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alottiegoingon · 29 days

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peanuts

lottie matthews x gn!reader

summary: the one where you bring pb&j sandwiches for lottie everyday since you were 9.

warnings: so much fluffiness i might trow up, short silly fic, lottie and reader are childhood friends and secretly in love, no crash, lottie has a bad relationship with her parents, cute little unexpected ending i guess?, english mistakes, not proofread

you and lottie were friends since you were nine years old.

you remember being inside the car with your parents when you moved to new jersey. the roads were bumpy before you could make it to the city of wiskayok. still, you insisted on carrying a book with you during the entire trip, knowing that you would feel nauseous in no time. your parents warned you but, as the quiet and moody kid that didn't want to move, you ignored their advice.

trying to focus on anything else besides your upset stomach, you place the book titled "matilda" by roald dahl, in perfect condition, by your side and decide to enjoy the view outside as the car moves along from the backseat. it wasn't a lifesaver but it was better than feeling your head heavy as you read the tiny words in the paper.

the houses were all the same. boring, lifeless and with a few flowers or bushes outside just to bring some color. what a lame city, you thought. no colorful houses, fun playgrounds or a nice park in sight. but that changed at the exact same moment as you saw lottie's house. a perfect planned garden in the front and impeccably painted walls capable of telling anyone that the house was pretty, yes, but the people living inside of it were superior. liking or not, the house was pretty but not as far pretty as her.

lottie was upstairs in the window of her bedroom when you saw her, you couldn't decide if she was staring outside like she was waiting for something or just watching people go by as if she was trapped inside. either way, she waved at you and, hesitantly, you waved back.

the following years consisted in sleepovers, movie nights and little discussions in the book club you two invented. safe to say that you became best friends almost too immediately.

lottie was a loner when she was home with no one to watch her except for a old lady that worked for the matthew's as a housekeeper or a nanny. you never knew and she was scary. playing pranks on her was almost a daily occurrence and an invention of lottie. like dyeing her clothes pink or switching salt and sugar and watching the distorted face of pure horror and agony in lottie's parents faces during dinner, when they invited you over. you and lottie had to cover your mouth or look down to not laugh but couldn't ever not exchange glances across the table.

her parents knew, of course. "your parents must be waiting for you. it's late isn't it?" was lottie's moms way of telling you to leave. you would say goodbye to lottie and hold her hand extra tight, knowing that the second the door closed behind you, you would hear her parents scolding her. you could see a curious mix between fear and excitement in her eyes when you were about to leave and you thought that that would be the last time she would prank that poor lady, but no. she would always come up with something new. deep down you knew that she was just craving attention from her parents and she would be glad to accept some mean words from them if it meant that they would talk to her instead of disappearing in work.

every day after the pranks were the same. the next morning, you showed up at school with two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. one for you and the other one for lottie, of course. maybe it was your way of supporting her as you could. as a nine year old, peanut butter sandwiches were your favorite and you would always eat them if you were feeling sad. you never knew why she would eat it entirely and as fast as she could, kiss your cheek and run away, telling you she was late. it was lunch time and she was nine. what could she possibly be late for?

but the smile on her face exposing her teeth shaped like little fangs every single time she saw you with a simple extra sandwich on hands made just for her, became your new favorite thing in the world.

during your teenage years, nothing changed. almost nothing. lottie was still a loner at home but was kind of a popular girl at school. not like your other friend jackie, but still popular. you and lottie tried for the wiskayok high yellowjackets; a girl's soccer team. you both made it to the team and quickly made some new friendships but nothing as close as what you two had. you were popular as well, sure, but you didn't care about that. it took you a few weeks to realize that jackie was popular because of her personality. you, lottie and other girls were popular because you were on the team.

regardless, after every unsuccessful exam, every bad moment with lottie's parents, every failed practice day, you were right by her side holding a sandwich with silly drawings made out of peanut butter and jelly. despite being best friends, you were both changing. different hair, different ways of dressing, different ways to look at each other. the only thing that never truly changed was the smile on lottie's lips and it was exactly like how you remember from when you were nine.

there was that one day when lottie had an awful day at practice after a fight with her parents last night and she was sitting on the aluminun bench in the locker room. she had her head down and her dark curls styled in low pigtails.

"hi." you sit by her side. she looks up and you notice her red eyes. "hi." she whispers. lottie would never let people see her in vulnerable moments but near you, she wouldn't hide a thing.

"should i go to your house in the middle of the night and dye your parents clothes pink like when we were kids?" your voice was playful but you knew that if the answer was yes, you would happily do it.

you feel your heart beating faster as you hear lottie's breathy laugh and feel proud of yourself for making her happy now. then, in a few seconds, the weak smile faded and the locker room fell into silence.

"do you think i'm a freak?" her words make your heart shatter. lottie would tell you everything, except from that one big secret thing that she was forbidden to talk about by her parents. you never mentioned it after noticing how she would get uncomfortable. or after noticing how her parents would always change the conversation to something else if she was blabbing too much. or when you saw a small orange bottle with pills inside with a label that said "charlotte matthews".

you take a moment to think of something to say until you realize that there was no right thing. lottie just wanted support. she needed your support. "i think you are strong." you say. you knew that she didn't have a choice, she had to be strong. but yet, it was something you admired in her.

"lott, i don't know what is happening and i won't ever force you to tell me. but i know you for years now and i know what you are." she remains quiet but at least she's still looking at you.

"you are so smart. brilliant, actually. you are great at soccer, you have an amazing fashion sense" you joke "a heart of gold."

"and you are beatiful."

lottie says nothing but you can see a subtle spark of relief in her eyes. instead, she hops closer to you and rest her head on your shoulder. you do the same, gently laying your head on top of hers. you were staring at that same old boring blue locker in front of you when you feel lottie's hand grabbing yours. you feel nothing but euphoria when she intertwined your fingers together as your hands were placed between you two.

your smile was so wide that you were actually happy that lottie couldn't see you. and you couldn't see her face as well but something was telling you that she was also smiling while her thumb was Involuntarily caressing your hand. you weren't sure if that was something that best friends did, at least not in such an intimate way. but you were hoping that it meant something more.

you hear steps getting louder and realize that practice was over and the girls were coming to change clothes. unanimously, you two distance yourselves from each other just in time and, taking a quick glance at lottie, you see her face entirely red.

"are you okay, lottie? we were worried. jackie said that she can dismiss you tomorrow." shauna gets closer to you two, touching lottie's shoulder and squeezing it softly in reassurance.

"it's okay. i'm all good." she looks up and smiles at her friend.

you stand up and grab your backpack, pulling out a small paper bag with something unmistakable inside. lottie and shauna look at you and still feeling a bit shaky, you handle it to lottie with a shy smirk and lots of mumble.

"peanut butter sandwich. to make you feel better, you know the drill, right?" you laugh awkwardly and lottie's cheeks that were just going back to its original color, got pinkish again. the same old smile was also there.

"thank you. movie night tonight?" she asks full of hope.

"absolutely. can't wait to watch drew barrymore in scream." you nod excitedly. later that night you would find out that she would only appear in the screen for ten minutes and lottie would make fun of you for that.

after you left, shauna tapped lottie's shoulder to catch her attention. she looked at shauna but her hands were carefully holding the paper bag against her body as if she was taking care of something precious.

"i thought you were allergic to peanuts?" shauna frowns.

"yeah. but it's their favorite."

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #lottie mathews x reader #lottie matthews

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gridgirldrabbles · 9 months

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Accidentally in Love

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Y/N

Words: 3k

Warnings: none

Based on: Accidentally in Love – Counting Crows

So she said what’s the problem, baby?

What’s the problem?

I don’t know

Well, maybe I’m in love

Think about it every time I think about it

Can’t stop thinking ‘bout it

You and Charles had been best friends before either of you even knew how to walk. He had been the one to push over boys on the playground who had pulled your pigtails while you were the one who held his hand in the nurse’s office when he had fallen over and scraped his knees while playing football. The two of you were inseparable, and despite the constant changes in both of your lives that had been one of the few constants. When Charles had entered the world of Formula 3, you had followed him to every race that you could until your mother told you it wouldn’t kill you to miss a race and go to school for once. When you went off to university having freshly turned 18, Charles was the one to help you move into your dorm room and wipe away your tears when you were saying goodbye.

The close bond you’d developed over all those years was how you could tell something was wrong when you looked at his face, eyebrows knitted together and lips downturned. You’d finished university now, having graduated top of your class, and Charles had invited you to travel round with him for a few months before you started applying for jobs. You were currently sat in his drivers room, you’d been talking about the upcoming race when his phone had pinged and he’d gotten distracted. Usually you wouldn’t mind, you knew the people who contacted him were more often than not quite important but the look on his face was causing concern.

“What’s the problem?” Your leg stretched out from your chair to tap your foot against where his rested at the bottom of the couch. His head snapped up to yours, his phone quickly being shoved back into his pocket before you could even get a glimpse of what he had been sent.

“Nothing, why?” Charles knew you didn’t believe him, he’d never been able to lie to you in any capacity. Whether it was when he ate the last cookie that you had been thinking about all day or the fact he’d planned a massive surprise party for your birthday, he’d never been able to hide anything from you. You looked at him with a deadpan expression on your face, “what’s going on?”

“It was just Arthur asking if I could go home for a surprise party for Maman in a few weeks but I don’t think I’ll be able to make it.” Why did he say that? It was only to be expected that when you became so close with Charles you’d become just as close with the rest of his family. He’d have to remember to text Arthur later and tell him he had a surprise party to plan.

“Oh that’s a shame,” your lips pouted slightly at the thought of how sad Pascale would be at the fact she wouldn’t have all three of her boys at her birthday, she’d become a second mother to you very quickly over the years. “Is there no way you can move your plans around?”

“Yeah, I’ll ask and see if I can rearrange.” He was impressed that he’d managed to keep his cool but he knew his mother was your weak spot, you spoke to her even more than he did. He looked at his watch before ushering you out of the room and down to your spot at the back of the garage, leaving you with a soft peck on the forehead before he got into the car for free practice.

The real reason he’d been so perturbed was a text from the Frenchman only a few garages down. Pierre had messaged him and asked Charles for your number. He usually would be more than willing to give Pierre his friends’ numbers, but this time was different because it was you. It was sort of an open secret that Charles was absolutely head over heels for you, and everyone seemed to be aware of it. Except you, the one person Charles actually wanted to notice.

The truth was Pierre knew exactly how Charles felt about you, he had only asked for your number because he was starting to feel about sorry for his friend and the pining look he was always sending your way. In a last ditch attempt he had sent that text with the hope that Charles would see other people were bound to be interested in you sooner or later and he would have missed his opportunity.

What Charles didn’t know is that you’d felt the exact same way for as long as you could possibly remember. It had started when your mothers joked about how you would eventually get married given the pair of you spent so much time together. As you’d gotten older your friendship grew stronger, as did your feelings. When Charles had come over one day and told you all about his first kiss it had taken everything in you not to burst into tears right in front of him.

Over time you’d learned to control your emotions around him much better, but every now and again you would catch yourself staring and feel your heart beating faster, or you wouldn’t be able to stop the blush that crept up your neck and onto your cheeks when he sent a wink your way. A lot of boys had propositioned you over the years, sure you’d had one night stands over the years and gone on dates but nothing had really ever stuck. You knew deep down it was because you were comparing all of them to your best friend and none of them could even hold a candle to him in any regard, so you settled for being happily single until you got over him.

Except you never seemed to. The lingering touches and longing gazes exchanged across crowded rooms kept that little flicker of hope awake in your heart and it meant you could never moved on. Moving on would have required cutting Charles out of your life in one way or another and that just wasn’t something you were prepared to do.

How ironic that the two of you were so head over heels for each other. You’d spent years rebuking claims that you were secretly dating, admittedly with red cheeks and stuttering tongues, but none the less you had denied it. Neither of you had meant to fall in love but neither of you were willing to move on either, so you remained in an unrequited limbo for as long as it was going to take for one of you to make the first move.

Come on, come on

Turn a little faster

Come on, come on

The world will follow after

Come on, come on

Because everybody’s after love

It turns out you didn’t have to wait very long. The same weekend Pierre had sent his forsaken text, Charles had won the race and claimed a decent lead in the championship, which was only ever going to lead to one thing. Drinking.

In celebration of your best friends win, you were decked out in a stunning Ferrari red, the bold dress matching the colour of your lips. When Charles had come to pick you up from your room, he would be lying if he said his mouth hadn’t gotten a little drier and his pants a little tighter. If it was up to him he would’ve carried you back into your hotel room and that would’ve been his celebration. Instead he just told you that you looked beautiful and planted a soft kiss on your cheek before offering an arm out to you. He knew how badly your heels hurt your feet so any time he saw you wearing them he would offer you his arm to keep you steady.

You had met some of the other drivers at the club and the drinks had been flowing from the moment you’d crossed the threshold. Pierre had shoved shots of tequila into your hands and it had only gotten messier from there. You couldn’t even remember how many drinks you had when you’d dragged Charles by his hand onto the dancefloor, the other drivers watching with sly smiles in the hopes that the Monegasque would finally make his move.

The dancing remained fairly PG as it always was between you, both trying to make the other laugh with ridiculous moves. Your hands were interlocked when Charles released one of them and raised the other above your head, silently telling you to start spinning. His hand led your moments as he yelled “faster, faster!”, your hair flying around you and your laughs being able to be heard even over the thumping music. It didn’t take long for you to trip over your own feet and go stumbling forward.

Given his lightning reactions, it was no surprise that Charles caught you and balanced you upright. You were surprised when you lifted your head and you were virtually nose to nose with him, the faint smell of tequila lingering on his breath as it washed over your face and intoxicated you even more than you already had been. Your eyes naturally flicked down towards his slightly parted lips and that was the only signal Charles had needed. He thanked the alcohol for his increased confidence because he didn’t think he’d ever been so happy as when his lips felt yours mould themselves to fit his.

After a few seconds you both pulled away breathlessly. He’d thought about this moment thousands of times but nothing could’ve prepared him for the real thing. Your heaving chest, eyes staring up into his with a small smile playing on your lips. Before he could even say anything your lips were back on his, arms settled on his shoulders.

Well I didn’t mean to do it

But there’s no escaping your love

Neither of you had expected anything to stem from that night, both of you thought it was just a drunken incidence that would quickly be forgotten as you got back into your usual routine.

That was until you went out drinking again the week after and ended up in a dark corner of the club with your lips pressed together.

You thought it would’ve been awkward kissing your best friend without being in a relationship but it felt so natural that it didn’t change your friendship in the slightest. You still saw each other as much as you could, you still cuddled up on Charles’ couch whenever you were watching films, you still facetimed every day when he was away for races.

In fact, it had even brought you closer. While you still acted normally around each other there was a certain tension in the air whenever the two of you were alone.

Come on, come on

Move a little closer

Come on, come on

I wanna hear you whisper

Come on, come on

Settle down inside my love

After that night it hadn’t taken long for Charles to officially ask you to be his, and you jumped at the chance to say yes, it was something you’d spent days dreaming about. Your days together were spent in quiet bliss, a private bubble where you got to be deeply, head over heels in love.

Neither of you felt comfortable revealing your relationship to anyone right away, it was already strange enough to be navigating the path of friends to lovers without everyone else getting involved. It hadn't felt strange just kissing when their were no strings attached, but falling in love was a completely different ball park. This was understandably a bit difficult for you both, trying to control lingering gazes and wandering hands as best you could when others were around.

So far, no one had cottoned on to the fact that the two of you were spending so much time together. You were virtually glued at the hip before you got together so why would anyone suspect anything now?

The big issue came when the two of you were invited to Pierre’s house for a big summer break party. You knew that you weren’t the best at self-control when you had a bit of alcohol in your system, and Charles was going to know virtually everyone there.

You were just swiping your lipstick over your pouted lips when Charles came into the bathroom and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, chin settled delicately on your shoulder as he smiled softly at you in the mirror.

“Why do you look so worried?”

“I’m not,” you lied, “I just don’t want to be late.”

He spun you around so your lower back was pressed against the counter before tilting your chin up with his fingers in order to make your eyes meet his. Looking into his glassy orbs made you sigh, “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to control myself around you when I’m drunk, what if people notice?”

Charles couldn’t help but laugh at how sweet you were. “Mon amour, if they notice then they notice, but I promise it’ll be easier than you think.” He left a soft peck on the tip of your nose before taking your hand and leading you to the front door.

Pierre’s apartment wasn’t very far from Charles’, in reality nothing in Monaco was, so the pair of you decided to walk. As people stopped your boyfriend on the street and asked for photographs you hung back in the shadows. You knew it didn’t take much to spark a rumour online, and if the two of you were seen together as dressed up as you were people would’ve assumed it was a date.

The walk didn’t take long and before you knew it you were surrounded by far too many people and far too many drinks. No one had bat an eye when you had walked in together, knowing that Charles would’ve been gentlemanly enough to pick you up even when you were still best friends.

The alcohol flowed freely and quickly, and it didn’t take long for you to start feeling the buzz as you caught up with some of the drivers you hadn’t seen in a while. You couldn’t help how your eyes kept flitting over to Charles, often meeting his gaze as he searched for you across the room.

When your eyes turned back to the conversation you were met with Daniel’s knowing gaze, a wide, smug smirk sat across his tanned face. He leaned directly into you, “You know, I think he’d be inclined to say yes if you asked him out on a date.”

It took all of your willpower to not laugh in his face and instead to look embarrassed, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course not, love. Now go over and talk to him, he looks like a lost puppy without you next to him.” With a quick shove he had sent you stumbling into the middle of the room where you regained your footing and threw him the middle finger. But that didn’t stop you from making your way over to Charles.

He was catching up with Alex when you reached his side, greeting Alex like an old friend and asking how Lily was. You’d become quite close with his girlfriend after you decided to introduce yourself at one of the many races you’d both attended. It turns out you’d had a lot in common and had stayed good friends since that day.

While animatedly chatting to Alex, you could feel Charles’ hand twitch against your own, his pinky finger looping around yours with the lightest touch, almost like a breath. If you hadn’t been hyperaware of all of his movements you may have missed it, but you didn’t, so you gently squeezed your hand to show him how much you appreciated the gesture.

It wasn’t long before Alex was swept aware by other attendees which left you and Charles to yourselves. As soon as he was sure no one was paying the two of you any attention, Charles grabbed your hand and led you to the balcony.

When the door settled behind you with a click, his lips were on yours, hands pulled your hips as close as humanly possible to his own. He pulled away while taking a deep breath, resting his forehead on yours as he closed his eyes, “I hate not being able to touch you when I want.”

You couldn’t help but laugh and raise an eyebrow, “I thought you said this was going to be easy?”

“EASIER I said, not easy…and I was wrong anyway, this is fucking hard.” He whined. He felt like stomping his foot like a toddler but knew you’d never let him live it down if he did.

“We can go home in a couple of hours and you can touch me which ever way you’d like,” you whispered into his ear, heart skipping a beat at the way his hands tensed on the curve of your waist.

“Is that a promise?”

“It’s a promise.”

With a chaste kiss on the lips and a cheeky squeeze of your bum, the two of you returned to the party, thankful that no one had noticed your absence.

Pierre immediately found the two of you and wrapped his arms around you both, horrendously intoxicated despite it still being relatively early in the evening. He swayed silently between you before he took a look at Charles’ face.

He stopped moving entirely and grabbed the Monegasques face between his thumb and fingers, squishing his cheeks together. You couldn’t help but laugh as Charles’ face turned to one of horror, “What the hell are you doing, mate?”

Pierre squinted his eyes even more than they already were, “Are you wearing Y/N’s lipstick?”

#cl16 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc oneshot #f1 oneshot #formula 1 oneshot

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leeknowsnot · 7 months

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promises are meant to be broken, hearts are meant to be kept (i.n x reader) pt. 2

genre: angst, comfort

warnings: none

i got sick the past days and still sick rn,,, i hate having coughs

pt. 1

You kicked a pebble by the street, eyes roaming around as you aimlessly wandered around the street.

'Where were you even going?' you ask yourself. When you left the house, you had no destination in mind. You just wanted some time away from your problems. From Jeong In. You sighed to yourself, guilt now starting to creep up into your chest. As much as you wanted to be mad at him, you simply could not. Partly, you blamed yourself for the hurt that you were feeling right now. You loved him too much.

You couldn't even deny the fact that you wanted to go back inside the moment you stepped out of the door. Maybe it was just muscle memory, maybe it was just your feeling making things harder for you.

You had arguments with Jeong In before, but none of them were too bad enough for any of you both to walk out of the house. If anything, most of them would just be banters that would go on for a bit longer but then soon die out the moment you hold each other in your arms.

But this time, Jeong In didn't even chase you out of the door and that hurt a lot. Not even a call or a text, and it has been more than an hour.

Maybe Jeong In really didn't love you as much as much as you loved him.

There were so many thoughts that ran in your mind that you didn't notice a drop of water falling on your head. It turn from little droplets into frequent ones, which now caught your attention. You squinted your eyes, noticing that it had finally started to rain.

However, you exclaimed in surprise as the rain fell down immediately, not even gradually.

Even the rain wasn't empathizing with you.

...

Jeong In awoke from the sound of the loud thunder from outside. It took him a while to adjust his eyesight and internalize where he was and what happened. He groaned, a headache creeping in as he rubbed his temples. He looked left and right, finding none of your presence in the room.

He stood up from the bed, making his way out of your shared room to look for you.

Kitchen. None. Bathroom. None. Dining room. None. Living Room. None.

It was only then he remembered what happened before he passed out and his heart dropped upon realization. Jeong In ran his palm through his face, a sigh releasing from his lips. He immediately went to look for his phone to text or call you but cursed under his breath when he found out it was out of battery.

Rushing to the living room, he saw that the umbrella rack from beside the door had the complete number of umbrellas. Which meant you were outside in the rain. By yourself. Without any umbrella.

Your wallet was on the counter by the kitchen too.

Jeong In ran his fingers through his hair before grabbing an umbrella and heading out. As soon as he stepped out of the apartment, he was taken aback at how hard the rain was, the thought of you immediately popping into his head.

He frowned to himself. He didn't know where to find you. He asked himself, 'If Y/N was sad, where does she go? What were her favorite spots?'

It was then that Jeong In realized. He didn't know you as much as you knew him.

Whenever he was down after being screamed at during work, you knew he'd always be at the nearby playground, thinking to himself. Whenever he's happy, you know his habits of closing his eyes and laughing through his closed teeth.

Has he ever taken time getting to know you more?

Jeong In purses his lips in guilt, his feet taking him wherever it could. He snapped his head left and right, hoping to spot you or any clue of where you were. He was getting frustrated.

Not at you, but at himself.

He shouldn't have let you walk out earlier. He shouldn't have argued with you.

He shouldn't have let you down.

What seemed like hours was only a couple of minutes when Jeong In finallt spotted you at a bus stop. You were shivering, eyes full of helplessness and glancing at bypassers who walked past you.

Jeong In felt his heart break. He stood across the street, observing you silently.

At this moment, time seemed to slow down for Jeong In. You were so close. Just a few steps away, and yet he felt like you were so far. He felt like you were both on the opposite sides of the world. You were in heaven, and he was in purgatory.

It was the only moment where he could gaze at you lovingly.

He never realized how long your eyelashes were as they brushed through your cheeks each time you blinked. He never realized how your cheeks would tint a shade of pink each time you felt cold. He never realized how soft your hair was and how they would fall down your face and your shoulder each time you would look down at him as he lays his head on your lap. He never realized how perfectly your hand would fit in his.

You looked up, finally noticing Jeong In at the other side of the street. You wanted to tell yourself that your eyes were fooling you. That it was only the raindrops running down his cheeks as he looks at you with a pained expression. But it wasn't the rain, because Jeong In was holding an umbrella. You looked deeply into his eyes, inhaling deeply as you both shared nothing but silence as you gazed at each other.

You flash him a small smile, and it was as if all doubts over Jeong In's love for you vanished as soon as you saw him look down, his eyes closing as he finally lets himself cry.

It was that moment that Jeong In realized, he already knew all of these things that he thought he only just realized now.

"I love you," he cries out, his sobs drained out by the loud rain but you knew better. He barely says it, but you know how his lips would move each time he does say it.

He loves you. He really does love you.

likes and reposts are very much appreciated!

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taetaespeaks · 1 year

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The Wife / THV part.3

genre : yandere taehyung, failing marriage, mean and cruel protagonists

summery : you five were the nightmares of teachers back in high school, now adults, your cruel and violent temperament doesn’t seem to have change neither does have the obsession taehyung has for you.

warnings : mean protagonists!!!!, smut, s3xual descriptions, strong language, violence, cruelty from the protagonists themselves. here we have an evil y/n. read at your own risk ! this story is hard and violent do not read if you’re sensitive to those topics.

rate : +18 only minors do not interact

<- masterlist ->

It must have been around two hours since you and Taehyung had started your walk around Bangtan Lake, more precisely, the lake in front of your old high school, the place where you always gathered, you, Taehyung, Jimin, Sa ra and Jeongguk to cause trouble to anyone who dared to cross your fiery teenage eyes. You had to admit that you didn't see the time pass, how could you ? As you were walking to the right of the handsome young man with neatly combed brown hair, eyes dark as night but still shining with a chocolate glow that was Kim Taehyung. You found yourself observing him, his lips perfectly drawn, his moles, every single one of them, as if to learn them by heart, only to realize that you had never forgotten them.

"...and do you remember how we became friends?"

Friends? If you and Taehyung had been just friends it would be a fact known by everyone by now. Anyone with a little common sense would notice the somewhat questionable relationship between the two of you, however, your goal was not to simply create a TV drama romance where the sad wife ends up with the so kind and brave best-friend of her mean husband but rather to give you the life you deserved, even if it meant using the boy with a boxy smile that had an old crush on you. You were tired of being restricted to the cold, unwelcoming wall of the Jeon's house. You dreamed of something else. Of passion. Plus, it wasn't like Jeongguk loved you. Realizing that the time was getting rather longer that it should have during your silence, you began to fake thinking about his question, even though you knew the answer pretty well.

"Well, it's complicated. It's a whole series of meetings. First, there was Jimin-" Your eyes sparkled at the mention of the name of your beloved best friend since childhood. Taehyung's heart sank. He looked away from your sweet face, hoping to calm his jealousy as he watched the cherry blossoms, the blue sky reflecting on the lake, and the daffodils moving elegantly in the wind, but nothing could calm the coldness and anger growing in his heart. Deep down he knew that if he could take you away from Jeongguk, you could never forgive him for separating you from Jimin, he was no fool. The pain of being away from him now when he was perfectly healthy just in another country seemed to be already too much for you, so loosing him ? Nah. "We were very young when we met, in elementary school maybe, you should have seen how small Jimin was! Smaller than me." The role of high duchess scorned now abandoned, you let yourself share your memories with your old companion with a fervor that was rare to you. Very rare. "He came from a rich family too, obviously, mother wouldn't have allowed me to hangout with him if he didn't! He came up to me one day in the playground and since then we were inseparable. For a long time, mother thought about marrying me to Jimin. We didn't have any feelings for each other, of course, but we could have put up with it, found an arrangement, not to live together or whatever... In middle school, we met Sa ra. Not at all the kind of people I'm interested in. Always hanging out in front of the tobacconists like a lost soul. Miserable. Plus, her father's business went bankrupt and her mother was a housewife, but Jimin took a liking to her, somehow. He thought she was funny. So the three of us started hanging out. You and Jeongguk came along later, in high school. You were best friends, weren't you?" Taehyung nodded silently. "Rich and handsome. You were immediately adopted. If Jeongguk was quiet, he was far more cruel and violent than me and Jimin had ever been. Sa ra loved him for that! As for you, you were different."

"How so?"

"Softer, strangely enough. Sometimes I wondered what you were even doing around us." Taehyung smiled grimly but didn't explain the reason for his sudden amusement.

"It's true."

"If it wasn't for my attraction for you, you would never have stayed in the group."

"If you say so."

Taehyung knew very well that in this pack of violent teenagers, you had always been the leader, everyone knew that. If you wanted to get him out of the way, you would have, but he wouldn't allow it. He wouldn't. Just like when he had broken the arms and nose of that little Yoongi jerk who wanted to ask you out for prom. You just didn't know about it even though you thought you knew everything.

"Would it make you so happy to see Jimin again?"

"Of course!" The answer came without delay. "Why?"

"I could arrange that." You smiled, slightly.

"How many things can you arrange for me, Kim Taehyung?"

"As many as you ask me."

"And if I asked you to make love to me in your car right now, would you ?”

•••

Slowly, Taehyung lifted your short dress over your hips to your waist, while, with your chest pressed against the back seats of his porsche you waited for the fateful moment of his touch against your skin. Teahyung was taking his time, watching the curves of your ass standing up to him, his pants suddenly becoming horribly tight.

His long, elegant fingers penetrated you with ease, unholy noises escaping from your soaked cunt, waiting for him, already ready to welcome more of his body. He curled his fingers to reach that spot you loved so much making you moan under him. He repeated his action faster, so fast that the ball of pleasure in your stomach began to be felt so early that it came to surprise you. The wetness already dripping down your inner thighs spoke volumes about your excitement.

"You haven't changed. You still love it so much." Taehyung bit his bottom lip, moaning at the sight of your cunt so docile under his touch.

"Tae, fuck me and stop your bullshit."

He obeyed, he always obeyed.

His pants soon on the floor, joining your light black lace thong, Taehyung played with the tip of his cock at the entrance of your pussy closing and opening on air, begging for attention.

"Tae...please."

He slid into you suddenly, wringing a cry of satisfaction from you that made him cry out in pleasure himself. Unable to control himself, he began his unforgivable thrusts, moving in and out of your soaked cunt to the point that the telltale sounds of your flesh slapping against each other became the only thing you could hear. Your wetness running down your legs, now staining his, your cheek pressed against the aching brass of the seats as Taehyung watched in delight your body lunching forwards at any thrust of his as his huge member was penetrating you mercilessly, soaking itself with all your precious juice. You were driving him truly insane.

•••

The sight of the gate of the huge mansion you were struggling to call home brought you back to harsh reality. Taehyung still hadn't saved you from the life you were leading. Your face changed, coming back to coldness and pure evilness.

"Don't sulk. I'll see you soon."

"Yeah, whatever." You answered coldly, disappointed at the sight of the so depressing facts. "Here, you can keep this." Without looking at him, you dropped your thong, still wet with your fluids in his lap, causing him to smile unhealthily at you. Slamming the car door, you staggered back to the villa where you would surely be alone since Jeongguk was probably still in the office fucking one of his whore.

Taehyung smiled, watching you, bringing your underwear to his nose and smelling you. You were everything he had ever wanted, his greatest dream. How could you believe that he had not yet done anything to provide for you? It was only a matter of time before you were his.

•••

The water in your bath was already getting uncomfortably cold when your phone rang. Sigh. You didn't like being alone, you didn't like being with people. What did you like? Wiping your right hand on the nearest towel, you grabbed your phone from the small table where you put your perfumes and brought it to your ear.

"Jeon y/n."

"Gngngn, Jeon y/n, whatever." A slight smile stretched your lips at the sound of your best friend's voice.

"ChimChim, I'm honored to see that you haven't forgotten about me." You say, eyeing your painted nails with disdain.

"Don't start. Work is unforgiving, but you wouldn’t understand. How could you ? I mean, what, you’re probably in your hot tub, you know the one paid by Daddy Jeoncock, as we speak ?” You swallowed a chuckle.

"What do you want, asshole?"

"What do you mean what do I want? Why didn't you tell me?” Your confused silence seemed to annoy him. "Your dear handsome daddy in law owes the company Kim millions! Millions, you hateful bitch!”

You stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, sitting up in the bath suddenly, almost dropping your phone into the water where the foam had already disappeared.

"What are you talking about, Jimin?"

"I'm sending you the article."

A soft bip announced the receipt of the message and as you plunged into reading the article you almost felt your organs clench inside your body. This was not possible! Impossible!

«…Gi Jeon, the famous Korean businessman is facing prison for swindling and abusing employees as well as defaming Kim's company leader Kim Taehyung, and sexually harassing some of the women working under Kim's company. Several million dollars are at stake...»

Slowly, a smile came to rise on your lips. Taehyung. Then a hysterical laugh, louder by the second.

"Fuck, I leave for a few years and my best friend goes completely insane! I should come back within the month to support you, I mean, do you even you realize ? Mama, Jeongguk is in trouble."

"Oh yeah, right ? I know he is."

sorry for the late uptade, college work and everything yk :/ waiting for your returns tho <3

#bts x reader #bts #jeon jungkook x reader #park jimin #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts taehyung #kim taehyung smut #kim taehyung x reader #kim taehyung x reader yandere #kim teahyung #kim teahyung x reader smut #park jimin x reader

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theawkwardterrier · 4 months

Text

Have Yourself a Scheming Little Christmas

The big reveal of my fic for @steggyfanevents's Steggy Secret Santa, especially for @lavellenchanted! December has been a big and busy month so I fell down on my Santa-ing a bit along the way, Sarah, but I hope that you enjoy some family and fluff here and have a wonderful holiday, a delightful end of 2023, and a great beginning to 2024!

Summary: Natasha's dad seems like he might need someone in his life. So does Sharon's Aunt Peggy. Luckily, they have two smart and savvy matchmakers to help them along the way.

AO3 link here.

Natasha wouldn't say that her father is sad, exactly. He doesn't spend all his time crying like the preschool kids do when their parents leave at drop off or someone pushes them down on the playground, after all, and he smiles when he watches her in her ballet shows and cheers for her when it's her turn at bat during baseball season (he might be the coach and cheer for everyone, but Nat thinks that he sounds just a tiny bit louder when she's up). Their apartment is clean and warm, and Dad makes her laugh with stories from his work and is always getting better at cooking, even if they do end up ordering takeout at least once a week.

Still, sometimes when she turns back to him before he notices that she’s watching or she's up to go to the bathroom in the night and sees him awake, he’s gazing into his mug or at the TV screen with this certain look. It reminds her of back when she was in foster care, that feeling of sitting in her room listening to the family laughing and talking while she was behind the wall. It makes her think, too, of Uncle Bucky: that staring, empty sort of face he sometimes gets, ever since she can remember, the one that Dad says is because of the war. Dad was in the war too, but a long time ago, and Nat doesn't think that he is sad because of that.

Dad might not talk about why he's sad, but there are hints, like how he tucked his hands into his pockets at Parent Night in October every time he talked to a pair of parents together and it was just him standing alone. Or like how they were in the park one day, and she was petting a puppy, and as she stood up, Dad's face was full of that look, just from watching the way that the puppy's owners were standing super close, holding each other's waists. And just like there are hints about what might be making him sad, there are hints about what might make him happy. She and Dad almost always get to school at the same time in the mornings, and the same kids are almost always getting dropped off then too, and Dad almost always starts glancing across the path in the same way at the same person, and the look on his face makes Nat think that if she saw it on a worksheet, she would mark it as the opposite of that nighttime look.

Nat might not know exactly what it is that is making him sad, but she decides that she is going to fix it. She is going to make him happy.

And to do that, she is going to need a partner, so she can get him his.

When she came to live in Brooklyn last year, Aunt Peggy told Sharon that she didn't know exactly what she was doing or why Daddy had decided that she was the right person to come take care of Sharon after he died, but that they would do their best and would always be honest with one another and would figure things out together so they would both be happy.

That has, Sharon feels, worked for the most part, but it is hard to be honest with someone else about your happiness when you aren't being honest with yourself. This is what she reminds herself when Aunt Peggy responds to Sharon's probing with a laugh and a quick, "I'm perfectly satisfied with you, my work, and everything in my life, thank you." She might not be lying to Sharon on purpose, but that doesn't mean it isn't a lie anyway.

So she is quite prepared to accept when Nat Rogers from the other class comes up to her in the line for the swings during recess on the first Tuesday in December and asks, "Are you available to come over after school sometime this week? I think that your aunt and my dad have something in common."

Aunt Peggy doesn't need to beg for attention, and Sharon won't either. Watching Betty's pumping legs on the swing, she says casually back, "Is it that they both want to be dating but they won't do anything about it?"

She likes Nat more for neither squealing nor stomping off in a huff at having her surprise spoiled, but instead saying calmly, "I assume that if you’re already aware, that means we can arrange something?"

Even though it's probably a good sign that she and Nat, both pretty smart people, had the same idea; and even though Sharon saw the way that Aunt Peggy smiled as she and Natasha's dad talked on the phone to arrange their "playdate" but also noticed the way she carefully kept her smile out of her voice; and even though Sharon finds herself approving of Mr. Rogers, who tells her to call him Steve and clearly drew the picture of him and Natasha that's framed on the bedside table in her room...even with all that, it isn't until she suggests that they get Nat's tablet to write out their plan and Nat tells her that the rule is that she isn't allowed to have much tablet time, especially when friends are over and they aren't doing schoolwork because "my dad thinks it limits my imagination," which is almost exactly the same thing that Aunt Peggy always says, that Sharon actually believes this might work.

It is not a hard sell at all to get Dad to take her to the ice rink at Prospect Park. Their weekends are usually filled with outings, even if it's just errands, but Dad's been especially busy getting orders ready over the past few weeks, plus they went over to Uncle Bucky’s last weekend.

“I’m sorry we haven’t spent much time just the two of us lately, kiddo,” Dad says as they tie on their skates, and Nat laces hers tight and doesn’t feel at all guilty that as long as Sharon held up her end of the deal, it won’t be just the two of them for long.

She does a few jumps and glides around the ice, choreographing to her ballet music in her head, and right at the dramatic flourish, Sharon enters the rink, with her aunt behind her.

Natasha has taken the time to study Peggy Carter before, calculating the meaning of her purposeful stride and perfectly done lipstick during the mornings and afternoons at school or at Parent Night. Still, she notes approvingly today that she is wearing a nice black peacoat and a scarf that is the same color as Dad’s eyes that is looped easily around her neck and corresponds perfectly with her hair and skin, and that she looks graceful and competent on the ice. Taking a deep breath, Nat puts the first step of the plan into action.

“Hi, Sharon!” She skates toward her quickly, knowing that Dad will follow without thinking or noticing who she is skating toward, just to keep an eye on her.

"Slow down, Nat," she hears from behind her, and then an oof!

Dad would never say no to her if she wanted to go to the rink, but he isn't exactly as skilled as she is. Uncle Bucky has always said that Dad has "two left feet and probably a couple of left hands too," especially when he's nervous...and seeing Ms. Carter is definitely the type of thing that would make him nervous.

She and Sharon reach out and grab each other's hands, catching eyes as they listen to the conversation behind them.

"Are you alright there, Mr. Rogers?"

"Ms. Carter...!" Dad gives a sort of wince-laugh. "Could have done without face-planting in front of everyone in Brooklyn, but I'll get over it."

"She's almost laughing," Sharon whispers in shock, glancing at the pair of them over Nat's shoulder, and Nat feels a little zing of triumph – all this time, Sharon was going along with the plan without the belief in it that she has – but of course she does not let that show on her face.

"I believe you did the opposite of a face-plant, if you don't mind my saying so," says Ms. Carter, and now Natasha can hear the laughter in her voice, although it is very proper laughter if she says so herself. That's okay; it sounds like it would match pretty well with Dad's crinkle-eyed smiles. "May I help you up?"

"I'd say that I'd only take that offer if you were really firm on your feet, but I can see that you are and I don't think you'd just ask to be polite."

"Right on two counts. Now give me your hand."

Nat and Sharon skate back over to quickly say that they're going to go around the rink together.

"Safely," Dad warns. "We'll be watching, and I think that Ms. Carter, at least, could get over to bust you in a half a minute if I wasn't holding her back."

"Probably less," Ms. Carter says, but as Nat and Sharon skate away, Nat notices that she has still not let go of his hand – and it doesn’t seem like it’s much about keeping him upright at this point.

She does finally let him go later, as they all agree to walk over for cocoa together (something that would probably have taken a lot longer if Nat wasn't there to push Dad past all of his stumbling, "If you aren't busy, and I don't know whether you or Sharon have any dietary restrictions, and we're happy to let you pick the spot if you have somewhere you like" and might not have happened at all if Ms. Carter had done less standing there with slightly amused patience and more making excuses to leave in the fact of what Nat considers his awkwardness) but she also, it seems, is walking very close to him, much closer than two new friends on a sidewalk would need to be, even if they are making sure to catch every word from each other among the crowds.

When they get to her and Dad’s favorite diner, Mr. Phillips seems to know Ms. Carter — “I’d ask why you were hanging around with this reprobate, Carter, but you’ve got quite the degenerate streak yourself,” he says as he gets their menus and drops crayons and his latest hand-written set of mazes and puzzles on the table for Sharon and Nat, although he pretends he isn’t doing it, just like he pretends that he didn’t add extra whipped cream or mint sprinkles to their mugs of cocoa when they come. Natasha likes that, when she asks what a reprobate is, Ms. Carter doesn’t tell her she’s too young for it to matter; instead she defines the word and writes it down in big clear letters on Nat’s paper. Dad seems to like that too, smiling down into his mug, even if it means that he ends up with a bit of whipped cream all over his top lip and Ms. Carter leans over the table to gently wipe it off with her thumb.

They end up staying past just cocoa, Dad and Ms. Carter sitting in the inside seats of the red vinyl booth across from each other and talking for so long that Angie comes over with her pad and offers to get something started for dinner. Nat and Sharon glance at each other, seeming to agree that no matter what had been said about the seating arrangements being so “the girls” could have easy access to slide out to examine the dessert case or to help Mr. Phillips with combining the ketchup bottles, it was really so they would be able to laugh about Dad’s design clients and the other lawyers Ms. Carter works with or to watch each other gesturing as they talk about important but boring things like the school board and “the political situation.”

She and Sharon also seem to agree, Nat thinks as she twirls some pasta on her fork and Sharon bites into her tuna melt, that the first step of the plan has gone just how they wanted.

"Oh good," Aunt Peggy says, holding up a book called Recipes for Feeding Demons. "I think that this will be a helpful guide for Dottie Underwood." She glances at the cover again thoughtfully, then adds with some sourness, "Although I suppose that it might encourage her to believe that I'm interested in her well-being."

Sharon reaches over to take it and add it to the pile they've already made of intended books for friends, coworkers, and their small amount of remaining family. "At school they say that if you don’t have anything nice to say, you shouldn’t say anything at all,” she comments.

“I suppose they’re right,” Aunt Peggy says, paging through a copy of Chicken Soup for the Soul at Work that Sharon thinks might end up wrapped on Jack Thompson’s desk tomorrow; Sharon is familiar with him because there are always amusing stories about the other lawyers at Aunt Peggy’s firm, although fewer and fewer these days and more frowns and looking at documents on her laptop with pursed lips. “As much as I support being direct and honest and not holding back your opinion in most circumstances, keeping quiet can be a very effective way of making certain that the other person doesn’t sense your true feelings and allowing you to maintain the upper hand.”

“I guess if I was trying to find some Sun Tzu, you would be the right person to ask, huh?”

Sharon looks over, face showing careful surprise to see an amused Steve standing behind Aunt Peggy’s shoulder in the aisle of their favorite local bookshop, just one of dozens of fellow holiday shoppers crammed into the space. Nat joins him a minute later, holding a couple of graphic novels in one arm. Sharon approves of that casualness. They’d known it would be a little risky for her to try to get her dad to work a present-buying excursion into their plans for the day – he might have gotten wind that something was afoot if Nat too steadfastly refused to take no for an answer, but since they're regulars, it would have been even more suspicious for her to hover around once they'd arrived and give any appearance of trying to guide him anywhere in particular in the store or of this being in any way more than an average visit.

"Steve," says Aunt Peggy, turning in surprise and even seeming to flush just a little across her cheekbones. It's actually nice to see, Sharon thinks, pretending to straighten their book pile while giving Natasha a subtle thumbs up. Over the past few weeks, as her aunt and Steve have found more and more reasons to have them all spend time together in the afternoons and evenings and over the weekends, they’ve gotten more and more comfortable with each other, but knowing that Aunt Peggy still has that flash of excitement when seeing him tells Sharon that she’s made the right choice. The couple of times that her aunt has had dates since coming to Brooklyn, Aunt Peggy has been really careful to be her most shiny and controlled self. There’s a lot about that self to admire, sure, but it’s a lot nicer to see the real Aunt Peggy allowing herself to peek through, that little bit of vulnerability but also ease. She doesn’t do some sort of quick maneuver to spruce up the old jeans and sweater that she’s wearing, or try to cover up her pleased little double take. It’s equally nice to see Steve blushing a little in return, pinkening his smiling cheeks.

“It’s good to see you two,” he says quickly, tucking his hands into his pockets. “I’m glad that Nat had the idea to come here to pick up a few last minute gifts.”

"Funny, Sharon had the same thought," says Aunt Peggy, casting a glance at her, and Sharon smiles before digging into her pocket for one of the candy canes they'd had in a bowl at the counter. She tries to unwrap the plastic as if her heart hasn't suddenly picked up rhythm at the thought that sharp-minded Aunt Peggy might be realizing that it isn't all coincidence. But, as Sharon sticks the sweet into her mouth, her aunt turns back to Steve and adds, "I suppose our girls' great minds think alike."

"I'd say that we could get some credit for that, or at least for sending them to a good school, but I think it's all them."

Aunt Peggy puts her hand on his arm, an unexpectedly tender look on her face, and Sharon freezes a little; there's something about the moment that makes her wonder if there's about to be some comment made about how Steve has already done far more for his daughter than he gives himself credit for. Natasha had mentioned – just quickly, so that Sharon would barely even remember it except for the careful way that she had relaxed her jaw, which probably would have misled most other people but just made Sharon more alert – how much she dislikes people talking about her adoption like her dad is just doing charity work, like Nat's presence in his life is some huge burden or something he should get endless gold stars for enduring.

"We're certainly lucky to have them, just as they are," Aunt Peggy says instead, as the whittled pinprick end of the candy cane accidentally stabs at Sharon's tongue and she holds back a yelp to listen. "But I've seen bits of you in Natasha as well."

The two of them are making long eye contact. Steve's hand comes up to cover Aunt Peggy's where it rests against his forearm. Sharon very purposefully does not grin around her candy.

"Luckily the hair isn’t one of them," says Nat. Sharon wants to glare at her but channels it by chomping down and filling her mouth with peppermint shards, because the bubble of quiet that they had existed in so briefly disappears, the noise and chaos of a Saturday afternoon nearing Christmas rushing back over them with Nat’s flippant tone. "I don't know that he could pull it off."

Aunt Peggy replies, "Oh, I’m not certain I agree. I think he has at least a chance of managing with that color, even if it wouldn't be as lovely as it is on you," but her voice sounds normal now, teasing but confident rather than close and confiding the way it was a minute ago. She turns to Steve and asks, "What else will you two be up to today?"

Steve's smile somehow seems to have shifted from the gentle, private light it showed a minute ago. It just looks like a regular grown-up small talk smile now, the same way that Aunt Peggy's question sounded. But he says easily, "We're going to drop the books at home along the way to the holiday party that my best friend's family is throwing. They like to have it far enough in advance that no one's started traveling yet, no one's in a complete last-minute panic over gift-buying, and it might even actually overlap with some of the holidays that aren’t Christmas – practically half of the people in their neighborhood show up, so they want to give as many people as possible a chance to come.” With a tiny extra pause, a little blink and a deep breath, he adds, “I’d—I’m sure they’d love to meet you if you have the time to join us."

Aunt Peggy laughs, half-thoughtful. “Your friend wouldn’t happen to be a member of the Barnes family, would he?”

“You know Uncle Bucky?”

It is not until she hears Natasha's question, the truly surprised and curious blurt of it, that Sharon recognizes that her earlier comment had not been simply making conversation or trying in some misguided way to move things along to the next phase; it had been Nat, after all, who had suggested that the party would be a good next step, a way to push things from accidental run-ins and purposeful but casual dinners together. Between the bright embrace of Nat’s extended family and the assured presence of mistletoe that Steve and Aunt Peggy might just so happen to find themselves beneath, it would be the right setting to move things from falling to fell. But between their consultation during lunch three days ago and now, something seems to have happened.

It seems that she is not the only one to have realized the difference in Nat’s tone – Steve glances down at his daughter with his brow creased – and there is a slight slowness to Aunt Peggy's words as she says, "I only know Bucky himself by reputation, I’m afraid. His mother was my realtor when I was looking for somewhere that would be a mutually positive living situation for Sharon and myself when I relocated to Brooklyn, and she was kind enough to show me around the neighborhood afterward and tell me about life here."

She shifts so she is facing Sharon. "What would you think about coming along with Steve and Natasha for the party? I think it would be nice to see Winnifred again, but it's up to you. I know that you might have had other plans for how you wanted to spend the afternoon."

"You don't have to if you don't want to," says Natasha, like she honestly couldn’t care one way or the other and isn’t pretending to be casual anymore, but Sharon ignores her.

As much as she misses Daddy and despite the little burn of guilt at the thought that her current life is only possible because he died, this is one of the things that Sharon likes about living with Aunt Peggy. She has no problem putting her foot down or making rules when needed, but she also treats Sharon like her own person, someone whose opinions and desires and feelings should count equally to those of any grownup.

It's moments like this that remind her all over again about why she is working to make sure Aunt Peggy gets the things that she wants too.

"Do you think we should bring a gift to the party?" she asks, and Aunt Peggy and Steve smile in unison.

"What were you doing back there?" Sharon hisses to Nat as they walk ahead; the conversation behind them has moved from a lively and distracting description of some updates to a project that one of Steve's clients had tried to demand at the last minute over to a more serious discussion of something happening at Aunt Peggy’s work – something about “irregularities” and “starting to suspect malfeasance,” which sounds like just the sort of adult thing to keep them distracted so there isn't much danger of Nat and Sharon’s planning being overheard. "For a minute I thought they might even kiss right in the aisle, and then you blew it."

"I didn't blow it," Nat says, facing ahead. "I changed my mind."

Sharon almost stops walking. "Changed your—What are you talking about? Why?"

"My dad...My dad really likes your aunt. And I know you say that your aunt likes him back, but I don't think it's the same thing. I saw how he was looking at her back there. I think that he really likes her, and if that first plan had worked out and they had gotten together, his feelings could have ended up getting really hurt."

The sound of the words first plan and Nat’s use of the past tense echoes alongside their footsteps on the cold sidewalk. "My aunt wouldn't hurt his feelings," Sharon says, quiet but staunch, crossing her arms over her chest, although it's difficult in her puffy coat. "And you should have thought of all that in the first place. You're the one who started all of this!"

"And now I'm cancelling it. So don't think of trying to do something at the party. I've got cousins' eyes everywhere."

The coldness and finality in her tone does not scare Sharon, but it does mean that she needs a chance to regroup and gather any allies and resources as she makes a plan B. She's pretty sure that the party would have been a lot of fun and the perfect next milestone for Aunt Peggy and Steve to start moving toward dating if not the moment that got them there, but instead she hangs at the edges of the crowd, avoiding Aunt Peggy's eyes and brushing off Steve's questions and trying to pretend that everything is okay so that they don't delve any deeper, so that they have fun with Bucky and Winnifred and the rest of the Barnes family who seem to like Aunt Peggy a lot, so that she might salvage at least a little bit of the future that she and—that she has been working toward, even if she has to do it alone.

Natasha wouldn't say that her father is sad, exactly.

So maybe he doesn't smile in that certain, slanted kind of way that he did when looking at Ms. Carter. And maybe he goes to bed early instead of chatting on the phone with her about planning things for them to do together, and then about all sorts of other stuff until really late so that he’s yawning as he comes to wake her up for school the next morning. And maybe he just quietly boxes up the leftovers at dinner because it was just the two of them instead of four and Ms. Carter wasn’t there to tease him or stand next to him at the counter as they both tried to chop things.

Okay, so maybe he is a little sad.

She asks him directly as she sets the table a few days after the party why he hadn’t just invited the Carters over if he wanted to see them. And he had looked at her with that Dad look of his and said, his tone even more gentle in comparison to her tight one that she couldn’t quiet help, “It seemed like you and Sharon might have had a fight, so I didn’t want to make things harder for you.”

“You aren’t going to make me apologize?” She makes herself look at him as she says it, even though she wants to look down at the forks in her hand.

He looks back, with only the littlest raise of his eyebrow at the demanding tone. “I trust that if you’re having a problem with a friend, there’s a reason for it, and that you’ll make the right choice to apologize if you need to, to forgive her, or to decide that your friendship is over.” He steps over and places a kiss on her head. “That’s the kind of thing that we do for the people we love, Nat,” he says softly against her hair. “We trust them.”

As she lies in bed that night, Nat, pinching the twisty worm of guilt tunneling through her insides, thinks about choices, and about trust. Yes, Dad might get hurt from being with Ms. Carter, but maybe he won’t. Maybe she should trust that Ms. Carter will be careful with him, or that even if something does happen, Dad will be glad to have been with her anyway for as long as it might last.

One of the things that Dad taught her, first as his foster kid and now as his kid, is that we can look for people to be good instead of assuming that they won’t be. She decides to try that now, decides that she will talk to Sharon in the morning.

Even if her father isn’t sad, that doesn’t mean he can’t be happier. If not seeing Ms. Carter is already hurting him, maybe Natasha was right in the first place about what he needs and what she needs to do to get it for him.

Sharon had been a little bit surprised that Steve and Natasha don’t have huge Christmas Eve plans; there seemed to be infinite relatives at the party, all hugging them and laughing, part of the sort of enormous family that she has only seen on TV or in movies, where they would all gather and watch some holiday classic and fall asleep in a big pile so they could wake up to open presents all together the next morning.

She is, however, far more surprised when Natasha comes over to her at school two days before Christmas and says that she was wrong to try to stop their plan and that she is ready to finish things.

“And how do I know you won’t back out again?” Sharon looks out across the playground, only flicking her eyes back in tiny darts to catch glimpses of Nat.

“You just believe, I guess, the same way that you do with anything about other people,” Nat says simply. “But also…If your aunt has been anything like my dad over the past few days, you’ll be willing to take the risk.”

Sharon looks at her fully now, red hair glinting metallic under the afternoon sun covering the playground despite the cold, face not overly apologetic but certainly determined. She thinks of Aunt Peggy, the way that over the last few days she had more than once picked up her phone to check for messages or to start sending one herself before placing it forcefully back down again, how dinner was somewhat lackluster because although they were back to eating good takeout, Aunt Peggy carefully cut and ate each bite as if programmed and as if she wasn’t enjoying it half as much as she would choking down whatever Steve had made recently, the way she would go back into her home office to work afterward because Steve wasn’t there to prod her into playing a board game together or talk about whatever was happening at work that was adding to her mood.

“Fine.” She crosses her arms and Nat does the same, the two of them scanning over the other kids on the playground. “What did you have in mind?”

The sleepover, they decide, will be at Natasha’s house. Sharon offers all sorts of logical reasons for this — Dad and Nat have a TV for showing movies while the Carters mostly watch things on their laptops and tablets, and the couch is smaller which will make it easier to box Dad and Ms. Carter into squishing together during the evening — and Nat doesn’t say that she suspects that, more than anything, it is because their place is simply cozier. She knows what it feels like to have those sorts of tender things which you don’t want to speak about, and exactly how much it means to come into the apartment and see the fridge with her papers and projects magneted firmly to the front and the walls covered in the paint that they picked out together after Nat’s adoption was finalized and the coffee table chest filled with Dad’s handmade afghans that anyone can curl under.

They had assumed that their careful planning would ensure that Ms. Carter wouldn’t just drop Sharon off and leave, but instead it is Dad. Even in the face of her laughing remarks that allowing herself a quiet bubble bath and a new coat of nail polish on Christmas Eve will be a treat, he says a soft and simple, “Peggy. You should stay with us,” and she actually does.

There are times during the evening that Natasha forgets that this is all part of the plan. Between decorating cookies, trying to play some games together (Pictionary in particular is a hilarious disaster, because Dad is very good and that makes Ms. Carter turn grumpy in the most steely and genteel way) and watching the argument between Dad and Ms. Carter about the best Christmas movies and which classic songs should simply be tossed out, it’s all just so much fun.

Originally they had planned to keep things going until it was late enough that Dad would be simply forced by politeness to ask her to stay, but the weather lends them a hand, the snow coming down in heavy flakes and with heavier gusts as the night wears on. Sharon’s hand clenches slightly in silent victory on the rug in front of them when it is Ms. Carter who comments, stretching as the credits of It’s a Wonderful Life roll on the screen, that she wishes she’d remembered her gloves for the walk home. Dad practically trips over himself inviting her to spend the night.

Instead of having that sleepover sort of excitement, the important sense of showing someone else your space and everything about your routine just being a little more when seen through the eyes of a friend, Natasha finds that getting ready for bed mostly just feels…comfortable. She and Sharon brush their teeth while listening to the sounds of the dinner dishes being cleared up, the voices of the grown-ups rising and falling peaceably around the rush of water and clink of silverware and shutting of cupboards as the dried dishes are put away.

Even though she knows that Sharon isn’t the sort to need to call home to say goodnight or to fuss about glasses of water and nightlights to avoid having to go to sleep in a strange place, there is something particularly cozy about two familiar faces framed in the doorway checking to make certain that they are sleepily settled in Natasha’s room. And although it could easily feel uncomfortable to have the usual night sounds of the apartment outside suddenly different, enhanced by an unfamiliar presence alongside her father, Nat finds herself relaxing into the humming murmur of conversation from beyond the door, so much so that it is only seeking out the triumphant glint of Sharon’s eyes in the almost-dark which keeps her awake enough to sneak out as the clock ticks over near midnight.

“That’s a tough thing,” Dad is saying as the two girls creep over to hide behind the sofa. The living room is lit only by the table lamps and the little bulbs wrapped around the Christmas tree where they are carefully setting gifts; even if they are too old for Santa tales, there’s something nice about traditions. “That’s a tough thing, Peg. You’ve already had a big year, losing your brother, moving across the ocean, taking responsibility for Sharon. Leaving your job over this would be hard — the financial issues, not to mention that bit of stability.”

“You say that as if you wouldn’t feel disappointed to find that I’d stayed at the firm after what I’ve found out,” she says, in return, smoothing some errant corner of wrapping paper with a firm hand. Despite her cut-glass diction and attempted humor, there is a bit of a question mark beneath that even the girls can hear wavering in the air.

But Dad shakes his head immediately. “I say that as someone who knows that whatever you decide, it will be the right choice for you both.”

“Ridiculous man,” she says, and Nat knows as she meets Sharon’s wide eyes that she has noticed the shake of tears in her aunt’s voice and that she hadn’t expected it either.

“Sure. Although not for this.”

When Dad touches her cheek gently, Nat has the immediate feeling that she should look away. But she reaches out a hand and grips Sharon’s instead, the two of them holding what suddenly feels like their shared breath. “I’ve seen the kind of person you are, Peggy. I’ve seen how smart you are — sharp as hell, six steps ahead and around the corner from everyone else — and how strong and certain and self-reliant. I’ve seen the way that you care for Sharon. There’s no one whose judgment I would trust more.”

“Well.” Somehow Ms. Carter makes even shifting herself forward on the floor surrounded by pine needles and presents look elegant, even with that remaining vulnerability there too. “Coming from a deeply kind and upstanding and moral man, and the best father I know, that means quite a lot.” And then she leans that last bit and presses her mouth to his.

Nat is certain that the small, excited squeak did not come from her, but based on Sharon’s matching warning look, she is equally disavowing being the source. Through some silent, mutual agreement, they decide to chalk it up to a mysterious but necessary atmospheric venting of joy at this moment and turn their attention back.

“What about the girls?” Dad asks as he and Ms. Carter part. “I don’t think that I can just kiss you, or just do it once, and they’ve both had it hard. If we started something…” but Nat notices that he does not move away and that he has her fingers still held in his, their hands twined and tucked snug between their chests.

Ms. Carter smiles, bright-edged and knowing by the blurry holiday lights. “Somehow I have the feeling that they won’t precisely mind,” she says, and when he leans forward to kiss her again despite his quizzical expression, Nat and Sharon take the opportunity to crawl away, exchanging a triumphant nod.

When they get back to Nat’s bedroom, hearing the low laughter still coming from the living room, they cannot help but high five as well for a job well done, a successful plan, the future that they made for all of them together.

(And if perhaps Ms. Carter clued in somewhere along the way, well, they couldn’t really expect to make it through without that happening, could they?)

Sharon should be sleeping. December has been so packed: between all their usual traditions – skating, sledding, peppermint cocoa at the diner, buying gifts at the bookstore, the annual Barnes family party, decorating the tree and the apartment – and their move this year into the new place (which Winnifred Barnes had called “a steal,” Aunt Peggy had called “quite reasonable,” and Steve had referred to as “a travesty that would be solved by rent control”), by Christmas Eve she’s honestly exhausted. But something woke her and she can’t quite get back to sleep, so she finally gets up to go get a drink from the kitchen.

She passes Nat’s room on the way down the hall, smiling at the small picture of the four of them together which her sister had stuck up on the door. As she nears the living room, there’s a small sound that makes her freeze. For a moment she wonders if one of their gifts this year actually is the cat they’ve been asking for, but as she slowly turns her head, she finds that Aunt Peggy and Steve – probably tired out too from all the activity, Aunt Peggy’s work with the new firm, and the slow way they were turning in a circle together before the girls went to bed – are asleep and breathing deeply on the sofa together; it’s the bigger one from their old apartment but they’re still cuddled together, Aunt Peggy’s head on Steve’s shoulder and his tipping over hers as the bulbs from the Christmas tree illuminate them, tiny and glowing.

“Better get back to bed,” Nat says softly from behind her, and somehow she isn’t surprised to hear her there. “You don’t want to be too tired tomorrow to appreciate Peggy rating Dad’s attempt at the full English breakfast.”

“I could never be too tired for that,” Sharon says with a little laugh, but she is actually feeling sleepy again, so she turns and follows Nat down the hall, glancing over her shoulder one last time at their parents, all ready for another Christmas together.

#lavellenchanted #SteggySecretSanta #Steggy Secret Santa #Steggy #Steggy fic

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dragongirldg · 1 year

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Things I’ve said and don’t regret.

I have never seen siblings that don’t antagonize each other- they have to have gotten on their nerve at least once!

I remember this American tv show where this (I think she was an exchange student living abroad in their house???) girl looked at the girls fighting and arguing with longing as she is an only child. So she tries so hard to get them to be mad and every time they don’t mind what she does and are so nice to her. She gets sad.

So the girls mom hints to them what she really wants. The girls understand and go up to her to start arguing about something she stole (previously they were just going to let her have them because they think the earrings look good on her, not what she wanted at all.) When they started yelling she smiled excitedly and began to argue back.

I don’t 100% remember it but yeah I thought it was sweet.

I antagonize my sister all I want, but no one else is allow to mess with her.

If you don’t understand how kids can wrestle without actually trying to hurt them- then you’ve never played on the playground.

Tag, dodgeball, kick ball, volleyball

Kids play rough and sometimes get hurt- but it’s fun! Bruises sting but forget that! Let’s do it again! Let’s keep playing! Stop being dramatic and go go go!

Kids want to play. Something along those lines! You know what I mean?

#2012 tmnt #12 Raph #12 mikey #siblings unite!#bro don’t you remember breaking something in the house?#hiding it and never telling your parents?#playing rough but not wanting to be in trouble #teenage mutant ninja turtles

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noro-noro-noro · 9 months

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oh i kinda forgot most of my dream again. but i remembered some!

i was in a school-related amphitheater/hallway/building/campus. the hallway was 2 stories tall & kind of elegant & blue-themed, with no lights. the carpet was gray with narroww colorful stripes, kind of like a bus or a bowling alley. on one end of the hallway was my old roommate nick & he was being normal to me instead of about as passive aggressive as we usually were to each other. he'd also adopted like 5 animals, 3 cats, 1 dog, & 1 "dog" that was supposedly a borzoi but it looked like this

bucket included. his new place kind of looked like if you took the front room of the townhouse & combined it with the place my grandma used to live. we had a short conversation & i left.

in the middle of the hallway it opened out into the amphitheater whch was maybe outdoors? but it was like evening. peopel were hollering. there was a bonfire. some kinda outdoorsy party. i didn't want to go to that, so i kept walking & ended up in my elementary school near the glass passage by the gym/cafeteria that connected to the playground, but more on the principal's side rather than the gym side.

went into one of the classrooms & made conversation with a lady that was there & she gave me her business card & i put it in my pocket without looking at it & checked my schedule - i'd just finished volunteering with the 5th graders, & had to walk down to the first grade hallway for my next bit. i was having fun talking to the lady supervising though so i thought about delaying - like they never REALLY punish you for not showing up i don't think, but i ialso thought that i hadn't interacted with wild little kids in a long time & i missed it, so i went down that way to the other glass walkway. as i got to that hallway, i pulled out the business card & glanced at it, & on the back she'd written a note - she wanted ME to be her assistant when she went to space next week. i was really worried about this - math isn't my forte & i know space travel needs a lot of math & thinking & such like & i was worried i just wasn't up to the task, but i was excited about the opportunity... i told one of the teachers that i had to go & quickly explained the situation, & they were like np we'll find someone to fill in for you.

then i went back to the big blue hallway & went to the room at the other end of the hallway, which was a big science-ish room. the ceiling was still very tall & there were bookshelves that went up 2/3 height. the walls were off-white with kind of a papery texture, the ceiling was arched kind of like a church, and there were visible wood beams. there were lots of windows covered in paper that still let warm daylight in, & all the windowsills were stacked up with terrariums or books. in the back of the room was a few tables set up to be like a classroom almost, though it wasn't in session atm. there were a few people around, & i was gonna ask for advice on what books to pick up to figure shit out about space travel when i got distracted by some people handling an eastern hercules beetle, which is supposed to be native to my area but i haven't seen any my whole life :( i think their spots are so cute i love how they change color in moisture & i've only seen one once in my entomology class.... annyway i wanted to see it so i asked iff i could see it but it flew away.... sad...

dream document is now at 506 pages.

#dreams

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piratewithvigor · 2 years

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Journey Out Of Darkness: The History Of Kane

Chapter 3: Paul And James And Thomas

Sometimes, young boys just die...

Last Chapter AO3

Taglist: @the--blackdahlia @coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe @wendigoruble

Ma was talking.

Abel could hear her voice, clear as a bell, coming through the door to the funeral parlor office, which he was standing right in front of. He pressed his ear to the door, focusing hard. He could hear her voice, but not what she was saying. The question was if she was with a client. If she was, he was under strict instructions not to disturb her. Ma and Dad had been drilling him on those instructions since he first learned how to open a door. Clients were very sad people going through a very hard time in their life and Abel didn’t need to make it harder by bothering them. He didn’t want to bother them, though. He wanted to tell Ma what had happened today at school, his first day of second grade; he had made a friend, a boy named Brian Erben, who lived a quick bike ride down the road and was over the moon to hear that Abel would also like to play with his racing set. He’d been looking for someone to race since he first got it. If Ma wasn’t with a client, she could call Brian’s folks and set everything up. He could be racing those cars in ten minutes flat.

Whoever was in there with Ma must have said something funny, because she laughed. She never laughed if she was in with a client, because clients were never in a laughing mood. Maybe one of her friends had come over for tea and a chat and lost track of the time. Maybe Mrs. Keith or Mrs. Larrabee or…

No. As Abel listened closer, he could hear a man’s voice. Dad. It had to be Dad. That was good, Dad would be happy to hear about Brian too. He always worried about Abel finding friends without being involved in sports, or roughhousing on the playground, but on his very first day of school, he’d made a friend who also wanted to do something that wasn’t rough or dangerous at all. Heck, Dad would probably even offer to drive him over.

Ma laughed again. She was almost giggling.

Boy, everyone was in a good mood today.

Abel turned the knob and pushed the door open without even bothering to knock.

The giggling stopped.

Ma was sitting on the couch on the far side of the office. There was a man sitting next to her with a hand on her knee.

The man was not Dad.

The man was Paul Bearer.

Bearer was a stocky little man with black hair and a mustache who worked in the funeral parlor with Abel’s parents. He was an apprentice now, learning how to be an embalmer from Dad. Or maybe was one and just worked with him. For some reason, he liked playing around with the dead bodies and chemicals in the basement. He seemed nice enough, or it felt like he was trying to be. For some reason, Abel trusted him about as far as he could throw him. He even offered to let Abel stay up late when he babysat on occasion, but Abel always preferred going to sleep early instead of spending time with the man.

Ma stood up quickly, her face a little red.

“Abel Percy Carrion. When a door is closed, what do we do?”

“Sorry.”

“What do we do?”

“Knock.”

“That’s right, we knock.” Ma ran her hands over the front of her dress, smoothing out where Bearer had been flattening the fabric. “What if I’d been in here with a client? What if-”

“I said I was sorry.” He didn’t mention he knew it hadn’t been true, that he’d been eavesdropping. That was a whole other mess he didn’t feel like getting into.

“That’s alright. No harm done.” Bearer stood up himself. He wasn’t that much taller than Ma. Heck, he wasn’t that much taller than Thomas. “How are you, Abel? Good to see you again. You remember me, right?”

“Yeah. I remember you.” Abel tried his hardest to not sound as disdainful as he felt. Whatever the case, Bearer didn’t seem to notice.

“Good, I’m glad. So how was school today? Big day, right? First day of what, first grade?”

“Second.”

“Second. My, my. You’re growing up so fast. Seems like just yesterday, you were running around underfoot, still trying to get into the basement.”

Abel rolled his eyes; he hated when grown-ups talked to him like that, like that just because he didn’t see someone every day, he was always frozen in time as a baby. What was he supposed to do, apologize?

Well, maybe for the eye-rolling, given how Ma shook her head and crouched down in front of him, like she always did when she wanted to scold him, but didn’t want to make a scene in front of a guest.

“Now, Abel. You be nice to Mr. Bearer, please.”

“Paul. I want the boy to call me Paul, Susanna,” Bearer said, sounding far more serious all of a sudden. “You remember– like we talked about?”

“That’s right, I’m sorry. Call him Paul.” She put her hands on Abel’s shoulders to make sure he was paying attention. “You think you can do that?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He looked up at Bearer again. “Paul.”

“That’s right, that’s good.” Bearer was smiling now. Like being called the wrong thing was what was changing his mood so wildly. “You and I should be on a first-name basis, Abel. Given how long I’ve been working here, and all. We’re kind of like family, don’t you think?”

Before Abel could get mouthy, Ma’s hands tightened on his shoulders. A warning. He was about to ask her to ease up when he noticed what they’d been working on before he came in. Paper spread all over the coffee table in front of the couch. Old-looking papers. The edge of a book peeked out underneath them. A big, brown oversized book.

The Kane family scrapbook.

Bearer’s eyes followed to where Abel’s had landed. He bent down and picked up a handful of the papers.

“Speaking of family…”

He tapped the papers on the edge of the table, straightening them into a fairly hefty stack. A thicker stack than any book Abel had read before.

“...you might be interested in these, son.”

“What are they?” He didn’t want to mention that he asked because the longest and most difficult book he’d read so far was Fantastic Mr. Fox.

“Copies of some things I found the other day at the university. Some information about your family, Abel. The Kanes.”

“My name is Carrion.” Besides Dad calling Ma Susanna Kane when he was frustrated with her, he had no connection to the name or to the family. He’d met none of the relatives, and as far as he knew, he and Thomas were the final descendants.

“It is, isn’t it?” Bearer didn’t seem at all upset to be corrected. “The name doesn’t really matter, does it, Abel? Blood is what’s important. Believe me, considering my line of work, I ought to know.”

“Oh, yes,” Ma said from behind him. “Blood’s what matters. Names can be changed, blood can’t.”

“The blood running through your veins, Abel. Your family’s blood. That’s what these papers are all about; family. Take a look.”

He thrust the stack into Abel’s face. Against his better instincts, Abel took a chance at glancing at the top page. Surprisingly, there were only two words on it.

You’re dreaming.

A chill ran down his spine.

“Oh, no…”

“Oh, yes,” Bearer smiled.

Abel spun around when he noticed he couldn’t feel Ma’s hands anymore.

Ma was gone.

Abel turned around again.

The writing on the paper had changed,

She’s dead.

Bearer was laughing. Abel stumbled backwards, away from him and the papers, back into the office door behind him. It was hot, too hot. He smelled smoke.

He remembered everything.

“Ma…” he whispered. “Dad… Thomas…”

Bearer held up the top paper with one hand and pointed to it with the other.

Dead Dead Dead All Dead

Bearer was staring Abel down, like he was looking into his soul.

“Didn’t I tell you, Abel? Didn’t I tell you the papers were all about your family? Now you know everything you need to.”

“No…”

“Yes. They’re dead, Abel. Dead and gone. It’s just you and me now, son. I’m the closest thing to family you got left.”

Bearer grabbed his arm in a grip far stronger than Abel expected. No matter how hard he struggled, he couldn’t break free

–

The night after the fifth and final operation was one of the least productive during his entire stay thus far. He’d thrashed around so violently in his sleep that he’d ripped away half the evening’s work, a sheet of skin about the size of a shirt pocket from his right arm, making a sixth operation necessary. The nurses were given a new, far more powerful sedative and two new instructions: the sedative they had was enough to kill someone with only a miniscule overdose and to get as close to that line as possible so the boy would get nowhere near consciousness.

He didn’t.

–

That sleep was one of the longest Abel had had.

When he opened his eyes, he was lying on the floor of the house. Right in front of the stairs, hardly ten feet away from the front door. The fire was out.

The door was still open.

There were voices outside. Strangers, a lot of them. His vision was a little fuzzy, but he could easily recognize the firefighter coats milling around. Footsteps sounded on the second floor above him, came running down the stairs. Thomas. Alive, unharmed, unburnt.

His brother ran right past him, and out through the front door.

“Thomas!” Abel called, struggling slowly to his feet. “Thomas, wait for me!”

He made it just outside the door before a young man in an EMT uniform grabbed his arm. “Hey, buddy, where you think you’re going?”

“My brother…” Abel looked around the grounds, trying to find Thomas to point him out. He had to be with him. Thomas would keep him safe.

“No, no. Come on over here and lie down on this gurney. You’re dead.”

“I’m not!” Abel pulled away from the man and began running through the crowd of people, following the glimpses of long red hair that kept weaving through. Thomas was running too. And he was faster. He’d always been faster. Bigger, stronger. Better. Thomas was getting away from him, leaving him behind. He’d never do that, but he was.

No, Abel thought. He can’t; he’s all I have left.

Tumbleweeds blew across the road, stopping him in his tracks and obscuring his vision with the dust. Or was it smoke?

“Thomas! Come back!”

Paul Bearer stepped out into the road, in front of him. Where had he come from?

“Hey, Abel. Long time, no see.”

“Get the hell out of my way.” Ma wasn’t around to scold him for language. He needed this man to know he was in no mood.

“Now hold on a minute, son.” Bearer shook his head and turned, raising a hand to his brow to shield his eyes from the morning sun. “Where you going?”

“My brother.” He pointed down the road. “Thomas. He went that way.”

Bearer shook his head and held up a piece of paper. “Don’t think that’s possible, Abel. Don’t you remember?”

The words on it…

Dead Dead Dead All Dead

“It is possible! It is! I saw him!” He tried to shove past Bearer, but his arm was gripped tight.

“Alright, alright, simmer down. I got my car over there– we’ll go look for him, me and you. How’s that sound?”

Bearer was smiling. Abel hated when he smiled.

“Doesn’t sound good.” He pushed Bearer away. The man’s laughter followed him as he ran, heading down 17 again, running right along the faded yellow line, scanning the horizon for any sign of his brother. All that the view offered were half-dead shrubs, the occasional mesquite tree and a row of purple mountains in the far-off distance. Even with the wide-open plains, there was no sign of Thomas. Not even a trail through the growth beside the road. The only thing that broke up the natural horizon was a signpost a few hundred yards ahead of him. He walked up to it, and around it, read the words in big black letters on the front.

Welcome to MARFA, TEXAS

Then in smaller letters underneath:

Home of the World-Famous Marfa Lights

Giant filmed here, 1955

Giant. That had been part of the Kane family curse too. Abel recognized the name. It was the page with the most pictures, so he’d looked at it often whenever Thomas pulled him into the book. They’d included an article about the making of the movie, then some handwritten notes about his grandpa, Robert Kane, who Abel had never met. The film company was going to be in town for a long time and they needed someone who knew it well and was able to help with locations and the hospitality businesses in town. Robert Kane was just the man. He’d gotten to be friends with the stars of that movie, one star in particular, who had hundreds of articles written about him, who’d died young in a terrible car accident right after he made the film…

Abel remembered the first time he’d seen those articles now, that day when he’d found Ma and Paul Bearer in the office. Paul Bearer had found those articles up at Sul Ross, the university he’d attended while he was an apprentice and still took a few night courses now and then. He’d been researching the curse for her, but that wasn’t important now. What was important was finding his brother.

“Thomas, where are you?!” He yelled, his voice cracking from the tears that were about to overflow.

He turned and yelled again into the field that bordered the road. No one answered him in that direction either. The only thing he could hear was a car driving out of Marfa. A bright red one being driven by a young man whose face looked awfully familiar. He smiled and gave Abel a thumbs-up and yelled…

“What curse?”

Just as he passed the ‘Welcome to Marfa’ sign, the car seemed to hit something that Abel couldn’t see, flipping over and exploding into flames.

Abel tried to avoid the flames, but they started chasing him, chasing him back down the road towards Paul Bearer, who was waiting for him with open arms and smiling, and so Abel turned and let the fire catch him.

He didn’t feel a thing.

He just watched the fire as it consumed every inch of his body. It was everywhere he looked, on his arms, his legs, climbing up his stomach, burning him, burning his clothes, orange and red fire, yellow and gold fire, fire so bright its image was seared into his brain.

The image stayed with him until darkness took its place and swallowed him whole.

–

The sixth operation was a success. The boy hadn’t moved an inch, but it was still two more weeks before the grafts were healed enough to move him. They didn’t need to rush this time, so they sent him in an ambulance to Big Bend in Alpine. A slow moving ambulance driven by an EMT with explicit instructions to keep it below 50, even on the highway.

“So you don’t tear the skin and we have to operate all over again,” one of the doctors explained. The driver had nodded, but the near-crawling pace on the highway stifled him enough to want to push it up to 70, a speed he maintained without a second thought until he entered Marfa. The sign reminded him that Giant had been filmed there, which reminded him of James Dean, which reminded him to ease off the gas.

Made him think of something else too, something a friend of his, a nurse down in Marfa, had told him about Dean’s death. That it had happened because the actor had been friends with one of the locals, some family his friend had heard was cursed or something. Some sort of nonsense like that.

#technically this was supposed to be the second half of chapter 2 #but I might divvy up all the chapters cause 4000 words feels like a lot #ah well #y'all will read the whole thing eventually anyway #WWE #WWF #Undertaker #Kane #UT #Writing #Fanfic #Journey Out Of Darkness

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thewellerman · 2 years

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The Story of Jane

This is the story of Jane It's not a happy story Though, she wishes it was It isn't a finished story Though, she wishes it was

Jane entered this world like most kids, Being born. She lived, what she believes, was a normal happy life, until High School that is, Because there she met the most wonderful boy, Called John She took a liking to this boy. Different from all her other friends I mean, Amelia was her BESTEST friend, but, John, was different. he was perfect? But, Jane took a different approach when it came to John. For you see, Jane, was a brat. She would cry in public, ALL the time, all the way until Grade 6, she would just cry in the playground, Like a baby. Obviously, not scared to show her emotions. But, she decided to hide her emotions from John, And everyone else, She was… scared. But, she did decided to hide them, For the next 5 years.

It was these emotions that, changed, Jane. This made Jane much more introverted, rather than extroverted. Jane continued this cycle for the next 3 years, after which, Jane wasn't Jane anymore. She was, fake. In public at least, She was two different people. One of them was Very Happy, this was her public self. The other one was rather Un-Happy, She was Depressed! far from it, She was un-happy with her life, as a whole. She was questioning many things about herself. One thing was her Sexuality, She managed to determine that she was straight, But also Asexual, She likes men, But seeks romantic relationships, rather than sexual ones

It was this line of thought, that made her question her future. what did she want to do for a job? She picked Computer Science for her High School Options, She loves computers, and working with them. But surely she can do something else if she changes her mind? right? "No!" she thinks to herself, "I've chosen my path" "And it's Computer Science"

SUPRISE! High School is finished! "Finally! we can go to college", she says. This is the second time she's left a school. She can't even remember what it felt like to leave Primary School! Wait, she can't remember what it's like to leave primary school? that was only 5 years ago, how could she forget that. How many Primary School classmates can she remember? Seven? how could she forget most of her class? She checks her phone, she doesn't have any photos with her friends on it. She thinks back, she doesn't really have any lasting memories from 2-3 years back, we'll it's too late now, we're all leaving the sports hall, everybody is ready to leave for the last time. Is she a bad friend? She forgot most of her old friends, will she forget these ones? She now begins to cry, she genuinely breaks down. probably for the first time in years. Shes so out of it, she's speechless. "Why am I so sad" she thinks, "I hate high school. why is this affecting me so much?" She leaves the school with her friends And they all have an amazing day together, In Jane's mind, but she leaves early because her family want her back home for a KFC they're getting together. She reluctantly leaves, but the following day she reflects. Maybe she shouldn't have left, why did she leave? she was having and amazing day. and that thought comes back, Is she a bad friend? she checks snapchat. Oh! theres a video post to their friend groupchat, oh, they seemed to have a better time together, without her. Well, It is only just one video afterall, but, to her, it felt weird. Is she a bad friend? Do her friends Hate her? Would everybody be better off without her? Would everybody be better off if she was dead? These questions, sneak into her mind, probably for the first time.

SUPRISE! It's prom time! but the school cancelled, so let's make our own! Jane, isn't doing great, there's a war of words in her mind but she tries to enjoy it. She tries to look like she's enjoying it. Some people start to dance together, she decides to ask John, who she is sitting next to. But, her vocal chords are so starved of words, she just looks at him for a few seconds, He looks back, she just looks down. John knows something is wrong, but, she doesn't let him in. She tries just drinking her sorrows away, that always works! it does help make her relaxed but she just starts throwing up in the bathroom, probably best she just go home and not join the sleepover.

When she gets home she thinks, I throw up in my friends house, then ditch their sleepover when I said I would do it? Am I a bad friend?

SUPRISE! It's college time! Exciting! Until it isn't, it's november and you're all settled in Jane, Time for those intrusive thoughts to come back! But, the voices, the intrusive thoughts, they're not asking questions anymore they're answering the questions. "You are a bad friend" "Everybody would be better without you" "Everybody would be better if you were dead" Everytime she does something, a voice says something so demoralising, that, she isn't happy anymore, ever. Everytime she picks up a knife to cut steak, a thought pops into her mind "I could kill myself right now, But why would I do that?" Everytime she sits on a bridge, "I could jump off right now, But why would I do that?" "Why would I think that?" "What the fuck is wrong with me?" Now she is finally questioning her own thoughts. She now realises that she isn't sleeping anymore, she sleeps every other night. How can she sleep? theres a war going on inside her head.

Where is Jane right now? she's still here, she's at the biggest crossroads of her life. What is she going to do to fix it?

But a better question is, WHAT is Jane right now? Because Jane is a lion and she wants to be free.

A parallel of my own life.

#poetry #mental health #mental illness #dark #literature #writing #thoughts #past #poem #sad poem #original poem

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fluffycloudhead · 1 year

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Me ranting about some memories that came up

Tw: injuries, chronic illness, neglect, sexism, fatphobia

:readmore:

I just saw a poll about falling down stairs and it reminded me about the time I fell down the stairs in elementary school.

I slipped weirdly, fell down some steps only, but I landed with my back on an edge and it hurt so much.

I was in pain, started crying, couldn't move, but no one helped me. The people nearby just stood and watched. No said anything, there was just me sobbing. I couldn't speak.

And then 8 year old me forced herself to get up under a lot of pain. No teacher did anything. No fellow student.

I could barely move without being in pain for weeks. No one cared. Not my grandparents. Not my teachers. I was forced to do sports classes although I was in immense pain.

I was the chubby kid. The teacher didn't believe me, she thought I just wanted to skip classes because fat kids hate sports.

And I think that's when I started to learn and internalise that I couldn't count on anyone. That my pain is not bad enough and I should just be tougher.

Things like that had happened before. One day I was playing with my brother on a playground and fell weirdly on my arm. It hurt so bad. I was told to stop crying. In the evening it still hurt. I was told to stop crying again. I cried the whole night. My grandma took me to the doctor. I remember my grandad telling her not to give me so much attention over this.

My arm was strained (I think it's the right word) and I got some bandages to fixate it and pain medication.

As a teen I would start to suffer from "colds" a lot, even in summer. I'd sneeze and cough through every night.

No one cared. I was just the girl who - unlike my brother - got sick easily. My breathing started to become harder some nights. Doctors told me to do more sports and work out, I was too chubby. Grandparents ignored me and gave me coughing syrup.

I ended up in a hospital one day because of an severe asthma attack that almost suffocated me. And my grandparents only took me to the hospital after talking to a general practitioner and my aunt begging them to actually do something.

I had developed an allergic asthma over months and years. And one cared. I got an inhaler for the attacks afterwards.

These days I reflected on my celiacs diagnosis I got last year. Now that I am living mostly gluten free a lot of my regular stomach issues are gone. Stomach issues I had since elementary school. Issues that were also ignored. Either because I was a girl looking for attention or just the fat girl that probably just ate too much.

I am so used to my issues not being taking seriously. I even have an incredible hard time taking my issues seriously.

I have so much more stories like these. I've been used to injuries and illness being ignored.

My brother (twin) was treated the exact opposite way. My grandpa would take him to the doctor for every so small problem. He'd get help and medicine for everything.

Because if a "man" (or in this case "boy") is complaining he must have an actual problem. Not like a whiny weak girl that cries over every little discomfort. My grandfather was a rascist piece of shit.

My mother ignored me, too, when I moved in with her later. But she also ignored my brother. She didn't care for either of us.

I don't know where I am going with this. I am just sad and still angry.

And... Friends, listen to your bodies. Answer your pains. Don't ignore the issues. You're worth it.

If I never got to hear that myself, I wanna make sure you heard it.

You're worth to be cared about. You're allowed to take care of your needs and treat your pains and illnesses. You don't have to toughen up. You're allowed to rest. If you can, talk to a doctor about your health issues. It doesn't matter if you're male or female or something different. It doesn't matter if you're fat.

You matter.

#fatphobia #neglect #sexism #health #rambling

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itaewonsthq · 2 years

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#701: moon eunsang

WHAT THEY DON’T TELL YOU ABOUT LIVING /// A STUDY ON MOON EUNSANG.

1. your absence will hurt no one but yourself.

because at six years old, the greatest fear that eunsang knows is what he feels when he’s on the playground & he’s staring at other groups of kids from his sandbox hideout, feeling something he’ll eventually learn to call ‘yearning’. it’s the desire to have a companion to build his castles with, but the fear that he’ll be rejected. the fear wins every time. the harder that his dad pushes him to just go for it, the more he resists: in retrospect, they’ll call it a warning sign. at the time, he’s just shy.

well, the neighborhood grannies say that he’s wise beyond his years. much more mature than eunhyuk, anyway—they tell him this while they pinch his cheeks & ruffle his hair, as if he’s not smart enough to notice the contradiction.

he always notices.

2. classrooms are designed to suffocate.

at least that’s what it feels like when his deskmate is not a person, but a feeling—fear is always beside him, always waiting: should he garner too much attention, it closes in.

he never volunteers to answer the teacher’s questions. (he usually knows the answer.)

3. every door that closes really does allow another to open.

it’s a sacrifice: he doesn’t know (will never know) what it’s like to play freeze-tag at recess, but he knows what it’s like to strive. he studies hard—has to with all that time he’s got, anyway—and diligence always pays off.

he’s intelligent before it really matters, before there’s anything he can earn for it other than a tacky plastic medal that won’t make him anything more than a target: but still, he’s intelligent.

mom and dad are always proud, always expectant. they tell him he should work with his brain, never his hands.

4. time does not heal all / arguably, it doesn’t even heal some.

because nothing prepares you for being a motherless child, eunsang says when his teachers ask where his effort’s gone, why his grades are falling. for a while, it works—not that it’s some kind of manipulation tactic, but it must come off as one, the way he’s told that he can’t pull the dead-mom-card forever.

(forever, he thinks, must hold different connotations for everyone: one month in, is it really reasonable to have moved on? to have forgotten?)

he remembers her like this: hair brushed over one shoulder, sunlight shining in on the both of them. he wants to remember her smiling, but he remembers her frowning. she was always bothered that his schoolwork was getting too complicated and she couldn’t help him with it anymore, so he remembers her joking that he was only 14 and already two times as smart as her—brushed off at the time, it’s a sad thing to look back on.

he doesn’t want to pull the dead-mom-card, but if he could help it, he wouldn’t have the card at all, so sometimes he excuses himself because surely it’s more couth to cry in the bathroom than in 3rd-period algebra.

5. opportunities are found, not earned.

they say that good things come to those who wait, but by 2020, eunsang knows better.

god knows he’s missed out on enough already, waiting.

6. you have to do it for yourself.

because there’s bound to be resentment if it’s done for anyone else, no matter how important the people.

over the landline, dad urges him to come home for a while, get back on the 'right track'.

#itsthq: incoming #krp #choi beomgyu #txt

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minseologs · 2 years

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Shenzhen hideout

Spring greets Minseo the second she arrived in a rural town, it was much more peaceful in the city but it was rowdy because of the children playing around. The orphanage still looked the same since she last visited years, with a few changes to it’s colors and years of new tenants.

It was obvious she did not belong there. Despite her guards being away and letting her casual self take over, everyone had noticed her poise did not belong where they were. Still, she walks as if she had been there before. Soon enough, someone had called her name so gently, and it made her smile almost immediately.

“I see you’ve already forgotten about our talk in improving your Cantonese.” The woman, looked around like her father’s age— she also spoke Korean very well— comments about it.

“Aunt Ying, I can barely keep up with my Mandarin, you really expect me to improve anytime now?” She responds in Mandarin, a soft smile lacing her words before responding back in Korean. “I can speak the essentials”

“Curse words aren’t essential, dear.” she retorts.

The women chuckle as they shared tea in an office space, looking over the playground where the children played. Minseo could only smile seeing them happy. Her form leans back remembering the time she took Jinwoo there when he was less than a year old.

“I’m glad to see everything is still well, after all these years.” She comments. “I’m sure mama is proud.”

“Only because your family had supported us all these years. Of course.”

Ying was Sohee’s best friend growing up. They had spent half of their lives here in the Shenzhen orphanage. Born to Korean parents and spending most of her childhood in different towns of China, Minseo’s mother was left there for quite sometime after her parents went through a scuffle with officials. She hid for years only to have her mother return when she was a teenager. Minseo had considered that specific orphanage as a hideout, because only one knows her as a kingpin roaming free, and because it was a place her mother had grown to love, too.

The friends never got adopted in the end. They would go on doing business that eventually led them to illegal activity. After Sohee returned home to Korea, the exposure of her family’s deeds already got her future set. They kept in touch all those years until her death. Ying took over the place with help from Sohee, who met Minseo when she was a toddler and so on. Knowing her standing with her father, Ying vowed to protect the child for as long as she could, even offered her a home in Shenzhen if she ever decided to run away.

“I’ve been thinking about your offer,” Minseo mentions, her gaze empty at nothing at all. “Can I still live here with you?”

“There you go again, making hasty decisions.” The elder asks. “Aren’t you afraid of leaving everything in Korea?”

Minseo thought long and hard of what to say, her heart aches thinking all of it. A hand holds hers, but her sadness already followed.

“I feel a little lost, it just seems like I’m running out of things to do.” she confessed, holding to her hand tightly.

“Aren’t you afraid of dying?”

“Auntie, I’ve cheated death so many times, you know that,” she scoffs, taking a deep breath with a condescending smile. “I’m not afraid of it anymore. The part after is the hardest. You know— when you live. Besides, no one knows me here. It’ll be a second chance, they say.”

Ying was simply amused. She was trying to find somewhere she can pierce through Minseo’s hard shell. She was reminded of how Sohee was when they were younger.

“Your mother had courage like you.” Minseo’s eyes rolls— she’s heard it before. “It’s true— always optimistic about tomorrow.”

“I always hear about that. I find it hard to believe mama was someone similar to me.”

“You’d be surprised..!”

Minseo stays quiet again. The rustling of the trees fill in the stillness.

“Now, I know you don’t just visit here because you want to,” the older woman mentions. “What do you want?”

“We opened a port in Yangtao Bay,” Her voice was soft, and there was a pause. “We needed another one at the Eastern side, I figured maybe you could keep watch. You can take anyone with you, I’ll give you anything you want. Use the orphanage as an excuse.”

“But not everything I need...” Ying retorts, sighing a little. “And you want the children harmed if they find me?”

“The port between Macao and Hong Kong is getting too many eyes. I don’t have a legitimate business to cover up something if I get caught. It’s much easier to acquire a questionable fisherman than it is to build a hotel.” Her eyes gazes sharply at her. “No one will be harmed. The ports in China are only for imports. No one will know as long as everyone does their job. I am not sure what my deals will get me, but I have to stay away from Yiwan for a little while until I figure it out.”

“The more deals you have, the more trouble it is,” she comments, it was a familiar saying that rings in Minseo’s mind.

“and the more trouble it is, the closer to death will be.” They say in unison.

There was another pause, before Minseo hands an envelope. It was flat and was stamped with a bank issued within the country. There was writing that said ‘donation’ in it, without making it out that it was a deal being made.

“I’m sure you think nothing else matters now— that you need to just do what was expected of you. But trust me, your life wouldn’t be that amazing,” Minseo was about to interrupt, only to be shut down. “Because you and I know, it’s not gonna be a fulfilling one. You think no one cares about whatever you do, but someone does, including me. You’ll have to move on somehow, but without destroying yourself in the process.”

“You told me just now I was just like mama, surely, things I do will mirror things like hers.” she stands, gathering her things. A sharp breath takes cuts her off. “Thank you, Aunt Ying. I’ll keep in touch.”

“What a shame... you have your mother’s wits, but your father’s iron fist.”

Again, Minseo respectfully bows before leaving, and though it hurt her to hear that, she never fights a fact thrown to her.

#cms: underground logs

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missluckycharms · 3 years

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What is grief, if not love persevering?

Anon asked: heyyy! i love your writing sm💕 can you write angst please? make it hurt☹

Masterlist.

Summary: in which Harry is a single Dad due to losing his wife five years ago just shortly after their little love was born. Y/N has been there through it all. Harry has a rough night filled with whiskey and tears for his late wife.

A/N: this one is full of Angst and light hearted jokes to not get you too sad … sorry in advance, it’s a real tear jerker. Enjoy!!

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death, talks of alcohol and drug abuse, talks of depression and very low mental health, curse words.

—

Five years.

It’s been five years since the passing of Myla Styles, the woman who granted Harry a wish he always wanted, the woman who loved him beyond all the galaxies and the woman who never saw any wrong in anyone, not even the worst of people, she always used to say “deep down, their heart is just aching” and Harry always admired that about her, she always looked on the positive side of life.

She held that same attitude as he held her hand in the hospital room, her fragile and pale body laying on the white bed as she peered up at him, oxygen tube in her nostrils and too many machines to count hooked up to her body, she was a shell of a woman, but she still had a heart of gold, the same hear Harry fell in love with when they were sixteen years of age. He hated seeing her this way, especially when their nearly one week old baby was resting in his other arm, fast asleep as her Mum clung to every bit of life she had left, but not once did her smile fade.

It all happened so fast, one day she was pushing life into the world and eight days later her life was being taken out of this world. There was complications with birth, the doctors and nurses finding undiagnosed ovarian cancer in her ovaries when they had to send her in for an emergency c section. Myla confessed she felt off, her body didn’t feel right, but she knew if something was seriously wrong, she wouldn’t risk the life of her baby getting treatment, she would rather her baby live over her. Doctors and nurses tried their best, trying to refer her to new hospitals to get stronger chemo if she wanted, but Myla refused, she told them to let her go, she was tired and she couldn’t stick around long enough to see if these treatments would work — she knew she was dying but Harry refused to believe it.

The day she left, was the day Harry felt like his whole world stopped, like the curtains were shut and he was left in a dark room with no way out. He promised Myla he would do his best to take care of their love, who they named Honey. He was dealing with the loss, Honey taking his mind off it a little and giving him reasons to pull himself from bed even on the days when he wanted to lay around and wallow in his own darkness — she pulled him out of those days, but two months later it all came crashing down on top of him.

He slipped into a wrong mind set, immediately knowing that Honey had to be taken away from him because he was living in fear he would hurt her, one day he woke up and he looked at her and just cried, he held her and he felt nothing, he didn’t even sympathise with her when she would cry for food, he felt nothing towards Honey and this scared him, terribly. Anne, his Mum took Honey in, letting Harry to relax and blow off some steam and get some help, his and Myla’s family all agreeing and saying he needed help and it wasn’t something to be ashamed about — he just lost his wife, they can’t lose him either.

Harry took the wrong route of clearing his mind and getting help, he found his therapy at the end of a bottle and a line of cocaine. He slipped into an endless spiral of week long benders and debts for drug money along with risking losing his home due to him quitting his high up job at his Fathers Law firm, he completely crashed and burned, he couldn’t live without her, he couldn’t stop his mind racing and the only way for it all to stop, and let him feel numb — was when he was drunk and high, passing out in every room of his home and in his garden, the neighbours finding him sometimes in their yard in a mess. They were the ones who got him help, they called up his family and they all rushed him off in an ambulance to get him sober and conscious again. Here is where he made the decision to sign himself into rehab, accepting the help the hospital offered and a few months later, he was out and clean, he stayed with his Mum until Honey turned one and that was the year Harry found his smile again, found his life and purpose again.

Looking back now, he doesn’t know how he ever made himself believe it was Honeys fault Myla was no longer here, he doesn’t know how he’s even alive because of all the drugs and alcohol he ingested every single night for three months solid, but he knows why everything turned around, it was his Angel looking down on him, guiding him and kicking him in the ass to get up and look after their little love, just like she asked him to do before she left, always look after himself and Honey.

It’s been five years since her passing, Harry is doing better than ever, he started working for his Dad’s company again and now he’s the president of the law firm, alongside his Dad who is the CEO, Harry being second in command and then being the CEO when his Dad retires from the firm. They kept their family home, even if it was just the two of them, they loved the home and it still felt like Myla was living here, her makeup still tucked away in her unused vanity in Harrys bedroom and her favourite paintings still hung up around the home. Harry even hired a nanny, she has been working for him for two years now, she’s even working alongside Harry in his office being his receptionist during the day and she’s Honeys afternoon and night nanny when she’s done in work and Honey is home from school.

Y/N is Honeys nanny, she takes care of the little lady and feeds her daily, even taking her to the playground and to the movies when Honey asked her could she go. She would do anything for Honey and Honey loved her endlessly, she loved the way she would allow her to eat sneaky chocolate bars after dinner every now and then and how she would always play dollies with her, kneeling down on the floor of the den and playing with the small girl until they were both in fits of laughter. Harry also adored Y/N, her passion for her job at the law firm along with her passion for looking after Honey is something he admires, she never once complains about being exhausted even though he can tell when she is, she didn’t have to think twice when Harry offered her the job as Honeys nanny, she knew the little one from her being in the office every now and then, and Honey was instantly drawn to her, the way she was so kind and the way she cared for Honey.

Tonight is a hard night for Harry, it’s Myla’s death anniversary and he’s been having a bad day, his mind racing and his heart breaking all over again, but this time he’s stronger, he’s able to power through until he could be alone and just let his emotions go, have a glass of whiskey and just cry a little flipping through old photo albums — he does this every year on her anniversary. Honey is tucked up in bed and he’s sat alone in the den on the sofa, the photo albums on his lap and his hand clutching a small glass of whiskey as he sips on it flipping through many photos from their wedding and from when they were teens and drunk in love in high school — so many memories can be attached to one person, and Harry knew one day they would be memories, but he didn’t know it would be so soon.

“Honey is fast asleep, left her door cracked open so she can shout if she- Harry? Are you okay?” Y/N stops suddenly, her eyes landing on her boss who was hunched over a photo album on the sofa, curtains drawn and the only light coming from a lamp beside a framed wedding photo of him and Myla on the table by the sofa.

“Yeah, thanks for putting her to sleep” Harry says weakly, not turning around which alarms Y/N, she’s seen him like this last year, she let him be as she was only new to it, but this year she’s determined to sit with him all night if he needs — he needs to have some company.

“That’s you?” She asks sitting next to him, Harry not moving or telling her to leave, he accepts her company as she looks down at the photo his eyes are laid upon — two teenagers at a party.

“Yeah, m’hair was a curly mess” he says with a low laugh, looking over the photo of a seventeen year old version of himself, smiling cheekily clutching a red solo cup and Myla wrapped under his other arm holding him around his waist, both their smiles wide and cheeky and their cheeks flushed pink from the alcohol in their bodies.

“I think it looks cute, pitty it’s not as curly now” she says with a light laugh, watching as his ring clad fingers turn the page, taking a sip from his whiskey as he goes.

“This was our prom, she made me wear a pink fucking bow tie — absolutely hated it” he laughs, the crinkles by his eyes evident as Y/N laughs along, looking down at the curly headed teenager in a black suit, white shirt and a bright pink bow tie, matching Myla’s floor length dress next to him, a shawl over her shoulders matching as the corsage around her wrist match the pink of her dress also.

“She hated that dress a year later, she was packing up for college and I was helping her when she found it, immediately burst out laughing” he says laughing loudly, remembering back at the memory he has, Y/N beside him happy at how joyful he sounds speaking of the memories.

“Oh here we go, Frat boy Harry!” Y/N says with a loud laugh, pointing down at a shirtless twenty year old Harry, backwards cap on his head and “Myla’s Bitch!” Wrote on his stomach in paint, two beer bottles in his hands and Myla on his shoulders cheering with her hands up in a red bikini, matching his swimming trunks and baseball cap.

“Some of the best years of m’life, raging parties and no more curfews, we were two hormonal teens absolutely smitten for one another” he says shaking his head with a laugh, his eyes bright as he flicks them over the photos ranging from Harry dancing, Myla being pushed into the pool by him and Harry passed out with a mustache drawn on him with Myla next to him holding the marker with a bright smile mid laughter.

The book is filled with their college days, to their graduation day from college, their photo in their first apartment, Harry on his first day of work and Myla on hers. They took photos of small things, but at the time they meant the world to them, they were milestones in their lives and they never wanted to forget them. Harry is forever grateful that Myla had an obsession with photography, otherwise he wouldn’t have these to look back on and hopefully show Honey one day what her Mum was like, even if she’s drunk and half naked in some of them at college parties.

Harry and Y/N are in fits of laughter, tears falling from their faces as Harry explains every single memory behind each photo, one photo containing a memory of Myla at her bachelorette party, Harry coming out as a stripper and giving her a lap dance as she slaps his ass and throws money all over her husband — that one will definitely not be shown to Honey. Harry is like a whole different person when he speaks about her, his laugh becomes louder and his eyes become brighter, he even ditched his whiskey after one glass to speak about his late wife, Y/N looking at him with pure amazement and proudness of how far he’s come, how he pulled himself from a hard time and carried on life for the sake of his baby girl. He’s truly inspirational in her eyes.

“It should be easier than this by now, right? Like I shouldn’t be still grieving” he says when their laughs and stories come to a stop, their eyes hooded with sleep and faces hurting from laughing.

“What is grief, if not love persevering? You were both childhood sweethearts, you’ve loved her since you can remember and you always will, she’s your whole world, of course you’ll still grieve her, you still love her, and that’s okay” Y/N blurts out, her words quick as she blabs on while Harry watches her, a smile on his face as she explains and accepts his feelings.

“Never knew you were Shakespeare” is all he says, she rolls her eyes laughing, slapping his bicep a little as he shuts the album, tucking it away in the drawer again before turning his focus back onto Y/N beside him.

“Seriously though, never tell yourself you’ve been grieving for too long, it’s okay to grieve and cry yourself to sleep some nights, I get that, I do. You lost a person who made you who you are, but don’t forget, you still have a little one that will need you to be the person who makes her who she is”

Harry thinks she’s amazing, she’s smart and she’s so empathetic towards everyone and anyone. She has a heart of gold and she will never let anyone explain hers or anyone else’s feelings for them, she always allows people to express who they are, heck, one night she brought Harry to a gym after hours, explaining how her brother is a trainer there and he gave her the keys on the condition that she does his laundry for a month, she let Harry rage out and punch the shit out of a punching bag one night because he was so upset. She cheered him on and he was smiling as he was punching towards the end, she helped him release the emotions that built up and would of lead him back down a dark path.

She’s been an Angel sent from above, he knows Myla sent her to him because of how much they’re alike, Harry knows for sure they were sisters in a past life, their kind hearts and understanding natures alike but they have their differences, Myla was very out spoken and loved to party but Y/N is reserved and would rather stay inside with a hot chocolate and her crosswords while watching TV, but that’s another thing that Harry finds fascinating about her, she’s younger than him by eight years, when he was her age he was partying.

“Thank you Y/N, I needed this tonight” he says with a smile, her own smile on her face as she nods leaning over to rub her hand over his in a comforting manner, the pair looking at one another as they soak in their presences.

“It’s getting late, I should go” she says realising it’s nearly midnight, Harry and her need to be in work tomorrow morning and Harry has to wake up to get his little lady ready for school also. He gets a bit saddened when she says this, he secretly wants to hear more of her own college years and her own prom much like he told her earlier.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow” he says with a smile, watching as she gathers up her bag and throws it over her shoulder, car keys now in her hand as she smiles at him once more before heading for the den door. She pauses and looks back at him, his eyes meeting hers as they hold contact for a few seconds before she speaks up.

“See you tomorrow, Harry”

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles au #harry styles one shot #harry styles fandom #fan fic author #singledad!harry #dad!harry #anon <3 #anon ask #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles prompts #fan fiction #fan fic prompts #fan fic requests

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calswildflcwer · 2 years

Text

Arranged Marriage ! ~ Part Three

Pairing : Bruno x fem!reader.

Warnings : No comfort fic, sadness, pain, a lot of cursing, bad relationship with mother and sister, yelling, a LOT of time skips in this chapter, readers death - I’m sorry.

Plot : You’ve been best friends with Pepa ever since you were able to talk. Your family had always been close to the Madrigals. You and Bruno had been dating for the past two years, however, your mother and his mother are about to put a whole halt on your relationship by arranging a marriage between Bruno and.….. Your sister?!

Pronouns used : he/him for Bruno, she/her for reader.

Note : I am not a Spanish native and I don’t know any Spanish, all Spanish nicknames mentioned in this story are translated from google. If anything is wrong PLEASE let me know and I will correct it.

Info : Bruno will start at age, around 25ish and reader will be around 22.

Bruno taglist : @nervoussubjectappreciator, @soumya-13

|| next || part three ||

“Tia (name)!” “Tia (name)!” “Tia (name)!” Your name was being yelled all through the house.

You frowned as you walked in, getting tackled by the kids as you walked through the door. “Woah, woah, what’s going on?” You asked, glancing down at the frantic faces of the kids.

“Tia Roxanna has gone into labour!” Isa shouted. You frowned before being dragged into the living room where you saw your older sister in pain.

“(Name), thank god you’re here! We need your help! We’ve sent Luisa to grab the medical staff but we don’t know how long it’s gonna be before they arrive.” Pepa said, panicked as she raked her fingers through her hair.

“No! I don’t want her delivering my baby!” Roxanna shouted in pain.

You stared down at your sister before closing your eyes, “Look, it’s fine by me if you don’t want me delivering the baby but by the time the doctors get here, it’ll be too late.” You told your sister.

You turned on your heel and began to head out of the door, “Wait…” Roxanna shouted. “Help me, please.” She mumbled.

You turned on your heel, shrugging your cardigan off as you approached your sister, “Okay, get me some towels. Get the kids out of the room. And somebody grab my pressure cuffs from my bag.” You ordered out. The adults ran about around you as Félix and Agustín ushered the kids out of the room.

You glanced around, “Where’s Bruno?” You asked.

“He’s out in town with Luisa.” Pepa told you as she handed the towels to you.

You nodded, placing the towels under your sisters legs as Julieta handed you an apron and some latex gloves, you pulled the apron on over your head and pulled the gloves on as you thanked the older woman before turning your face as your eyes flickered to meet your sisters. “I’m scared.” She whispered as she stared at you.

Her breathing was speeding up, she was beginning to hyperventilate. Her hands were waving. You took a deep breath, “Roxanna.” You began. “Roxanna!” You yelled but it didn’t stop her hyperventilating. “Roxy!” You snapped. Her eyes snapped to meet yours, you hadn’t called her that since you were a child, you couldn’t say her full name properly so you always called her Roxy from when you were two up until you were seven.

“You haven’t called me that since you were…” She began.

“Seven. I know.” You nodded as you gripped her hand. “Look, you’re panicking. That’s normal, so we need something to calm you. To keep you grounded.” You said as you stared at the older girl.

“Like what?” She asked you.

You thought for a second, “Memories!” You told her, nodding. “Remember when I was five and you were seven and that little boy kept pushing me over in the schoolyard, can you remember what you did?” You asked as you pumped the pressure cuff.

“I… Uhm… I pushed him off his tricycle.” Roxanna said.

You nodded, “And when I was eight and you were ten, and that same boy pushed me off my bike in the street, what did you do?” You asked.

“I… I punched him.” She replied.

“And when I was thirteen and you were fifteen and that boy chased me around the school playground and wouldn’t take no for an answer, how did you stick up for me that time?” You asked.

“I… Um… I, uh, I chased him around the park with a stick and set abuelo’s dog onto him.” She chuckled.

“And when I was seventeen and you were nineteen, and that guy decided to come onto me when I told him that I wasn’t interested, you did what?” You smirked.

“I broke his nose.” She smiled. “Wh-what about when you were nineteen and I was twenty one and that guy was trying to hit on me but was seeing you and so we both punched him.” She giggled.

You smiled, nodding your head as she began pushing. She squeezed your hand, gripping it tightly as she screamed out as you kept an eye on the pressure cuffs.

The room was soon filled with the cries of a newborn baby as the casita doors flew open, Luisa and Bruno sprinted in with the medical staff behind her as you grabbed the baby, “You’ve got a little girl.” You told your sister as Julieta handed you a super soft baby towel. It was one that belonged to Mirabel, you immediately wrapped the baby girl in the soft towel and cut the umbilical cord before handing the little girl to Roxanna, letting the doctors that were actually on shift take over.

You stood up, taking the apron off and washing your hands as you did, Julieta took the apron from you and began washing it as you grabbed your cardigan, “Thank you, (name). You know, I miss you so much. Those memories and everything, we used to have a good relationship. Why can’t we be like that again?” She asked.

You stopped at the door, glancing over your shoulder and staring at your sister, “Remember when I was twenty two and you were twenty four and you married the man I was in love with, not caring how it’d affect me?” You said, staring at her.

“(Name)…” Roxanna began.

“Look, Roxanna, you and Bruno broke my heart. You ripped it to shreds. You married him despite knowing my feelings. You killed me.” You whispered.

“But, you’re an aunt again.” Roxanna stated.

“No. No, I’m not, Roxanna. Let’s get one thing straight, that little girl is not my niece. As gorgeous as she is, she will always be a painful reminder of what you both did to me. I’m not her aunt, I’m nothing to her.” You told your sister, your eyes flickering to meet Bruno’s awestruck face as he stared at his daughter. You nodded slightly before walking out, you left the casita and left the family to bask in the knowledge that they had a new family member.

You were stopped on your way out, you lifted your head to see the matriarch of the family, “I’m so sorry, (name). If I’d have known about your feelings for mi Brunito, I never would’ve arranged the marriage with Roxanna. I can see how much this is hurting you.” Alma spoke.

You sighed, running a hand down your face as you stared at the elder, “You knew, Alma. You saw us sneaking around in the village plenty of times and holding hands. Just because we didn’t tell you, doesn’t mean you didn’t know. Plus, I know you were listening on the stairs the night that you announced the marriage when I blurted everything out to my father.” You sighed, staring at the older woman before you.

A guilty look crossed the elders face as she sighed, “Look, don’t even worry about it, Alma. Bruno made his choice and I’ve got to live with that.” You smiled. “Look, you should probably head inside. You’ve got a new granddaughter.” You told her as you patted the top of her arm slightly before walking away, taking one last glance over your shoulder and watching the elder walk into casita.

It was five years later, you were standing in the foyer, waiting for Lila’s ceremony to begin. That’s when you felt a tug on your dress. Your brows furrowed as you glanced down at the little girl who tugged at the fabric, “(Name), what if I don’t get a gift? Like Mirabel? Would papá still be proud of me?” She asked you. Her green eyes glossing over and becoming watery as she stared at you.

You crouched down, staring down at the little girl who you had barely spoken to in her whole five years of being alive, “Your papá will always be proud of you, gift or no gift. He loved you so much, Lila. He was always proud of you, niña.” You reassured the little girl.

“But mamá and Abuela have been talking and saying-” She began, worriedly.

“Don’t listen to what they say, cariño. Your abuela is a perfectionist and your mamá is just… Well, she’s complicated. Listen, niña, you’re a beautiful little girl and your father has always and will always be so proud of you.” You told her, cupping her cheeks.

She wrapped her tiny arms around your neck and hugged you. You let out a breath before holding the little girl close, “Thank you so much, (name).” She whispered, planting a soft kiss to your cheek before stepping out into the light. You glanced up, seeing Roxanna at the top of the stairs with Alma.

Lila turned to the faces of everybody before glancing back at you as you hid behind a nearby wall, “Go on, cariño.” You whispered. She closed her eyes, turning back to you as she did.

She held out her hand, fear emanating from her iris’s. You were the only person to let her know that not getting a gift would be okay. You were the only person who would willingly talk about Bruno, “Please, I need you.” She whispered as she stared at you.

You took a deep breath before stepping out into the light and grasping the little girls hand. Roxanna’s brows furrowed as she watched on, a scowl making itself present on her face.

Lila’s other hand gripped your dress as she hugged into your legs whilst the two of you walked together, you shared a look with Pepa as you passed, sending your best friend a smile to cease the worry in her eyes.

You let go of the little girls hand, sharing a warm smile with Alma at the top of the stairs, letting the candle do it’s thing.

Alma soon turned around, announcing Lila’s gift. The girl had gotten super speed, she had always been into running and sports and can often be found chasing her primo Camilo around the garden.

The party was soon well underway, her room was super spacious, filled with running tracks; meaning she had plenty of space to run. You stared around, a smile gracing your face as the little girl ran towards you as you swirled the red liquid in your glass. She skidded to halt in front of you, “(Name)! (Name)! Did you see that?! I got a gift! I got a gift!” She said excitedly.

You smiled, staring down at the excited little girl, “That’s great, niña. Your papá would be so proud!” You rejoiced with her, letting her drag you towards the dance floor where you immediately began dancing with Pepa.

Safe to say it was a great night, little did you know that somebody was watching from the walls and the pride shone in his eyes.

Bruno had been gone ten years, casita had fallen, Mirabel had disappeared, everything you knew had gone. You stood among the rubble with Pepa, holding in a cough. You were dying. The whole family knew. Julieta’s arepas only helped to delay the inevitable.

Horse hooves could be heard in the distance, followed by Julieta calling out for her daughter. The whole family soon appeared around the house, Mirabel was talking about fixing it up as you gripped onto Pepa’s shoulders in order to help you stand.

It wasn’t long until you saw Bruno, he was chatting with Lila who was now eleven. Getting to know his little girl. You stood, helping the others start the rebuild of the house. You were so glad that you had the love and care of the Madrigal’s, especially during this time. The whole family knew that you were dying.

The house was soon rebuilt, the whole family, including you, were pushed inside for a photo. You grinned despite the colour draining from your face. This had already gone on way too long. You watched as the family celebrated at the new chilled and laid back Alma as you headed towards the front doors, you took a deep breath as you sat on a small wall outside.

“Hola…” Somebody said shakily.

You turned your head, seeing the man that you hadn’t seen in ten years, a soft smile planted itself on your lips as you stared at him, “Hey. How’re you doing?” You asked. “Bet this is all kinda surreal, huh? Being back with your family and such?” You questioned.

He nodded, laughing slightly as he rubbed the nape of his neck. “I’m kind of nervous, to be honest. When I left here, the villagers weren’t all too happy with me, you know?” He sighed.

You ran your hand down your face tiredly, holding back a cough, you gulped slightly before nodding, “I get it. But Bruno, if doing visions makes you uncomfortable now, just tell Alma. I’m sure she’ll understand.” You told him, tucking a loose strand of hair behind the older man’s ear.

He caught your wrist, quickly noticing the vine that was crawling up your arm like a tattoo. He rolled your sleeves up and stared down at it, his eyes widening, “You have Hanahaki disease?” He asked.

You pulled your arm away, rolling your sleeve down, you shrugged, “It’s almost over.” You said simply.

Bruno stared at you, “What do you mean?” He asked.

“The vine is almost complete, Bruno. One more flower and I’ll be dead.” You told him with a shrug.

He glanced over his shoulder, staring back into the foyer where Lila danced with Roxanna.

However, it wasn’t long until you could no longer hold back the cough that was tickling in your throat, this was it, you were about to die. You took a final glance in at the foyer, watching your newfound family dance and laugh together as you coughed loudly from outside. A striped carnation falling from your mouth as you did.

Bruno caught your limp body quickly, he watched as the life drained from your eyes and the colour drained from your face. Tears falling down his face as he held you, “(Name)! No, no, come on, (name)!” He cried out. “No, no, no, come on, amor!” He whispered, leaning over your body. He rested his forehead against yours, letting his tears fall onto your face. Your eyes were closed, your breathing had stopped as Bruno cried on you. “Come back to me, amor! Please, come back, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry.” He cried out.

The only girl that ever loved him, the only person who never judged him, the only person who was ever there for him… Was gone. You were gone.

The rest of the family soon gathered behind him, tears falling from all of their eyes as they watched the scene before them. “Striped carnation…” Isabela whispered as she held Dolores’ hand, tears rolling down her face. “They mean ‘refusal’ and ‘sorry, I can’t be with you’.” She let the family know.

Alma quickly whispered something to Agustín causing him to gather the children and take them away from the scene. Pepa placed a hand on her brothers back as she knelt beside him, tears gracing her own face as she stared at him. “Hermano, she’s gone.” She said, tearfully. Glancing down at the bloodstained flower.

“No, she can’t be, Pepi! I loved her. I-I love her! She can’t be gone. She… She just can’t.” He cried out, lifting his head from your body momentarily before placing his forehead back against yours.

Pepa put her head down, letting her own tears fall as she placed a hand on top of your still warm one as she rested her head on her brothers shoulder, her own tears pouring down her face as the pair of them stayed holding you. Pepa causing the sky to open up and cause a downpour.

It wasn’t long before Alma approached her children, “It’s time to let her go, mis amores.” She told her children.

Pepa nodded, drying her eyes with the back of her hand, the sky around them not clearing up for even a second as Pepa leant forward, placing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Goodbye, mi amiga. I love you so damn much.” She whispered, stepping back from you and finding comfort in the arms of her husband as she cried into the crook of his neck.

“Brunito, it’s time.” Alma spoke again.

Bruno lifted his head, leaning down and pressing his lips against yours softly. Tears continuously pouring from the older man’s eyes. He stepped back, turning and wrapping his arms around Julieta as Alma spoke to one of the villagers about taking you to the funeral home.

Bruno glanced back one last time, still gripping his eldest sisters dress as he cried, bidding you farewell one final time, his lips quivering as he did.

“Adiós, mi amor. Te amo tanto.”

(Translation: “Goodbye, my love. I love you so much.”)

~ Hey, my loves! So here is the final chapter of my no comfort fic, please do let me know what y’all think, angels! 😘 Stay hydrated, make sure you’ve eaten today, remember you’re loved more than you’ll ever know and stay safe, lovelies! Mwah! 💖

#encanto #disney encanto #disney #encanto fic #disney fic #bruno encanto #encanto bruno #bruno my beloved #bruno madrigal #bruno madrigal x reader #bruno x reader #bruno madrigal fic #bruno fanfic #camilosunshxne writes #camilosunshxne

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