen is free game.”
“Why?” He asks and you blink, confused.
“Well, why not?” Simon glares.
“You shouldn’t trust people like that.” A loud laugh echoes and makes the man annoyed with you.
“Simon,” you say, and he finds himself hanging on every word that falls from your lips in the moonlight. “Not everyone is out to get you. If you’re friends of Johnny’s, then you’re friends of mine. That boy can sniff a cheat faster than a hound can find a hare.” Perhaps it was the way his shoulders went back at that, or how his brows loosened, but you finish off with a soft explanation. “You’re safe under this roof.”
You wondered, not for that last time that night, if he’d ever been told that. From how his balaclava moved with a sharp jerk of his jaw, you assumed never. It made your lungs hurt.
With a few more seconds of quiet gazing you nod and move back.
“Goodnight, Simon.” You leave him staring at the door as you close it—eyes boring into the grain so harshly they might catch fire.
Ghost doesn’t know how long he stays like that, but his ears twitch at the echo of running water and soundless footsteps. He should leave, he tells himself; this is dangerous, a voice hisses. It’s not safe here, how could it be? There were no guards—no weapons. If someone were to sneak in there wouldn’t be an alarm.
A secluded home. Nothing around.
Then why had your words seeped into him?
“You’re safe under this roof.” Simon closes his eyes harshly.
—
In the morning once everyone’s gone back to the base, you admit you don’t know if you’ll see Simon again; you probably won’t. But you find that you can live with that. The memory of his loosening tension is all you need to feel special in your own right. Those brown eyes that, if but for a moment, had bled so effortlessly feelings of something other than blood and death.
As you sigh a dreamy chuckle to yourself, you get ready for the day before heading to your Hillman. The silent drive to work joins with the strange mix of weight and levitation to your chest. But halfway into town, it hits you.
Silent.
There is an obvious lack of squeaking from under the hood of your car as you slide along the countryside.
The smile doesn’t leave your face for weeks.
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#cod#cod x reader#cod x you#cod mw22#mw2#call of duty#mw2 2022#call of duty mw2#x female reader#simon riley#simon ghost riley#simon ghost x reader#cod fanfic#cod simon riley#cod simon ghost riley#cod ghost#ghost cod#ghost mw2#cod mw2#ghost x reader#ghost x you#cod x female reader#x fem!reader#call of duty x you#call of duty x reader#mw2 x reader#mw2 fanfic#modern warfare x you#modern warfare x reader
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MAKE IT EASY : ̗̀➛ STEVE HARRINGTON
・❥・part 1・part 2 ❥・3.8k words
Summary: steve asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for a family dinner. the problem is: after all is said and done, he gives you the cold shoulder. have you done something wrong?
requested by my beloved @stevebabey 🥺
a/n: this was supposed to be a drabble, and now, oh well...I had to split it into two parts. here we go.
・❥・
It was the epitome of a terrible idea.
And it had started that day.
The very moment Steve walked into the diner your family owned, you knew something was wrong. Not that it was uncommon for Steve to visit you at work — not at all. In fact, it was almost a weekly occurrence, the highlight of it, in fact, for you; the odd part was that Steve never showed up alone, without at least a few of the kids. On that Wednesday night, he was not only alone but also strangely nervous.
You rarely saw Steve get nervous. His confidence was as much a part of him as his signature perfect hair. But tonight, his hands fidgeted with the edge of his jacket, eyes darting around the diner as if searching for an escape route. He looked like he was trying to convince himself to leave.
Weird.
"Steve," you greeted him with a warm smile, hoping to ease his obvious tension a little bit as he approached the counter. "You look like you've seen a Demogorgon."
It was supposed to be a joke. You only felt comfortable saying that now because — luckily — things had been quiet at Hawkins. It had been a long time since you and your friends had to deal with one. But something about Steve's demeanor really made you wonder if there was more to this visit than just a friendly catch-up.
He tried for a convincing chuckle, but it came out tinged with a hint of sadness instead. "I wish," he said, and then quickly shook his head, "Actually no, of course not. I kinda…There's something I wanted to-"
You furrowed your brows, concern knitting your features together. At this point, Steve's tension seemed to be rubbing off on you.
"Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, everything's fine, just…can we talk?"
"Of course."
He glanced around the diner, gaze briefly flitting over the empty tables and the neon glow of the jukebox. "Not here," he murmured, voice barely audible above the din of conversation and clinking dishes. It was a busy night, despite being Wednesday. "Can you, like, take a break?"
For Steve, of course you could.
Curiosity mingled with concern, and you followed his lead, stepping out into the cool night air. The streets were bathed in the soft glow of streetlights, casting elongated shadows that danced upon the pavement. You leaned against the side of the building, your eyes fixed on Steve, awaiting an explanation for his beyond unusual behavior.
He raked his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit that seemed magnified in this moment. "Look," he began, his voice tinged with a vulnerability you hadn't heard before, "I need a favor- a big one."
Oh, Jesus. "Steve," you placed a hand over your chest, breathing a sigh of relief. "For a moment there I thought you were going to say something terrible. A favor? C'mon, sure. What do you want me to do?"
Steve's eyes met yours, his gaze earnest and…vulnerable?
"I... I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend... Just for one night!" he quickly added, like he was afraid you might misinterpret his request, say no even before he could finish… but no, of course you wouldn't. Far from it.
Who wouldn't want to date Steve Harrington?
"But why would you-"
"My parents," Steve interjected, tone deeply tinged with unease, "they're in town."
"Oh." Steve rarely ever spoke about his parents, and their mere presence seemed to have stirred a sense of apprehension within him. "Are they still... difficult?"
You knew you were touching scars, deep scars. You made sure to be gentle.
Steve sighed, gaze fixed on the ground.
"Yeah, you could say that," a hint of frustration colored his voice, as if he were carrying on his shoulders the weight of every little judgemental glare they had ever sent his way. "Nothing I do is ever enough for them. They've always been focused on money and success. To them, that's the measure of worth. And because I don't fit their mold of the perfect, ambitious son, they treat me like…well, you know how they treat me."
Indeed, you knew.
Steve looked like he didn't know you were unable to say no to him.
And that's how you put yourself into one hell of a mess.
+
It's Saturday night and you're standing in front of the mirror, desperately trying to zip up your stupid dress. Why anyone would put a zipper in the back of a dress, in the most difficult possible place for a person to reach on their own, is something you are unable to fathom.
But then again, maybe you're the stupid one in this story, you think bitterly, since it was you who chose the dress with the zipper in the back in the first place.
Why are you trying so hard, though?
"I'm not," you tell yourself out loud, stubbornly.
There is a big pile of discarded clothes on your bed that says otherwise.
With a feeling akin to fear bubbling in your stomach, you glance at the clock. It's almost seven. For fuck's sake.
You're late.
Steve will arrive soon, and you are apparently unable to close the damn zipper of your own dress, no matter in which awkward positions you try twisting yourself into…you just can't reach it.
The doorbell rings.
The world is truly a dark place, isn't it?
You freeze. It can only be Steve. Shit, shit, shit! For a moment, you consider the idea of simply not opening the door, turning off the lights and pretending you never agreed to take part in this madness that is dining with the Harringtons.
HA! As if you'd really be able to turn your back on Steve.
You take a deep breath, accepting the battle you just lost, and decide that your only and best option is to simply open the door and ask Steve for help — mortified or not. With no choice but to leave the dress with the zipper still open and your back somewhat exposed, you quickly walk to the door to open it.
"Sorry, I'm late," you say, a little out of breath. "I had a little problem with the dress and I... flowers?"
Flowers, for sure. Steve holds a beautiful bouquet of red roses. He looks at you for a moment, then his eyes run over the partly open dress and your exposed skin for a couple of seconds too long to be accidental. You swallow thickly.
"Yeah I..." he shakes his head, a little uncomfortable standing there, and then his eyes meet yours. "The flowers are for you. Do you want me to...?" he mimics the motion of closing a zipper.
You feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment, but there is no choice but to accept. You look at him, a mix of gratitude and nervousness in your eyes.
"Yeah, that would be great," you reply, stumbling over the words.
If he notices, he doesn't say anything.
Steve comes closer and hands you the bouquet, your fingers briefly touching his. You catch a whiff of his cologne — citrusy fruit and wood notes — as you turn around, brushing your hair away from your neck.
For a moment, Steve does nothing, and you wonder if he is just figuring out the best way to close the zipper…or something else entirely.
His touch ghosts down your bare back before his hand finally, finally finds the zipper. Slowly, he pulls it up, inch by inch, and you hold your breath for a moment, lost in a feeling your best friend is definitely not supposed to evoke in you. You feel the dress tighten, fabric adjusting to your body, his fingers inevitably brushing your skin and sending unexpected tingles up your spine. You try to ignore the trail of electricity left by the tip of his fingers as you turn to face him, eyes finding his.
"There you go", he murmurs, taking his hands off you and taking a small step back. "You look very... girlfriend."
You laugh.
"Thank you", you say softly, your heart beating faster. "You also look very boyfriend."
A small smile plays on Steve's lips, a flush creeping up his cheeks. Or maybe it's just the cold night breeze coming through the open door...
Steve's gaze drifts to your lips and lingers there for way too long to be accidental. He is so close that he starts crushing the bouquet between the two of you…
Something clicks inside of you. Common sense, perhaps.
"Thank you... for the flowers."
The spell breaks; he moves away so fast that you almost drop the flowers on the floor.
"Yeah, uh, no problem," he says quickly, regaining his composure. "Ready to go?"
Disappointment stabs at you, but you try to hide it. Maybe you imagined too much, read signs where there were none.
"Sure. I'll just put the flowers in a vase."
It's an excuse to catch your breath. You walk to the kitchen, put water in the first clean container you find and put the flowers in it. Deep breaths, deep breaths.
Your heart is racing and yet nothing has happened. It's just dinner, you tell yourself, I've had dinner with Steve and the others before. It's just dinner.
So why did you try so hard to look beautiful? insists the other voice in your mind. You decide it's best not to answer.
"You okay?"
Steve is at the kitchen door, all concern and soft brown eyes. You must have taken too long.
"Yes, I'm fine," you reply, forcing a smile to calm your own anxiety. "I was just taking care of the flowers. Ready to go?"
Steve nods. A gentleman, he opens the car door for you to get in. It's a short drive to the Harrington house, and you take the opportunity to try to calm your nerves. Looking out the window, you watch the city lights blinking as you approach your destination.
You look at him. You have the impression that Steve is driving slightly slower than necessary.
"Can I ask you something?" you say, unsure.
Steve briefly glances at you before returning his attention to the road, looking so stiff you're under the impression he might break his back at any moment.
"Sure, what's up?"
"Why did you ask me to pretend to be your girlfriend? I mean, I understand the part about your parents…but why didn't you bring someone you're actually dating or something?"
There's a brief moment of silence before Steve responds, his voice a bit softer.
"Actually, I'm not really dating anyone at the moment," he admits. "And when my parents mentioned the dinner, I kind of panicked. I didn't want to show up alone and face more questions about my life, you know?"
"I know," you respond, understandingly. "And why did you choose me specifically?"
He looks away for a moment before answering.
"Because you're perfect," he says, finally looking back at you. Then quickly, as if he only just realized the words slipped out on their own, he adds, nervously staring back at the road, "I mean, my parents, they... you're perfect for them. They're going to love you."
You feel a mix of surprise, satisfaction, and confusion with Steve's response. You try not to read any deeper meaning behind the words, telling yourself not to notice how he quickly tries to disguise them.
"I see," you reply, although you don't really understand anything. Steve seems to say one thing when he means another. "Well, I hope I can do well. I mean, I'm not very convincing when I lie."
Steve smiles briefly and nods.
"I'm sure you'll be great. Just... be yourself."
You appreciate Steve's vote of confidence and focus on staying calm as the car approaches the Harringtons' house. Although there's still a lingering questioning in your mind about Steve's earlier response, you decide to set it aside for now and focus on the immediate task.
Steve parks the car, and you both step out together. Nervousness returns as you approach the front door. You exchange a quick glance with Steve, seeking mutual encouragement.
As you walk toward the house's entrance, Steve's hand finds yours. He gently squeezes it, and you're not sure if he's trying to convey or seek comfort himself. You don't mind anyway.
The door opens, revealing Steve's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Harrington. As you prepare to enter their house, they cast evaluative glances your way, as you had expected. Mrs. Harrington's smile seems a bit forced, while Mr. Harrington maintains a serious expression you can't even begin to try to read.
It's not like you expected anything different.
"Mom," says Steve in lieu of a greeting. "Dad."
"Steve, you finally made it," says Mrs. Harrington, her tone somehow a mix of relief and disapproval. "And this must be your... girlfriend."
Steve maintains his composure as he introduces you, although you can sense a slight tension in his shoulders. It's only when he says your last name that Steve's parents' gazes turn into something completely different, almost a scientific interest.
Hawkins is a small place. Your parents' business is respected enough in town.
All eyes turn to you, and you try not to show the insecurity you feel inside. Mr. Harrington studies you for a moment, his penetrating gaze seeming to assess your suitability for his son.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Mr. Harrington," he finally says, extending an unusually large hand for a formal greeting.
You shake his hand firmly, trying to convey a confidence you're not quite sure you feel. "The pleasure is mine, Mr. Harrington. Thank you for the invitation."
Mrs. Harrington still seems a bit unsettled but composes herself as she invites you inside. You're making your way toward the dining room when you feel Steve's hand intertwine with yours again, and when your gaze meets his, he's smiling.
Thank you, he mouths.
You smile back.
During dinner, you make an effort to be as pleasant and interesting as you can possibly be in the eyes of Steve's parents, responding politely and trying to find points of common interest. In turn, Steve makes an effort to showcase his worth, defending his accomplishments, however small and sharing his plans for the future, painting an image of maturity that, you can tell by the look in his parents' eyes, they were not expecting.
Throughout the evening, you realize that although Steve's parents are demanding and neglectful in many aspects, they also seem to have their own insecurities and concerns. They want the best for Steve, even if their way of expressing it is at least…unusual.
As the night progresses, you find yourself navigating this strange family dynamic better and better, to the point where Steve's parents' attention is fully on you, and it doesn't even feel that uncomfortable anymore. You even laugh at one point.
By the end of the dinner, as you two prepare to leave, you notice a very similar expression of relief on the faces of Steve's parents. They seem to have found some kind of approval in the way you both behaved together during the evening.
As you say goodbye, Mr. Harrington extends his hand again, but this time, his handshake is warmer, less formal, and Mrs. Harrington's smile almost seems genuine. Almost.
"It was a pleasure having you here," she says. "You should bring her more often, Steve."
You and Steve exchange a look of surprise. Had you somehow managed to create a connection with his parents?
As you walk away from the Harringtons' house, Steve's hand finds yours for the third time that night, and an optimistic part of you registers the fact that there's no one else here to see. He gently squeezes it, his brown eyes filled with gratitude when they meet yours.
"You were amazing," he says, genuinely smiling.
In the car, during the ride back, you both talk animatedly about the night and his parents' reactions. The tension from dinner seems to have diminished, leaving you both more relaxed and confident.
When you arrive in front of your house, Steve turns off the car and gets out to accompany you to the front door, even after you— out of politeness, mind you — said it's really not necessary.
"You know, I didn't expect everything to go so well tonight," says Steve, with a playful smile. "I can't believe I'm saying this about a dinner with my parents, but thanks to you, it was even fun."
You laugh. "I kinda had fun too. I think we did better than we thought possible."
"You're amazing," he says again, and this time his voice carries a softer, more intimate tone. His eyes meet yours, shining, and you see admiration there…maybe, you dare to think, something even deeper.
The silence grows tense. Your heart races. There's something special happening between you, you know there is; this goes beyond mere friendship or pretending to be a couple for one night…doesn't it?
Are you imagining this?
"Steve..."
You can't finish before he's leaning in slowly, and you're almost certain his eyes are fixed on your lips. For a feverish moment, you think Steve is going to kiss you.
He tilts his head last second. You feel the softness of his lips brushing against your cheek a moment later, a light and brief kiss, mouth almost uncertain against your warm skin….and then it's over.
Steve pulls back slowly.
"Goodnight," he says, eyes soft, smile softer. "Thank you…for today."
"You're welcome."
It's only when you enter the house that the dress dilemma comes to mind.
Well…shit.
The zipper at the back is still unreachable for you, and you can't undo it yourself unless you use scissors — which, considering the price you paid for it, you really don't want to do.
With few options and too much embarrassment, you decide to call Steve back while you still can.
"Steve?" you practically shout, your embarrassment immediately doubling. He's about to open the door of his trusted BMW when he turns to you, confused and unfairly handsome under the street light.
Suddenly using the scissors on the dress doesn't seem like such a bad idea anymore.
Well, too late.
"Could you, you know... " you ask, gesturing to the back of your dress, "help me with the zipper?"
His initial surprise quickly gives way to a nervous smile.
"Sure. What kind of fake boyfriend would I be if I didn't help?"
"I'm sure that's one of the many job duties."
"Definitely. And I strive to be a top-notch fake boyfriend."
He steps in. With the door closed behind the two of you, the atmosphere takes on a sense of intimacy and anticipation.
"I really can't reach the zipper," you feel the need to explain, even more flustered by his silence.
"No problem," Steve says with that gentle tone that makes your heart do funny things inside your chest. "Turn around."
You turn so that he can reach the dress' zipper, and now you're facing the large oval mirror in the hallway, with Steve standing right behind you.
He reaches out gently, his fingers lightly brushing the back of your dress.
Breathe in.
The temperature around you seems to rise a few degrees.
Breath out.
You feel the gentle pressure of his fingers as he starts to slide the zipper down. He touches your skin and you tell yourself that this is inevitable, that he didn't mean to…but he lingers. Lingers just enough for you to tense up and let out a breathless sigh you certainly didn't intend to.
"Are you okay?" Steve asks, his voice soft, filled with concern. You know he's looking at you through the mirror and that's precisely why you keep your gaze on the floor. "Are my fingers cold?"
"No, your fingers..." your voice sounds hoarse. You clear your throat. "...it's fine, I'm okay."
I'm great. I'm more than okay. Nothing out of the ordinary happening here.
However, when the zipper seems to momentarily get stuck — because of course it had to — the two of you exchange equally panicked looks through the mirror, though perhaps for different reasons. An uncomfortable silence fills the air as Steve tries to fix the issue.
"I'm... it's just... sorry, it seems to be stuck."
There's a moment of awkward silence as he tries to figure out a way to open the zipper. You can feel the tension in the air as he struggles to handle the situation.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" you joke, desperately trying to ease the tension.
Steve lets out a low laugh, his warm breath gently caressing your neck.
"Absolutely," he replies, his voice slightly husky. Then, probably without so much as noticing, he adds, "I've taken off many dresses before."
Oh.
"Steve-"
Steve doesn't give up. With skilled fingers, he adjusts the position of the zipper and makes another attempt. It moves.
"We're almost there," he murmurs softly, his voice close to your ear.
Finally, with a smooth motion, the zipper gives way, sliding all the way down. A sigh of relief escapes your lips, and you turn around to face Steve, finding his eyes filled with excitement.
"I did it!"
His enthusiastic smile soon gives way to something else as he realizes how close — and technically partly undressed — you are.
And close you are, so very close. Close enough that you and Steve are somehow breathing the same air now.
Close enough, you realize, that a slight tilt of the head and...you'd be kissing.
Kissing.
Did he notice that too?
You hold your dress up over your chest to make sure it doesn't fall because, well…no matter how distracted you are, it's not enough that you'd risk a wardrobe malfunction that'll leave you standing there naked in front of Steve Harrington.
"...thanks," you manage a whisper, lips a hair's breadth away from his. You do know that Steve has no reason not to go now that dinner is over and everything went (surprisingly) well, but a part of you wonders if maybe…
Steve's hands hover around your waist as if unsure of what to do next.
So close...
You hold still.
In that breathless silence, you're under the impression that Steve leans closer, even if just the slightest bit, maybe without even noticing.
"Steve…" you slowly tilt your head to the side.
Steve's heart is pounding in his chest as he feels the warmth of your breath against his lips. Stop, he thinks. His eyes flutter closed, and Steve can't help but lean in just a little bit more.
He raises his arm as if to touch you, wanting to touch you, to hold your face, to bring you closer…but he stops with one of his hands hovering near your cheek.
He pulls away with a gasp, his hands flying up to his face in shock. "I should-" he stammers. "I need to go."
Bam.
Door closed.
And just like that, he's out of the house before you can even open your eyes properly.
He just…pulled away.
What the hell was that?
#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington#steve harrington x you#steve harrington oneshot#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington angst#steve x you#steve x reader#stranger things fanfic#stranger things imagine#steve harrington drabble
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Sukuna - 0 / Yuuji - 1
The both of you had reserved a dinner at this restaurant weeks prior. Not for any particular reason, just so you guys could have some fun on a night out together — something that neither of you have experienced in a while. Well, that was the original plan. Yuuji tagging along wasn't. Nor was a tantrum from the little boy, so Sukuna just had to accept the former, unless he wanted the latter . . . which he did not.
This was going to be a long night.
"Umm, can I have a Capri Sun? — Please?"
A very long night.
"Of course! I'll be right back with all of your orders."
Things weren't looking any better for the pink-haired man when the meals came.
Yuuji seemed to be struggling with his macaroni and cheese. Every time he tried to pick up a macaroni, it slid off his fork. Yuuji pouted, puffing his chubby cheeks out, and crossed his little arms.
"Aww, Yuuji. Do you need some help?" You turned to the boy, picking up his fork — that was specifically designed for kids, albeit it wasn't proving to be of any help to the toddler at the moment.
Yuuji fervently nodded his head, "Yes, please!"
"Alright, I'll help you," you ruffled his pink hair, eliciting a giggle from the boy. You picked up some macaroni and blew on it before feeding it to Yuuji.
"'s so yummy!" Yuuji exclaimed.
"Mhm," you wiped some sauce off the side of his mouth with a napkin.
When you had fed Yuuji an adequate amount of his dish, and he decided he wanted to take a coloring break, you began to try your own food. It's safe to say that after having starved yourself to feed a toddler, fettuccine alfredo is close to enchanting.
"Babe, this is so good. You have to try," you twirled the pasta with your fork and held your hand under it — avoiding any possible messes — before feeding it to the man sitting across from you.
Sukuna was ecstatic about having your attention back on him, and not on his little brother, and greedily accepted the food.
"It's not bad," Sukuna remarked, gesturing to you to give him more.
You took another bite of your pasta, before obliging to Sukuna's request, leaning over the table to reach the man.
All the while, Yuuji watched you feed his big brother with glittering eyes. "I wanna try, I wanna try!" He chanted repeatedly, in his adorable, squeaky voice.
"Okay, Yuuji. Just be careful, it's hot," again, you blew on the pasta before feeding it to Yuuji.
"It is dewicous!" Yuuji giggled, having not learned to differentiate between his l's and w's.
You set your fork down, grabbing your purse and getting up from your seat. Both of the Itadori brothers turned to you with looks of curiosity etched on their faces.
"I'm just going to the bathroom. Be right back," you rubbed Yuuji's cheek, making sure he would understand that you would only be away for a little bit.
Sukuna's gaze followed your back as you took your leave. He sighed, not wanting to be left alone with a toddler.
For a few moments, all was silent. Sukuna was glad for the lack of a squeaky voice. Unfortunately, a few moments does not last a long time.
"Umm, Sukuna. Can you help me?"
Sukuna closed his eyes, asking God what he did to be punished this way.
"Help you with what?"
"Can you help feed me, because, because my food is too hot." Yuuji looked at his brother, waiting for him to answer.
Sukuna has to face away from Yuuji, and take a deep breath just to restrain himself from going berserk on the little kid. Then he said, in the most calm voice he could muster, "First, you sit next to my girlfriend and make me sit across from her. Second, you steal her food. And third, you're making me feed you. Yeah, no way, little man." Sukuna shook his head.
Yuuji cocked his head at his brother. "But Y/N was helping me."
"Do I look like Y/N to you? . . . Don't answer that, brat." Sukuna scowlee, grabbing Yuuji's little fork and moving to feed him.
"Here comes the airplane, or whatever. I don't know what kinda shit Y/N says to you."
"Umm, it's too hot."
"That's not my problem, now eat it."
Yuuji gulped, deciding to blow on the macaroni himself, and eating it.
"See? Wasn't so bad."
This continued on for a whopping five minutes. Sukuna finally relented and blew on the macaroni before feeding Yuuji. The little boy was happy to spend time with his older brother, and was practically bouncing in his seat. On the other hand, Sukuna was just glad Yuuji wasn't crying about you not being there.
When you came back from the restrooms, Sukuna immediately put down Yuuji's fork and returned to eating his own meal.
"So, how was it, you two? Did you guys have some quality brotherly love time?"
". . . You are never leaving me alone with this brat again, ever."
Taglist: @starlets-things @sad-darksoul @mochimoee @r0ckst4rjk @lillycore
@deepchromatose @yinyinyinyinyinyin
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spencer with an alt gf who's got tattoos, piercings, dyed hair and all that. i don't really mind what you do with it im just yearning for my man rn
Spencer introduces his gf to the team.
“Spencer stop fidgeting, you’re making me nervous.” You and your boyfriend are sat in a restaurant waiting for his teammates to arrive.
Spencer and you had hit the year mark and he’d finally felt it was time for his team to meet you.
They know he has a girlfriend, of that he’s never been shy about flaunting, but they’ve never actually met you.
“Sorry, sweetheart. Want another lemonade?” You shake your head, leaning into him to kiss his cheek.
“I’m okay Spence, it’s gonna be great.” You hope it will be. You want his friends and coworkers to like you but even you can realise how different you and Spencer are appearance wise.
Spencer’s all sweater vests and cute ties and cardigans, and you’re all visible tattoos, bright colored tops that stop over your naval to reveal a pretty piercing with a shell dangling on it and distressed jeans.
“Well hello pretty boy!” You recognize him as Derek. “And hello, pretty boy’s girlfriend.”
“Hi, Derek right?” He nods and you introduce yourself, Penelope right behind him and she can’t contain her grin.
“Oh you’re a badass, I already know it.” She says, pulling you in for a hug that you eagerly reciprocate.
JJ and Emily are next and then Hotch and Rossi.
“Where did you two meet?” Rossi asks and Spencer begins recalling the details of how you bumped into him on the subway, headphones on and how he’d helped you steady yourself while giving you all the details of how that was dangerous.
“It probably wasn’t the best first impression but I took his advice. And then we saw each other at that cute cafe and I had to give him my number because it was clearly not coincidental.”
Hotch smiles as you talk, a silent message passing between him and Spencer.
“It doesn’t bother you that he’s always away?” Derek asks and you shake your head.
“I’m not always easily available either,” his team frowns. “Spencer didn’t tell you?” You turn to him and find him blushing and you smile.
“I’m a linguist so most days I’m studying or teaching a class about what I’m studying. I also teach little kids a second language of their parents’ choosing. It’s a hard balance, but it’s fun.”
Rossi and Derek’s smiles are probably the widest. “You’re badass.” Derek says and you smile, cheeks hurting from his sincerity.
Emily chimes in for the first time, “Where do you get your tattoos done? They’re pretty cool.”
You grin again, Spencer chuckling when you say, “They also deter cannibals.”
Penelope and Hotch smile, “So you’re a not so secret nerd?” You shrug, not really knowing if you’d qualify.
“I mean, Spencer tells me crazy facts that I whip out sometimes but mostly I just have a couple things I like.”
The night ends spectacularly and Spencer can’t stop smiling as he walks with you. “So they’re nice,” you tell him and he nods.
“They all love you.” You feel your nerves release at that. “I think the girls will be inviting you to their monthly girl’s night soon enough.”
#spencerreid#spencer reid#spencer reid one shot#spencer reid drabble#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid blurb#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fic#dr spencer reid#spencer reid x black reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x yn#spencer reid x y/n
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softness
Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader
summary: Joel’s a little unsure of doing skin to skin with his newborn daughter.
warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. JACKSON ERA. established relationship. (TW) PREGNANCY. mentions of premature birth, minor descriptions of childbirth, mentions of birth weight, it is implied that reader is breastfeeding her baby, semi accurate medical journal research, girldad! Joel, mentions of scars (Joel), mentions of insecurities and anxieties, if i missed anything, please let me know! NO MENTION OF READER’S AGE. NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER. no physical description of child except for her hair color/type. very minimal editing.
word count: 3.5k
a/n: i had this outline sitting in my drafts and i decided to finally just write it out and post it. it ain’t much, but it’s honest work.
it is part of the safe and sound universe.
She’d made her entrance into the world early.
About four or five weeks, the commune’s doctor thinks.
Without ultrasounds, it’d been a guessing game.
And a fucking terrifying guessing game at that.
For several months, all you could do was hope.
Hope for a smooth pregnancy.
Hope for a safe labor and delivery.
Hope for a strong, healthy baby.
When you went into labor earlier than the doctor had predicted you would, all of your hopes shattered, the pieces falling around you like shards of broken glass you couldn’t put back together even if you tried.
“No! No, it’s too soon! It’s too fucking soon!” you’d cried out, the sheer panic setting in and seeping into your bones as a warm, clear liquid dripped down the insides of your legs and pooled around your bare feet. You had been in the kitchen making Ellie breakfast and packing her lunch for school—one second you’re standing there in front of the food pantry debating with yourself on what vegetable to throw into the kid’s lunch bag with her sandwich and the next you’re calling out for help as an intense pressure nestled itself between your hips. It wasn’t until you heard a faint popping sound and then felt the gush of fluid between your thighs that you’d realized what was happening. An unmistakable first sign of labor, you’d experienced your water breaking. “This can’t be happening, it’s not time yet!”
Joel, who by some stroke of sheer stupid luck had the morning off from patrol duty, instructed Ellie to run upstairs and gather some clean clothes along with a pair of boots and the warmest coat you owned that still fit. November had brought along the first snowfall of the season—the frigid temperatures outside were anything but kind and the clinic was on the opposite side of the commune, a fifteen minute walk he wished you didn’t have to make in your condition. “I know this is real fuckin’ scary darlin’ but y’need to stay calm. I need you to stay as calm as possible. Y’think that you can do that for me, sweetheart?”
He’d been just as terrified, but he masked it well.
On the outside, he kept a calm, collected composure for your sake and for Ellie’s too, shoved aside his own fears so he could be the support you both needed, act as the glue that held yours and his little family unit together should anything were to happen. But on the inside, he was scared shitless, to say the least. He couldn’t be certain he would have the strength to hold himself together if something went wrong, if he lost you—or his unborn child.
Admittedly, it had taken him a few months to come to terms with the fact that he was going to be a father again at this stage in his life. The thought of him changing diapers at his age was one he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around—but the moment he felt that first little flutter of movement one night as you lay curled up against his side fast asleep, something shifted. That night, he had stayed wide awake, his large hand splayed over your belly in hopes he would feel that little flutter again.
“Joel, I’m really fucking scared. What if it’s too early—”
“Baby, look at me.” He reached up and gently took your chin, holding it between his thumb and index finger as he coaxed your gaze to meet his own. “S’gonna be okay,” he’d assured you, softly. “If this is happenin’ now, it’s because she’s ready, alright?”
For a split second, that panic had ceased.
“She?”
Confused, Joel’s brow furrowed. “Huh?”
“You just referred to the baby as a she, Joel.”
“I did?”
“Yeah—just now.” You’d stared at him with curiosity and took a step back, cradling your belly in both of your hands. “Do you think we’re having a girl?”
Sheepishly, he had shaken his head at you.
“No, I just—m’sorry. I ain’t all too sure why I said that.”
He truly, honestly hadn’t.
It’d slipped before he could even think about it.
But his accidental slip had been right.
After thirteen hours of grueling labor in Jackson’s small clinic, you’d given birth to a little girl, the sound of her loud wailing filling the whole room like a sweet melody eliciting a sob of joy from you and a shaky sigh of relief from Joel.
“Holy shit, she’s here! She’s actually fucking here,” Ellie breathed, her eyes going wide. Her arms were still wrapped around one of your legs—despite you warning the teenager about what she would see, it hadn’t stopped her from volunteering her assistance in the childbirth process. She watched on in a mix of both fascination and disgust as Dr. Porter, a woman in her sixties who served as Jackson’s sole physician, lifted the infant and immediately placed her onto your bare chest to clean her off. “This has gotta be the grossest, most amazing fucking thing I have ever fucking seen in my life.” Gently, she set your leg down onto the bed before walking around it to stand beside Joel. His hand was stroking your hair, his dark eyes trained on his crying newborn daughter. It was the perfect moment for Ellie to run her mouth and tease, “You’re not gonna cry, are you, Joel? I’d think you’re a lot fucking tougher than that, old man.”
“Shut up,” he’d muttered under his breath, putting an arm around her and pulling her against his side. He almost couldn’t believe this was now his life—a life he would have never even known if he hadn’t flinched twenty years ago when he had pulled the trigger.
Though she’d been born a few weeks prematurely, Rosemary Miller was deemed to be healthy—a tad underweight, but nothing to be worried about just yet, according to Jackie, the commune’s nurse. At about four pounds, eleven ounces, Rosemary was the tiniest thing you’d ever seen and somehow even tinier when Joel would cradle her in the palms of his large hands. Despite the fact that you’d been reassured that the baby’s low birth weight was nothing to be alarmed about, you and Joel had been advised it was best if you didn’t take her home until she gained a few more ounces and tipped the a scale at what the books state is a normal birth weight of five pounds, eight ounces.
“We just would feel better if she were here at the clinic where we can closely monitor her weight,” Jackie had said upon seeing the crestfallen look on your face. “Besides, you tore a little and you need time to heal as well, you know.”
Left with very little choice, you’d agreed to it.
“I’m losing it,” you say with an exasperated sigh as you stare up at the drab, gray ceiling. It’s been three days since you had given birth and all you want to do is take your daughter home. In an effort to lift your spirits, Maria had tried to warm the place up and make it feel more comfortable for you. She had swapped out the rough, scratchy bedsheet the clinic provided for you with a soft, knitted blanket she had made herself. She also took it upon herself to pack you a bag with your own clothes, a couple of books to read, and your favorite polaroids of Joel and Ellie. While it had been incredibly sweet of her to do for you, you still wanted out of that clinic sooner rather than later. “I miss our house. I miss our bed. I miss our kid.”
Joel, who’s sitting in an old, worn leather armchair tucked over in a corner of your room next to the frosted window, raises an eyebrow at you and then juts his chin towards Rosemary, who is swaddled up and sleeping soundly in the plastic bassinet beside your bed.
“Our kid’s right there, darlin’.”
You lift your head off your pillow and glare at him.
“I’m talking about Ellie, Joel.”
He chuckles and leans forward in his chair. Next to him sits a brown stuffed bunny rabbit—Ellie had traded a precious comic book for it and gifted it to the baby the same afternoon she was born.
“She’s been comin’ to visit every day after school.”
“It’s not the same,” you pout, shaking your head.
Joel sighs and glances at the cot that he had been sleeping on for the last few days—truth be told, he misses the house too. His back certainly misses the bed. “It ain’t the same,” he agrees, tiredly. His face is worn with exhaustion. Despite you insisting that he go home and get some proper rest, he’s too stubborn to listen and only leaves the clinic to take a shower and change his clothes—and to check on Ellie, who’s got a bad habit of not doing her homework unless you or Joel nag her to get it done. “M’real sorry, darlin’. But you heard what they said. Baby’s gotta gain a little more weight before we can take her home.”
Even from where he’s sitting, he can see your eyes glaze over with tears of frustration. Since the baby was born, you’ve been very sensitive, more so than when you’d been pregnant—something he didn’t think was even possible.
“If she keeps on eatin’ the way she’s eatin’ we’ll be home by the end of the week,” Joel adds in an effort to cheer you up. “Besides, you need to heal before we make that long walk across town and back to the house, sweetheart. S’not like I can just pull up the fuckin’ minivan and drive you girls home like back in the day, y’know?”
You wrinkle your nose at him. “Ew, Joel. We would not have a fucking minivan.” Dabbing at your eyes with the back of your hand, you can’t help but laugh at the thought of Joel Miller behind the wheel of one of those things. Then, you realize how endearing it would be to watch as he’s loading up Rosemary’s car seat into the van, the muscles of his broad back flexing underneath his shirt as he pulled on the straps to make sure it was safe and secure. You’d climb into the backseat with her and on the way home, you would ask Joel to swing through the nearest burger joint drive through because you’re fucking starving and in need of a proper meal after being subjected to boring, bland hospital food. You shoot him a small smile. “On second thought, that doesn’t sound all that bad. Maybe we would.”
Suddenly, there’s a light knock at the door.
“Come in,” you call, careful not to be too loud.
Dr. Porter walks into the room.
She had been a primary care physician prior to the world ending, according to Maria, who a couple of months ago had given birth to her son while under Dr. Porter’s care. Maria had assured you that, even though the woman never trained in obstetrics, she always went above and beyond for all the mothers to be in the commune. She dedicated her spare time to studying, lost herself in medical books she found on the shelves of the town’s library—kind of like the one that’s currently tucked underneath her arm.
“Hi there mama,” she greets, her eyes shining brightly behind her coke-bottle glasses. Wearing jeans and a sweater, she doesn’t quite look the part—maybe she’d worn a white coat once in her life, but now it was only the old, silver metal stethoscope she had draped around her neck that gave her profession away. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“I’m okay,” you say with a shrug. “Can’t complain.”
Over in his corner, Joel can’t help but snort.
Ignoring him, you add, “Bleeding’s slowing down.”
“Good, that’s good,” Dr. Porter tells you. “And how about this sweet little girl?” She smiles and makes her way over to the bassinet, keeping her voice low. “She eating well?”
“She is. Her last feed was about two hours ago.”
“How’s she sleeping?”
“Like a rock.”
“And you’ve been doing skin to skin as well?”
You nod. “Yes, before and after her feedings.”
“That’s perfect.” Dr. Porter beams at you with pride. “Keep it up and do it as often as possible. There are a ton of benefits of doing skin to skin with her. It’s one of the most incredible things that a mother can do for her baby. Actually—” She pauses for a moment and pulls the book out from under her arm. “I have been doing a bit of research and as it turns out, there are also benefits if dad does skin to skin with baby as well.”
Joel stiffens slightly in his chair. “S’cuse me?”
“I found this book in the library. It talks about all of the benefits of fathers doing skin to skin with their newborn. It was written some time in the nineties and studies were still being conducted, but I really believe they were onto something.” She hands you the book. “For being preterm, Rosemary’s healthy, but it doesn’t do any harm to try whatever you can to make sure that she builds up that immune system and stays healthy, especially now that winter’s here.” Flashing you a smile, she informs you, “I went ahead and folded the pages for you and made some notes. There’s a few benefits in it for Joel as well. Could be worth a try.”
After telling you she’ll be back in a couple hours to check on you and to weigh the baby, Dr. Porter excuses herself from your room, quietly closing the door behind her.
Curiously, you open the book to the first page that she’d folded for you and start reading the first passage out loud.
“Ongoing studies have found skin to skin between father and child have similar benefits to those that come from skin to skin between mother and child. It regulates the baby's body temperature, blood sugar, and stress levels.” You pause and look over at Joel, who appears thoroughly unimpressed. “It also helps to regulate the baby’s heart rate and breathing rate. Joel, this is incredible! I think you should—”
“No.”
Joel winces. He doesn’t mean to sound so curt.
Your face falls. “Why not?”
“That’s for mothers,” he grumbles. “Y’know, for feedin’ the baby.”
“It’s for much more than just that.” You shake your head and flip over to the next page, scanning both the text as well as Dr. Porter’s notes. “It says here that it also helps the baby pick up their father’s natural scent and promotes bonding.”
“Sweetheart, I can bond with her just fine with my fuckin’ shirt on, there ain’t no need for me to—what in the world are you doin’?” Perturbed, Joel watches you as you take a handful of your blanket, throwing it off yourself. He jumps up to his feet the second he realizes that you’re about to get out of bed. “Don’t—”
“Oh relax, Joel. I should be moving more anyway,” you say, wincing as you sit up and swing both legs over the side of the bed. It isn’t so much pain as it is discomfort—everything had been shoved up and out of place for months, after all. As soon as you stand, Joel’s there at your side, one hand on your arm and the other on your back, trying to guide you back onto the bed. You lightly swat him away with your hand. “Joel, stop fussing over me! I’m fine!”
“Baby, y’need to lie down right now—”
“Take off your shirt.”
His hands fall away from you and his eyes widen.
“What?”
“Take off your shirt and go sit down in the chair.”
The blood drains from his face and he pales.
It’s not that Joel doesn’t want to do it. He does.
He’ll do anything if it’s for his daughter’s benefit.
Still.
The idea of laying his innocent little baby girl on him without his shirt on—it’s uncomfortable. His chest and stomach are littered with several scars. Rough, raised patches of skin that serve as reminders of a brutal past he doesn’t want her finding out about, not for as long as he can fucking help it.
Rosemary deserves to be wrapped up in softness.
The softness of your smooth, blemish free skin.
The softness of the blankets you’d knitted for her.
The softness of the stuffed bunny Ellie had given her.
Joel?
He isn’t soft.
Nothing about him is soft.
Even holding her in his hands for the first time had been something of a battle. Hands that once snapped necks and slit throats didn’t deserve to hold something so pure and innocent.
“This sounds really promising, Joel.” Slowly, you make your way over to the plastic bassinet, ignoring the dull ache between your thighs. With your back to him, you carefully begin to unswaddle the baby. You try not to wake her as you peel off her warm, knitted onesie and matching socks, leaving her in nothing but her teeny, tiny cloth diaper. Gingerly, you pick her up and turn around to face him. “If Dr. Porter thinks we should try it, then it’s for a good reason, don’t you think so?”
Joel swallows harshly.
“What is it?”
“S’just that I—I’ve got scars everywhere, y’know?”
Your expression instantly softens for him. “Joel, you’re her daddy,” you remind him, gently. “She’s not going to care about things like that.” Pausing, it suddenly occurs to you that it’s not just about his scars. It’s about something else, something that runs so much deeper for Joel. He’d done what he had done in order to survive, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t live with the shame—the guilt and the regret. Rosemary begins to fuss awake and you lightly bounce her in your arms as you assure him, “She isn’t going to care about your past or what you’ve done. Her love for you is going to be as unconditional as yours is for her. She’s going to love you no matter what, Joel. I can promise you that.”
His jaw clenches and his lips press into a tight line.
Rosemary starts to cry—she’s cold, no doubt.
The old heater in the clinic hardly runs.
And when it does, it breaks down.
“Joel, please,” you beg over her wails. “Just try it? For me? For her?”
Sighing in defeat, Joel shrugs out of his jacket and he tosses it aside. With trembling fingers, he begins to unbutton his green flannel shirt—his long sleeved thermal henley comes off next and then he takes off the cotton t-shirt he wears underneath for an added layer of warmth during the winter season. As he stands there shirtless, he shivers and his flesh erupts with goosebumps. “Wait,” he mutters as he watches you take a step forward. He drags the armchair away from the window. He then sits down, his heart racing and the anxiety flaring as he gives you a subtle nod of his head. “Okay.”
You walk over to him and place her on his bare chest.
The second he feels Rosie’s soft skin on his, there’s a shift.
It’s similar to the one he felt when he first felt her move in your belly.
He calms and his heart slows—his nerves dissipate.
And Rosemary stops crying.
She scrunches, curls up on his chest, and yawns.
Grimacing, you lean over and pick up his flannel shirt. “Here,” you say, draping it over them as a makeshift blanket. “How’s that feel?”
“Think she likes it, darlin’,” Joel murmurs, his fingers delicately brushing over her soft tufts of dark brown hair. His touch causes the newborn’s lip to curl and he catches a glimpse of the prominent dimple in her left cheek—the same dimple Sarah had inherited from him, Rosemary had inherited too. There’s a dull ache in his chest, but somehow, he still smiles as she peers up at him with sleepy eyes. “Hi, Rosie Posie. S’me, babygirl. Your daddy.”
Rolling your lip between your teeth, you stifle a giggle.
“What?” he asks, arching an eyebrow at you.
“She’s not the only one who seems to like it.”
Joel chuckles, admitting, “S’pretty relaxin’.” He presses his nose into his daughter’s curls and inhales deeply, relishing in the warm, sweet milky scent of her. After a minute, his smile falters slightly. “Baby?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you really believe it?”
Your brow furrows. “Believe what?”
“That she’s gonna love me no matter what.”
“Of course I do.”
“How can you be so sure ‘bout it?”
Carefully, you perch yourself on the arm of the chair and press a gentle kiss against his right temple, your lips brushing over his scar. “Because I just am, Joel.”
Somehow, he believes it—he believes you.
Joel tilts his head back, puckering his lips.
Grinning, you give him a chaste kiss before standing. “I’m going to see if I can get a nap in before her next feed,” you tell him, padding back over to the bed. “Do you think you’ll be okay with her for a while, just the two of you?”
“I think we’ll be just fine,” he murmurs, gingerly stroking Rosemary’s silky cheek with his finger. “Yeah. We’ll be just fine, won’t we, babygirl?”
divider credit to @saradika-graphics 🤎
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x you#joel miller fluff#joel miller x pregnant reader#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller drabble#joel miller one shot#joel miller fic#the last of us fanfiction#tw pregnancy#tw childbirth#tw premature birth
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Stick Around
Oscar Piastri x bestfriend!reader
Masterlist
Summary: You’ve been searching for your soulmate your whole life. Maybe you’ve just been looking in the wrong place.
Word Count: 4.1k
Warnings: alcohol/intoxication, cheating/infidelity (not by a main character I promise) mild swearing, excessive use of italics
|Age 20|
“You can’t seriously still be reading that stuff,” Oscar says.
You peer at him over the top of your magazine.
“What stuff?” You ask, playing innocent.
“Your horoscope,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Haven’t you outgrown that yet?”
You shrug, directing your gaze back to the page in front of you. Today, you should avoid the color pink and embrace your skepticism. Oscar’s doing enough of the last part for the both of you. You could gain a great deal of information from social interactions. That’s helpful- you’ve been in search of some gossip. Your soulmate is just a click away- wait, no, that’s an ad. You huff and set the magazine down on the table. Oscar nods in agreement.
“I just think maybe it’s better to live your life without worrying about what the stars say,” Oscar says, waving his hands around in a way that you think is supposed to represent the stars. “Just, like… do what you want to do.”
“I do,” you mutter dryly. “Doesn’t hurt to have some advice, though.”
The two of you have always been like this. Oscar is a skeptic, you’re a believer. He calls it being easy to brainwash, says it in a teasing way that makes you glare at him every time. He’s taken it as his responsibility to keep you from falling for things. You’ve told him time and time again that you’re fine on your own. You just like the idea of predestiny, that what’s going to happen was always meant to.
Oscar is just worried you’ll join the first cult you cross paths with.
|Age 5|
It’s the day after you turn 5 when you first hear the word soulmate. Sol-meight. You sound it out through your lips, sticky with jam from your breakfast. Your best friend at the time, a girl whose name you’ve long since forgotten, had said it.
“S’when you’re meant to be,” she explains, in that all knowing tone that only little kids who know nothing at all seem to have. “Like, my mum and dad say they’re soulmates.”
Oscar, who’s sitting next to you, scoffs. “Everyone’s parents say that. Doesn’t mean it’s true.”
He’s taller than you, even sitting down, hair cut short after one of his sisters stuck gum in it a few days ago. His cheeks are rosy red, and there’s cream cheese on his nose. Years later, Oscar’s face will be one of the first ones you ever remember meeting. Right now, he’s just the boy in your class whose mother knows your mother, and because of that, he’s the boy who rides to school with you in the backseat. He’s not the worst, you guess. He’s… okay. Sort of just… always there.
“Is too!” Your friend says, shaking her head, pigtails bouncing. “Mum says there’s signs.”
“What kinda signs?” You ask, and Oscar turns to look at you in disbelief.
She shrugs. “Dunno. I’ll ask later.”
She comes back to the breakfast table the next day with a magazine page, torn haphazardly and slightly crumpled. On it is a list of signs someone could be your soulmate. The two of you pore over the page at every available opportunity for at least a week, barely able to read all the words.
Your friend forgets about soulmates a month later and moves on to an obsession with Barbie dolls. You carry the magazine page with you for years after that, until it’s worn and falling apart. Then you copy down the list into a safer place, worried you’ll lose it forever. 15 Signs He’s Your Soulmate, written with magic marker on pink construction paper and stowed away in your desk.
|Age 10|
“I hate olives,” you sneer, staring at the very last slice of pizza.
It’s a birthday party. You can’t for the life of you understand why there’s pizza with olives on it. Olives don’t belong on pizza- not much does, in your opinion. Just pepperoni, really. Maybe a sprinkle of Parmesan cheese, if you’re feeling fancy.
Katy, one of your classmates, is standing next to you. “I love olives. Here, I’ll pick them off for you and you can have the last slice.”
The pizza still tastes a bit like olives in the end, probably baked into the cheese, but it’s better than it would’ve been. Katy is your best friend after that. The two of you are inseparable from the moment you get to school until the moment you leave. You beg your mothers for sleepovers on the weekends, for day trips during holiday breaks. YouandKaty. Your names melt together until they become one.
Oscar still rides to school with you in the morning. Sometimes, Katy does too. Katy doesn’t like Oscar. She doesn’t like most boys, calls them gross. Since Katy thinks boys are gross, you do too.
“Be nice to Oscar,” your mother tells you one morning. “He’s not done anything to you.”
You’re in the backseat of the car, on the way to his house. “He’s a boy. Boys are gross.”
Your mother sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose. She says your name sternly, and you shrink in your seat. When Oscar gets in, you say hello and force a smile.
Oscar’s the one who finds you crying on the playground. You thought you’d chosen a better hiding place, really- nobody had bugged you in your spot between the two large myrtle trees. But Oscar finds you anyways. You can’t even bring yourself to tell him to go away, too busy feeling sorry for yourself.
“Wha’s wrong?” He asks.
His cheeks are red- he’s likely been running around with the other boys. You shrug, pulling up another clump of grass and letting it fall from your fingers. Oscar sighs, scuffs his toe in the dirt.
“Katy doesn’t wanna be friends anymore,” you say, rubbing at your bare knee. “She says I’m not cool enough.”
Katy likes olives. You don’t. It’s on the soulmate list. You’re meant to be best friends.
Oscar’s quiet for a moment. Then- “That’s stupid. You’re like, the coolest person I know.”
You look up at him with wide eyes. “Shut up.”
“M’serious,” he says. He holds his hand out to you. “Wanna come play cricket with the gross boys?”
You take his hand, wipe your tears with your other hand. “Yeah. I do.”
|Age 12|
“Are you and Dad soulmates?” You ask your mother one morning, before you even leave the house.
She’s standing at the counter, a piece of toast in her hand, half eaten. Her coffee is half drank, too.
She tilts her head at you. “What do you mean, love?”
“Like, when you met, did you just know he was the one? Did it feel meant to be?”
She laughs. “Oh, god no. We were polar opposites. Barely spoke to each other for the first year after we met.”
You stare at her in surprise. “What changed?”
She sighs, wistfully, staring into her mug. “He asked me if I wanted an orange. I said yes. And when he handed it to me, he’d peeled it for me.”
You blink. “Because you hate peeling oranges.”
“I do,” she agrees. “Love isn’t just a feeling, it’s an action. I think love is more about the choices we make and the things we remember about each other than whatever is written in the stars, honey.”
|Age 15|
There’s a boy on the football team- Ryan. Ryan has dark, curly hair and long, long eyelashes and this smile that makes your heart melt and your brain all fuzzy. Ryan doesn’t like olives, either, but he has a birthmark on the back of his right hand in the shape of a lopsided heart, and if you squint hard enough, you have one that matches on the back of your left arm. You stare at in the mirror for hours after he points it out, his hand on your arm.
You stare at your lips in the mirror for hours, too, after he kisses you for the first time. You think maybe you look different. You must. You’d never been kissed before, but Ryan hadn’t minded.
You go on group dates with him, because you’re nervous and your parents think you’re a bit too young to really be dating. You go to the mall, the movies, the diner down the street from the school. It’s your first taste of freedom.
Oscar asks you if you really like Ryan, like- “like like him?”, one day when you’re sitting in his backyard. Your mothers are inside, drinking wine. His sisters are in the pool, you’re laying out in the sun. Oscar sits under an umbrella and squints at the brightness of the world around him.
“Yeah,” you say, in the same tone you’d say duh or of course. “I think he’s my soulmate.”
“Why’s that?” Oscar asks tilting his head.
“We have matching birthmarks,” you say, again, in the same tone.
Oscar forms his mouth into a little o shape. You squint at him, pushing yourself to sit up.
“Why’re you so worried about it, anyways?”
“M’not,” Oscar says, crossing his leg over his knee. “S’just. He’s kind of an arse, isn’t he?”
He whispers the curse word so his sisters won’t hear. Oscar’s big into karting and racing right now, and the older boys at the tracks swear like sailors. There’s a swear jar stuffed to the brim sitting on the kitchen counter inside, right next to the half empty wine bottle.
Ryan is a bit of an arse, you’ll admit. To almost everyone.
“He’s nice to me,” you shrug. “He brought me flowers, yesterday. Isn’t that what matters?”
Oscar shrugs. He doesn’t ask about Ryan again.
Oscar is the one who brings you flowers when Ryan cheats on you and the other girl tells the whole school. He brings them to your bedroom door and you let him in. He sits with you, even as you cry, the door open the parentally required six inches. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t tell you he warned you. He just stays.
When Oscar moves to England, you wave goodbye with a smile. Then you lock yourself in your room and bawl your eyes out for a week straight, harder than you ever did about Ryan.
|Age 18|
Your university roommate, Emma, was born on the same day as you, at the exact same time. Down to the minute. You find it out on your second day of living together. It’s fate, kismet, meant to be. The stars and planets were aligned exactly the same way when you both took your first breaths.
Oscar laughs when you tell him, though he does admit that it’s a pretty cool coincidence. You’re chatting with him on the phone, telling him about your first week of university. You talk a lot, despite the distance. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or whatever.
You and Emma aren’t in any classes together- you have completely different majors. Despite this, you still become fast friends. You study together in your room and in the library, meet up for meals, and join a book club together. When Emma gets invited to her very first uni party, she brings you along with her. Your closets become shared.
You visit her family over the winter break for a week. She lives closer to the beach, and you love getting to soak up the sun with her and meet all the childhood friends you’ve heard stories about. Oscar comes home for his break and texts you, wondering when you’ll be back and if you’ll even have time for me, or are you too cool for me now?
You tackle him with a hug when you see him, standing at the kitchen counter in your house when you get there. He’s laughing and pushing you off of him, acting like he didn’t miss you just as much. You know he did. It’s written all over the smile on his face.
Emma visits your family later in the break, and that’s when you have your first fight.
“He’s definitely in love with you,” she insists from her spot on the air mattress on your floor.
She’s talking about Oscar, who she just met today. You’d brought her with to a barbecue at his family’s house. You’re regretting that choice. She’s spent all night afterwards pointing out all the signs that he’s in love with you- his hand on your shoulder, the look in his eyes, the way he smiled at you.
“He’s not,” you say, cheeks burning hot. “He’s- we’re friends.”
“Friends, right. Guys and girls can’t be just friends,” she says.
“Yes, they can!” You say indignantly.
Emma ignores you, rolls over, and goes to sleep. She leaves for home the next day- not earlier than she was supposed to, but it feels weird anyways. When you get back to campus, things feel different. You never really talk about the fight, though there wasn’t much to talk about, anyways. It’s not like she’s mean to you- the two of you still hang out, still see each other often. But Emma makes new friends, and you do too, and you stop doing everything together. It’s alright, you suppose, it’s just…
You were supposed to be destined to be friends. But soulmates shouldn’t be this easy to let go of. It’s written in the stars, it’s shouldn’t fade away like this.
Months ago, you and Emma had talked about spending the holiday break somewhere far away- somewhere tropical, exotic, so grown up and chic. But it hasn’t come up lately, and then she mentions a trip she’s taking with some friends from her classes. You book a flight to England instead and see Oscar in his new home for the first time.
You have new roommates next year. None of them have the same birthdate as you. You think that’s okay.
|Age 21|
There’s a stain on your dress, someone’s wine or sangria or cranberry juice that they’d been too clumsy with. You suppose it could be yours- you’re really not sure. It’s your fault for wearing such a light color to a club like this.
It’s your birthday. You’ve been able to drink for a few years, but it’s still your birthday, and for once, Oscar is there for it. Or really, you’re there for it, there being England. You’re on yet another trip to visit him, money saved and scraped together from your job on your breaks from school. Oscar helped pay for the plane ticket as a birthday present, and your parents got you a new luggage set to take along.
Oscar’s disappeared- at the bar, you remember, closing out his tab. You check your phone- 2:22 am. It’s really time you should be headed home-
You’re jostled from behind, and moments later, you feel cool liquid deep down your back. You turn, and there’s a guy standing there, sandy blonde hair and a terrified look on his face.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, British accent smoothing the words over. “I didn’t mean to-“
“S’okay,” you tell him, though you wrinkle your nose at the feeling of what was likely beer running down your back. “The dress was stained already.”
The man sighs. “It’s not okay- let me make it up to you. Can I buy you a drink?”
You frown. “I think I’m supposed to be leaving. My friend just went to pay.”
“Oh. That’s too bad.” The guy’s eyes light up, then. “Wait, how about I take you on a date?”
Your heart skips a beat in your chest. 2:22, you remember. Angel numbers. You are in the right place at the right time.
“I’m only here for a couple more days,” you say, cautiously.
“I’m free tomorrow if you are,” he suggest. “Well, more like later today, but-“
“Yeah, okay!” You’d at brightly, and hopefully not too eagerly. “I’m free.”
He’s holding out his phone for you to put your number in when Oscar pops up. He looks between the two of you with raised brows. “Everything alright?”
“He’s taking me on a date later today,” you explain, tapping the last number. “Because he spilled beer on my dress. Can you check if I put my number in right? My fingers aren’t working right.”
Oscar laughs, leans forward, and nods. “That’s right.”
You don’t remember getting back to Oscar’s apartment. You barely even remember the guy from the bar until Oscar brings it up that morning, a teasing tone in his voice. Suddenly you’re checking your phone every minute, looking for a text from him. You name him Angel Boy, mentioning the angel numbers you’d seen just before you bumped into him. Oscar, well versed in your obsession with things that are just meant to be, rolls his eyes affectionately.
When the sun is trending towards the horizon and Angel Boy still hasn’t called or even texted you, your mood sours. You plant yourself on the couch, an episode of some stupid reality show playing. You’re not paying attention, only staring at your phone.
By the time 7:00 rolls around, you know it’s a lost cause. You can hear Oscar in the other room, shuffling around, and you feel tears well up in your eyes. There’s got to be someone out there who’s actually meant to be yours, right? One of these times the signs will be right, and it’ll all work out. It’s just… you’re getting discouraged.
Oscar appears in front of you and slips your phone out of your hands. He shoves it into his own pocket. He hands you a jacket, one of his, and you stare up at him with wide eyes.
“I’m taking you out to dinner,” he says, as he reaches to brush the tears from your cheeks. “Just because he’s not going to text you, doesn’t mean you should just sit here all night.”
You could cry even harder at that, at the fact that Oscar cares enough to try and break you out of your moping. You don’t really want to go out, but he has this hopeful look on his face. Both of you don’t need to be sad today. So you stand up, pull the jacket over your arms, and take a deep breath. You walk out of the apartment, your arm linked with his.
The ramen bar you go to is probably better than anywhere the guy would’ve taken you, anyways. If you’re being honest, the company is better, too.
|Age 22|
Oscar flies you out to the Netherlands to see him race. You’d been at the Melbourne Grand Prix, of course, but he’d insisted he’d fly you out for at least one race in his first season- promised it years ago, when Formula One was just a dream on his bucket list. Zandvoort works well- it fits into your schedule, and the summer break starts right afterwards, so he’ll actually have time to spend with you.
In the days leading up to the race, he’s extremely busy and extremely apologetic about it. You reassure him that you understand, that you knew what you were getting into, knew he’d be busy. You wander around the paddock, say hi to Logan- who you know only slightly better than all the other drivers- and keep yourself entertained. You spend time with Oscar when you get the chance- between interviews and practices, stolen moments of privacy in his driver’s room. It’s nice, it really is, but it’s also… weird.
You’ve been thinking a lot, lately, about what your mother once said about soulmates and love. For all the soul searching you’ve done, all the stars you’ve tried to read, you’ve come up empty. You’ve resigned yourself to the fact that maybe there’s just not anyone out there for you. Maybe you’re not meant to have a soulmate.
The thing about letting go of that pressure, though, is that it leaves space. Not a hole, not an emptiness, just… space. Room for other things to sneak in and make their home and grow. Somewhere along the lines- you don’t know when, maybe it’s been there all along- a seed had been planted. Now the roots are digging cracks in your heart, the leaves are shading out every other thought, and there are flowers blooming.
For months, now, your heart has been jumping in your chest every time Oscar texts you. You can’t wipe the grin off your face when he calls. You’ve been following every race, waking up at odd hours to cheer him on, sending him selfies with the tv to prove it to him, to make sure he knows you’re watching. You feel a little crazy, because suddenly he’s all you can think about.
Maybe love is about choices. You start making them, start choosing him. The only question now is if he’ll choose you, too.
The whole weekend is chaos. Oscar crashes in practice, sending himself and your heart spinning. He’s okay, thank god- though his mother texts you frantically, asking if he’s really okay. Then the race itself is even more chaotic, between the rain and the crashes and all the stuff in between. Oscar ends up in the points, though not as high as he’d hoped to be. You cheer for him either way.
You stick around the paddock all the way through his debrief, even when he tries to say you can head back to the hotel without him. Eventually, you leave with him and Lando, his arm around your shoulders the whole way to the car that’s waiting. It’s nice. He’s warm. Lando is making small talk, trying to get to know his teammates best friend, the one Oscar never shuts up about. You feel your face grow hot and hope Oscar doesn’t notice.
In the hotel lobby, Oscar makes a stop at the complimentary snack bar. Lando says something about Kim, his trainer, getting after him, which Oscar ignores. The three of you ride up together in the elevator, with Lando demanding most of your attention as he begs for stories about Oscar as a kid. Oscar’s quiet- you wonder if the weekend is weighing on him more than he’d previously let on.
You say goodnight to Lando and then Oscar scans you into the hotel room. Two beds, a couch, and a balcony that the two of you had eaten breakfast on that morning. You walk over to your bed and sit on the edge, flopping down onto your back.
Something lands on your stomach, softly. You look down, and your throat suddenly feels tight. It’s an orange. It’s a peeled orange. Oscar is standing at the window, pulling the curtains closed. His back is to you.
You blink, picking it up delicately. “You peeled it for me.”
“You hate peeling them,” he says. It’s very matter of fact. The same tone he’d use to say duh or of course.
You stare at his silhouette, the slope of his shoulders, the soft puff of his hair. You sit up, stomach turning. Suddenly, you need to be close to him. You stand up, orange in hand, pulling one of the pieces from it. You hold it lightly between your fingertips. Love is an action.
You hold it out to him. He takes it, smiles down at you.
“I love you, you know that?” You say, before you lose the courage.
“Yeah, I love you too,” he says, giving you a goofy look.
“No, like-“ you pause. Maybe you shouldn’t do this. Maybe you should just-
But it’s too late, because a wave of understanding washes over his face. His eyes go wide, lips parting. His hand pauses halfway to his mouth, the orange slice still in his fingers.
“Oh,” he says, voice cracking. His face splits into a grin. “Jeez, took you long enough to catch up, didn’t it?”
When he drops the orange slice on the floor so he can grab your face and kiss you, you’re somehow still so startled that you also drop the rest of the orange. That’s okay, though. He’ll peel another one for you without you even having to ask. Stars light up behind your eyes at the feeling of his lips on yours, and you realize then that maybe soulmates are just the people who choose to stick around.
…..
Deep in your desk in your childhood home, there’s a piece of paper. It’s been unfolded and refolded a million times. At the top, the title says, 15 Signs He’s Your Soulmate in messy, primary school handwriting. You pull it from your drawer and uncap the gel pen that sits in the cup on the desk.
At the bottom of the list, beneath your faded magic marker scrawl, you add:
#16: He peels your oranges.
#16: childhood best friend??
#16: YOU JUST KNOW
little bit of a different format for this one. as always, feel free to check out my other fics and tell me what you think!
#oscar piastri oneshot#oscar piastri x you#formula 1 fanfic#f1 oneshot#f1 fanfic#oscar piastri fanfic#oscar piastri fluff#formula one fluff#formula 1 fluff#f1 fluff#soulmates#f1 soulmate fic#oscar piastri x reader#Spotify#honeywrites#Oscar piastri
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Last year I wrote about what happened at Pride when a couple of kids didn't understand why us older folx were so bitter about Reagan.
This year, I have something a little softer.
Someone who looked a little older than me came up to the booth wearing a pink t-shirt proclaiming him one of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, San Francisco chapter. As I was ringing him up, I asked if he'd been involved for a while.
"Yes," he said, "for a bit," in that way us middle-aged people do when we're sort of wincing and feeling old.
"Okay, well," I said, sitting at my register in my queer booth full of queer clothes and patches and pins, topless in public for the first time. (I had pasties on for my own comfort bc I was working, but I live in the city of the Naked Bike Ride, and I took full advantage). My baby brother and both of my partners ran around behind me, my brother wearing a loose tank top that makes his scars visible.
"I need to tell you that you all helped keep me alive."
He blinked at me as I continued, "I was a kid in high school in the early 90s. I lived in the middle of nowhere in Pennsylvania, and what you all were doing was so loud and so out there that even I heard about your work. It was one of the things that kept me alive. So thank you, and please thank the rest of the Sisters."
I heard about them through people in my parents' church complaining about them, and then I sought more information through the beginning of the internet, through newspapers, through anything I could find. I found the cover of Newsweek that one of the Sisters was on. I read about their "exorcism" of fundamentalist preachers whose books sat on the shelf in my parents' basement and probably still do. I saw how loud and colorful and unapologetically queer they were.
The knowledge that someone was out there, so full of defiant joy, refusing the shame that people kept trying to put on them? Oh, that kept me alive. I saw them, and I knew I could make it through. I wrapped my hands around that knowledge, and I held on so tight.
It took me a long time - a long, long time - to unwind most of it for myself and get to the point where my fat butch ass was sitting bare-chested in the July breeze, looking up at him as he held out his arms and said "you're actually giving me chills." I answered, "I mean every word. You helped keep me alive. So thank you."
I never know what to say when people come up to me in public and tell me that I helped them or changed their life in some way. I appreciate it, and I genuinely love the people who apologized for "fanpersoning" at me last weekend, I just never know what to say. I'm incredibly grateful that the Sister I spoke to was incredibly gracious, saying "usually we give blessings, but I feel like you blessed me." Another member of the party let me pet their tiny dog, who was not very interested in me, and that's okay. It was an overwhelming day. Then, they moved on.
Me? I'm still sitting with the fact that I looked last weekend into the faces of people who didn't know they were holding my head above water, and that I got to tell them the work they do matters. It's a rare thing to get to tell someone, "You saved me," and I'm treasuring it.
Last weekend, I wore my new battle vest with nothing underneath it, unless it was too hot, and then I just sat in my chair, chatting and ringing ppl out with my skin free to the air. I decided last year that top surgery isn't for me, but that also I'm going to love this body unapologetically, and it's no less a transmasculine body because the soft new dark hair on my belly isn't accompanied by pink scars along my ribs.
I didn't get here on my own. I got here because someone else cut through the undergrowth ahead of me so I could take another step forward. Here I am, decades later, still taking step after step, one at a time, and trying to lay paving stones behind me.
Last weekend was another step along that way, another step through unwinding the fear and shame and sadness that my parents and their church built into me. Another step out of hating myself for hiding parts of myself for so long, for acting out in other ways to distract people from my queerness, for feeling so much guilt when other people tell me I'm brave, because I know how much of myself I hid for how long because I was a coward, because I was afraid.
Another step into expiating stigmatic guilt.
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gang shit | knj
Your daughter's classmate has a really hot dad. Apparently, you're his arch-nemesis.
○ Pairing: Dilf!Namjoon x Single Parent!Reader
○ Rating: Sfw
○ Genre: Kidfic, strangers/romantic interest, an attempt at humor
○ 1 / 100 Drabble Challenge (Single Parent)
○ Word Count: 1204
○ Warnings: Shockingly none!! aside from my terrible sense of humor, jokes about Crime!!, and also Namjoon's dimples
○ Notes: Inspired by this tweet. I hope you enjoy the first drabble of my 100 Drabble Challenge I'm doing with @sailoryooons - Please check out Hali's drabbles throughout 2024, too! Happy New Year, besties! ✨
○ Post Date: January 1, 2024
○ Masterlist | Send me ur thots
○ What was Jai listening to? GOAT - Number_i
“I don’t make the rules to this gang shit. I just play my role.”
Your eyebrows shoot up, and you cock your head to the side in disbelief. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Namjoon adjusts his black baseball cap. His bicep bulges out of his short sleeve when he lifts his arm.
You’re too old to be thirsting for a man like this. In all honesty, you’ve been acting childish all day – literally. It’s the last day of school before summer break, and your daughter’s preschool teacher invited parents to an end-of-the-year celebration. Having the privilege of working a hybrid schedule means it’s relatively easy for you to swing by the school with primary-colored cupcakes in hand. They’re the disgusting ones kids love that’ll stain their fingers and mouths bright blue. Oh, to be a four-year-old. So easy to please.
Unlike little Yuna’s father, who has a stick shoved up his ass, and for what?
“What are you even talking about?” you ask with your arms crossed against your chest.
You’d said literally five words to the guy, intending to start a pleasant conversation while the kids ran around the playground and the other parents mingled at the picnic tables outside.
“Hi, I’m Y/N, Brooklyn’s parent.”
Apparently, that was offensive.
Namjoon’s sharp eyes drag up and down your body, and you try not to let his heavy gaze affect you – and fail when you feel your stomach dip.
“Brooklyn said Yuna dresses weird,” Namjoon finally says with a pout that shouldn’t look so cute on a grown-ass man.
“Did she?”
“Are you calling Yuna a liar?”
“No!” This man is so volatile. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. We’ve been practicing using kind words, but, well, you know how kids are…”
Namjoon doesn’t look convinced.
You feel antsy under his gaze, unsure what to say or do. Are you supposed to apologize? Maybe that’s the mature thing to do. You’re still new to this whole “I’m suddenly responsible for an entire human being even though I barely even know how to take care of myself” thing. It’s a little bit unbelievable, actually!
“I’m sorry for Brooklyn’s judgmental behavior. What kind of weird-, what kind of clothes-” you stumble through what you already know is a shit apology, “Which one is Yuna?”
“That’s her.” Namjoon nods in Yuna’s direction.
You look across the playground to the swing set, where a little girl is lying on the swing on her stomach and spinning around with her arms and legs hanging limp. She’s wearing her hair in asymmetrical pigtails, one higher on her head than the other. Her sneakers are mismatched, as are her colorful knee-high socks. Her pants are polka-dotted, her shirt striped, and she’s got a bright purple cape tied around her neck.
“She’s adorable,” you say softly.
“She’s weird as shit.”
Your mouth hangs open when Namjoon shrugs.
“What? She’s my kid; I’m allowed to say that.”
“Fair enough,” you concede with a smile, “So, we got beef now?”
“Yup.”
Namjoon crosses his arms against his chest to match your stance. You tell yourself it’s very inappropriate to be eyeing your new enemy’s boobs when you’re in the middle of a showdown.
“I’m not gonna lie, I don’t think I’m down for going to war for Brooklyn. Usually, I just like to blame her bad behavior on her dad,” you say with a barking laugh. You cover your mouth with your hand when you snort. “Sorry, that was inappropriate.”
“You’re good,” Namjoon finally cracks a smile, and, wow, it’s breathtaking. His eyes crinkle at the corners, his teeth are big and bright, and he has dimples… “Yuna’s mother doesn’t let her dress how she likes, so when I have her, I let her do what she wants. Self-expression is important, y’know?”
You nod because he’s right. Kids should be kids.
“Plus, I like being the fun parent.”
“Right! Who wants the parent with all the stupid rules?” You perk up, taking a step closer because now you’re partners in crime rather than enemies. Maybe. You’ll work on it. He’s too cute not to get up to some parental crime with—gang members, not rivals.
“Not cool parents like us,” Namjoon lightly elbows you.
“Yeah, they can’t ride with our gang.”
Namjoon makes a face the moment the words come out of your mouth. He bites both lips, rolling them in and hollowing his cheeks, eyebrows raised.
“What? What!” you gasp, knowing when you’re being made fun of, even if it’s in silence.
“Don’t ever say anything like that ever again.”
With a huff, you give him a tiny punch to the arm and tell yourself that it isn’t because you want to feel how tight his muscles are.
“You’re the one who–”
“HEY! NO HITTING!”
Groaning, you throw your head back as a tiny blur of pink collides with your body. Brooklyn tugs on the hem of your shirt, repeatedly chanting, “Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,” until you crouch to meet her at her level. Taking her little hands in yours, you hold them to your lips to give her knuckles a quick peck.
“You’re right, I shouldn’t have done that to Mr. Kim,” you admit, “I should apologize, shouldn’t I?”
Brooklyn nods, and the bulbous beaded hair ties at the end of her pigtail braids swing like a deadly game of tetherball.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Kim,” you say as you look up at Namjoon. He taps his finger against his chin in mock thought, and you can’t help but think that you’ll actually punch him if he fucks up this teaching moment by pretending not to accept your apology.
“I forgive you,” he says with another grin that makes you feel like a silly teenager.
“Y’know, Brooklyn, Mr. Kim told me something about you and Yuna…” Brooklyn immediately ducks her chin to her chest. No one has ever looked guiltier. “It’s not very nice to talk about how people look, love. I think you should apologize to Yuna, don’t you agree?”
It takes very little convincing for Brooklyn to run off toward the swings. She flops on her stomach in the swing beside Yuna, and then, after a bit of talking, both girls spin around.
“If Brooklyn throws up from doing that, it’s your fault,” you mutter to Namjoon.
“Real aggressive coming from someone who just physically attacked me.”
“Okay, Mr. Gang Shit,” you quip back, catching Namjoon’s widening grin out of the corner of your eye.
“Listen,” Namjoon touches your elbow, his fingers lingering just long enough for you to give him your attention. Heat spreads along your forearm and makes your fingers tingle. “I don’t really accept either of your apologies. You might need to try a little harder to get me to forgive you.”
“Oh.” You feel your stomach twist.
“Might want to start with getting dinner with me, and then we can see where it goes?”
Oh.
“I mean, if you think it wouldn’t hurt my street cred being seen with the likes of you, then, yeah.”
Namjoon grabs his baseball cap bill and pulls it down until his hat covers his face. “Don’t make me rescind this offer because I’ll do it.”
“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see how it goes.”
Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories.
All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie). Request an AO3 account here.
#bts x reader#namjoon x reader#bts fanfic#namjoon fanfic#jai writes#gimmethatagustd#gang shit#100 drabble challenge
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