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broomballkraken · 1 year

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Title: As in Coffee, As in Life Chapter 2: A Bit o' Sweetness

Fandom: Octopath Traveler 2

Pairing: Osvald/Partitio

Word count: 2292

Warnings: None

Fic Summary: “A bit o’ sweetness helps everythin’ along. As in coffee, as in life.” That was the mantra of Partitio and Roque Coffee Company. Partitio’s first customer on the opening day of the café, however, very much disagreed with this philosophy…well, the coffee part of it anyway. After learning more about Osvald, Partitio is determined to bring a little sweetness into the crestfallen professor’s life, whether he is ready for it or not.

Chapter Summary: It’s a slow Saturday at the café, and Partitio is happy to see Osvald when he stops in, just like had every day since the grand opening. However, Osvald is visibly distressed this time, and Partitio wasn’t going to let his favorite regular suffer without doing something to help him.

It had been two weeks since the grand opening of the café, and business was booming for Partitio. He had picked a location close to the university, so most of his customers consisted of students and professors in need of a caffeine boost or a quick lunch to fuel them as they engaged in their various academic pursuits.

True to his word, Osvald had stopped in every day since Partitio had ambushed him on the sidewalk and made him his very first customer. He always ordered the same thing: a large black coffee, and Partitio came to realize that it suited the prim-and-proper professor of chemistry. He was always dressed rather nicely, in sweaters or a vest under his fancy long coat. He had even stopped in on the weekend briefly while running errands, and Partitio jokingly liked to think that Osvald was really taking his title as a regular seriously.

A smile crossed Partitio’s face as he wiped down the counter and gazed around the café, the only two customers occupying a table by the window. It was mid-afternoon on a Saturday, and a slow one at that. He attributed that to it being a warm, sunny day, and he figured that most people were enjoying some outdoor activities. His mind wandered, and Partitio wondered if he would see Osvald today...

“I’ve got a large americano for Primrose, and a large pumpkin spice latte for Alfyn!” Partitio called out as he set the drinks on the counter. The man sitting at the table by the window got up and approached Partitio with a bright smile on his face.

“Great, thanks!” the man said, taking the drinks, but not before placing a few dollars into the tip jar.

“Thankee kindly, sir! Have a great day!” Partitio waved as the man went back to his table and gave the americano to the woman, who giggled and placed a kiss on his cheek, which brought a smile to Partitio’s face. Perking up when the bell over the door chimed as someone entered the café, Partitio beamed when Osvald stepped inside.

“ Howdy Mr. Osvald! How’re you today-” Partitio started, but he cut himself off when he saw the look on Osvald’s face. He looked sadder than a dog without a bone, to put it very lightly, with the way his shoulders slumped and his lips were set in a deep frown. Partitio’s face fell when Osvald said nothing as he approached the counter.

“The usual...please.” Osvald’s voice was quiet when he finally did speak, and Partitio just nodded in response as he prepared his order, taking note of the dark bags that sat under Osvald’s eyes; did he not sleep at all last night? Osvald paid and when Partitio set his drink on the counter, he said nothing when he took it and went to sit at a table in the back of the café.

“Hoo-boy, what in tarnation happened?” Partitio muttered to himself. He drummed his fingers on the counter for a moment, before he turned his head and called out towards the back room.

“Hey, Ochette? I’m gonna take my break, can you man the front?”

Ochette, another of Partitio’s employees who also happened to be his roommate, bounced her way into the room and nodded vigorously, the fox ears on the hood of her sweatshirt bobbing with the movement.

“Sure thing, Parti! I just finished making the soup, and boy is it tasty!” Partitio laughed when Ochette licked her lips, and he hung up his apron as he moved out from behind the counter.

“Thankee kindly! I’ll be back in 30. I’ll try some o’ that soup when I get back.”

“Got it!”

Partitio smiled as she took care of the customer that had just walked in, but that smile quickly faded into a worried frown when he looked at the table where Osvald sat, not with a book in his hand as usual, but he was instead staring down at his coffee with such intensity that Partitio thought he might burn a hole through it.

“Hey, Osvald?” Partitio said when he took the empty seat across from him. Osvald’s eyes narrowed as he looked at him over his glasses, but he said nothing, so Partitio continued: “Are you...okay? You seem mighty distressed today.”

Osvald grunted and tightened his grip on his mug. Partitio felt sweat bead on the back of his neck; maybe this wasn’t a good idea. He hadn’t known Osvald for very long, so he was probably overstepping, but Partitio wasn’t one to sit idly by when someone was in need of help.

“...It’s my daughter,” Osvald finally said after a long pause. Partitio cocked his head to one side; he had never mentioned his daughter before.

“Is she okay? Ah, sorry, you don’t have to answer if it’s too personal...” Partitio said quickly, and he was starting to regret coming over here in the first place.

“...’s fine.” Osvald let out a long sigh, averting his gaze as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “It...might help if I talk through it with someone.” Partitio nodded as Osvald looked back at him, and the sadness that Partitio saw in his eyes made his heart hurt.

“Five years ago, I was living in Conning Creek with my wife, Rita, and daughter, Elena,” Osvald said, “I was leading a research team studying water samples there. One of the members of my team had an...unhealthy obsession with surpassing me, to put it lightly.”

From the way that Osvald’s face darkened as he bit his bottom lip, Partitio had a feeling that this wasn’t going to be a happy story, and that was confirmed when Osvald continued with watery eyes:

“I guess this jealousy of his peaked one night, and he set fire to my house while I was away on a business trip...My wife did not survive.”

Partitio was glad that he hadn’t gotten himself a drink, because he would have choked on it, as horrified as he was at Osvald’s words. His throat tightened up when a single tear fell down Osvald’s face, and Partitio barely resisted the urge to reach out and wipe it away.

“Elena was caught in the fire as well, but the firefighters were able to save her with minimal physical damage. The emotional and mental toll, however...” Osvald’s hands had started shaking against the table, and Partitio couldn’t stop himself this time, and he reached out to take them in his own.

“T-The trauma caused her to lose much of her memory, and she suffers from night terrors. She has shown improvement in the years since, but she still has a long way to go.”

“Osvald...” Partitio sniffed as he shed a few tears of his own, and he rubbed his arm over his face to wipe them away as he gave Osvald’s hand a squeeze. “I’m...so sorry that happened to you. I hope the bastard that did such a horrific thing got what he deserved.”

“ He...almost didn’t...” Osvald said, his voice soft, and Partitio’s eyes went wide, “Harvey...he framed me for everything, and I had to fight an uphill battle to prove my innocence.”

“I was fortunate when a private investigator, Temenos Mistral, took an interest in my case and managed to find evidence to convict Harvey.”

Partitio recognized the name of that private investigator; he had seen it on a few billboards advertising his services on the road between New Delsta and Oresrush, and he recalled passing by the location of his practice somewhere in the city.

“Even though he had proved my innocence and Harvey was convicted, the damage to my reputation had been done. I was forced to move with Elena, and we spent some time in Montwise, my hometown. It did not help.”

“My parents were the ones to suggest that I move here to New Delsta. They also live here, and have been helping me take care of Elena. I was lucky that the university was in need of another chemistry professor. My parents also happened to know of a doctor that specializes in memory loss, so I was able to get Elena in to see her, and that has helped considerably.”

“Even so...” Osvald’s hand slipped from Partitio’s and he took a long drink of his coffee. “Some nights are harder than others. Last night, for example. Elena started screaming in her sleep, and when I tried waking her up she almost took my eye out. I spent the rest of the night comforting her.”

Partitio examined Osvald’s face more closely, and he realized that the bags under his right eye were darker than his left; that must be where Elena had hit him.

“Shoot...” Partitio said, rubbing awkwardly at his arm, “You...You didn’t have to tell me all that, you know. It must be painful to recall those memories.”

“Yes, however...” Osvald studied Partitio over his glasses with narrowed eyes, and Partitio felt his face heat up, “I find you very...easy to talk to, Partitio. You are a good listener.”

“Ah, well, thanks,” Partitio said, and his heart started to race when Osvald offered him a small smile; had it always been this...beautiful?

Partitio cleared his throat and decided to not ponder the implications of this train of thought at this time. He instead quickly stood up and rushed to the counter, beckoning Ochette over and whispering into her ear. She grinned and scurried into the back, and Partitio stole a glance back at Osvald, who was looking at him curiously with an eyebrow raised. Partitio shot him a wink, and Ochette returned with two steaming bowls of soup.

“Thanks Ochette, put them on my tab.”

“Hehe, you got it!”

Partitio chuckled and he went back to Osvald, placing both bowls onto the table as he sat back down. “Here! Ochette just finished making it, so it’s as fresh as it can get!”

Osvald blinked slowly as he stared down at his bowl. “This is...chicken noodle soup?” He turned his gaze back to Partitio, who nodded eagerly.

“Sure is! Whenever I’m down in the dumps, a nice hot bowl of soup always seems to help cheer me up.”

“...I see.”

Partitio smiled, maybe a bit too fondly, as he watched Osvald take his first taste of soup. His heart skipped a beat when Osvald’s eyes went wide and a smile slowly spread across his face.

“It’s...good. Really good.”

“Glad you think so!” Partitio said, confirming it for himself when he took a bite; he was glad that he had taken Ochette’s suggestion of expanding the café’s menu to include soup to heart.

They sat in comfortable silence, enjoying their soup and each other’s company. Partitio was happy to see that Osvald’s mood had improved considerably, but his heart sank as his thoughts wandered to what Osvald had told him about his past. He couldn’t imagine losing a loved one in such a horrific way, and Partitio really wanted to do all that he could to bring a little sweetness into Osvald’s life.

“Hey, Osvald?” Partitio said when they had finished their meal, “I just want you to know, if you’re ever feeling down again, you can always come by and I’ll try my damnedest to put a smile on your face!”

Osvald chuckled as he adjusted his glasses. “That is very kind of you to offer.”

Partitio grinned and flicked up the brim of his hat. “Hehe, well, as our motto says: A bit o’ sweetness helps everythin’ along. As in coffee, as in life!”

“I can’t say that I agree with the coffee part, but...” Osvald said as they both stood up. He hummed and rubbed his chin, giving Partitio a once-over before continuing: “You seem to have an abundance of sweetness that I have not seen contained in one person before.”

“Er, r-really?”

“Yes. You truly are one of a kind, Partitio.”

Partitio’s jaw dropped as his face flushed a bright red, and he stood frozen in place as Osvald took their dishes up to the counter, taking the time to put some money into the tip jar before returning to him. “I need to get going. Thank you again, for everything.”

Partitio could only nod slightly as Osvald left the shop, and when he finally managed to move his arm, he plucked his hat from his head so that he could wipe the sweat from his hairline. Hoo-eey, Osvald really had him feeling some type of way...

“Yoo-hoo! Parti, your face is gonna get stuck like that!”

Ochette’s voice pulled Partitio out of his stupor, and he snapped his jaw shut as he turned to see her leaning over the counter, grinning while wagging her eyebrows at him. “Hehe, also your break ended, like, a half hour ago, silly!”

“Shit!” Partitio cursed as his head jerked towards the clock, and he rushed back behind the counter, plucking his apron off the hook, “Why didn’t you tell me, Ochette?!”

Ochette shrugged before stretching her arms over her head and swaying back and forth. “Oh, I didn’t want to interrupt your serious conversation with Pops.”

“Pops?”

“Oh, he’s one of my professors! He loves it when I call him that!”

Partitio raised an eyebrow at her as she giggled; he did not believe that for one second. Their conversation ground to a halt when a large group of people entered the café, and Partitio got lost in the rhythm of his work. However busy he was, Osvald still managed to linger at the back of his mind, and Partitio might have just figured out exactly why.

Uh-oh...

#octopath traveler 2 #osvald v. vanstein #partitio yellowil #osvald x partitio #coffee shop au #fanfiction #jade writes fanfiction #osvitio

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erodasfishtacos · 3 years

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Crackin’ the Code

prompt: Harry and YN tie the knot in a beautiful castle off the coat of Italy. Harry reflects back on his life before his love. YN has past insecurities creep on on her before the wedding.

note: this is the necklace that YN receives as (one) her wedding gifts from H and she wears it during the ceremony.

word count: 9k

warnings: smut

***<-- click for visuals throughout (super important for this one shot!)

if you enjoy this fic (which i worked REALLY hard on) please reblog, like, comment, and come talk to me!

please please considering donating to my kofi since all my work is FREE to you guys!

---

The world expected an extravagant wedding with week-long festivities, celebrations in destinations only the richest could afford, and all the big names of the business world who ran in his circle.

The media outlets were just waiting, quite impatiently, for the day that the richest man in Europe settled down with a significant other. They would have news stories for decades when it came to the couple.

Of course, Harry Styles was going to marry a household name - the public thought.

Whether it be an heiress, a model, maybe even an actress? The choices for the most eligible bachelor were limitless.

Any time he was at an event, usually a charity gala or black-tie dinner, paparazzi would take candid pictures of him with any female and then the following day publish an article about how they were a couple.

However, what the world didn’t know was that he’s been in a relationship for a year and a half, has already been engaged after the eight month mark, and moved into pretty soon after but that was hushed.

Nearly no one except a few key employees and family members knew about the couple. Everyone in his office building in the heart of London had to sign NDA’s at the beginning of their job - though almost all of them didn’t know she existed.

Harry did not put any limits on YN for the wedding planning.

No price, no expectations, nothing. If she wanted ten-thousand people or zero people in attendance that was her call. If she wanted to drop ten million dollars on a wedding or a hundred that was fine too.

The CEO never fantasized about a wedding.

Well he had but no in the terms most do. He didn’t sit and imagine the venue, the food menu, or the decorations.

No, he didn’t care about any of that, he daydreamed about the fact that he and someone would commit themselves to each other for the rest of their lives.

Harry wanted to marry his fiance after their first date.

He was usually a very patient man, couldn’t have gotten where he was if he wasn’t. When it came to this, each day he wasn’t married to the love of his life felt like torture.

Since he proposed to her in his briefs in their bedroom, he had imagined her looking immaculate in whatever she chose to wear, exchanging vows of devotion, and then being tied together for life.

He never thought he would get here. He’d never felt a connection with someone like he had with the feisty waitress who bumped into him. Begin to believe that he was broken or lacking emotion because no matter how sweet the girl was he couldn’t see himself with the person.

Don’t get him wrong.

He took many women out on dates that were downright awful. Asking him about money, suggesting he take them on expensive vacations or buy them a designer item, being too forward and palming his crotch in the middle of dinner.

One of the last dates he went on before he gave up was the one that made him stop looking all together, about six months before he ran in YN.

---

It was an expensive restaurant in the heart of London. It had a waitlist for months but one call and they could magically make an available booth for the billionaire within the hour.

The girl he was sitting across from was a so-to-speak blind date.

A set up by one of his business partners who stated that they would be a good match. Harry had rolled his eyes at that but couldn’t come up with an excuse fast enough to say ‘no.’

Her name was Aria, she had a respectable job at a local law firm as an assistant to a very well-known lawyer in the area.

She was beautiful in the way of looking just like an instagram model with long dark extensions, false eyelashes that made it hard to determine what color her eyes were, and an outfit that made Harry a bit embarrassed to be seen with her - short and low cut at a five-star restaurant.

“Yeah, I just got back from Mallorca with a group of friends,” She tells him, flipping through the photo album on her phone to show him pictures.

When she ‘accidentally’ swipes (and slowly swipes) again so that Harry definitely gets a glimpse of a nude selfie.

Harry internally groans, couldn’t be less turned on by that, and doesn’t acknowledge it - much to Aria's disappointment.

She was fishing for a compliment, maybe a request for him to take the phone and look closer at the picture like most men would.

Instead he sits back, takes a sip of his wine, and nods curtly, “It looks like you had a good time.”

She stumbles for a second, confused by his sudden standoffishness, and clicks her phone locked before putting it next to her on the table, “Did I offend you?”

He was already done with the date, with the dating scene, with fucking everything honestly.

What a goddamn waste of a night.

Harry barks out a cruel laugh, “It takes a lot more to offend me than a picture of y’tits but it’s a bit offensive that y’think so little of yourself that you think that’s how y’going to impress me. Those tits didn’t impress me much, darling.”

Aria’s eyes narrow in blatant disbelief at how much of an asshole he was being.

Granted, she did feel a bit of embarrassment creeping up in her stomach about thinking showing him that picture was a good idea but still, he didn’t need to react like that.

“It really makes sense why you don’t have a girlfriend, it’s because of what an asshole you are,” The girl sneers with venom as she tucks her phone into her clutch, swigging down the last drops of the expensive wine.

He shrugs like he’s unbothered, a nasty feeling quilling in the pit of his stomach as he keeps an outward expression of nonchalance and ease, it make the raven-haired woman even more furious as he replies cooly, “I’m not being an asshole, honesty hurts sometimes. Maybe if you think the way you attract someone is by nude pictures, you should try Tinder or Bumble.”

“I hope you have fun living the rest of your life alone. You may have your money but you’re going to end up alone and it will be all you fucking have,” Aria tells him before pushing out her chair and leaving before the main course even arrives.

Harry sits there for a moment, swallowing and pleading with himself to not let the nasty words set in because they felt too real and too personal - she had actually struck some type of chord within and it had his stomach churning.

When he pays the bill, apologizing profusely for leaving dinner before the entree arrives but with an excuse of a company emergency - it’s eerily quiet in his car as he drives home to his massive home with no one in it.

It doesn’t happen often.

He should call his mum, Gemma, Dorothy even to talk it out but he feels so fucking alone because he can’t get it right. He can’t connect with anyone and it is starting to feel hopeless.

He is angry, so angry at himself, that he can’t shake the feeling of it and he feels like he’s losing control because he never fucking talks about his emotions.

A beautiful set of dishware was sitting out his dining room table, the housekeeper had carefully unwrapped them earlier in the day.

They were imported from Beijing, decorated with real gold, and handcrafted. It had cost him nearly forty-thousand dollars for a set of fucking plates and bowls.

I hope you have fun living the rest of your life alone. You may have your money but you’re going to end up alone and it will be all you fucking have.

It is repeatedly on a loop in his head, glares at the items on the dinner table like they’re mocking him, and he has no wits about himself before he’s taking one of the beautiful bowls and throwing it against the wall as hard as possible.

I hope you have fun living the rest of your life alone. You may have your money but you’re going to end up alone and it will be all you fucking have.

By the time he’s done, his chest is heaving, and his face is red.

When reality starts to set back in, every single item from the set is destroyed on the floor, the wall’s paint chipped from where he’d hurled them.

He was so fucked up.

Harry couldn’t help but relieve the feelings of that nasty flashback. He couldn’t believe that he had been at that point in his life - not when he had the most all-consuming, amazing in every single way woman laying next to him in his bed.

YN had shown Harry that he had never been broken, he had just been waiting.

She was his soulmate and he had been waiting for her since forever. He truly believed that as he looked at the girl next to him with enough emotion his heart might burst.

She was just...everything.

YN was so fucking funny - the funniest person Harry had ever met. She was loving in a way that made you feel like you belonged. Compassionate in a way that makes you want to be more selfless yourself. Intelligent enough that it was breathtaking and unreal - and that was just the tip of the iceberg.

She was uncaring of who Harry was - in the most perfect way.

Money wasn’t a personality trait that she defined him with. She loved him for who he was at the bare basics, stripped away from his public life.

She was confident in a way that girls rarely were.

Bared face and more beautiful than the highest-paid models.

Her body was her own, embracing every curve and inch of it without any shame. Let herself be authentic in front of Harry which made him feel like he had won a secret lottery.

Right now, she was fast asleep next to him in bed after stuffing herself full of oreos that she was dunking in milk. She ignored Harry’s looks of disgust at the soggy cookies and munched away happily which made him happy in turn.

She still had a dark crumb on the corner of her puffy lips, her mouth parted just the slightest amount, and her face smushed halfway into the pillow.

The shirt she had on was so oversized she was swimming in it and a pair of soft pink cheeky underwear.

Currently, she was the farthest thing from graceful and Harry loved that so fucking much.

As they lay mere days away from their wedding, remembering that nasty flashback, he can’t help but remember their first date and how he had known from them that he had finally found a spark, a connection to another human being.

Harry cannot remember the last time he had been nervous.

Maybe back in his teenage years? If that.

It was an unsettling feeling that was currently pooling in the pit of his stomach as he changed his outfit for the third time before finally being somewhat satisfied with the suit he had picked out - tighter black jeans, black button-up, black blazer - couldn’t go wrong there. ***

YN had texted him asking what she should wear for their first date when Harry told her he was going to keep it simple and take her to a restaurant.

He had to dress nice, it was an expensive restaurant that he had not taken any other dates to before, it was right outside of London - going towards the countryside with a beautiful view of a meadow and stream.

When he had arrived in front of her apartment, well he had never been on this side of town, and it quite frankly looked like the roof of her building was about to collapse at any minute. It was rough to say the least.

Harry had picked out a car he thought would impress her. He remembered her saying the doors of his Lamborghini were stupid so he picked a car with normal doors this time. It was his new Audi Quattro that had cost him upwards of 170,000 pounds. ***

YN had popped out of the front door, her face didn’t read impressed when she saw the car like he had hoped. It was interesting before YN, he did not care whether or not his dates were impressed by him - now he craved it.

She looked extraordinary in a form fitting silky black dress that hugged every single curve of her body perfectly while accentuating them at the same time. Minimal makeup, loose waves, and simple high heels - it was like a dream that he was taking this girl out on a date. ***

When she slips into the passenger seat, the smell of her floral yet cinnamon perfume makes the car smell heavenly, she looks over at him and says, “You didn’t even come open the door for me. We’re off to a bad start, Harry.”

His heart sinks, fuck - he had been blindsided by her beauty that he wasn’t even being a proper gentleman, “M’so sorry, I wa-”

She chirps out a tender laugh, patting his arm, “You’re face, oh my god. I was just fucking with you.”

Harry’s frown turns into a pout, “S’not nice, pet.”

YN shrugs before a bit self-consciously adjusting the fabric around her midsection, “Erm, I hope this outfit is nice enough? It’s really the only semi-decent thing I own.”

He shakes his head in disbelief, “Y’look absolutely stunning. I can’t even believe y’real to be honest, so fuckin’ pretty.”

YN gives him a shy, unsure smile but he can tell she’s preening at the compliment internally (which she totally is).

The restaurant is one of the nicest in England, let alone London.

There wasn’t even a menu, they just served eight courses over a few hours time by servers in suits with bowties on.

YN had never felt more out of place.

As they sat down, Harry was proud that he was able to show off his abilities for a good date, YN was looking around nervously before looking up at the server and saying, “We didn’t get menus yet.”

The man gives her a humorous expression before telling her, “We don’t do menus here, miss. Your date is a regular, I am sure he can fill you in. However, we are starting off with a Cabernet from 2001 imported from Napa, California.”

As he pours the wine into their sparkling glasses, she asks unknowingly, “I don’t really like wine. Is there any way I could get a Coke?”

Harry frowns when the server laughs meanly at her, “Ma’am this isn’t McDonald’s. We do not carry soda. I can provide you with water, if you so wish.”

Harry can’t help but snap at the waiter, “Oi, she’s never been here before. Lay off with the attitude alright?”

“My apologies, Mr. Styles,” He murmurs obediently before finishing the pouring off the whine and retreating from the table.

YN is trying to hide how uncomfortable she is but it is still obvious with how she fidgets in her seat, doesn’t quite know what to do with her hands as she doesn’t even bother to reach towards the wine glass.

“This isn’t really your scene, is it?” Harry murmurs, embarrassment with his failure to impress her with an expensive car and dinner.

It was falling flat and it was the only thing he knew how to do - flaunt his wealth, everyone else had always been impressed.

“No, it isn’t,” She agrees quietly, fingers folding the edges of the cloth napkin to keep her anxiousness directed somewhere, “I appreciate this, er, dinner. I thought we were going to go somewhere like Mary’s.”

Mary’s was a restaurant that was considered ‘nice’ to the commoners in the city. It was a bit more expensive than a pub and the attire was a bit fancier than if you were going out to a bar.

For someone like Harry, that was not considered a fancy restaurant.

However, YN was not him and this was not something that she had ever been accustomed to. He now definitely felt like an idiot.

It’s made even worse when a massive plate is put in front of each of them.

The plate is huge but the dish is merely one scallop with a lemon sauce and sprinkle of parsley on top. YN can’t even try to hide her confusion at the food.

“I’ve mucked this date up,” Harry sighs, nearly thirty minutes into the actual date.

YN had taken a small bite of the scallop before setting down her fork and not touching it again - it tasted like dirty feet. Did rich people like that taste?

She decides not to answer directly, “I already know you have money. It doesn’t ‘wow’ me. I was hoping for a fun date, this is….nice but quite truthfully, not for me. I prefer a pub or bowling - this feels more like a business meeting.”

Harry usually doesn’t have dates that are this honest with him.

He feels embarrassed but he really did appreciate her honesty. He should have known to do something different than this but he was comfortable with his normal pattern.

“Can we get out of here?” YN asks, placing the napkin back on the table and gathering up her small purse to swing over her shoulder.

He feels defeated as he nods, paying for the meal in full as he accepts that he’s fucked up the date beyond repair by being an arrogant, ignorant asshole who doesn’t truly know how to talk to a girl he likes.

It’s quiet as he starts the car and pulls back onto the road, he startles a bit when YN points to a glowing sign of a golden arch and demands, “Go there.”

With a bit of confusion, Harry pulls into the McDonald’s parking lot and then to the drive-thru as she motions for him to do so.

God, he hasn’t been to a fast food joint in years now if he was being honest.

When they pull up to the screen, YN leans across and shoots out their food order with ease before sitting back with a smug smile, “We’re going to have a date my way.”

Harry sighs with relief when he realizes the date isn’t over - but really just beginning. They sit and chat in the parking lot. He is thoroughly impressed when YN manages a box of nuggets, a fry, and a milkshake without shame.

Not like she should be shameful - just usually on dates women were hesitant to actually eat and instead picked carefully at their food instead. Their conversation in the car is bright, at some points deep and meaningful, but refreshing. It made him feel young again.

After they finished eating, she’s ordering him to drive a bit further out into the country where he can’t help but make the joke, “Are y’taking me somewhere to kill me?” YN smiles happily with a wide grin, “You’ll just have to wait to see.”

It ends up being a lake. A beautiful body of water that was surrounded by trees that were being reflected into the ripples with the light of the moon. The only sounds were of crickets chirping and the light lapping of the water against the small shore. ***

“I used to come here a lot in the summer in high school,” YN murmurs as Harry takes in the scenery of everything. It had been so long since he had appreciated nature - not the bright clear waters in the tropics but something like this.

“S’beautiful,” Harry replies, can’t help but observe this girl he’s infatuated beauty in the moonlight.

Her skin looks like it’s glowing, the moon sparkling off the twinkle of her iries, and she just looked...ethereal. Like she belonged in the beauty of the wilderness.

He couldn’t believe his eyes - had to blink harshly a few times to make sure he’s not imagining it when she pulls the thin straps of her dress down her shoulders and shimmy the garment down her body until she’s left in a delicate lace bra and cheeky pair of underwear.

Harry, always the gentleman, keeps his eyes (with effort) on her face. Unsure of what is going on in her mind before she turns around with a little run and dives headfirst into the deep waters before popping back up and giggling, “Jump in!”

She’s just so...carefree, adventurous. Harry hadn’t felt free in fucking years.

It has him shucking out of all of his clothing, just down to his tight black briefs before he’s diving in, right next to her, and feeling around. He wraps his hand around her ankle to teasingly tug her under with him before they both surface.

As they wad in the water, YN swims over to him, and wraps her legs around his waist, arms around his neck. Her soaking wet hair was dripping and he was breathing heavy, feeling his ribcage expand against her soft tummy.

She murmurs quietly over the light lapping over the water, “You haven’t even looked at me once.”

Harry swallows, feeling like a schoolboy again, “I...I didn’t want to without permission.”

“I want you to look at me,” YN replies, letting her nose nudge his and her eyes searching into his nervous ones.

He nods, closing his eyes when he feels her lips brush his, letting his large palms grip at her sides and pull her closer to his chest. Their lips not breaking when his hands begin to explore the intricate, plush curves of her body.

They don’t do anything else, don’t go any further but he groaning when she traces her fingertips down his muscular, defined abs and thumb rubbing over the trail of light hair leading into his briefs.

After a swim, filled with splashing and dunking, they retired to lay in the grass. Both of their backs, looking up at the clear night sky, moon full and stars glittering against the stark darkness that surrounds it.

YN wriggle until she’s tucked into his side, hand running up and down his chest, as she says, “I’m sorry your date didn’t go as planned. I ruined it.”

“Y’didn’t ruin anything. I...I haven’t felt like this in a long time,” Harry admits as he gives off an embarrassed laugh, “I..I’m a little bit scared, to be honest.”

“Scared? Of what?” YN asks, lips pressing against a tattoo on his bare shoulder.

“Because I already am falling for you,” Harry utters, heart racing and his eyes glued upwards and pointedly not wanting to see her interaction.

“That’s a relief.”

His eyebrows shoot up, “A relief?”

“Yeah, I would say. I’m falling too,” YN whispers before leaning up to connect their lips once more as the moon rises further in the sky and the crickets sing a little louder. They lay like that for a very long time.

Harry went home that night for the first time not feeling the empty weight of his loneliness, instead he feel asleep imagining the beautiful, spontaneous girl next to him in his bed.

It wasn’t going to be the wedding everyone expected for The Harry Styles. **

There was not many invites set out for this event. It wasn’t the wedding of the century or the most expensive wedding of the decade.

Harry would have let his wife-to-be have this day however she wanted without complaint but could say he was very happy that it was going to a be a low-key event. It was going to be some of YN’s family, though she didn’t have much, and Harry’s extended family. No one from work or business. Just family.

They had just gotten finished with the rehearsal dinner, the couple being ordered to separate rooms for the final night before they were married. It was tradition.

Harry had walked YN to her hotel room, they were staying at the venue, and pressed her up against the door. His hand coming to weave into her meticulously curled hair and cupping the back of her head, bring her mouth to his.

He wastes no time in letting his tongue find hers, hips coming to press her further back against the aged wood, and his teeth nipping roughly at her plump bottom lip, “Baby, y’gonna be m’wife tomorrow.”

YN’s eyes twinkle up at him like they did during their first date, “I can’t wait. I can’t wait to spend forever with you.”

His fiance laughs kindly as he gets a bit watery eyed, her thumb coming to swipe under his eye, she jokes, “Are you regretting proposing now?”

“Just never knew I could be this happy,” He murmurs against her lips, can’t help but reach around to grip a generous amount of her backside and pulling her flush against him where he’s hardening quickly.

“Mm, down boy. You don’t get the goods until tomorrow,” YN scolds, hand wrapping around his wrist and squeaking when he squeezes harder to get the point across - how much he wants her, all the fucking time.

“Want it now, pet,” Harry whines lowly, grinding his hips forward into her, “Give it t’me, y’mouth, y’cun-”

“Alright lovebirds! Separate now!” Gemma barks to interrupt with the laughter of their childhood friend Chloe.

They pull Harry by the back of the shirt and push him forward towards his room, Gemma smiles back at YN, “Make him put a ring on it before you give it to him!”

“Gem!” Harry scolds with a whine, giving his fiance puppy dog eyes and a pouted bottom lip, “Baby, don’t let them take me!”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, I love you!” YN shouts back, waving and smiling to herself as she opens up the door to her room and then locking it after she steps in. It feels weird being in a hotel room without him but she was a bit sweaty and her nerves were wiry so she decided a nice bath would be a good idea.

It’s past two in the morning and she was no less ready to find sleep. The worries of whether everything will be set up properly, if she’ll stutter during her vows, there were just so many things that could go wrong.

Life didn’t even seem real at this moment.

She was marrying her husband at an amazing castle on the coast of italy with family to surround them in love. She had the perfect dress, the perfect flowers, the perfect partner. ***

She had never had it easy. Never thought she would deserve something like this. Harry had made her feel worthy of all this, they deserved to have a happy ever after.

When it hits three in the morning, she can’t stand the quiet of the italian countryside anymore, and is swinging her legs over the bed. She pockets the keycard Harry gave her earlier in the day in her cotton shorts before sneaking out of her room.

After she taps the card to the sensor, the large oak doorknob clicks, she slips in and closes the door as silently as possible. YN steps in to the room, Harry's asleep in his bed on his stomach, face smushed into the pillow.

Harry’s facial expression and body language while he was awake was so severe, serious, intimidating. In sleep, his face was lax and his limbs loose. He looked more boyish when he was dreaming.

YN’s heart aches at how much she loves him, pulling the covers up, and crawling under them until she’s jostling him unintentionally, waking him from his light sleep with a mumble, “Baby, y’okay? Wha’s wrong? Y’alright?”

She giggles at his dazy panic, “I just missed you.”

“Mmm,” Harry agrees, pulling her all the way down and rolling on top of her, “Missed y’more.”

“You’re like a toaster!” YN squeals as he’s encompasses her, laying on her with his weight. His lips finding her pulse point and gently sucking. He was barely awake and he still couldn’t stop himself from her finding comfort in her body.

“I’m warmin’ y’up,” Harry growls against her neck before giving her a lick which has her giggling even more and pushing him off until he falls on his back and she’s swing her legs over his waist, straddling him.

“Y’breakin’ the tradition, m’heart.”

YN shrugs, humming while he palms at her belly, and she (much to his disappointment) ignores where he’s hard and waiting for her.

“I want t’sleep with you,” She pleas sheepishly, leaning all the way over to connect their lips in a quickie peck before she’s moving off of him and into his side.

“Never say no to you, y’know that, dovie,” Harry replies as if it’s obvious (it is).

“We’re getting married tomorrow,” YN whispers into the dark, like it’s a secret just between the two.

Harry nuzzles his nose against her temple, “Never wanted anythin’ more than I want you.”

YN can’t help but sniffle softly, overwhelmed with emotion and love, “You’re so good to me. I don’t deserve you.”

“You saved me. You saved me from myself, from where I was going. You gave me hope, feeling again. Y’are m’heart, it fuckin’ beats for you.”

It may not be tradition but YN wouldn’t of had it any other way, sleeping in a magnificent castle on the ethereal coast of Italy in a classic hotel room, and the excitement of their wedding rumbling in both of their stomachs.

“You sneaky bastards!” Bethany screeches, door flinging open with Gemma in tow as they intrude into Harry’s room - finding the couple curled up under the covers with Harry spooning YN with his face tucked into her hair.

“Fuck off,” Harry groans, pulling his fiance closer into his chest as she wriggles awake and whimpers lowly, “Mornin’ lovie.”

“Out out!” Gemma shoos, pulling the covers off of them and the sisters showing no mercy while they yank YN out of the bed and titter about how she needs to start getting ready, no time for cuddles, breaking traditions.

“Bring her back!” He whines childishly, hurling a pillow at his sister’s retreating back as they guide YN back to her own room.

“You’ll see her in a few hours!” Gemma shouts back before slamming the hotel room door and leaving Harry to doze off for just a few more minutes.

Hair and makeup went fast.

It was getting closer and closer to actually walking down the aisle towards her soon-to-be life partner and she’s never felt more nervous.

Rosemary and Bethany were all rushing around - attempting to get ready in the midst of getting the bride ready.

YN didn’t want to look like a doll or have any intense makeup. It was a soft champagne smokey eye with dewy skin and a glowing highlight. A nice lip with a bit of glittering gloss.

Her hair was in big, loose curls that cascaded down her back with the front pulled off of her face. A real white flower holding it back.

Then it was the dress. She was anxious about whether Harry would like it or not. She wasn’t sure what he was expecting her to wear - a massive ball gown, a form-fitting mermaid, or something less over-the-top?

It was a show-stopper that had her memorized when she had first seen it - could automatically imagined herself getting married in Italy with this on her body.

It was also one of the only times she didn’t even care about the price tag - she knew this was it. Yes, it was absurd to spend fifty thousand pounds on a dress but it was the one time she took advantage of Harry’s wealth.

It was flowy, reminding her of the soft waves that lapped at the coast of the italian beaches. It was sophisticated, classy with a sharp starch white that billowed into a dreamlike beauty.

What had made her fall in love was the sheer, detailed sleeves that gave the dress more of a vintage, glamour appearance than the modern tight-fit, overly sexy gowns that most brides wore nowawadays. ***

The train was long and sleek. It would trail beautifully down the aisle before being bustled for the reception. It made her feel confident in a way that an item of clothing next had made her feel before.

“Your tits look amazing,” Bethany compliments before giggling when their grandmum pinches her arm for her crude language.

YN couldn’t find it in her to laugh. She felt like her voice was stuck in her throat and it wasn’t moving.

It started to feel real.

The fact that Harry had proposed, had planned a wedding with her, that he was agreeing to marrying her today.

It was starting to scare her - no, not cold feet but anxiety that he would realize that he could do better than the lowly waitress.

Now, on a normal day, she wouldn’t be having these irrational thoughts. Today was different and it felt too good to be true.

Rosemary and Bethany sense the tension in the room, rub her shoulders, and respect her wishes when she asked for a moment alone.

YN debates picking up her phone, knowing he was busy with his bigger side of the family in the groom’s suite.

She finds herself picking up her mobile, dialing his number, and waiting with bated breath for his syrupy, warm voice to pour through the speaker.

“Everythin’ okay?” He answers, she can hear Anne and Gemma tittering about in the background, yelling at him to get a move on.

“I’m scared,” YN whispers, she holds back her tears because the last thing she wanted to do was ruin her meticulous makeup.

“Leavin’ me at the altar?” Harry jokes lowly, stepping away from prying ears.

YN giggles at his teasing tone, “Never. I…I feel like this is all too good to be true. Like it’s a dream and I’m going to wake up.”

Harry huffs, “Sweetheart. Y’my soulmate, if y’wake up - I’m right there with you, okay? God, if anyone is dreamin’ it’s me. I get t’marry the most beautiful, intelligent -“

Gemma’s voice interrupts him, “You already seduced her into marrying you! We don’t have time for this sweet talk!”

The line goes dead but YN feels much better now.

—

Rosemary was going to be the one walking her down the aisle to her new husband. It didn’t feel right to have anyone else do it as she was the one who raised her into the strong, independent woman she was today.

YN knew she wanted to have an outside wedding.

What would be more perfect than a cool evening in Italy? It was what she had dreamed about since she was little without the idea that it would ever happen.

The weather was absolutely perfect. There was a slight warm breeze that would keep the guests from being overheated, the sun was peeking in and out of vibrant white clouds that complimented the blue sky.

She knew exactly where Harry would be standing.

Underneath a beautiful, dated archway with intricate designs about.

The old material had lovingly grown luscious ivy that kissed the walls in a swirling, natural design.

YN would never forget how beautiful that ivy had looked on her wedding day, encompassing the magnificent that was her soon-to-be husband.***

The venue was open, airy but still gave off an intimacy. There weren't many rows of chairs because not many were invited to share in such an ethereal experience where soulmates have found each other and were announcing their commitment to the world.

“Are you ready, my daughter?” Her grandmother had asked quietly as they lined up behind the expansive, old brick wall that hides them from the rest of the ceremony and crowd. She could hear the whispering as people took their seats.

YN nods, her vocal cords refusing to cooperate as she imagines Harry just as nervous on the opposite side with his family.

When the twinkling, traditional music begins from the small orchestra off to the side - the realization hits her - it is actually happening, right now.

Bethany puts her bouquet in front of her, giving one last meaningful smile at her sister before she takes her cue to turn the corner and begins her walk down the aisle.

It meant Harry was up there, watching as she was about to appear.

Then the orchestra’s melody became louder, more grand in the signaling for the guests to stand and turned toward the back of the room - awaiting the bride’s entrance to the ceremony.

Rosemary takes the initiative to hook their arms and guide her past the wall.

YN clutches onto her own flowers as if it’s her lifeline. ***

Every fear, insecurity, moment of self-doubt dissipates when her eyes connect to Harry’s. There is no longer a doubt in her mind that she wasn’t enough. It was a deep, unbreakable stare as Harry’s mouth parts in a gasp of awe.

He was in a suit that was undeniably him. It displayed how fucking regal he was, how it looked like he was handcrafted into the italian design, how it fit him just perfectly.

It wasn’t a normal tuxedo. It was a perfectly tailored, custom (of course) Gucci suit that excentuate his broad shoulders and the nip of his narrow hips *** ***.

YN can’t even hear the noise of the guests - whispering about how beautiful she looks.

All she can see is her future husband, who swallows harshly as an unexpected sob wracks through his chest at the sight of his bride.

The guests can’t help but look with wide eyes as the man they know - who they’ve barely ever seen smile, let alone cry, cannot control his emotions.

Gemma, who was his ‘best man’ which they deemed ‘best woman’, rubs his back soothingly with a watery smile herself at seeing her brother so estastatic as he looks at the woman of his dreams.

Harry rubs his eyes before meeting hers again.

YN is holding back her own tears as she reaches the end of the aisle.

In tradition as old as time, Harry steps forward and Rosemary passes her hand over to him in a signal that she trusts him to take care of the girl she’s spent meticulous time raising and cultivating into the person she is today.

“I trust you to take care of my girl, she is now yours,” Rosemary tells Harry, her tone is calm and full of emotion as she allows Harry to lean over to kiss her cheek softly.

Harry nods, his usually stable voice shaky as he replies, “I promise, I’ll take care of her until the day I die.”

Rosemary nods before patting his cheek and finding her seat in the audience.

When they are finally standing face-to-face, YN reaches over to thumb off a stray tear that was sliding down his cheek before he turns his head to kiss her thumb then kissing her palm.

Harry didn’t even acknowledge that there was anyone else watching - it was just him and her.

“Y’look breathtaking, can’t believe y’mine,” Harry murmurs trembling, his chest moving faster than usual and it felt like it was nearly impossible for him to catch his breath as he looked at the woman in front of him.

When it comes to the vows, Bethany hands over her small piece of paper that she had scribbled onto and scratched out multiple times - never quite able to get the wording just right and she says just that.

“I couldn’t find the right words to explain my love for you,” She starts, voice raspy as she looks up to see Harry watching her raptly, eyes intense and only focused on her.

“And maybe there aren’t even words to explain it because nothing felt like enough. It is how I feel a lot of the time with you. I’ll never have enough of you because you’re all-consuming to me. I have never felt happiness like I have with you.”

YN is trying to stifle her tears as she continues, Harry reaches out to rub her arm in reassurance then he lightly brushes over the new necklace he had gifted her, “You’re by far the most complex, closed-off person I have ever met. I feel like you’ve allowed me to crack the code and once I did, I wasn’t disappointed. I’ve cracked my own code, you see.”

“The code to explaining my feelings for you will come with my dedication, love, loyalty to be your wife for the rest of our lives.”

Harry can’t help what he does next despite it not falling in line at the ceremony.

His hands come up to cup her jaw and he sears his lips to hers, kissing her with all the passion and emotion he cannot seem to keep in any longer. It’s too much, has to show her in that moment how much he loves her.

A few of his uncles whistle from the crowd as their wives smack their chests in warning.

YN giggles, returning the kiss before pushing him off.

The look in his eyes is one she knows extremely well - it sends shivers down her spine and makes her hair stand on end -, the stare down of lust and want.

“Mr. Styles,” The officiant redirects, nodding towards the piece of paper he has in his hand.

“Yeah, sorry,” Harry mumbles, unraveling the wrinkled notecard he had tucked in his inner suit pocket.

“I knew I was in love with you the moment you spilled that drink on me and undressed me in that dodgy employee bathroom,” Harry says with full sincerity, smirking at YN’s blush when he brings up the way they met.

“I tried to talk myself out of it. It was impossible to fall in love in mere minutes of meeting someone but it was the truth. I knew after our first date that I wanted y’to be m’wife. I knew after the second that I wanted y’to be the mother of my babies one day. And by the third date, I was planning on buying you a ring.”

“It sounds insane because it is. I’ve never been an impulsive, spur-of-the-moment, hopeful person before you. You made me throw all that out of the window, you make me feel alive, and when I tell you that you saved me. You saved me, m’love.”

“There is a lot of uncertainty in this world but I can tell you one thing that is absolutely fuckin’ certain -”

“Harry,” YN hisses with an eye-roll at his crude language.

“The one thing that is absolutely certain in this world is that I will always love you, always take care of you, and always do everythin’ in m’power to make you happy.”

The guests in the chairs are quite speechless.

They’d never heard such passionate, meaningful vows from a couple.

This was not what they were expecting of Harry who had never once put his heart on his sleeve and right now he’d laid it all out on the table.

“YN LN, do you agree to take Harry Edward Styles as your husband? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, until the end of your time on earth?” The officiant asks, voice ringing against the walls of the castle.

YN has to take a big breath before she replies in a strong, firm voice as her eyes bore into Harry’s, “I do.”

“Harry Edward Styles, do you agree to take YN MN LN as your wife? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, until the end of your time on earth?” The officiant repeats.

Harry, in ever typical fashion, in his loud, booming voice replies, “Of course I fuckin’ do.”

The guests in the audience laugh lightly as the officiant states, “I now announce to you, Mr. and Mrs. Styles. You may now kiss your bride.”

It doesn’t take more than a second for Harry to step forward, grip her face and pull her in for a kiss, it doesn’t matter that their family is there to him as he licks into her mouth which is bordering on obscene before YN brings it back to a softer, more appropriate one.

He whispers against his lips, barely audible, “Can’t believe y’my fucking wife, m’fucking heart.”

As people are moving towards the reception area, Harry manages to find a secluded area of the outside gardens where there is no one in sight.

“Baby, baby, y’married me,” Harry is nearly chanting, like he’s in disbelief, at the same time he’s cornering his new bride up against the brick wall with his mouth trailing sloppy wet kisses down her shoulder.

“Mmm, it was everything I ever imagined, it was so beautiful. Everything I had imagined for our day,” YN replies blissfully, hands running carefully through his meticulously styled hair.

When he bends down and lifts up the bottom of her dress, she giggles when he ducks his head underneath all the tulle and fabric, finding a very skimpy pair of white lace panties that are supposed to be saved for later.

“Harry,” YN scolds half-heartedly, it would only take one person to find them in this undeniable inappropriate situation but she willingly let him push her further against the brick and take one of her legs over his shoulder.

“Baby, these fuckin’ panties,” He groans, muffled by the barrier of the heavy fabric, and she hisses when pulls them down to the thick of her thighs and his mouths finds her center within moments.

“Fu-fuck,” She hisses, trying to keep her moans down as he wastes no time in pushing in two thick fingers to curve towards her front as his tongue laps quickly and sloppily on her clit until it feels like she’s about to explode.

“S’right, fuckin’ m’cunt. I have it f’the rest of my life, found the best one,” Harry mutters against her wet skin, almost to himself like he can’t even believe the words, before he’s back to speeding up his fingers to match the rhythm of his mouth until she’s quivering for a whole other reason now.

It takes a few minutes for Harry to calm himself down enough to be able to go into the reception, he tells YN that he can’t even look at her right now because if he does he’ll be perpetually hard throughout the whole thing.

The reception is more of a dinner than a party.

Fairy lights strung above the two long tables where decadent, mouth-watering food was served with the orchestra playing light, melodic music in the background. ***

It was perfect.

Their family drank, laughed, ate, and were merry.

Everyone was basking in each other’s company, congratulating the new couple, and enjoying all the beauty that was surrounding them at the castle.

There is not much more to say than that.

The honeymoon suite was located on one of the highest floors of the castle, away from all of the other wedding guests and staff.

YN was sure it was beautiful but from the moment she was carried over the threshold, she didn’t see anything but her new husband - he was blinding in his beauty. His skin was glowing, a slight sheen of sweat from the reception, and the still warm bite in the breeze. ***

“Sweetheart, baby. Please let m’undress you, y’my wife,” Harry pleas softly, his hands are everywhere - her face, her shoulders, hips - continuously wandering as if it’s impossible to find one place to settle.

“Please, c’mon. I need you, H,” She agrees, letting him take down the zipper on the side of her gown.

The expensive garment discarded on the floor in a pool of fabric as he fully takes in her lingerie set. ***

“Fuck me, darlin’,” Harry chuckles in amazement, fingertips tracing over the delicate lace that was stitched by Alessandro Michele himself for the bride, "Y’body is a god damn dream, look at you. - fuck.”

“Please,” His wife whimpers, voice desperate as his light and careful touches are no longer enough.

She needs him close, she needs her husband.

“Okay, okay,” He simpers, moving her back until he can have her right where he wants her, on her back in the middle of the massive, blanket-ridden bed - her white lingerie standing out against the dark duvet.

Harry had always imagined this night.

To have someone laid out underneath him.

No rush, no urgency but to truly, physically show that person through touch that you love them.

He starts near her collarbone, feathery heated kisses that warm her skin as she welcomes him with heavy weight on top of her so eager he wasn’t even undressed yet.

When his mouth finds her nipples through the sheer fabric, she pushes her chest up in encouragement as he bites at the nubs with sharp but careful teeth that wet the fabric.

“It feels so good, baby,” YN mewls, letting him nip and suck for a moment before pushing him up until he’s rid of every inch of fabric that had been covering his body.

“M’always gonna make y’feel good. I’ll fuck you wherever, wehenver cause you’re m’wife,” Harry grunts, impatiently reaching behind to unclasp the corset until her breasts spill free and jiggle in a way that makes his mouth water.

“Wait, wait,” YN puts a hand to his cheek when he already has his mouth darting out to lap at her hardened nipple.

“Don’t make me wait, m’heart,” Harry grumbles with a furrowed brow, his hand still unable to stop from reaching up to palm at her full breasts, thumbs rolling the nipples as he stares fiercely up at her.

“You know how you got me a present?” YN murmurs, biting back a whimper when a zip of electricity shoots from her nipple down to where she’s already dripping for him, “I got you something too.”

Harry’s face relaxes, it’s like he finds his grounding again, “Baby, didn’t need t’get me anythin’. Y’the best fuckin’ gift I could have gotten. Does look beautiful sittin’ between y’tits though.”

His new wife giggles, “Well I really hope you like mine….it’s non-refundable.”

He looks at her with confusion even more so when she wriggles down her panties and flips on her belly with her arms resting under chin.

Of course, Harry finds it immediately and she can tell by the deep, pleased growl he emits from the back of his throat, “You fuckin’ didn’t.”

“I did.”

It was his name, small and cursive right on her bum cheek.

After they got engaged, he went out and got her name tattooed on his pec - much to her dismay.

She had never talked about returning the favor and had kept it the ultimate surprise.

“I think I almost just came from this,” Harry rasps, his fingers tracing the small ink over and over in awe, “Baby, y’put m’name on your bum. It makes y’look like my property, sweetheart.”

“I am yours,” YN giggles, yelping when she feels his teeth graze the sensitive skin before he’s suckling and licking at his name - can’t take his eyes off the beauty of her.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ are,” He agrees whole-heartedly, his hands calming to cup and palm at her cheeks as he fawns over his wedding present, “This is the best present I’d ever fuckin’ received, fuck - never goin’ to get over this.”

He doesn’t want to look away from the tattoo but knows how he wants to fuck his wife for the first time so he flips her onto her back once again, lips finding hers.

She whispers, hand wrapping around his cock, “Still have to pay you back for earlier.”

“No blowies tonight, pet. We’re goin’ to do it the right way, m’gonna make love to you,” Harry murmurs, his lips finding hers as he bats her hand away to grasp at his thick base. He teases the sensitive head over her clit and entrance a few times before slowly sinking in.

“Ohh, been ready for you all day. You looked like a fucking wet dream standing at the alter, waiting for me,” YN sighs happily, wriggling her hips to adjust a bit before she spreads her legs and lets Harry rest in between them, “Ever since I saw you in the suit, I’ve been waiting.”

“Yeah, baby? I can tell, y’so wet, warm f’me,” Harry praises, his movements are slow and unrushed, their hips meeting gently as he pushes in each time with care, “Can’t believe y’gonna let me have this for the rest of m’life.”

“I love you so so much,” She utters breathlessly as he continues to make her feel so fucking full - emotionally and physically, “Best husband ever, can’t believe it.”

Harry chuckles tenderly, “Baby, I need y’to come soon. I’m so close, never come this quick. The thought of y’being my wife is making it impossible to last then with the tatto-”

YN soothes his hair in understanding, pushing up to meet their lips and allow their tongues to dance as he lifts her thigh against his hip to thrust in with a bit more force. His thumb comes to her clit to spur her along which doesn’t take much with how aroused she’s been all day.

Harry follows right after, much to his embarrassment of his lack of stamina but can you blame him? He has the hottest fucking wife on the planet.

“Round two?” YN smirks as he leans down to pepper kisses all over her cheeks. She knows the night has just begun.

“Mmm,” He agrees instantly, “Now that we made love, m’gonna fuck y’from behind so I can watch my name jiggle on your arse.”

And that’s what he does. It takes nearly no rebound time, flips her on her belly again to gaze and worship his name as he fills out in no time again. His fingers occasionally dip back between her thighs to tease at her entrance before he swipes her own wetness on the tattoo to lick it off.

She’s tired, exhausted from the events of the day but wants to reach that last orgasm before sleep overtakes them.

On her hands and knees, Harry doesn’t pound into her like he normally would.

Instead, he eases back in with eyes darting between his wedding present and where they’re connecting, his thumb diligently rubbing hard and steady circle on her nerves.

“C’mon wifey, need y’to not be stubborn,” Harry goads, feeling his release coming again - he pinches her clit with just enough pressure that has her whining before Harry has to hold her up by the waist as she quivers.

It has him finishing right after with a gentle smack to her bumcheek, the skin already tender and sore from all of his attention on the spot as it was.

“I loved your vows,” YN murmurs against his chest. He had wrapped her up in one of the plush blankets and he had pulled on a tight pair of briefs and they were laying on a lounge chair on the blacony under the italian stars.

“I loved yours just as much, y’did crack the code m’love ‘cause now I’m yours forever,” Harry rumbles, his voice raspy with drowsiness.

Little did they know that in a few short years, they would be back under these italian stars with knowledge that they were growing a little product of their love in her belly.

A litte baby named Ivy, just like the beautiful, lucious nature that had decorated the place in magneificent as they spoke vows - dedicating their lives to each other.

if you’ve ask to be on my taglist and you’re not here - please check your settings because i’ve tried to add you and it didn’t work.

taglist babies (thank you): @dioc4ne @hazgoldenstyles @harrysdimple05 @wonwooen @ficnarry @leeroysdancer @harrysloveheart @harryscherrysugar @pradastardust @rish-haz @wildcstdrexms @evanstylestan @wisetoadbonkbiscuit @meredithhuntt @tpwkvictoria @lovely-him @haymix @eiffelmezarry @pilgrim-harry @soullessbabee @afterglowstyles @tulsasjesus @elenagilbert01 @meh–mood @pretty-pop-princess-hs @msolbesg @localfalsegodstan @evanjh @i-just-like-fanfics @harrys-hs-gf @lightsupdoyouknowwhoyouare @afterglcwswift @harrystyles-tpwk @amyvandijk @godilovetheenglishx @harrys-cherrry @theprofessionalfanby @your–sweetest–downfall @la-cey @bdbtchdir @killerqueencapstan @elizabeth23567 @camflowervol6 @its-a-finee-line @rish-haz @solonelytobe @nav1234 @harrynamjoon @hopefullimaginer123 @westallenhes @awesomebooklover17 @will-be-a-fineline @vasilikir5 @your–sweetest–downfall @pretty-pop-princess-hs @harrynamjoon @harrypinks @ivyirenehoax @harryspink @sunsetcurve-h @goldenstylesh @mouthfulloftoothpastehs @hello-34583 @prettylovley @nicolecarsley @lamariettes @imavirginhoe @unknown7549 @mellamolayla @kiwitsayedsugar @hopefullimaginer123 @harrysmatcha @weaslettesstuff @saintsmotels @hi-yekaterina @aubreyfineline @harrysgoldenbum @ebstylesx @goldeng1rl8 @tnqueen @percysaidnever @bebecalpal

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kinsey3furry300 · 3 years

Text

So how the heck do the Avengers pay for stuff, and how rich are they?

So, in the wake of “Falcon and the Winter Soldier” There’s a lot of debate about why Sam didn’t seem to get paid well for his work in the Avengers (at least in the MCU continuity), and this has got me thinking: we’ve got no evidence that the Avengers are, financially, anything but a hot mess. So lets break it down, Avenger by Avenger, using real-world pay scales for the ones who have jobs.

Tony: a billionaire, so clearly he’s a financial genius, right? Well….. his actions say otherwise. He’s shown to be wildly irresponsible with his money. He inherited a lot of wealth form his parents which was managed by the first Jarvis, Obadiah, and Pepper for him, he buys and then gives away not just woks of art, but entire collections by major 20th century artists on a whim, destroyed his own cars and home without concern, he tanks the value of his own company in the first Iron Man with a bad press interview, gets kicked of his own bord of directors, and ultimately, in Iron Man 2, gives control of his company to Pepper. He’s insanely rich, and insanely smart, but man, he’s not smart with his money. So all the cool stuff, his suits, the Avengers tower, the facility up-state: that’s all paid for by him, but Pepper is holding the purse-stings. So, does he pay the others? We have no evidence for most of them… but we do with Spidey. Peter Parker is in the Stark Internship Program a euphemism to hide the fact he’s training and mentoring him as a super-hero, but I find the wording interesting: he refers to Spidey, his surrogate son and chosen heir, as an intern. I.E., Unpaid. I’m guessing this is Howard’s influence over him, some sort of ‘make you own way in the world, son’ attitude, but if he’s not paying Spidey, is he paying anyone else? He certainly pays for stuff super heroes suits and things, equipment, fuel, the base, but does he pay anyone a wage? No one ever mentions it. You think it would come up.

So, if he’s not paying them a wage, where do Avengers (and thier allies) get their day-to-day money from, and are they rich? Using google and https://www.federalpay.org, lets find out.

Cap: Well, before Civil war, he’s a shield operative, and he presumably still holds his military rank: he’s a US Army captain, with (well) over 40 years service, so USD$88,142.40 per year, with $237.71 drill pay (pay per drill you have to do on weekends, on leave or outside of normal service) and $175.00 per month hazard pay (which I bet is interesting) on top of that. As a WW2 veteran, he’d be eligible for a war pension if he:

Was not discharged for dishonorable reasons; and,

Served 90 days of active military duty; and,

Served at least one day during wartime ("wartime" as determined by the VA); and,

Had countable family income below a certain yearly limit; and,

Is age 65 years or older; or

Regardless of age is permanently disabled, not due to wilful misconduct.

As he’s still receiving 90k per year, he’s ineligible for a pension as his countable yearly income is above the limit. So if shield pays him in accordance with his rank and years of service, about $90, 600 per year incuding hazard pay.

After civil war, he’s a fugitive on the run, so presumably flat broke. I’d asume he gets his pension returened to him after the snap.

He’s also just gone from the 40’s to the present day, so 70 years of inflation probably makes buying things very confusing for him: everything would seem insanely expensive at first. He’d also not know what the correct prices are for anything invented after 45. You might get used to how much more expensive food and coffee is, but how much is a smart-phone worth? $200? $2000 $20000? Who knows? I bet the others have to facepalm a lot when he either refuses to pay for what he sees as clear price-gouging, and at the same time regularly pays insane amounts of money for goods and services because he doesn’t know better. He also has no known assets other than his pay: he rents an apartment making him one of the few American males in his age-group who isn’t a home-owner

Thor: Does Asgard even have currency? It’s depicted like a “Crystal spires and toga” type utopia with no poverty: even working class Asgardian’s like Scourge seem to be pretty well-off and want for nothing, so he’s from a post-scarcity society where actual magic is a thing. His “Another” coffee cup smashing and the fact he doesn’t have a computer of phone in Ragnarök might indicate that, no, he just doesn’t have, need or understand money. Splitting a bar tab with him must be a nightmare. His breakdown post snap indicates he’s got some cash, but not a huge amount, and is probably skiving of Valkyrie and the other Asgardians.

Banner: Okay, so a PhD could make you a lot of money from patents… in pharmacology or engineering. Theoretical physics? Not so good. And if Banner did have any patents, they’ve probably been seized under eminent domain by the US military. At the start of The Hulk film, he’s working a entry-level factory job at a botteling plant in Brazil. The minimum wage in Brazil is 1069.62 Real per month, that’s 12,835.44 Real per year, or around $2437.79 US per year, before everything goes wrong for him! He then runs off to India, works for Tony for a bit and then gets shot into space. Spidey may actually make more in allowance than Banner does, and Banner is a gown ass man with bills to pay: I’d imagine he loses a lot in ripped clothing.

Natasha and Barton: Pre Civil-war, both are government spooks, so how well does that pay? The salaries of CIA Intelligence Analysts based in the US range from $25,838 to $685,701 , with a median salary of $125,340, so let’s assume that Shield pays in a similar range: $685,701 per year for Director Fury, around 125,000 for Natasha and Cliff, which explains Cliff’s nice, middle-class mid-western home. Post civil war, presumably not great: we know that Natasha spends a lot of her savings running and hiding all across the world, and Cliff takes a deal and presumably lives of his savings, pension and his wife’s income.

Rhodes: Full USAF colonel with over 10 years service? $105,562.80 per year, plus $293.23 drill pay per drill and $175 per month hazard pay, and because he’s team Stark and not Team Cap in Civil War, he’d not lose any of that. He presumably also gets an injury pay-out after his accident. After T’challa and Stark, he might be the best paid avenger.

Dr Strange: spends all his money he made as a surgeon on trying to cure his hands: spends literally his last dollars heading to Nepal to train. Wong even jokes with him about their lack of worldly money when asking for a tuna-melt. But, can use illusion to make people think he has money, and his home and clothes etc. come with the job, so in the same boat as Thor in that he has no money, but needs none AKA, he’s a bastard to try and split a restaurant bill with.

Wanda and Vision: No know source of income, just sort of live in Tony’s hose and eat his food, and on top of that Wanda goes on the run after civil war… yet they can stay in fancy hotels in Edinburgh, a relatively expensive city, and Vison apparently bought them a house to retire in, so one of them has some source of money. Maybe Tony gave Vision years of back-pay form when he was still Jarvis, or maybe the vison has a day job, which is, frankly, hilarious. Could you imagine him as a barista? I can, and it makes me very happy.

Scott Lang: I’d assumed he’d be super, super broke, but apparently the average pay for a private security consultant in the Bay area is $85,430 per year. Not bad. Pity he gets sucked into the quantum realm just as his business is taking off, so presumably, flat broke again.

Bucky: no known income, and I doubt Hydra paid him for being the Winter Soldier so he probably has no savings, but he should, technically, qualify for a military pension. As a single veteran, he’d be eligible for federal tax-free pension of up to $1732 per month, or $20,784 tax free per year. Not much for someone who lives in NYC. He may also be eligible for medical benefits over the loss of his arm. Whether or not he got to see any of that money given how confused his life has been over the past 10 years is unclear, but on paper he’s eligible.

T’challa: He is, quite possibly, richer than Stark, and as an absolute monarch pays no tax and has access to his Nation’s vast wealth in vibanium. It’s good to be the king!

Captain Marvel: USAF captain, and a test pilot; the test pilot school only accepts applicants with a service length of less than 9 years 6 months (10 years six moths of helicopters) as they don’t want older applicants. With 8 years service, $79,538.40, plus drill pay and hazard. However, no know (human) pay since 1990. Flat broke.

Guardians of the Galaxy: no data, but I’m assuming “Cowboy Bebop” levels of perpetual never-ending poverty given the way they choose to live. I’d also assume Rocket has taken all their cash into some sort of Ponzi scheme of his own creation, because just look at him, of course he has.

Spidey: he’s got about $10 of his aunts’ money at any given time, so he can buy lunch… which may in fact be more than Banner or Lang, and we know it’s more that Strange or Thor.

So, here the big one: how rich or how broke is Sam?

Sam Wilson: annoyingly, we’re not directly told what rank Sam held in any MCU film. USAF pararescue “Maroon berets” are generally NCO’s (but there’ are officer-ranked pararescue) , and he’s seen working on his wings at one point, where as officers don’t generally work on or maintain airframes. He’s shown wearing a Nation Air guard grey while jogging at one point to confuse the matter further. The general consensus on redit is he’s a former USAF tech sergeant (E-6). But how long was he in the air force? With six years service (the minimum sensible time he could have served to work in pararescue based on his age), that would be $41,464.80 per year, plus drill pay and hazard. As Anthony Mackie, the actor that plays him, was 36 as of Civil War, and assuming the character is the same age, and assuming he retired from the air force that year, and he joined the USAF at 17, the youngest you can join, he’d have served 19 years, giving him a pay of $51,566.40, the maximum pay you can get at this rank before promotion to Master Sergent, but meaning he left just before he’d qualify for the 50% final salary pension you’d qualify for after 20 years. Which seems weird. So let’s assume the character is one year older than the actor that plays him and served 20 years (ages 17-37), that means Sam has a military pension of $25,783.20 per year (20,784 of it tax-free), plus any injury benefits. He councils other veterans, but doesn’t get paid for that. He also chooses Team Cap in Civil War, so would become a wanted criminal, and so lose his income between 2016 and 2018, and then gets snapped and has no income for 5 years, which would destroy his credit rating. Like the rest of Team Cap, he presumably gets his post snap pardon, and goes to work for the US government at his former pay and rank. However, given how Captain John Walker treats him as an equal, it’s possible he’s been promoted to a captain when the hired back, giving him a pay of between $54,176.40 to $88,142.40 (with 20 years experience, depending on if they take into account his prior service or not, and how much prior service he has), but either way, he’s just starting this as a new job after being legally dead for 5 years: no savings, and no credit.

Commercial fishing vessels cost about 10% of their total value per year in maintenance alone. I can’t identify what sort of boat the Wilson’s have, but some quick googling indicates that the cheapest 15m long wooden in-shore shrimp trawler costs around $140,000, so that’s $14,000 per year in maintenance costs alone, minimum. And that’s a lower estimate, assuming the rest of the business is sound, which we know it isn’t.

So, in concussion, yes, Sam is in some serious financial trouble until he can re-build his savings and credit, but the scary bit is he’s not alone in that: he’s probably better off than Lang, Banner, Danvers, Strange, Thor, Bucky, Wanda and Parker. Only Clint (if he gets a full pardon and gets his full pension), Rhodes, Stark and T’challa aren’t in some sort of potential financial problems. That asshole bank teller was right: despite the fact it seems to pay well on paper, with a few exceptions, the Avengers financials are probibaly a mess. EDIT: Rocket is running the Ponzi scheme, if that’s not clear from context. The others know they have money somewhere, but not where it’s gone. And It’s been pointed out to me that as he’s technically a POW while he’s the Winter Soldier, Bucky is owed over 70 years back-pay, equal to over 3 million dollars, details in the notes.

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angelicyoongie · 4 years

Text

desolate (14) - M

— summary: you just wanted a cute little normal cat to keep you company. so, you're not really sure how you ended up with the grumpiest hybrid on earth that seems hellbent on making your life difficult.

— pairing: cat hybrid yoongi x human reader

— genre: angst, fluff, smut

— word count: 7.4k — warnings: 🔞 this chapter contains smut; unprotected sex (don’t do that tho), fingering, knotting, etc.

— tag list: @mrcleanheichou @btstxtgenre @ladymidnightt @cheese123344 @xanny91 @dinorahrodriguez @best-space-boy @dulcaet @moccahobi @keijaycreates @staytrillswag @xsmilebitesx @serendipityoreuphoria @jiminot7 @beyond-the-swag @nananaum1 @mult1wh0re @faithsummers11 @twomilkmen-gocomedy @theonewholovestoread @karissassirak @veryuniquenamegoeshere @yourlipssoirresistible @ayoo-bangtan @murderyoursoul @btsxdoll @see3milyblog @gukiyi @mtgforall @narcissism-iskey @sp3ak-yours3lf @cesthoney @imluckybitches @hd-junglebook @sugarrimajins @multifandomgirl29 @beach-bitch-bitch-beach @bangtansleftnut @theresa-nam-nam-me @angeltothecore @ghostkat23 @deathkat657 @awixxx @httpmedxsa @veronawrites @bubbletae7 @serious-addiction @chogiyeol-utopia @nomimits7 @lorielulu7 @1am9root6 @sana-b @diamonddia-mond @jiminiessipabo @myhearttteu @rainbowmagicpixecorn @lidda @rosiethefairy @lovinggalaxies @midnight1199 @trinityautumn @linniewritesficz @fearhoshi @ess-place @juniesoftbot @kingalls00 @toribug2020 @daydreambrliever @moonlight-mochi @sleepyje0n @yoonie-bby @alltimeyoongi @honestlyfuriousharmony @itsoktheresbts @suzziequeuie @miss–insanity @illnevertrustmyselfagain @annoyingpessimist @lovelikeyouwant @originalpersonawobblerduck @cigarettes-after-tears @kookie-vuitton @thefangirlsoul @lmna990 @luvshorses08 @marvelstuck @kissmeimwitchy @crazyxforxmyself @hxsxxk-180294 @ratking101 @brittaney341 @shameless-army @yuukihime2097 @adoorinyourheart @heimdoodle @kissing-fear @toripeix @horanghae18 @redperson58 @awsome-small-k @salomea27 @johnnystolemywig @mihto @jisoosbitch @lyrxbz @forever-once-gone @sugalarity @out-of-jams @ithinkileftmycoatoutside @witchxlove @chocoflagcutii @alyboo-jpeg @ladyartemesia @tatiiz24 @boinko-boye @kaceyxmarie74 @fuckthatfeeling @makepastanotwar13 @airiguk @justliketheoceann @strawbewymiwk @skswriting @kofikats @rainbow-zebra-unicorns @mhmbrigitta @forever-yoongis @prybts @phatbussyincorporated @itsmethepancake @alterlovess @boredoomfm @furblrwurblr @moments-of-melancholy @barbikatherine @crookedstarlitnight @moonlightjoonx @ibsenova-nora @aphroditis-world @ramaali1 @inhalebts @gguksfilter @kerikaaria @paradise-writings @yoongisabby @childcorrectionfacility-school @eriiiichan @baka-chanismyname @sugaesthetichoe @junasaurusrex @fluffreader @justzeera @swoozleee @beansplz @aestaeticbts23 @slut-for-fandoms @joyful-jimin @phasephoenix @nanananisstuff

Part one Part two Part three Part four Part five Part six Part seven Part eight Part nine Part ten (M) Part eleven Part twelve Part thirteen

For the first time in weeks, you actually feel refreshed when you wake up. You let out a soft sigh against Yoongi’s sweater, the material soft and warm underneath your cheek. You let the sleepiness fade away bit by bit, enjoying the sunlight peeking into your apartment and the steady rhythm of Yoongi’s heartbeat thrumming against your ear. You would be content with staying here forever, in the quiet and peaceful morning all wrapped up in Yoongi, but the quiet rumbling in your stomach lets you know that you might have to change your plans.

Yoongi lets out a low grumble of displeasure the moment you try to slip away from him, his arms tightening around your waist to make sure you won’t leave. Yoongi buries his nose deeper into your hair, the rumble in his chest melting into a softer purr as he inhales your scent. Your heart does a little flip at the action, a grin tugging at your lips as you press a quick peck to Yoongi’s chest. It takes a few minutes, but you eventually manage to wiggle out of Yoongi’s hold, careful not to wake him.

You wince as you open the door to the fridge, the barren inside mocking you. There are still a few days until you get paid, but hopefully this will last you until then. You decide that some scrambled eggs and toast will have to do - and you make quick work of getting everything ready. You’re leaning against the counter, watching mindlessly as the eggs start to cook and fluff up. You can’t believe you even entertained the idea of adopting Yoongi last night. You grimace, eyes gliding over to the stack of bills on the other side of the counter. You can’t even pay for your current living expenses, how the hell are you supposed to take care of Yoongi too?

You stir the eggs with a little more force than necessary, eyebrows pinched tightly as you try to run through all the possible options you have. Yoongi needs an owner – it’s the law. Even if he wanted to apply to become a free one, he would still need to be owned during the process. And if you won’t adopt him, he’ll be forced to find someone else. He’ll likely be brought to a shelter whether he wants to or not, and you have a feeling that the next person that adopts him won’t exactly see him as an equal in the same way that you do. If Yoongi leaves, there’s no guarantee you’ll even be able to ever see him again. It won’t be up to him, it’ll be something for his new owner to decide. And you don’t want that. You don’t want Yoongi to go back to the same situation he just escaped from. But what choice you do have? Especially now that your current job is hanging on by a thin thread.

You’ll just have to pick up two jobs, maybe even three if you can make the shifts match up. You managed to survive on five hours of sleep a day back in university during your exams, so it can’t be that hard to do it again, right? Sure it will probably be exhausting, but you’ll deal with it if it means that Yoongi can stay.

“What’s wrong?” You nearly jump out of your skin as Yoongi’s breath fans across your ear, his chest flush to your back as he wraps his arms around your waist. You had forgotten just how quiet Yoongi could be, truly living up to his cat genetics. You hesitate, unsure if it’s worth sharing your troubles with Yoongi if it’s only going to make him feel bad. You don’t doubt he’ll tell you it’s okay and find someone else if he thinks it’s too much for you to manage.

“Tell me, kitten. I could smell your anxiety from the living room,” Yoongi’s voice is ladled with sleep, the slight rasp making your legs feel weak. The soft fur of Yoongi’s ear brushes against your chin when you hesitantly bite down on your lip, his enhanced hearing picking up even the smallest of sounds.

“Yoongi, are you sure you don’t want to be a free hybrid?” You feel his arms stiffen, his fingers digging into the material of your – his – hoodie. “I just want to make sure that you’re making the right choice. Not to say that you can’t become one later! I just .. don’t want you to do something you’ll regret.”

“I don’t really have the necessary funds to help you with the process, and it might take a while for me to save up if that’s what you want. I know Mr. Yang had some options for you that might be better if you want that in the near future,” You mumble. If Yoongi relies on you to become a free hybrid, it will probably take you closer to ten years to save up what he needs with the meagre paycheck you have now. That is, if you even get to keep your job for that long.

“Y/n,” Yoongi turns his head, lips meeting your throat in a chaste kiss. “I’ll tell you this as many times as you need to hear it, but I really don’t want to become one. I have more protection, more rights, as an adopted hybrid than I would ever have as a free one. It doesn’t matter what the government tries to portray it as – it isn’t true,” He lets out a low hiss.

“I just want some stability, someone I can call home. And I really want that to be you,” Yoongi murmurs.

“I want that too,” You rest a hand on top of Yoongi’s, tilting your head to lean against his. You want it so, so bad. “It’s just –“

“The bills?” Yoongi continues. You give him a weak noise of confirmation, gaze unwillingly straying over to the pile of all of your problems.

“Don’t worry about it, kitten. It’s my turn to take care of you now after everything you’ve done for me.”

You suck in a surprised breath, quickly turning around in Yoongi’s hold to properly look at him. “What do you mean, ‘take care of me’?” You ask carefully, eyebrows pinched with confusion as Yoongi’s lips curl into a blinding smile.

“Exactly what I said,” Yoongi tugs you closer, your hands falling to rest on his chest to keep your balance. Yoongi’s tail brushes across your calves, trailing up your legs until it settles around your waist, gently curling around it just above where Yoongi’s hands are resting on your hips.

“Apparently when that fucker was fined a hundred thousand dollars, it was a hundred thousand to each of his victims,” Yoongi’s lips curl with displeasure as he utters the last word. “He had made so much money on trading us that it wasn’t even an issue for him to pay up right away. He’s probably going to try to reduce his sentence by being good and paying everything he’s required to.” He lets out a humourless snort, the tail around your waist giving you an involuntary squeeze at his flaring anger.

“He’s not going to get out Yoongi. Even if they do reduce it by some years, it’s not going to be enough for him to actually get released,” You say, gently moving a hand up to cup Yoongi’s face. The cat hybrid leans into your touch the moment your skin makes contact with his, eyelids fluttering closed as you run your thumb across his cheek. There’s no way Mr. Park is ever going to get released, and even if he against all odds should, you’re going to make sure you’ll put him right back where he belongs. You mull over Yoongi’s words as he rubs his cheek against your palm, one word jumping out at you.

Us.

“Yoongi, when you said us, do you mean your .. siblings?” You watch as Yoongi’s face stiffens, the fingers on your hips digging in a little deeper, before he breathes out a low “Yes.”

You can’t even imagine how hard it much be to know that you have family out there, but having no idea where they are or how many. Considering there even was a list, and Mr. Park had been running his breeding business for years before he got caught, you don’t doubt that it has to be long.

“Do you want to find them?” You ask carefully. It must be hard, painful even, for Yoongi to know that he’s not alone; that he has siblings out there who knows what he’s been through, and likely has been in the same terrible situation as he has, or maybe even worse – but that’s also why you’re not really all that shocked when Yoongi’s eyes flutters open, his gaze firm as he takes a deep breath and then, “No. I have all the family I need right here.”

And that’s more than fine. You can’t blame him for not wanting to relive his old life through every sibling he would meet. He doesn’t deserve it. What Yoongi needs, is to move on and put it all behind him, and you’re more than willing to help him do just that.

“Okay,” You nod, stomach fluttering at Yoongi’s words. Aside from Jihyo and Sana, Yoongi is the only family you really have. You don’t see yours too often, maybe once a year, and it’s always tense, always filled with You should’ve studied this or You’re still living there? and that’s not what family should be. It’s not what Yoongi is.

“You got me side-tracked kitten,” Yoongi grumbles, nipping playfully after your hand as you slide it down to rest on his shoulder. “What I meant to say was, I have money now. For once, let me take care of you and pay you back for everything you’ve done for me these past months,” Yoongi looks down at you earnestly, hopefully, and it just makes you heart bloom even more.

“I want you to use the money to find a new place for us to live, somewhere that’s a little safer,” He takes a step closer, pulling your chest flush against his as he ducks his head down to look at you. “I’ve got no use for the money on my own, I can’t even use it without an owner–“ Yoongi pouts, his eyes sparkling as he can see your resolve begin to crumble in front of his eyes, “– so if you’re really that apprehensive about it, just think of it as doing me a favour.”

It sounds tempting. You do want to adopt Yoongi and you do want to move you both somewhere nicer, but there’s still something gnawing at your conscience.

“If I adopt you –“ The tip of Yoongi’s tail flicks excitedly along your stomach at your words, “then you have to promise me that you’ll keep your money for yourself. You can pay half, and I’ll pay half. I’m not going to exploit you.”

“Okay, deal,” Yoongi doesn’t miss a beat as he closes the last distance between the two of you, his plush lips finding yours easily. You bring your hands up around his neck, carding your fingers through the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. It’s getting long again, and now would probably be a good time to finally take Yoongi to a proper hairdresser to get it cut. A loud purr rumbles from Yoongi’s chest as you intertwine your hands in his hair, the sound echoing in your little kitchen. You pull back, letting out an enamoured laugh as you see the faint flush in Yoongi’s cheeks.

Yoongi’s eyes narrow at your amusement, his mouth opening to shoot back a retort when he stops to wrinkle his nose, head tilting to the side to look at something over your shoulder. His tail quickly detaches from your waist as he lets out a snort, and says, “I think the eggs are burning.”

“Shit!”

Your eyes shift warily around the office as you make your way inside, the cold weather still lingering in your bones as you quickly shuffle over to your desk. Jihyo doesn’t even spare you a glance as you sit down, her mouth slightly agape as her eyes stay glued to the screen in front of her.

You sweep your gaze across the office as you remove your coat, surprised to find that most of your co-workers seem to either be doing the same thing as Jihyo, or whispering quietly amongst themselves.

“Jihyo? What’s going on?” You murmur as you take your seat. Jihyo shakes her head as she mouths out email, her gaze still locked on to her computer. You frown as you quickly boot up your own, a sudden sense of urgency making you desperate to get into the system.

You tap your fingers impatiently against your desk as the computer logs you in, your hands flying across the keyboard to open up your mail. You bring up the email that says ‘URGENT’, eyes flying across the screen as you skim through it. You can feel your own mouth falling open in shock as you reach the bottom, a wave of relief hitting you so hard you might actually cry if you don’t pull yourself together.

“Jihyo?” You breathe, and Jihyo finally meets your eyes, her surprise mirroring yours.

“I can’t believe he got fired!” She hisses, and you can’t do much more than shake your head in disbelief. You can’t believe it either. All the anxiety and worries you’ve had for your future that suddenly seemed so bleak is .. gone, just like that.

The email doesn’t say how your boss got exposed for sabotaging cases, just that he got found out, and that resulted in immediate termination. Not only that – but apparently the higher ups in the company has decided to merge with another firm that specializes in the same field; expanding the company and making it so that there won’t be one boss to oversee everything, but rather new team leaders and smaller groups working together.

You suppose the thought behind it is that it’ll make it easier to see if anyone is trying to exploit their positions or somehow foil their cases. Perhaps the thing that stood out the most was the fact that anyone who has worked at either of the two companies for three years or more can apply to the new positions, and you’re qualified to do that.

Jihyo seems to be following your train of thought, because she lets out a low giggle, her eyes sparkling as she says, “You’re going to be such a good team leader.”

“Jihyo!” You scold, “You don’t even know if I’ll get it. There are lots of people who as just as qualified as me.” But you can’t help but hope. Getting a promotion would solve so much, and it would make both yours and Yoongi’s life so much easier.

“Maybe, but I don’t think anyone is going to try as hard as you,” Jihyo gives you once over, her eyebrow quirking as she sees the small tug at your lip, a faint smile you haven’t been able to wipe off ever since you fell asleep yesterday.

“I take it that you worked things out with Yoongi?” She grins. Her smile seems to grow impossibly wider at your embarrassed nod, and she lets out an extravagant sigh, hands clutches to her chest as she says, “Ah your poor competition, they definitely don’t stand a chance now.”

“I’ll go get the last one,” Yoongi says, his tail brushing against the back of your hand as he walks past you. You huff in agreement, in box in your arms feeling like it’s going to tear them clean off as you quickly shuffle into the living room. You drop it onto the nearby table with a groan, rolling your shoulders to get the ache out of them as you step back.

Your new living room is littered with boxes, everything from your old apartment crammed into one room. You’ve brought no furniture along aside from your old coffee table, the other pieces so old and worn you and Yoongi both decided it was time to invest in something new. Your new couch and bed thankfully arrived the day before, so everything was ready to move into as soon as you brought all of your belongs over to the new house.

These past months still feel so surreal. You got that promotion you fought tooth and nail for, making both your hours and your pay much better. You even have the option to work from home a few days a week now, and that’s something you’ve been taking advantage of as much as possible. Your promotion also meant that you could finally find a new place to live now that you could split the cost fifty-fifty with Yoongi. It was the cat hybrid that had showed you the listing for a quaint little house on the outskirts of the city, and you knew right away that this was the right place for the both of you. The house is everything you’ve ever dreamed of. It’s not anything grand, but it’s more than enough for you and Yoongi, a pretty little home with a garden you just know will bloom beautifully once spring rolls around.

The large windows in the living room gives the house so much light, and you feel like you can finally breathe properly for the first time in months. Especially after being confined in your little shoebox apartment for years. It was a good home, but you had outgrown it long ago – long before you even met Yoongi.

Not to mention, you officially adopted Yoongi a few weeks after he came back, not wanting to drag out the inevitable even longer. It was weird–and it still is–signing the papers that meant you now had complete and utter ownership of another person, of Yoongi, but despite all that, you know deep down that it’s for the best. That Yoongi finally has the protection and safety he craves, and if he ever wants to become free, or leave, it’s never something you’ll use against him. The papers are nothing more than a formality to keep Yoongi safe, and that’s what you cling to whenever you wonder if you’ve done the right thing or not.

One thing you don’t think you can ever get used to though, is the stares. It’s been a little over three months since the trials, but people don’t seem to have forgotten about Yoongi just yet. You suppose it’s not that weird considering it isn’t often hybrids are represented on TV, but still, it keeps catching you off guard. It doesn’t matter if people look at him with interest or thinly veiled disgust, you can’t help but feel defensive when you catch people staring. So you don’t even think twice anymore before you switch places with Yoongi as you walk, or tug him along to another area in the supermarket under the guise that you saw something new you want to try. You’re pretty sure Yoongi has caught on long ago to what you have been doing, but he never complains about it – just follows along with a smile and a squeeze to your hand, and so you take it as permission to continue.

“Last one,” Yoongi grumbles as he brushes past you, the tight-fitting sweater leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. You watch, transfixed, as his biceps strain under the weight of the box he’s carrying, the sight making your mouth run dry.

“That’s great,” You feel your cheeks flush at how affected you sound. Not only has Yoongi finally gained back all the weight he was missing, but he has also been working out, a lot. While you might not have initially pegged Yoongi as someone who enjoys heavy exercise, you’re not all that surprised that it’s a hobby he’s grown fond of either. You know it’s something many hybrids enjoy, because for a lot of them, it’s the only thing that yields any results. And so, hybrid friendly gyms aren’t only a place for them to exercise, but to make friends too. You’re sure his heightened interest has more to do about the people he trains with more than the actual training itself, but it makes him happy, and that’s all that matters. And it’s not like you mind seeing Yoongi growing buffer either, but that’s sort of the issue. Because if you thought it was hard keeping your hands off him before, it’s almost torture now.

Yoongi’s head whips around at the breathless tilt to your voice as he puts the box down, the concern in his gaze transforming into something darker as he realizes why you seem so flushed.

“See something you like?” Yoongi teases, his biceps bulging against his sweater as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Rude.

“That’s not– I’m just tired,” You awkwardly clear your throat as you shift you gaze elsewhere, anywhere, that doesn’t put you in danger of making yourself drool.

“I’m sure you are, kitten,” Yoongi hums. You can feel his dark gaze burning into your face as he steps closer, but you refuse to meet it, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of watching you squirm. Yoongi doesn’t stop until he’s directly in front of you, a puff of air fanning across your cheek as he leans in closer. Soft fur brushes against your exposed ankles, the feeling so unexpected it makes your breath hitch. But Yoongi doesn’t comment on it, only presses a soft kiss to your cheek and murmurs, “You did well today. Go get washed up and I’ll start putting things away.” And then he leaves, the soft echo of footsteps making their way to the kitchen making you snap out of your daze.

The thing is, you haven’t been .. intimate with Yoongi ever since his rut. It wasn’t that either of you regret it, because you sure don’t, and Yoongi has made it very clear that he doesn’t; but you both agreed that you went about it a little backwards. So you both decided to take things slow. To do things right this time. It’s not like you don’t touch – because you very much do. You get all the hand holding, hugs, cuddles and gentle kisses you want, but Yoongi always pulls away before things can escalate into something more. And well, you always feel a little wave of relief go through your system every time he does.

You think you both might actually be a little nervous to take it any further. I do want to, but, you’re scared. Scared that Yoongi might not want you in the same way that he did during his rut. You know ruts are only supposed to amplify the needs and desires that are already there, but what if that goes for Yoongi’s enjoyment too? What if you’re not enough without his rut heightening his emotions? You know it’s silly – stupid – to think so, and that Yoongi keeps proving those thoughts wrong all the time, but still, just because you know some things are silly doesn’t mean it’s easy to let go of them.

You’re not sure why Yoongi keeps backing off, but maybe he’s worried about the same thing? Must be. You sigh, running your fingers through your tangled locks as you decide to take Yoongi up on his offer. You do really need a little pick-me up, and taking a shower sounds divine. As you make your way over to your bathroom, you can’t help the smile that graces your lips as you listen to Yoongi shuffling around in the kitchen. You know you’ll have to face those silly fears sooner rather than later, but for now, you’re happy to just push those feelings down and pretend they don’t exist.

But as always, things never turn out the way you want them to.

“Yoongi,” You pant as teeth nip against your collarbones, a rough tongue swiping over the marks to soothe the sting. You swear you have no idea how you ended up here. One second you were just relaxing on your new couch next to Yoongi after a long day of moving, and the next you’re caged in underneath his body, experiencing the most action you’ve had in months. You’re already breathing hard just from the intense make-out session you had, your lips bruised and raw from all of Yoongi’s nibbling and biting.

“What kitten?” Yoongi purrs against your neck, his fluffy ears twitching back and fourth to make sure he doesn’t miss any sound you make. The vibration against your throat makes you choke, your hands flying up to tangle into Yoongi’s soft locks.

“Are you sure about this? I don’t want to r-rush if you’re not ready,” You stutter halfway through as Yoongi licks a long stripe up your neck, his sharp teeth grazing the shell of your ear. There’s a confused huff of air, Yoongi reluctantly pulling back from your neck to properly look at you.

“Why wouldn’t I be ready?” Yoongi asks.

“Because you kept stopping whenever things started uh, heating up?” You wince at your poor word choice, Yoongi cocking his head to the side as he watches you carefully.

“I did that because of you, Y/n. You were practically choking my senses with how nervous you were – I was trying to take things slow and not make you uncomfortable.”

Oh.

“So I think I should be asking you if you’re okay, kitten, not the other way around. We can stop now if you want to,” Yoongi leans down to press a quick peck against your nose, the gentle smile on his face making your heart skip a beat.

“I’m nervous,” You admit. “The last time we did this was during your rut, and that was multiple supressed ruts combined into one, and so I’m just scared that you won’t enjoy it as much now that it’s just .. me,” You mumble, diverting your gaze to Yoongi’s shoulder.

Yoongi lets out a low growl, his tail winding around your knee as he leans in closer, forcing you eyes back onto his face as he says, “When will you learn to stop assuming things, kitten?”

“My rut doesn’t dictate anything, Y/n. What I feel during it and after it stays the same. Ruts just makes me horny for a longer period of time,” He grins at the faint flush in your cheeks, tail slowly parting your legs until he can situate himself in between them. “This–” Yoongi rolls his hips, ears perking up at the breathy sound you make as the hardness between his legs brushes against your core, “–is all you. Want you so bad, kitten. Rut or no rut.”

The slight desperation in his voice combined with the feeling of Yoongi pressed up against you, is just what you need to throw your worries out the window. There’s no need in denying yourself something you’ve wanted for so long when Yoongi obviously feels the same way that you do.

“Me too, want you too,” You rush out, eager to have Yoongi’s lips back on yours. You pull him down, fingers still tangled in his hair as he meets you halfway. It’s doesn’t take long before Yoongi deepens it, lips moving hungrily against yours as you anchor yourself in the locks between your fingers, the slight tugging only spurring Yoongi on even more.

You whine as Yoongi runs his tongue along your lips, your mouth parting automatically to let him in. Yoongi shifts his weight, the motion freeing up one of his arms. Yoongi slowly trails his hand down your chest; the unhurried touch such a juxtaposition to the feverish movement of his lips that it makes your body tremble. Yoongi lets his hand rest on your stomach for a moment, the warmth of his hand burning through the material of your shirt.

“Yoongi,” You whimper when it doesn’t seem like he’s planning on moving his hand any lower, your core clenching around nothing with how desperate you are to get his fingers where you need them.

Yoongi pulls back with a low chuckle; the sound quickly bordering on a growl the moment he sees your spit slicked and bruised lips. “Bed first,” Yoongi pants, the hunger in his eyes setting your body on fire.

Yoongi’s lips are back on yours as soon as you get up front the couch; slender hands holding your face steady as he starts backing you out of the room. You fist your hands into fabric of his sweater, tugging impatiently as Yoongi bites down on your lower lip, the low vibration from his chest a clear warning of have patience, but you’re far too needy to care. You let out a surprised squeak as the room suddenly tilts, your knees buckling against the side of the bed.

You scramble to pull yourself up further, your hungry eyes drinking in the smooth paleness of Yoongi’s body as he quickly rids himself of his sweater. You choke back a moan as he steps out his jeans, the newly defined muscles in Yoongi’s thighs making your mouth water as he crawls up the bed. You make quick work of your own clothes, Yoongi’s eyes nothing short of predatory as his gaze trails all over your exposed skin.

“You’re so pretty, kitten,” Yoongi purrs as he nudges you down, resuming the same position he had on the couch as he cages you back in. You’re both still in your underwear, Yoongi’s length straining against the material as he places his hand back on your stomach. You slide your hands up Yoongi’s shoulders until you can twist your fingers into his soft hair again, and this time Yoongi doesn’t need any prompting before his fingers slide further down your stomach, fingers hooking into the side of your underwear as he beings to peel it down.

The damp patch on your underwear only serves as evidence of how soaking wet you are already, and Yoongi’s eyes seem to grow darker, wilder, as he realizes just how ready for him you are. Yoongi surges down to capture your lips, his harsh breaths intertwining with yours as his fingers find their way back to your core. Yoongi swallows down the gasp that leaves your lips as his fingers drag between your folds, the slow friction bordering on torturous before his thumb starts doing lazy circles around your bud, your hips buckling up for more pressure.

“Don’t be impatient kitten,” Yoongi clicks his tongue, but the smugness on his face is wiped away by a sudden groan as he removes his touch from you completely, expression almost pained as he sees how his fingers are glistening with your juices. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” He growls. You can’t help the embarrassingly loud moan that escapes your lips as Yoongi starts lapping up the wetness on his fingers, his tail shuddering being his back. If you weren’t aching for Yoongi to sink into you, you probably could’ve orgasmed just from watching him. “Taste so sweet too,” Yoongi rasps.

He watches you through hooded lids as he brings his fingers back down to your core, the first finger barely even stretching your walls from how turned on you are. Finally having some friction against your walls is delicious, but one finger isn’t enough to sate the hunger burning in your belly. Yoongi adds another before you can even ask, the feeling making you mewl as you harshly tug Yoongi down for another kiss. Yoongi adds a third once you give him the clear, his fingers hitting you just right every time he pushes them back inside. You have long since abandoned Yoongi’s hair for the opportunity to explore his body, and the lean muscles seem to jump out against your fingers as you drag them from his chest to his stomach, and back up again to settle on his shoulders. You’re not sure when your bra disappeared, but thank god it did, because Yoongi’s soft lips wrapped around your nipple is enough to make your back arch, the dual stimulation almost too much.

“Need you Yoongi, please,” You beg, one hand quickly releasing his shoulder to reach down between your bodies. You let your fingers slip beneath the waistband of his underwear, Yoongi letting out a choked moan as you wrap your hand around his length. You only get to slide your hand up and down in a few quick pumps before Yoongi grabs your wrist, pulling your hand away as he rids himself of his boxers.

“I won’t last if you do that, kitten,” Yoongi grumbles, seemingly just as on edge as you are. You whine at the loss of his fingers moving inside of you, but the sigh of Yoongi’s cock straining against his stomach is enough to distract you momentarily.

“See something you like?” Yoongi echoes his words from earlier, the smirk of his face widening into a full grin as you can’t do much else but nod, your mind not having room for any thoughts except for the need to have him inside of you.

“Please,” You whimper. Yoongi grab your legs, wrapping them around his waist before he places a hand on your waist, the other guiding his cock to your folds. He keeps his eyes trained on your face for any discomfort as he begins pushing inside, the slight burn making you moan. You squeeze your legs to make sure he doesn’t stop moving, Yoongi filling you up so well you can barely think. Once he bottoms out, hips flushed against yours, he gives you a moment to adjust – and to collect himself – your walls are taking him so well that he won’t be able to last if he doesn’t try to calm down first.

“Shit,” Yoongi hisses as he draws his hips back, your tight heat around his cock making him see stars after practically blueballing himself for months. He wraps his other hand around your waist as well, giving your sides a squeeze before he slams himself back inside, setting a bruising pace straight from the start.

“Fuck, Y-Yoongi,” You moan as he shifts his hips, the next thrust hitting your sweet spot straight on.

“You were made for me kitten, you take me so well,” Yoongi’s head drops against your shoulder, a growl leaving his lips as your pussy seem to squeeze him even tighter, the added friction only spurring on the both of you even more. You don’t know whether to arch away or press closer as Yoongi begins nipping at your skin, the pressure not enough to break skin, but enough to sting deliciously every time he finds another spot to bite down on.

You cross your ankles behind Yoongi’s back, moving your hips up to meet his every time he fucks back into your heat. The pace is nearly too fast to keep up with, but Yoongi lets out a appreciate moan every time you do. You’re slightly more prepared for the stretch of his knot this time, Yoongi mumbling praises against your skin as you roll your hips against him, desperate to feel him expand inside of you.

You know you’re close, your whole body wound up so tight you feel like you’re going to snap in two. But there’s something else you want before that happens.

“Yoongi,” You bring a hand into his hair, a displeased grumble leaving his lips as you force him to pull back from your neck. “Yoongi –” You repeat, glassy eyes meeting his as he continues to fuck into you at a rapid pace, “– please mark me.”

Yoongi’s eyes grow wide, his hips stuttering to a stop as he stares down at you. “Do you mean that Y/n? You know there’s no going back from it,” Yoongi cups your cheek, the absolute adoration on his face making your heart sing. This isn’t the first time you’ve talked about it of course, you’ve had multiple conversations about it before. So you know it has to be done while Yoongi knots you, and well, you are as ready as you’ll ever be. You want to be Yoongi’s in any way that you can.

“Please mark me,” You repeat, watching as the giddy look on Yoongi’s face grows a little darker again, a possessive glint flashing in his eyes as he looks down at you. “Want you be yours – only yours.”

You only have time to suck in a breath before Yoongi’s hips pull back, his thrusts so powerful they begin to inch you up the bed as he slams back in. You still have one hand tangling in Yoongi’s hair, the other balled into the sheets, trying your best to stay in place and meet his movements. Your whole body shudders when Yoongi’s tail suddenly wraps around your waist, the soft appendage offering an extra hold on your body.

“Close, ‘m so f-fucking close,” You moan as you can feel Yoongi’s knot growing bigger, every thrust making it harder and harder to pull out. Yoongi shoves his face into the junction between your neck and shoulder, his rough tongue laving across your salty skin. It’s too much, and the moment Yoongi’s knot finally swells and locks up inside you, your orgasm hits you like a brick, your vision turning white.

Yoongi hisses as your walls clamp down on him, the added pressure the last thing he needs before his cock throbs, sharp teeth sinking into your neck as he paints your walls white. The bite is painful, but the hot liquid spilling inside of you makes you feel so good–so full–that your mind can’t make up whether it wants to focus on the pain or the pleasure.

You let out a pained whimper as Yoongi finally pulls off your neck, his tongue running over the marks to soothe the sting. “You did so well, kitten,” Yoongi murmurs against your skin, the loud purrs from his chest almost overpowering his voice when he says, “I love you so much.”

The words are barely out of his mouth before he freezes up against you, his purrs cutting off so quickly it would almost be comical if it didn’t feel like your own heart was about to burst. You can tell by how tense his body is that he would’ve fled the room already if it wasn’t for his knot keeping you together. Despite everything, this is the first time any of you have actually said it out loud. You almost slipped up a few times, but you were supposed to take things slow, so you made sure to correct yourself before you could. But now ..

“I love you too,” You whisper, Yoongi’s ears twitching against your jaw as he listens intently to your words. But Yoongi doesn’t move. At all. You use the hand in his hair to gently tug him up, your other hand moving to cup his face as he finally meets your gaze.

“What’s wrong?” You murmur. You can’t help but feel a flash of fear that Yoongi didn’t mean it, that he somehow slipped up and said something he wasn’t ready to share yet.

“I love you,” He repeats, the words seemingly rolling a little weird off his tongue, like he’s testing it out. But you see the corners of his mouth twitch, his smile only widening as he starts repeating those three words over and over. You can’t help but smile along with him, the little doubt you had melting away as Yoongi’s confessions make themselves at home inside your heart. He must sense your confusion at his initial reaction though, because he quietly adds a, “I’ve never said that to anyone before.”

You blink, your voice getting caught in your throat as you swallow thickly. It’s simultaneously the sweetest and most heart-breaking thing you’ve ever heard in your life. But you won’t cry, not when Yoongi looks so happy. Happy to have found someone he finally loves, happy to have found you. So you just let out an “I love you too, so much”, your voice thick with emotion and unsaid words you wish you knew how to phrase.

Yoongi only grins wider as you bring his face closer, peppering kisses to any part you can reach. There’s just something so fond in the way those dark eyes looks at you, like you’ve hung the stars and the moon personally for him and he can’t quite believe it. But, you feel like you’re staring back at your own personal ball of sunshine – someone who makes you feel so warm and loved that you’re sure you must be dreaming. So, you think, maybe it’s only fair that you found each other. That you get to create your own little universe with each other.

“Does it still hurt?” Yoongi brushes a careful finger across the mark on your neck, his eyes swirling with emotion as he takes in the very visible claim he’s been wanting to give you ever since you brought him home.

“Not really,” You say. It’s just a dull ache, nothing you can’t handle.

“Suits you,” Yoongi grins deviously, the smile making your stomach flip excitedly. He dips down again, nose brushing along your collarbone before he presses a chaste kiss to the mark. “All mine,” He murmurs.

And maybe you like the sound of that a little too much, the heat in your belly flaring back up as you involuntarily squeeze around Yoongi’s length that’s still buried deep inside of you. Yoongi lets out a sound that sounds like a mixture of a snort and a hiss, his voice a little rougher as he says, “Do you like the sound of that, kitten?”

“Yeah,” You say, “as long as you’re all mine too.”

“Ah–“ Yoongi’s hips twitch, his eyes nearly black with how much love and hunger and wonder he has for you, as he brushes his lips against yours, gentle fingers resting against the claim on your neck. “I’m all yours kitten. Forever. For as long as you want me.”

You decide that forever sounds just about right.

“I’m home!” You call out as you close the door behind you, a soft gush of warm spring air following you inside. You quickly shrug off your coat and shoes, padding your way into the living room when you don’t get a reply. You’re about to call out for Yoongi again when you find him, all curled up on the large windowsill.

You keep your footsteps light as you approach him, not wanting to wake him up from his slumber. He’s as pretty as always, dark fur glistening in the sunlight that’s spilling in through the windows, his bushy tail hiding his face from view. His ears twitch as you step on a squeaky floorboard, and you hold your breath as his head moves, a pair of golden eyes sleepily peeking up at you.

“Hi baby,” You coo, quickly closing the rest of the distance between you to crouch down in front of him, your fingers gently scratching below his chin as he flops his head into your hand.

“Did you have a good nap?” You get your answer in how Yoongi nudges his head against your hand, the action both a confirmation and a demand for more pets. You let out an airy laugh, leaning down to press a soft kiss against the top his head. The loud purrs start up immediately, the vibrations so intense you’re scared he might fall off the sill if he keeps them up.

“I love you too,” You smile, running your fingers over his smooth fur a few times before you rise to your feet. “Take another nap, I’ll come get you once dinner is ready.” Yoongi blinks up at you slowly, your body filling with warmth at how he still manages to look at you so lovingly even as a cat. You wait until Yoongi lies back down, his tail brushing over his face again to block out most of the sunlight.

You take a moment to breathe, your eyes trailing slowly over the blooming garden outside your window, and Yoongi resting peacefully in front of it. You just feel so happy, so at ease, like you could burst with how much love that seems to be coursing through your veins.

You throw Yoongi another glance, the stuttering purrs bringing a soft smile to your face as you inhale deeply, the familiar scents of home bringing a sense of peace over you that you never even knew existed before you met Yoongi.

Maybe forever won’t be long enough. Maybe, you think, you should settle for eternity instead.

- - - -

Thank you all so much for your lovely comments and support, it means so much to me that so many of you have been enjoying Yoongi's story! It feels very bittersweet to be wrapping desolate up, this was the first hybrid story I ever wrote and so it will always hold a special place in my heart. But, I do hope you'll stick around for Abundance and the other stories I will be posting from now on. There's lots more hybrid content coming your way!

Our sweet kitty finally got his happy ending, and I hope Yoongi's luck will rub on to you too if you're struggling with anything right now. Nothing is constant and all bad things will eventually come to an end. :)

If you enjoyed desolate and maybe want to buy me a coffee, you can do so here! 💖 Love you all, stay safe! <3

#hybrid!bts #hybrid bts #cat hybrid yoongi #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #hybrid au #bts smut #bts x you #bts fluff #hybridbtsnetwork

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onewithnomightypowers · 3 years

Text

Old Habits

pairing: Tom Holland x fem!reader

summary: Old habits come back when you meet an ex lover after a long time. Conversations feel like you never stopped talking to them. Sometimes you have to see them one last time to say goodbye like you mean it but most of the time it doesn’t go as planned.

warning: drinking

words: 2.1k

a/n: could be read as part 2 of last kiss but is a stand alone. got a bit poetic at the end. hope you guys like it. and as always, love reading your opinions/reactions. also asks are open. (gif not mine)

masterlist

'@tomholland2013 posted a story'

She picked up her phone to open Instagram. Yes, Y/N still had notifications on for his account even after they were broken up for months. Classic Tom.

He posted two of the same picture on his story. No one understood how that would happen almost every time, not even the people working at Instagram to whom they contacted about the glitch.

Tom had his hair slicked back, standing in a white t-shirt next to Harry, his brother, giving a million-dollar smile. They were holding a clapperboard together. There was text on the picture too, 'day 1 let's go!!' She smiled to herself. Just because they weren't together doesn't mean that she wasn't allowed to feel happy for his achievements. Even though she wishes to know all these big things from Tom himself she is, unfortunately, left here, watching a small part of his life flash in front of her for less than thirty seconds.

"Are you listening?" Hope, Y/N's date said.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. You were saying?" Y/N placed the phone back where it was resting, next to the cold wine bottle.

"You seem distant," they said.

When she 'met' Hope (she only really met them 30 minutes ago), Y/N wasn't looking for love, just sex, and that is what online dating specializes in. She hoped Hope knew what they were signing up for, sexual intimacy and nothing else.

"It doesn't matter does, does it? We both know what we are here for. Why not just cut the chase," Y/N replied.

It was early in the morning, the sun had yet to shine in its full glory. Y/N could only think of the first time she stayed over at Tom's old apartment but then she turned her head only to find Hope's naked body next to her. Her heartbeat accelerated with the realization that he was not hers anymore. Being in a foreign environment didn't help her growing anxiety, twisting and turning her intestines.

It's been four months, her feelings for Tom refuse to quit on her because she knows she could never quit on them, on him, even if he has. He probably has already found someone else in Canada, she thought. She didn't want him anymore but she still needed him, one last time just to teach her stupid heart how to say goodbye.

Y/N wore her clothes and picked up her shoes, going on a trail to find Hope's door to get out before they wake up. Climbing down the stairs, she took out her phone from the back pocket of her jeans.

'5 new messages from Sam' 7 hours ago

Sam: hey

Sam: ik it's late

Sam: I am going for a run tmr morning @6

Sam: do you wanna come?

Sam: will go to the new coffee house near my house after that

Y/N texted him back

Y/N: I'll meet you at the coffee place

Sam: come fast. already here

Sam and Y/N were standing in the queue to place their orders. “You look especially shitty today,” Sam said, running his right hand through his sweaty hair.

“I haven’t been home yet,” Y/N reasoned her appearance.

His mouth formed an ‘o’ shape. The person in front of them left the queue, they moved towards the counter. “One hazelnut latte, double shot with skimmed milk,” Y/N gave her order.

“And you?” the cashier’s question directed to Sam.

“I’ll have a matcha latte with oat milk”

Sam turned to Y/N, “Harrison got me on matcha, and now I can’t go back to coffee”

They paid their dues and moved over to the barista counter to collect their order.

“So, what were you doing last night?” Sam inquired.

“I was on a date, it isn't a big deal though. Just had some needs to take care of”

“Oh, was it any good?”

“It was fine. I was distracted the whole time. Saw Tom’s story about halfway into the bottle of merlot. Couldn’t stop thinking about him”

“Seems…sad. But you know Tom is coming back for the Christmas weekend, I think. He might attend Harrison’s Christmas eve party”

“One hazelnut latte and one matcha latte,” someone behind the counter screamed.

“That’s us,” Sam raised his voice.

Harrison had a bucket inside his house, under a sign that said 'drop your tracking devices here' with an arrow pointing to the bucket. Y/N dropped her phone on a pile of roughly fourteen others. Debating whether to see Tom's face was something she wanted or not made her late and not very fashionably.

The house was decorated with empty liquor bottles along with red and green streamers from one wall to another. Everyone was drunk in their best dress. There were no signs of Tom yet. Y/N took a deep breath, walking towards the kitchen to get herself some liquid courage to help her socialize.

The kitchen was rather scarcely populated. Empty glasses were lined up next to the sink. Are they clean or used? Bending down, Y/N opened the refrigerator to see if Harrison had any chilled wine. No luck. "Hey," a familiar voice was heard.

She looked up at the familiar stranger.

"Hey Tom," she smiled. The refrigerator light falling on Y/N made her blush visible.

She grabbed a half-cut lemon placed in the egg tray.

“How have you been?" Tom asked leaning back on the kitchen counter, observing her movements.

Y/N walked towards the sink to grab herself a crystal glass hoping for it to be clean. "Just busy with work these days"

"I heard you got a job at Condé Nast, is that true?" he took a sip from his beer.

"Well, you heard right. You are looking at their new senior brand manager for digital", she said proudly.

Tom hugged her from the side she was holding a knife to cut the lemon for her gin and tonic. "That's great darling! You always wanted to work there"

Darling. The butterflies in her stomach were fluttering like the first time she met Tom.

"I saw your story the other day. You started filming your script, right?" she dropped the lemon in the glass.

"Yup, it was a long time coming," he grabbed the knife she was using and washed it without even knowing. He was so used to Y/N never washing utensils after using them and, he would always have to clean up after her.

"Congrats on that babe!" The word 'babe' just slipped out of practice.

Y/N grabbed a Bombay Sapphire standing still on the marble slab. The blue of the bottle shinning even in the dim-lit room.

"I missed you," Y/N made eye contact, screwing the cap back on. A long, silent pause.

I miss you too, so very much

She cleared her throat, "so, how long are you staying?"

"Going back Monday morning"

She opened a can of tonic water.

"Are you seeing someone?" Tom asked.

"Wouldn't you wanna know" a smirk on her face grew. "I've been out on few dates, nothing serious. What about you?"

"Met this girl online, dated for a bit but, she wanted something I couldn't give to her"

Y/N scoffed, "did she have a foot fetish or something?"

"No, Y/N. She wanted love, not my feet" they both laughed.

"On that topic..." Tom calmed himself, "...I was listening to this song a few weeks ago and, there was this line, 'the smell of your hair reminds me of her feet' and it made me think of you"

"I reckon," she took a sip of her gin and tonic.

"No, seriously, I really related to that line. No matter how many people I hook up with, it will be hard to find the type of intimacy I shared with you. I still relate to it"

"I hate going on walks alone and having faceless dreams," Y/N blurted, lacking a proper reaction.

"You're still the face of all my fantasies," Tom confessed.

None of them knew what to say next. Anything they thought of saying now included walking over the blurry line of exes to lovers.

"You look pretty"

"Classic me, had a glow up after getting my heartbroken"

"You always looked this pretty. You are beautiful," Tom assured her. The 'heartbroken part did not sit well with him. He already felt guilty for taking a job across the pond which was a great opportunity for him to grow but was only possible by severing his ties with Y/N.

It had just started snowing on Boxing Day. Tom was alone in his cold home, boiling a pot of ramen noodles. He took out his phone and snapped a picture of the burning stove with the pot on top.

Tom: *attached photo*

Tom: I come back after months and my family leaves me alone with no food

Y/N: you should add a poached egg

Tom: Thanks. I shall.

Tom: I think I made too much ramen for me

Tom: do you wanna come over and share?

Her indecision was visible by the coming and going of the gray dots. Then finally, Tom could tame his anxiety by her simple reply.

Y/N: sure.

There was a loud knock on the door. Tom put two bowls of hot ramen on the dining table and went to open the door. Behind the door, Y/N was standing with her hands inside her brown checker coat. There was dust of snow sitting on her shoulders. Her braided hair was made by the most anxious hands in town.

The door opened and, Tom’s hands flew to take Y/N in his arms. They hugged like little kids hug their parents after being away from each other, for them, an eternity. It did feel like an eternity to them too but, they hadn’t forgotten each other’s touch.

“I parked my car at the church, couldn’t find any spot here ‘cause of the snow," she pulled out.

“The snow seems to be gaining momentum.”

Y/N hummed in agreement. She took off her coat and hung it in the Holland’s coat closet.

“Come on, the ramen is getting cold,” she followed tom into the kitchen.

They sat adjacent on the wooden table in comfortable silence. Tom used chopsticks and, Y/N used a fork. Only the occasional noodles falling in the broth were heard, along with the gushing of wind.

“It’s really spicy for me,” Tom said.

“Yeah, I can see your ears turning red.”

She still remembers

Y/N raised her hand to cover her mouth while yawning.

“Since you made the food, I’ll do the dishes,” she got up, grabbed their bowls, and walked over to the sink.

Wearing the gloves, she turned to Tom, “it was quite tasty”.

Tom gave her a smile.

She spread the soap on the dishes and turned the tap on. Tom pushed his chair back to get up.

“Have you made any friends at your new job,” he jumped and sat on the counter next to Y/N.

“Yeah, sort of. Kyara works there too so, I have just made her friends my friends,” she washed his chopsticks.

“That’s good. Have you talked to Emily after the wedding? She told me they are planning on adopting.”

“They invited me over for dinner when they got the approval from the agency. Kyara made this amazing Hyderabadi biryani, it was her mum’s recipe so, it was obviously better than the restaurant”

“God! You and your love for Indian food”

Y/N removed her gloves, “I should go. Thanks for the ramen, by the way”

“Are you sure you can go out in this weather?”

“Yeah I think," she started walking out of the kitchen.

Tom grabbed her hand. “Stay”, his voice was like cotton.

Y/N turned and made contact with his pleading eyes. She moved closer to him. “Please”, he said. They both were inching in to lock their desperate lips.

Y/N did not notice when she had fallen asleep talking to Tom. Their naked bodies were covered by the white comforter. Her eyes slowly opened to a boy with brown eyes and messy hair looking at her.

“I like it when you sleep. I love watching you sleep”

She chuckled. “That’s a bit creepy, don’t you think?” She had a sleepy voice.

“You look so serene, the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I could stare at you for eons”

“But love, I'm only here till the snow settles,” she caressed his cheeks.

“Then the cold shall frost our limbs," he leaned in to kiss her.

tags: @elios-timotea

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #spiderman #marvel fanfiction #marvel #spiderman x reader #spiderman x y/n #spider man #spiderman x you

122 notes · View notes

sevlgi · 4 years

Text

aphrodisiac

requested: no

group: twice

pairing: mina x fem!reader

genre: fluff, extremely mild and short angst

contents: witch!mina, love potions, college!au

warnings: none

synopsis: You’re broke and desperate, so you don’t think twice before taking a love potion that’ll make you fall in love with a mysteriously perfect girl. But maybe you should.

a/n: hehe i like the idea of this!! i’m just not sure how well i executed it 🤔 happy valentines day, my loves ❤

word count: 6.0k

While everyone knew that working the 9-12 weekday shift at the campus bookstore was the worst job you could possibly get, you didn’t feel quite as exhilarated to have been laid off as you should have.

As the one who had suffered at the hand of old Mrs. Lee for almost the entire duration of your time on campus, you knew the torture better than most. So it was an understatement to say that you were exhilarated to be free of ironing book pages out and restocking the shelves at Mrs. Lee’s whims, that you were practically beaming when you got the email.

But on the other hand, it wasn’t like you had much money to spare, or like you had the ability to find another job in the crowded university. When you felt your wallet in your back pocket, completely empty save for a couple crinkled receipts, the grin faded from your face; after all, it would be even harder to survive without the aid of your measly salary.

So as you pinched together a couple quarters to buy yourself a consolatory iced chocolate, you found that being let go from the shittiest job in the world didn’t feel as triumphant as you had expected. Not when you were, once again, scouring the papers stabled to the lightposts around the campus for anything that offered a quick paycheck.

Well, almost anything.

“I will not.”

“Why?” Lisa was close to whining, though the pout that she directed fully at you did her no favors. “You said you needed to get paid.”

You sighed, “I said i needed to get paid, not launched in the air like a damn cannonball.”

Lisa scowled and tapped her fingers on her face, her hands still cupping her chin as she attempted to convince you. “Come on, the dance team’s willing to pay. It costs less to pay you than to get a dummy, so--”

“That’s not helping to convince me,” you warned. As desperate as you were, and as much as you liked Lisa and her fellow dancers, you definitely didn’t trust them not to launch you in the air and break your neck. “Are you sure that you don’t know about any other job offers? Anything that won’t murder me?”

She considered it, chewing on her bottom lip. You could feel other students eyeing where you sat, one of the only seats in the incredibly tiny boba shop, but you refused to budge until Lisa gave you an answer. “Oh! There is one I can think of, actually. You know the bio lab?”

“Yeah.” You watched her suspiciously, arms crossed. “I’ve been there a couple times. Why?”

“Well, it isn’t a normal bio lab,” Lisa mumbled, leaning in as if what she was about to tell you was the greatest secret in the world. “A lot of them are witches, you know.”

It wasn’t like you didn’t believe in witches, or the supernatural-- both had been proven to be true eons ago, and almost half of the students attending your university weren’t completely human. But you were still a little skeptical that the pretty and equally brilliant girls who ran the campus’s bio lab were... “Witches? Are you sure?”

“Why would I be lying?” Lisa rolled her eyes. “I’m friends with a couple of them, and I know that they’re doing an... experiment of sorts, and they need--”

“Lab rats,” you finished for the dancer. In all rationality, being a lab rat for a couple of young witches with access to a high-tech lab was probably worse than getting launched up in the air by a dance team, but when Lisa slid a flyer over and your eyes widened at the offered money, you instantly stood. “Take me.”

Lisa pouted but stood anyway, taking the flyer back to squint at the tiny scribbled building number. “I can’t believe you trust Mina more than you trust me.”

“Mina? Is that the name of the ‘witch’ I’m selling myself to?” you asked, slightly sarcastic but also slightly curious. At the dancer’s nod, you exhaled lightly and shoved your seat in just to watch the next people scramble for it, and hummed on your way out, “Then let’s meet this Mina.”

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that your entire school was close to dilapidated, but something about the bio lab was almost creepy as you approached it. Lisa had long since set off for the dance room (something about Seulgi breaking Ten’s ankle, she claimed), so you hesitated in front of the cloudy glass door alone. But the thought of the $600 dollars scrawled onto the flyer scrunched in your fist prompted you to push the doors open and step into the lab.

There was already a decent amount of people buzzing around inside; you recognized quite a few of them and nearly laughed at the amount of students willing to possibly be poisoned. But you took the nearest empty seat as someone appeared at the front of the room.

“Wow, this is a great turnout.”

The crowd chuckled lightly, and your eyes nearly bugged out at the sight of the girl standing at the front with papers in her hands. Honestly, she was the kind of girl that you imagined people wrote love songs about-- absolutely perfect without having to really do anything, elegant and soft in a way that still stood out. She smiled slightly and waved, eyes darting around the room. “Hi. I’m Mina, I’m part of the coven that sent out the flyers.”

You joined in the chorus of greetings, but your eyes stayed fixed on Mina at the front of the room. You could see several other girls lurking around in the shadows, probably the other members, though they kept beckoning Mina to speak on her own. “Um, I’ll just... explain the project to you,” she chuckled nervously, darting over to the computer.

Once a slide was displayed on the wall, she rushed back to the front and explained, “Being a potions-focused coven and also biology majors, we wanted to conduct an experiment. A love potion, or an aphrodisiac in scientific terms.”

Murmurs arose around you, and even your eyebrows scrunched together; as far as you knew, aphrodisiacs weren’t real, and if they were, they were probably illegal. In response, Mina raised her hands and her voice slightly to call out, “Hey, hey. It’s an experiment. We were originally planning to accept all of you, but... I think it’ll be hard to conduct an experiment with 50 people, so please fill out the form we pass out.”

And like that, Mina joined the rest of her friends in passing out the clipboards. You didn’t watch them, only scanned the lab for any signs that you were about to die, so when you were tapped on the shoulder, you almost fell off your stool. It was Mina herself, a slight pink tinting her pale skin as she held out one of the forms to you. “Uh. Thanks.” You accepted it with a bow of your head, staring down at the paper. It looked legitimate, with areas for your age, your height--

“What’s your name?”

In your haste to read over the paper, you hadn’t noticed that Mina hadn’t left. When you looked back up, you could feel heat burning at the tops of your ears, and you answered, “Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N, though you’ll read it on my application.”

“Oh. Of course. Thanks for coming, Y/N,” Mina mumbled, bowing before moving on to someone else. You noted that she didn’t ask for the name of anyone else, but you passed it off and turned back to the form. Since when did becoming a coven’s lab rat require your blood type, anyway?

After nearly a week, you had almost given up on being accepted into the experiment. But just 5 days after turning your form in, you got the text.

Unknown number [4:57] Is this Y/N Y/L/N? My name is Mina, we met at the bio lab last week. I’m texting to tell you that you got accepted into the program; we’re meeting at the lab again at 9:00 tonight to discuss the experiment further.

You [5:00] yeah, it’s me. i’ll be there.

It wasn’t like what you wore to the meeting mattered; all you were doing was being briefed on exactly what was about to happen to you. But all through your classes of the day, through your futile studying, you couldn’t keep your mind off the experiment that you had somehow been accepted into, and whether it was a good idea to go at all.

Suffice to say, you went.

“Y/N?” the girl at the entrance of the lab asked. You recognized her from the week before-- dark hair, bunny-toothed smile. “You are Y/N, right?”

“Yeah,” you answered, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Why?”

“Oh, nothing,” she smiled. “We’re just taking roll, making sure everyone’s here. Take a seat inside, if you will.”

You obliged, nodding awkwardly before brushing past her. To your relief, the lab was nowhere as packed as it had been the week before, 7 people including yourself seated on the stools as the girls fiddled with test tubes in the back. One pair of eyes in particular lingered on you, before Mina was pulled back to talk, but your cheeks warmed nonetheless.

“Okay, everyone!” someone else announced, clapping her hands together. “My name’s Jihyo, I’m the head of the coven. This is Nayeon” -- the bunny-toothed girl from earlier waved-- “and Mina. We’ll be explaining the experiment to you today.”

She pulled the projector down and Nayeon stepped up, flashing a grin at all of you. “Basically, we made an aphrodisiac. And to test it, we’ll have all of you do the exact same things with the exact same person-- Mina.”

Mina stepped forward this time, and you couldn’t help smiling at the shy smile that tugged at her lips. “To keep conditions equal, you’ll all be going on the exact same 2 dates with me,” she explained. “I’ll take notes on how you act around me, and we’ll test how you feel about me at the very end. Any questions?”

The room was basically silent and honestly, you couldn’t see a downside to it either. Take a potion once and go on dates with a pretty girl, then get observed like a hamster on its wheel so you could get paid? A million times better than your old job. “Great,” Jihyo nodded. “Then, we’ll get started. If Y/N could be the first one? You’ll just go into a room with Mina to get interviewed and take your first dose.”

“Don’t die,” someone called out as you passed, and you flashed a glare despite not knowing who it was. Nayeon giggled as she opened the door for you and closed it behind you, leaving you in what you assumed to be a supply closet. Romantic.

“Hi,” Mina greeted softly, already seated across the table. “I’ll just ask you a series of questions, if that’s okay.”

“Go for it.”

“Rate how attracted you are to me on a scale from 1 to 10.”

Your jaw dropped immediately; for the first question, it was awfully invasive, especially when Mina voiced it with such a straight face. But you straightened your spine and answered stiffly, “9.”

It should’ve been 10, but you weren’t trying to look like a literal creep; Mina only hummed and marked a circle on her form, moving on to ask, “Are you considering dating anyone else at the moment?”

“No.”

And in that manner, the questions passed decently quickly, with Mina asking them as flatly as possible and you answering them with the exact same tone. As soon as she set the clipboard aside, though, she returned to her original sweet state. “I’ll just have you swallow this now, if that’s okay.”

The test tube was cold to the touch when you uncapped it, and the liquid inside was suspiciously clear. But you barely gave it a passing glance before downing it like a shot, asking with narrowed eyes, “Is it supposed to taste like nothing?”

“Well, we figured that not everyone would like to taste tequila once a week with none of the good effects,” Mina chuckled and placed the empty test tube in its place.

“How fast will I see results?” you questioned as you stood. “Like, am I gonna wake up in a cold sweat tonight because I can’t handle how much I suddenly love you?”

The girl shook her head, though it was a bit hesitant. “I don’t believe so. It should only become more prominent once you see me more often. Which reminds me, I’ll text you about our first date as soon as I can. Thank you for participating, Y/N.”

You snatched your jacket up and stumbled your way out of the room as quickly as you could, hoping no one was looking as you closed the door behind you with a quivering pulse.

Despite the witch’s words, you were sure that the potion was already taking effect. Why else would your heart start to throb terribly as you looked at her smile?

mina [8:16] Hello Y/N! I was wondering if you had class today?

Mouth full of cheap cup ramen noodles, you stared at your phone screen. If Mina was asking you about your schedule, she had to have something planned (for the experiment, of course. You weren’t delusional). And you weren’t sure if you were mentally ready to see her shy smile again.

But when the thought of the $600 dollar check popped into your head, you reached for your phone and started to type again.

You [8:19] hey, mina. i don’t have class, actually, is this something about the experiment?

mina [8:20] Yes! If possible, please meet me at the front of the school, we’ll be visiting the food trucks at the beach. I’ll pay!

Your stomach growled at the thought of the renowned food trucks at the beach by your university, and you typed out a hasty agreement before stuffing your phone into your bag and setting off for your apartment. There was no way you were enjoying such an opportunity for good food (and perfect company) in a slightly ramen-stained hoodie.

Thankfully, Mina didn’t seem to mind you being late when you approached her. “Hi, Y/N,” she smiled and hitched her bag higher up her shoulder. “I’m glad to see you.”

“Hi,” you breathed. Well, at least you tried to-- you could barely remember how to function when faced with Mina in a slightly cropped red top, her hair tied up in a little ponytail. But you followed her down the street well enough, towards where you vaguely remembered a fleet of various food trucks to be. “So, have you already conducted this part of the experiment with everyone else?”

Mina shook her head and answered, “No, you’re the first. You took the dose first, so you’ll be a bit like the guinea pig within guinea pigs.”

You snickered at that, nearly tripping over one of the raised cracks in the ground. Sure, the way down the hill to the beach wasn’t the safest one ever, but at least it was convenient for conducting test dates. “The lab rat. You know, this doesn’t seem remotely like a scientific experiment.”

“What do you mean?” the other girl asked, eyes on yours.

Coughing, you looked away from her gaze, though you could feel her still staring at the back of your head. “I mean... it’s not exactly normal for 7 people to drink a potion that tastes like nothing, then go on dates with a pretty girl and treat that as testing.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

“That’s what you got from my whole spiel?” you sighed in disbelief, turning to look at Mina. She laughed, gums showing slightly and her eyes twinkling, and you were forced to turn to the front yet again. “Whatever. Which trucks are we raiding first?”

And as it turned out, Mina was... generous. You were tempted to ask how she was going to keep herself from going broke if she bought that much food for everyone, but watching her bring yet another load of snacks over to where you sat on the wall, you weren’t sure if she cared too much. “Hey. Are you gonna pay for every date?”

“Hm?” She looked up from her Americano and considered the question. “Well, yes? I mean, we planned for the second date next week to be the fair, and I wouldn’t want any college student to have to pay for those overpriced tickets.”

“Aren’t you a college student?”

Mina hummed lightly and dug into her ice cream, sucking thoughtfully on the spoon. “Well, my parents are... well off? I’d like to put it that way, at least. And I think that when I can, I’ll use that to make others happy. Or to further our coven’s experiments.”

“Rich family,” you observed. “Cool.” To be honest, you didn’t really care about how much money anyone’s family made, but it was nice to have all that food paid for. After all, the sheer amount of things Mina bought could’ve covered several months worth of the finest ramen that the restaurants around campus could’ve offered. “Then why’d you end up going to college here with us normal people?”

She raised an eyebrow jokingly and gathered her knees to her chest. “Am I not a normal person anymore?” When you opened your mouth, slightly sheepishly, she giggled and waved a hand, answering, “I ended up choosing this college because my best friends came here. We’re all Japanese, and Sana wanted to come to Korea, so Momo and I just came along for the ride.”

“Ah.” You turned to watch the sky, the sun melting golden into the surface of the waves just a couple dozen feet away. You understood why it was called golden hour as you watched bright yellow rays flicker in Mina’s eyes and glow in her hair, and you had to resist the urge to pull out a camera and capture the feeling of a first date, as much of an experiment as it was. “Makes sense. Then-- how’d you find your coven? I don’t remember a Momo or a Sana.”

“Our coven is a bit... unconventional,” Mina nodded. “It’s just me, Nayeon, and Jihyo. You know that most covens form as children, and they train together, but we only met in college. See, none of us had our own coven, so it was natural that we came together. Momo and Sana aren’t witches, or we should’ve been together.”

You nodded in silence, prompting her to go on. And she did, a soft smile pressing her lips against her teeth as she thought about the girls eh seemed to consider her friends, or her family. “And, well, none of the three of us have had great luck finding someone to love. Or, to love us,” Mina added as an afterthought. “A love potion was just the first thing we fixated on.”

“Finding someone to love you?” you repeated, hand pressed up against your cheek. “I don’t mean that I don’t believe you, but it’s kind of hard to imagine that it’s difficult to find someone to love you. You’re pretty great, Mina.”

She laughed, “I’m glad you think so. But there’s a reason why we chose me as the one to test the potion with.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

Mina looked you right in the eyes, a kind of softness swirling in the brown of her own eyes, and responded equally quietly, “We chose me because we thought I was the hardest to fall in love with.”

“Bullshit,” you responded instantly, heat rising to your ears immediately after. But thankfully, the Japanese girl only looked endeared, and you continued, “I mean, I don’t know if this is just the potion talking, but you’re awesome. I... I think I’d like you even if I wasn’t part of this damn experiment.”

She blushed, the hue of her cheeks matching the pink clouds in the sky. “Well, I think you’re exaggerating on that. But it’s not them, I just volunteered myself. I think people just misunderstand me, you know? It’s hard to find the right person for you when you don’t let people see you. And-- I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. On a first date, too.”

“Hey.” When she looked away from you, you reached over to squeeze her hand. Mina didn’t look back up to you, but you knew she was listening from the way she chewed at her bottom lip. “It’s okay. I know what you’re saying. And I can’t say I know you yet, but I can say I wouldn’t mind knowing you. I’d like it, even.”

Mina laughed, barely loud enough for you to hear, and squeezed your hand. “Thank you, Y/N. I think we should finish our food before it gets cold.”

“Oh, yeah.” You let go to reach for one of the many desserts displayed in front of you, barely fazed by the topic change. “Wouldn’t want your parents’ money to go to waste.”

“Please let that go,” she whined.

“Not a chance,” you winked in response, laughing at her pout. “Not. A. Chance.”

“Lili, I think I’m done for.”

“Like, literally?” Lisa asked mindlessly, receiving a light hit on the head in response. “Ow, what was that for?”

You whined, “This isn’t funny. I can feel myself falling, and there’s no cushion underneath me for me to fall onto.”

The dancer rolled her eyes and reached for her milk tea. “Okay, Miss Overdramatic. You know falling doesn’t work like that, no one’s kicking you off a cliff. Especially not Myoui Mina.”

“I’m not being kicked off, I’m sliding.” You made the motions with your hand, a despondent expression on your face as you scowled, “I’m slipping through a puddle of aphrodisiac, that’s what, and Mina poured it at my feet.”

“Okay, enough with the metaphors, I’m not an English major,” Lisa sighed. She tossed a chip at your face, as if being smeared with salt and oil would wake you up from your Mina-induced trance. “You’ve gone on one date with her and spoken to her approximately twice, I think you aren’t falling just yet.”

“Did you forget the part where I’m drugged to fall in love with her?” you deadpanned.

Lisa paused at that. “Okay, I did forget that. Then what? There’s an explanation as to why you’re feeling this way, and there’s a way to get rid of it. Once you get your paycheck, you just stay away from Mina, should be easy enough, since you never met her before this. And you wait for the potion to wear off.”

“Does it wear off?” you groaned into your hands.

“Did you never ask?” Lisa asked in disbelief. “Wow, Y/N, ever heard of fine print?”

You smacked her with your rolled-up notes yet again. “Shut up. But I have a date with her tomorrow, and I don’t know what to do. I’m feeling like this because of the potion, sure, but I’m still feeling like this! And Mina has 6 other people vying for her now, all under the same effect as me. And it feels... bad.”

“Eloquent,” your friend sighed. “Then I have the perfect solution for you. Don’t go on the second date.”

“I need the money,” you shook your head. “Gimme another one.”

Lisa considered it, sucked on her straw as she did, until she shook her head. “I got nothing. All I can tell you is to enjoy it while it lasts, then just... wait. And if it doesn’t wear off, Jisoo unnie’s studying law.”

As horrible as her suggestions were, you could admit that you felt the slightest bit more assured. In the worst case scenario, you could sue Mina for winning your heart, and in the best, the somehow blissful stabs at your heart would be alleviated soon enough.

As it turned out, you got a chauffer to the fair. Not an actual one, of course-- it was just Jeongyeon, introduced as one of Mina’s friends who could actually drive.

You really weren’t intending to talk to her at first. She was quiet, too, didn’t even turn on the radio once she started driving, but when something that Mina said crossed your mind, you had to speak up. “Hey, Jeongyeon. Can I ask you something? About Mina?”

“Shoot,” she answered simply, keeping her eyes on the road.

“Do you think Mina’s hard to fall in love with?”

Jeongyeon glanced at you at that, her expression slightly quizzical. “What do you mean?”

“She said something yesterday,” you explained. “Mina said that they chose her for the experiment because they thought she was the hardest to fell in love with. She said-- something about being misunderstood?”

The older girl nodded in understanding at that and blew her hair out of her face. After a short pause, she sighed, “I think that’s more of what she thinks than the rest of us. Mina... she thinks she’s unapproachable, you know. She doesn’t open up easily, so I’m surprised she told you that at all. But... she’s been hurt several times, and a lot of people think she’s mean or something similarly stupid just because she’s quiet. That’s all.”

“Oh.” You wet your lips and looked forward to the road, where you could see the fair’s Ferris Wheel already in the distance. “I see.”

And that was that. The two of you fell back into silence, and as comfortable as it was, it only gave you more time to think about what you wanted to say.

Maybe you could see why they would choose the girl who thought of herself as unapproachable and quiet to be the test, but they also didn’t seem to think about the obvious warm color to Mina that she presented. She was quiet, sure, but she was sweet, kind... there was plenty to fall in love with, and even if there wasn’t magic coursing through your system, you thought that you could’ve fallen in love with her anyway.

After bidding goodbye to Jeongyeon at the entrance, you found Mina waiting for you by the fair entrance. “Y/N!” she called out, though her voice still wasn’t loud. You could’ve spotted her anywhere anyway, and made your way over. “You’re a bit early.”

“You were earlier,” you smiled. “So. Are we ready to go in?”

“Absolutely.” Mina linked her arm in yours slightly hesitantly and surprised the both of you, but you took it in stride and swung your arm slightly to bring a smile to her face. “I’ll get our tickets, you get in line.”

“I can pay for myself,” you protested, but she waved you off. “...Okay then.”

The fair was loud, a bit too loud to hear Mina’s voice if she talked normally, so you found yourself leaning in every time she spoke. You really didn’t mind it either, feeling her words tickle your ears-- maybe it was closer than you should’ve been comfortable with, but there was a certain adrenaline pumping in your blood that you weren’t really used to. So you continued on, fed cotton candy to her despite her blush, shared a soda, won a teddy bear for her. Nothing that should’ve made your heart beat as fast as it did.

Nonetheless, time ticked by all too quickly, whirling past in a gust of quiet laughter and honestly terrible jokes. The sun set yet again, the streaks of pink and purple across powder blue oddly similar to the first date you had gone on. Mina checked her watch and frowned, “I think we only have time for one more ride before Jeongyeon comes to pick us up. What do you think?”

You barely had to ponder it before you pointed at the tall, neon-lit Ferris wheel with a smile. “Classic date ride, of course.”

“Classic,” Mina laughed in agreement. She let you tug her towards it and stood in line with you with no complaint, digging a selfie stick out from her bag. “Should we take some pictures up there? It’d be a waste of a beautiful view if we don’t.”

You shrugged, “Of course. Might as well have some pictures to remember our last date by, right?”

Mina looked caught between saying something and staying silent, but she settled with a quiet, “Sure” before starting to set her phone up. Your hand in the crook of her elbow, you tugged her forward when it was necessary, keeping your eyes away from her red-tinted lips as much as you could.

Soon enough, wind was blowing your hair off your face and the cart of the ride was creaking slightly under your weight as someone started the wheel. “Whoa,” Mina laughed breathlessly and peered over the edge. “It’s really high up.”

“And we’re only starting,” you agreed, tugging her back by the wrist. “Don’t fall over, I don’t want to get off this ride with a murder charge on my hands.”

“Hm.” Mina reached over to set the selfie stick on the seat opposite the one the two of you shared, shoving you to get you to match her smile. “Come on, 1, 2, 3.”

With every click of her phone camera, you felt yourself coming closer to her, until you could feel the rise and fall of her chest beside you. You were almost at the top of the ride in barely a couple minutes, the soft sunlight almost blinding you. As you waited for the next camera click, you felt Mina’s hand creep up your arm, up, up, until her slightly cold fingers rested on your neck.

And then she tilted your head, fit her nose right next to yours like it belonged there, and slotted your lips together. You couldn’t think, much less fight whatever force pushed you up against her. You kissed back as best as you could with your senses battling within you, until you realized that the camera shutter had gone off at least ten times.

Mina couldn’t meet your eyes when you did pull back, and she reached over to fiddle with the camera. “Was that a part of the experiment too?” you questioned, your voice raspy.

“Maybe,” she answered, and your heart sank. But she looked up with a smile, her eyes just as confused as you felt. “And maybe not.”

“Oh. Okay,” you said dumbly, then reached over for her hand. There was nothing left to say, anyway, nothing that the slight swell to your lips didn’t already say for you, nothing that wasn’t conveyed when you leaned over to kiss her again.

The idea of allowing a love potion to work its wonders on you was like allowing yourself to be tossed into a trap. But instead of a cold, rough, and terrible trap that you would actively try to escape, you found the trap to be warm, cozy, a place that you wanted to stay-- and a place you knew that you would eventually be ejected from by force.

Once you were in the trap, though, there was no way you could pull yourself back out, especially when you didn’t really want to escape at all. You stayed up for all the nights leading up to the last time you would talk with the bio lab, just thinking about what you would do if everything that had passed by in the last couple weeks was just a figment of an aphrodisiac-induced haze. After all that time, you still didn’t quite know.

But Mina texted you often enough to pull you from that stupor. Thankfully, it wasn’t like one of those stories or dramas, where the main leads somehow fought after their first kiss-- maybe that would’ve been easier than being pulled in deeper. Instead, the two of you talked every day, even if it was only for a little while, and Mina was only worsening whatever situation you couldn’t seem to get out of.

And eventually, the day came where you’d be paid, a day that you had been looking forward to, until you began to dread it.

“Well, doesn’t someone look like a newlywed,” Nayeon greeted at the entrance with a smile, though she didn’t seem to be mocking you. “Come on in, Y/N, we’ll get you started right away.”

The closet was the exact same as it had been the first time that you stepped inside for the interview, but Mina’s smile was much more warm. “Hi, Y/N. How’re you feeling?”

“Good. Fine.” You cleared your throat and attempted to peer at her clipboard. “Questions for me?”

“Yes,” Mina nodded, flipping the pages over. “Are you ready to get started, then? On a scale from one to ten, how attracted are you to me?”

“Ten,” you answered without hesitation this time, and your smile only grew when Mina flushed.

“Okay. Are you considering dating anyone other than me right now?”

“No.” You shook your head, but gulped slightly and leaned back when Mina leaned forward to observe you.

“What about me?”

You paused, blinked, though Mina didn’t seem like she was going to move until you answered, “Yes. I would date you, absolutely.”

She flicked through the pages listlessly before setting them aside and turning back to you. Somehow, Mina looked like she was about to drop a bomb on you, her lips quivering as she calculated the right words. “I... Y/N, I have to tell you something. About the experiment.”

“I’m not going to die, am I?”

Your shitty attempt at humor did manage to prompt a smile from Mina, but she remained serious. “Not that. But- do you understand control groups? In experiments?”

“Um. I think so?” you answered, racking your brain for whatever limited knowledge of science remained with you. “It’s the normal group, right? The one that isn’t experimented on.”

“Yes, just about,” Mina nodded. She reached for your hands and clasped them within hers, eyes pleading for you to understand something that you hadn’t heard yet. “Y/N, you were the control. I... we had to make sure that it was the potion working, and not me, and you- we used you for that. You were never given any potion.”

“I...” you stammered out. Every instinct in you was screaming out to pull away from Mina’s grasp, to question every aspect of your existence that had led up to you being tricked into loving her. Somehow, everything being real only made it feel more fake, even though you now knew that what you had felt was completely you. “I don’t understand.”

Mina said softly, “You fell in love with me, or at least liked me, on your own. You didn’t work as a control group because the same thing happened to you as it did to the others, even though you never took the aphrodisiac.”

“So,” you faltered, “all seven of us fell for you. I’m just the sucker who’s in it for real, huh?”

“I was willing to sacrifice my own feelings for the experiment,” Mina clarified, shaking her head. “I knew I would fall for one of you, but I didn’t think that you, as the control, would be the one who I fell for. And who fell for me.”

Silence fell over the two of you, though you remained there, hands clasped together and eyes meeting with a clarity that speech could never capture. But you tried anyway. “Okay.”

“Just okay?” Mina questioned.

You smiled weakly as a response, “Yeah. Um... how about we go on another date to talk? After you finish interrogating everyone else?”

Mina let go of your hands and let you stand up, but you could feel her smiling at your back as you closed the closet door behind you. Like a repetition of when you thought that you’d be induced into loving her, your heart beat in your throat as you leaned against the wood.

But when you knew it was real, when you knew that it wasn’t magic seizing you by the hand and pulling you into the unknown, you smiled. Because it felt... right.

#twice #twice x reader #mina x reader #mina imagines #mina scenarios #twice imagines #twice scenarios #twice reactions #twice mina #mina #mina myoui #myoui mina

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foodbytesback · 4 years

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The Rise and Fall of Bon Appetit

Sometimes life comes at you fast. Sometimes, that means stories in the food industry break in such rapid succession that you have no time to blink in between. Sometimes, it means someone found out about something racist you did a few years ago. What happens when it’s both? Ask the fine folks at Bon Appetit.

In recent years, Bon Appetit made a name for itself, rising from the ashes of dying print media, through its Youtube channel featuring a diverse cast of personalities. But over the course of this past week, many of the publication’s executives have been found to foster a toxic workplace culture, rife with racism, sexism and homophobia.

Before I get too deep (because this is going to be a long one), I feel the need to point out that while this story’s breaking happened to coincide with Black Lives Matter protests across the country and gained traction from people’s outrage towards inequality, the events that have unfolded should not be blamed on “cancel culture,” “political correctness run amok” or any other reactionary dismissal of critical thinking. Adam Rapoport didn’t lose his job because Black Lives Matter, Black Lives Matter came to be because of the damage that many in positions of power like Rapoport have done in both mainstream media and society as a whole.

[Also, yes, there are going to be a lot of links to Instagram posts that have been screenshotted and uploaded to Twitter. Clearly the real takeaway from this debacle is that I need to get an Instagram account. Also also, thanks to Tumblr’s new rules about offsite links, you’ll have to go to my main site for the full receipts.]

Preamble

Shortly after the killing of George Floyd, Adam Rapoport, Editor-in-Chief at Bon Appetit, wrote an editorial highlighting some of the coverage they’ve given to black chefs. Many criticized this as being superficial and performative, with others saying that BA has, on numerous occasions, shut down articles relating to black culture for not being “trendy” enough or otherwise was discriminatory towards black employees. (Also, the repeated use of “uprisings” instead of “protests” seems a little suspicious.)

An article from Eater criticized the role BA played in the appropriating and whitewashing of many cultures’ ingredients and cuisines (gochujang, Aleppo pepper, and sumac seem to be some of BA’s favorite ingredients) that had become prevalent in food media in recent years.

While it’s a fairly minor offense in comparison, it may also be worth bringing up the time Rapoport accidentally called Priya Krishna “Sohla,” the name of his other Indian employee.

Monday, June 8th

Food writer Tammie Teclemariam posted a screencap of an Instagram post made by Rapoport’s wife, which depicted the two of them donning Puerto Rican stereotypes as Halloween costumes, brownface and all.

Many were quick to declare their outrage and demand that Rapoport either resign or be fired. Meanwhile, Sohla El-Waylly, one of the leading stars of the Youtube channel, was one of the first BA employees to speak up, and disclosed that this kind of behavior was just the tip of the iceberg. She said that BIPOC workers have been paid disproportionately for their work, including not being paid a per-video commission that the white stars of the Youtube channel receive.

Molly Baz, one of the aforementioned white stars, announced that she would no longer make videos for BA until all of El-Waylly’s demands were met. One by one, their white coworkers chimed in in agreement.

Former staff photographer Alex Lau also wrote an extensive tweet thread about his experiences at BA, including how he had futilely tried to fix the system from within.

By the end of Monday, Adam Rapoport had resigned from his position as Editor-in-Chief.

Tuesday, June 9th

Since Rapoport’s official resignation did little to fix many of the systemic problems in place at BA, many began to turn their attention to other senior members of the staff.

Some came for Andrew Knowlton, the Restaurant Editor, for behaviors such as gaslighting an employee for trying to bring up racist practices in the offices.

Others called out Matthew Duckor, a VP at Conde Nast and BA’s former “Head of Video” (Did a 3 year old come up with that job title?), for a series of old racist and homophobic tweets. He tried to apologize by saying that he was young and didn’t know any better at the time, but many were quick to point out that he was, at the youngest, 20, aka for all intents and purposes An Adult when he wrote those tweets.

Tammie Teclemariam returned to ask current and former BA employees to DM her information about Duckor that they didn’t want to go public with themselves, ranging from his hand in the aforementioned pay disparity to making inappropriate comments towards women.

Teclemariam also did even more social media muckraking and found that Drinks Editor Alex Delany had once decorated a cake to look like a Confederate flag, while others found things like a Vine where he says the f-slur and some questionable comments about women on this Tumblr. He later deleted his Tumblr and Twitter, and issued a cookie-cutter apology on his Instagram.

She also vague-tweeted that Brad Leone, one of the most beloved stars of the Youtube channel, is “possibly not a great guy,” but later added, “don’t fret.” At that point, some began to accuse her of just trying to stir the pot.

Ultimately, Matt Hunziker, director and camera operator for Leone’s show, reported that the higher ups were ignoring the situation regarding the pay disparity, and that they were not “learning and growing.”

Wednesday, June 10th

By this point, journalists were able to do more thorough investigations and put together exposés that were more than a blurb about an accusation followed by a nut graph.

Business Insider published an article where they interviewed 14 current and former BIPOC employees of Bon Appetit. In addition to information already discussed above, it also described events such as an incident where several BIPOC staffers were told they weren’t allowed the test kitchen. (Carla Lalli Music, the Food Director at the time, would later defend her stance in the affair on Twitter.) Ryan Walker-Hartshorn, a black woman who served as Rapoport’s personal assistant, recalled that she would often spend her day doing menial tasks like polishing her boss’s golf clubs or trying to teach his wife how to use Google Calendar. In another incident, Knolton called Rick Martinez a “one trick pony” for only developing Mexican recipes, which is what he was being forced to do so BA could tout “diversity” bonus points. Martinez would also say that the magazine under Rapoport’s tenure “went from old and irrelevant and white-washed content to young and trendy white-washed content." (Martinez would also upload a more graphic description of the treatment he received to his Instagram that same day.) Later that day, Business Insider would also report that Duckor had left the company.

Vice would liken Rapoport to Michael Scott from The Office, but noted that that kind of bumbling, endearingly insensitive bad boss archetype isn’t as charming in the real world where real employees are being affected. Parallels were also drawn between the Youtube channel and The Office itself, stating that the “quirky workplace” facade put on in the videos helped hide the more sinister practices that lurked beneath the surface, and that the notion that they were “one big family” often pressured BIPOC into doing more than their fair share for the greater good.

Jezebel showed email transcripts where Rapoport argued the semantics of having his costume be called “brownface” when he wasn’t wearing makeup, and had to be explained to, like a child, that the term refers to the racist caricature and not the literal act of putting brown makeup on one’s face. What a douche.

Bon Appetit published an official apology on their site, a whole two days after the controversy began. Many believed that their empty promises of “learning from their mistakes” were a day late and a dollar short.

Meanwhile, on Twitter, former BA writer Alyse Whitney said that senior editor Andy Baraghani had, on several occasions, used his influence to undermine her efforts. Whether this had to do with racism, sexism, or just Andy being petty is up for debate, but still constitutes as unprofessional behavior to say the least.

Thursday, June 11th

As interest in the story seemed to wane for many in the industry, Claire Saffitz, arguably the face of the Youtube channel, released another statement on her Instagram. She said that her relative silence was due to taking time to find the right words, and that the same-old promises to “learn and grow” that most had been giving felt empty and performative. Unlike many of her white coworkers, she directly apologized for being complicit in the toxic environment and for not using her status to try to leverage even pay for her BIPOC coworkers.

Another BA Youtube personality, Amiel Stanek, also released a statement in response to BA’s official press release, where he demanded Conde Nast to stop avoiding action by setting vague timelines for changes or making excuses for not giving BIPOC workers raises like “the money just isn’t there.”

Associate editor Christina Chaey also opened up about her experiences with being pushed into more and more videos to “diversify” them- all without compensation.

Friday, June 12th

The biggest scandal of the day was that, as Teclemariam predicted, Brad Leone is possibly not a great guy. A leaked screenshot of an Instagram DM showed him making callous, almost Trump-y comments regarding El-Waylly’s demand for better pay. He also allegedly said that if Delany were to be fired (as of that day he had been sent on leave), he would quit.

Saturday, June 13th

The New York Times published an article suggesting that the issues prevalent in BA’s management may go all the way to the top of Conde Nast. Highlights include Chief Executive Roger Lynch chastising the whistleblowers within the company for raising their concerns in such a public manner and an account of an incident where he gave his black assistant a guidebook on how to speak “proper” English.

The Sporkful released a special episode of their podcast containing interviews with several current and former BA BIPOC workers. Nikita Richardson divulged that after she was laid off, a story she had already done all the leg work for was picked up and credited to Amanda Shapiro, a white staff writer who is now acting Editor-in-Chief in lieu of Rapoport. Sohla El-Waylly confirmed that the self-congratulatory editorial Rapoport wrote in the wake of George Floyd’s death was the real beginning of the end, and that the racist photo was just the final straw. She also described a company-wide Zoom meeting held after the photo began to be spread around where Rapoport issued a half-hearted apology, and began talking about how he would “fix the brand” before El-Waylly demanded he resigned. Furthermore, she revealed that after her Instagram posts began circulating rapidly, Duckor had offered her a new contract with increased pay, but she is refusing to sign it until all BIPOC have received similar compensation. She also said that she had a hand in the wishy-washy statement that BA had published on Wednesday, and said that it originally had taken much firmer stances on the issues but their PR office made them tone it down. Also, she commented that Leone, for the most part, just seemed like she “genuinely think[s] [that he] just found out racism is real.” Ultimately, she was glad that the story was getting as much coverage as it was, since it made her feel that her voice was finally being heard.

Sunday, June 14th

Baraghani released a statement on Instagram apologizing for his behavior, saying that trying to achieve his personal goals in BA’s toxic, competitive environment made him lose sight of solidarity with his fellow BIPOC.

While that may seem like the end of the story for now, it’s important to note that, even with the resignation of two executives, nothing has truly been done to fix the systemic problems at hand.

#bon appetit #adam rapoport #matt duckor #alex delany #sohla el waylly #molly baz #carla lalli music #andy baraghani #brad leone #clair saffitz #amiel stanek #tw racism #tw homophobia #tw sexism

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leossmoonn · 3 years

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Distractions [Eddie Longo]

masterlist

pairing - eddie longo x fem!reader

type - fluff, smut

note / request - so i’ve recently watched “tell me a story” and i love eddie, so naturally, i wrote a fic about him. enjoy!

summary - eddie goes to a bar across town after he robbed the jewellery store and meets you, a friendly bartender who helps take his mind off of things

warnings / includes - language, mention of robbery and murder, alcohol, talk about controlling ex-bf, suggestive, smutty scenes: making out, touching, no sex though. carla doesn't exist in this lol

————

*gif isn’t mine*

“Shit!” Eddie screamed, slamming his fist on the truck.

“Hey! That’s my car, man!” Sam exclaimed, pushing Eddie back.

Eddie glared at Sam, getting ready to push him back, but Mitch stopped his brother.

“You two calm down,�� Mitch demanded. “He pushed me!” Eddie exclaimed.

“Grow up, Eddie. We’re not in the third grade anymore,” Sam remarked.

“So? That doesn’t mean you needed to shoot that lady!” Eddie argued.

“It was an accident. Things like that happen, it’s life. Get over it!” Sam stated.

Eddie scoffed, shaking his head. “No. If we get caught, we could go to jail!”

“We're not, Eddie. Sam has done this many times before. It’s okay.” Mitch put a hand on his shoulder, but Eddie shrugged it off.

“It’s not okay. None of this is okay,” Eddie muttered. “Why don’t you just go home then and cry to Mommy,” Sam taunted.

Eddie looked between Sam and Mitch, balling his hands in fists. He knew it wasn’t going to get better if he stayed with them. So he turned around on his heels, trudging over to his car. Mitch sighed and followed him, putting a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“Ed, c’mon,” Mitch started. “I gotta go, Mitch. I can’t stay here,” Eddie muttered, “Not right now, at least.”

Mitch looked at his brother, a frown pulling down his lips as he saw the fear in Eddie’s eyes. He took his hand off of his shoulder, nodding in agreement.

“Yeah… Yeah. I gotta go back home to Shelley, anyways. Call me when you’re back.”

“Thanks,” Eddie muttered. He swung his truck door open, climbing in and shutting it. He turned on the ignition, his car rumbling underneath him as it started up. He turned on the radio as he stepped on the gas. Rock music played on his radio, the static playing louder than the actual music.

He drove for a few hours, not being able to stop replaying the events that happened earlier that day. He was beyond worried. He didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt, and definitely didn’t mean for anyone to die. He just wanted money to get out of his shitty trailer, start over his shitty life, and maybe even get a girlfriend. But he knew that he had no chance for that now- like he had much of a chance before. He was a criminal, an even bigger one than before. He knew he could go to jail for more than just a week for this. He hoped Sam would eventually take the fall for it all, whether it was on his own terms or not.

Eddie got off of the highway, seeing signs pointing to a bar a few miles away. He decided to get a few drinks before crashing in his car for the night. He parked in the front, jumping out and walking into the bar. He looked around. There were only a few people there, all of them drunk old men. Eddie walked up to the bar, taking a seat on one of the stools. While he waited for someone to serve him, you were in the back, arguing with your ex boyfriend on the phone.

“It’s my apartment, Scott,” you griped. “Well, I payed all the bills!” Scott exclaimed into the mic.

“That is bullshit. You and I both know that I worked all the late nights and paid every single damn penny. Not to mention, I was the one who was also doing your laundry and cooking and cleaning!”

Scott sighed over the phone. You smirked, knowing that he had nothing to say back to you now.

“Yeah, well, I would still like my stuff back,” he muttered.

“And you can pick it up by the dumpsters outside my apartment. Bye, Scott,” you hissed, hanging up the call before he could say anything else.

You sighed and put your phone in your back pocket, straightening your clothes out before going back to the front. You walked out, your heels clicking on the floor, getting Eddie’s attention.

“Hi, Welcome to O’Malley’s. Sorry for the wait,” you sighed.

Eddie looked up at you, eyes widening and mouth agape. You were the prettiest girl he'd ever seen.

You noticed his stare, your lips curling up into a smirk. “You gonna order or just stare at me?”

Eddie broke out of his gaze, sitting up straight and averting his eyes from you. “Um, yeah, yeah. I’ll take whiskey. Neat.”

You nodded and got out a cup, pouring the alcohol in the glass before sliding it over to him.

“Hey, Carl, you need another?” You called out to one of the old men who were sitting in the corner.

“Nah, I think I’m gonna head out,” he shook his head, standing up out of his eat. “Alright. See you tomorrow,” you smiled at him.

“See ya, honey!” Carl waved and walked out of the bar.

You got out a rag and started to wipe down the bar as closing time was in fifteen minutes. Eddie lifted his cup up as you swiped the rag closer to him.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, moving away from him to wipe further down the table.

Eddie titled his head to you, downing his drink in seconds. You looked up at him, brows raising as you saw that his glass was already empty.

“Long day?” You asked, walking back to fill his cup. “Something like that,” he grumbled.

He set his cup down and watched as you poured more whiskey. He studied your face, stomach flipping as your eyes met his. You had these pretty, tired, but still lively eyes that stared into his dark, lonely ones. Your lips curled up into a flirtatious, but soft smile the more you stared at him. His face and eyes mirrored back your playful expression. He lifted up his cup, putting it to his lips, not taking his eyes off of you.

Your own eyes roamed his face. When you first looked at him, you had that initial attraction towards him. Now that you were able to look at him longer and closer, your heart began beating against your ribcage, and warmth spread down between your thighs. He was hot. No doubt about that. He looked a little scruffy with his 5′ o clock shadow and dishevelled hair. He had deep, green irises that surrounded his dilated pupils. He never took his eyes off of you for a second, not even to adjust his jacket collar. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was attracted to you, too.

“Well, we close in ten minutes, but if you want to stay and chat, you can,” you offered, walking away and tossing the rag in the sink.

“You don’t mind?” Eddie asked. “Not at all,” you shook your head.

“Thanks,” he said. You turned to him, giving him a closed-mouth smile. “Of course. Let me just get these floozies out of here.”

Eddie nodded and watched you as you walked up to all the old drunks, getting them out of their seats and pushing them to the door gently. Eddie smiled as he saw how gentle you were with them, even if some of them refused to leave. You waved and said one last goodbye to all of them before locking the door and turning off the ‘open’ sign. You walked back to the bar, getting out a bottle of beer for yourself.

“So, what’s your name, handsome?” You asked.

“Eddie, what about you?” Eddie asked. “Y/n,” you answered.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl,” he remarked. You smiled at him through your lashes, giggling and hanging your head down low all school girl-like. “And here, I thought you were a shy one.” “Well, I got a little bit of liquid courage.” He held up the glass of whiskey, moving it side-to-side.

“Got enough to tell me your last name?” You prompted. “Why would you need to know that?” Eddie asked, now tensing up.

He tried to keep calm, but the thought of you being an undercover police officer and spying on him ran through his mind on repeat.

“I just want to know who I’ll be spending the night with, is all. Why? Are you on the run or something, and afraid I’ll report you?” You joked.

Eddie averted eye contact and you raised your brows, not realising that there was such a high percent chance of you being right.

“I didn’t kill anybody,” Eddie disclaimed. “Oh,” you nodded, “That’s… reassuring.” Eddie sighed and looked away from you. He cursed at himself in his head. He was beginning to think that had a chance with you, but now he had just gone and fucked it up. He downed his whiskey, getting out his wallet and setting down a ten dollar bill.

“Thanks for serving,” he muttered before getting up and walking to the door.

Your eyes widened and you hurried out from behind the bar. You ran up to him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back. Your heart jumped as you felt the electric surge through your veins that came with touching him. Eddie stopped immediately, his muscles tensing, but then relaxing at your touch. He turned to you, confusion and a little hint of fear written on his face.

“Don’t go,” you pleaded. You hated the way you sound. You normally weren't like this; begging for a man. But you had never seen Eddie before in all your life, and you had never met anyone so polite, yet so charming before. Sure, he looked rough and he definitely had secrets that would probably frighten you, but he had already proven himself to be a hell of a lot better than Scott. Why not give him a chance before really judging?

“Why not? You looked pretty scared back there,” Eddie said.

“I know,” you nodded. “But… I’m having a really shitty night, too, and I think it’d just be nice if we both have a friend for the night.”

Eddie looked down at your hand that was still wrapped around his wrist. You noticed his gaze and pulled your hand back, putting your arm behind your back. You looked back up to his face, begging him with your eyes. Eddie sighed, deciding to give in.

He knew that if he left, he’d be worse off than he had been before he walked into the bar. Even just in the short time that he had been there, you had made him forget all about the robbery and accidental murder. With you, he felt like he could relax and have fun and be happy. That’s all he ever wanted, anyways.

“Yeah, it’d be nice to have a friend.”

You immediately perked up at his words, taking your hand back out and grabbing him by the wrist again. You led him back to the bar, filling his glass back up.

“So, why're you having a shitty night?” Eddie asked. “My ex-boyfriend keeps calling me every hour, yelling and cursing at me, trying to get me back. He’s a controlling little asshole. I knew he was bad news, but I still went with him. Why? I honestly couldn’t tell you. I set the record straight, thought, and he’s out of my life. I just wish he’d stop calling though,” you explained.

“Well, if he calls while I’m here, let me talk to him. No girl should be treated like that,” Eddie stated.

You softened up at his words. “I like you even more now.”

Eddie smiled with you, “Good to hear.” “Are you really on the run?” You asked.

“Not really,” he shook his head. “Soon, though, I’ll probably be.”

You held up your beer bottle in front of him. “Here’s to one of your last nights as a free man.”

Eddie chuckled and clinked his glass with yours. You two took big sips of your drinks. You set your bottle down, wiping your mouth roughly with the back of your hand. You looked at Eddie with flirtatious eyes, making butterflies flutter in his stomach. You leaned on the counter, your tank top dipping down to show off your cleavage. Eddie’s eyes looked down shamelessly for a few seconds, going back up to your face, to see a big smirk resting on your lips.

“So, Eddie, what did you do that’s so bad?” You asked.

“Um,” he hummed, “I don’t think you want to know.”

You hummed, leaning closer to him. You leaned close enough to where your noses touched. Eddie started to breath heavily, not being able to control all the thoughts that were running through his head of you and him. You could feel his breath on your lips and you couldn’t help but giggle quietly as the tips of his ears turned pink. You kept looking him in the eyes, slightly intimidating him, but also turning him on.

“I think I do want to know,” you contradicted him. “Why? Aren’t you scared?” Eddie challenged.

Your heart skipped at his growing confidence. You decided to push him more by dipping your head down, brushing your lips against his ever-so-slightly. The action made your own mind go fuzzy, and it made Eddie gasp. He could feel his jeans tighten in response. You moved back a little, looking at him in the eyes.

“I won’t be scared. I like a little danger,” you purred. You let your eyes wander down to his pants, checking him out before staring back up to his eyes. You cocked your brow up, making your words seem even more suggestive.

Eddie looked into your eyes, a smirk of his own spreading across his lips. The next few things that happened were like scenes out of a movie. You jumped up on top of the bar counter, grabbing Eddie’s hand as you slid off and landed on your feet. You led him to the back room, pushing him up against the wall and crashing your lips onto his. Your hands made their way up from his arms to his shoulders. You took his jacket collar in your hands, pulling it down. Without breaking away from the kiss, he took his jacket off, placing his hands back onto your waist, where he gripped your sides, surely hard enough to create bruises.

“You make out... with all the guys in… the... bar like this?” Eddie asked in-between kisses.

You smirked into the kiss, pulling away. “Nope, only with you.”

Eddie grinned, “I’m the lucky one, huh?” “You sure are,” you nodded.

You then took the back of his head and crashed his lips back onto yours. You two shared a wet and fervent, opened-mouth kiss. Kissing him was hot and filled with passion You had honestly never been kissed like this before. Sure, kisses with your ex-boyfriends were hot, and definitely wet and messy, but they were never filled with passion. No one kissed you like Eddie did. Not only did your lips fit perfectly together, but the way he slipped his tongue into your mouth so smoothly and didn't try to stick it down your throat like a 16 year old boy, only made you want him more.

You entangled your hands in his hair, weaving your fingers through it and messing it up even more. Eddie trailed his lips down to your neck and you involuntarily bucked your hips up against his, grinding your core against his. Eddie groaned in your ear, his hands reaching down to your thighs and and lifting you up. He then spun you around and pressed you against the wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist, throwing your head back so he had better access to your neck.

“Eddie,” you breathed out as his lips found your sweet spot. You arched your back at his teeth nipped at your skin. You pulled on the hair at the nape of his neck, egging him on further. Him hearing you moan his name had a whole stampead swarming in his stomach. His left arm went under your bottom, holding you up with ease. His right hand untucked your tank top from your jeans, sliding his hand up your body. Goosebumps arose on your skin as his fingers danced up your body and to your bra. His fingertips skimmed over your bra, feeling your hardened nipples through the fabric.

You let out a high-pitched whine, followed by a broken pronunciation of his name. “A-Auiggh. Ed-Eddie.” You started to grind your lower half against his, feeling the need for more friction.

Eddie groaned against your skin, his kisses getting more sloppy and wet with each buck of your hips. His hand went around to the back of your bra, going to the hooks and unclipping them quickly. You let out impressed gasp as the bra loosened around your breasts. The straps started to fall and you took your hands out of his hair, sliding your bra out of your shirt. As you tossed it onto the floor, your phone started to ring in your back pocket.

“Dammit,” you muttered.

Eddie pulled away, setting you down gently on your feet.

“I’m sorry,” you apologised, pulling your phone out of your back pocket. You looked at the caller ID, groaning in annoyance and disgust.

“Let me guess, Scott?” Eddie guessed. “Yep. I’ll be right back,” you sighed, beginning to walk away, but Eddie stopped you.

He pulled you back gently by your arm, taking your phone from your hand. “Here, let me.”

You watched him with curious and confused eyes as he answered the phone, putting Scott on speaker.

“Hi, Scott,” Eddie greeted, saying Scott’s name in an aggressive tone.

“Um, who is this? I need to speak with Y/n,” Scott said.

“No, you don’t,” Eddie stated matter-of-factly. “Yes, I do. That little bitch needs to learn her lesson for smashing my Xbox,” Scott hissed.

Eddie raised his brows at you, but you shrugged shamelessly. Eddie grinned at you and turned his attention back to Scott.

“Why don’t I teach you a little lesson, okay, Scott? You’re gonna leave Y/n alone. From what she’s told me, you’re a scumbag who is a controlling piece of shit, who treats women like garbage. If you ask me, I think Y/n had a right to smash your Xbox.”

You gasped quietly. No one had ever stood up to Scott on your half before. You had tried multiple times yourself, but he always managed to find a way to belittle you even more and make you lose your confidence. What Eddie was doing now was just making you fall for him more. And honestly, it was turning you on a bit, too.

“What? Who the hell are you? If you don’t let me talk to Y/n, I’m going to-” Scott started, but Eddie was quick to cut him off. “Going to what, Scott? ‘Cause I know a few people that, if Y/n gave me your address, would kill you before you could even get another word out. So stop calling her, threatening her, and don’t even think about trying to visit her to quote-on-quote “teach her a lesson”. Otherwise, you’ll have more things smashed than just your Xbox.” Eddie threatened before hanging up the phone.

You looked at him with your eyes wide and full of amazement.

“That should do it. Guys like him only accept threats from other men. It’s bullshit, but it’s just how some people are,” Eddie said, handing you back your phone.

“Thank you so much. No one, and I mean no one, has ever done that for me. I’ve always had to take care of myself, but it’s never been enough,” you chuckled.

Eddie smiled, “You’re by far the strongest woman I’ve ever met, and I’ve met a lot of women. Scott just still has the mental age of a toddler. I bet if you went to wherever he lived and socked him, he’d leave you alone for good.”

You chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, he probably would. I don’t want to see him ever again, though. Who knows what he would do to me.”

“And that’s why you’re also the smartest woman I’ve ever met. You know what’s good for you.”

You set your phone down on a nearby chair, sauntering over to Eddie. You put your hands on his chest, sliding them up to his shoulders and tracing patterns.

“If I know what’s good for me, then why am I hanging out out with you?” You asked, looking up at him through your lashes.

“You’re right. Maybe you’re not so smart,” Eddie teased, snaking his arm around your waist.

“Oh, Eddie, you’re so rude,” you scoffed, feigning offense.

“Then why don’t you kick me out? Oh, right, you like me too much,” he stated. He put his hand on the small of your back, pulling you flush against him.

You let out a small gasp as your chest met his. Your hands made their way to his hair once again, twirling the short strands between your fingers. “Yeah.” You bit your lip, your eyes flickering from his eyes to his lips. “I like you too much.”

————

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themanip · 4 years

Text

yellow roses

⤳ blurb: lee felix and his seven friends are chosen to go to america and attend a private high school. with only three able to speak english fluently, they get assigned another student to help them navigate american high school. they quickly come to realize that the sweet girl who speaks korean is much more than who she shows during school hours.

⤳ pairing: lee felix + willow arroyo ⤳ genre: romance, coming of age, drama, fluff, eventual smut, very angsty ⤳ warnings: chan being super sweet, cursing, mentions of bullying, not much to worry about this chapter ⤳ word count: a little over 3.1k

"Can you turn that music down, please?"

Ronnie tapped her shoulder softly, which surprised the young girl. Swiveling around and yanking a headphone out of her ear, she crinkled her eyebrows at the balding man. "Sorry?"

"Can you turn it down? It's so loud I can hear it," her manager stared at her with blank eyes, and she nodded gently. Pulling her left hand from the swamp of dishes and dirty water, she dried her hand on her apron, and clicking the volume button to a lower setting. "I get it, Winnie. It's not the greatest job in the world, and you wanna listen to music and your grumpy manager is being an ass," she let out a soft chuckle at his words.

"I'm sorry, Ron. I don't mean to be an ass, I'm just exhausted."

"It's alright, I get it. I worked like you did when I was your age, and I know how much it sucked. It was just better for me because I got paid double what you do," he smiled softly, clapping his hands together.

"Minimum wage is no laughing matter, Ronnie. I eat one-fifth of a lemon bar for lunch everyday," she eyed him fake angrily, and his eyes softened. "Really?"

"No, what the hell," she laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. "Usually it's a bagel or something,"

"Okay," he sighed softly, taking his cap off and running his hands through his hair. "If you wanna close up a bit earlier, I can come in at five instead of seven,"

Her hands halted as she scrubbed a plate, and she smiled gently. "No, it's okay," she finished washing the last dish, and set it on the drying rack. "You have Eliot now, and I'm sure Olivia isn't getting much sleep without you home during the night, so go home, and take care of your son,"

She melted at the thought of his newborn son, and how beautiful he is. She wasn't extremely good with children, but babies made her absolutely swoon. She also knew how hard newborns were to deal with, and having Ron not home to help probably made things hell for his wife, Olivia.

"You sure?"

One solid nod and a tired grin sent Ronnie on his way home, knowing he would recieve a full night's sleep. Despite the intense amount of work, she loved the diner. It was always warm, she always had at least one plate of food if she needed it, and Ronnie cut her a lot of slack.

She dried her hands off on her apron once more, and headed to the front of the restaurant near the island of stools. It was past midnight now, and occasionally there were some older customers who came in drunk, or just got off work. It seemed to be a quiet night, so she figured it wouldn't be too bad if she took a quick pee break.

On the other end of the diner were the restrooms, and she scrambled over there. Her footsteps and the dark shadows in the bathrooms often creeped her out, she went in, did her business, and left. Once she opened the door, she spotted two bewildered teenage boys at the front door, looking around with wide eyes.

"Hey, are you guys open? I saw it said twenty-four hours but—"

He had an Australian accent, and it made Willow purr on the inside. "Yes! Yes we are, I'm sorry," she sighed in embarassment, and rushed to the front of the diner. Her boots, which usually help her feet with the consistent standing, are now a nuisance as she stumbles across the floor.

"Oh no worries, we know it's kind of late,"

As Willow stumbled next to the boy, who she now saw another boy standing next to him with red cheeks. His accent was beautiful, she thought. He was also inhumanely good looking. The one who'd spoken to her had darker brown hair, on the wavier side. He had a larger nose, and his lips were quite full. He was beautiful.

The other one stood silent, and Willow smiled and held menus. "Booth or do you wanna sit at the island?"

"Uh, booth please," the brunette spoke up once more, and she silently led them to a booth that was clean and somewhat in the middle of the restaurant. Gentle background music filled the silence, and all that was heard was soft scuffling as the two boys followed the only girl working.

She sat them down, and the other blonde boy smiled sheepishly. "Here are your menus, can I get you something to drink first?"

"Can I get a coke, please?"

That time, it was the boy who'd she never heard speak. His voice was deeper, almost curiously soft. The brunette spoke once more, "Do you have tea?"

"Of course, sir. Unsweetened or sweetened?"

"Oh, sweetened please," he nodded thoughtfully, smiling. "I will be right back with your drinks, take a look over the menu and you can let me know what you want at your earliest convenience," Willow smiled genuinely, and she bowed slightly. She didn't even mean to, she just felt odd alone, at midnight, with two teenage boys in her diner.

"She called you sir, Chan," the blonde boy whispered to the one opposite him, this Chan character. "She's really nice, we have to leave a good tip," Chan responded, and that's all Willow managed to hear before she started making their drinks.

The next hour or so dragged on, with Chan, Willow, and the other figure, whom she'd learn is Felix, and her coming back and forth to collect orders, serve seconds, cook said seconds, and giving refills. Each time, Chan would apologize for inconveniencing her as if it wasn't her job, and she would smile softly. She could tell that he would never be rude to fast food workers or people just intending to do their job.

Usually, there would be a chef, or at least someone who can cook, and at least one other person working. The past few weeks had been Willow mostly by herself, picking up extra shifts, and as long as it wasn't busy, she could manage cooking and waittressing. She got paid double time, and she picked up overtime on days where Ron did not want to come in early. He also didn't want to burden Helena, one of his other over-nighters, who'd just gotten back on her feet after a house fire.

She wasn't a bad cook, and she was quick on her feet. She could hold down her own, and Ronnie knew that. Hence he trusted her with his entire diner, on most nights, and to hold the fort down. She would now easily bring home paychecks over a grand, with taxes taken out every week. As her two very cute customers continued eating their seconds, she scribbled messily on her notepad on the counter.

She stood on the inside of the island counter, and was counting expenses. She had a lot of shit to worry about, bills included. Gas, electric, dog food, groceries. She could take maybe three hundred dollars off her bill fund thanks to her mother, but it still didn't help in the scheme of things.

Frustrated, she scribbled out her list. She had to worry about this later, there was no need to worry before she got her paycheck. Her eyes felt heavy, and she tried to rub the sleepiness from them. She had at least five more hours before she could even think about leaving, and she still had to clean this place from top to bottom.

"Do you think we could get the check, please?"

Chan's timid voice broke her from her daze, and her face reddened in embarassment. She had forgotten they were here. Setting her pen down hastily, she shuffled over to grab the printed out receipt, and held it tightly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to zone off like that," she set the check down, and took notice of their neatly stacked plates with silverware crossed on top. Her cleanup would be very easy, and she absolutely loved when she had customers like this. "Oh, no worries," Chan smiled and eyed the check. "Is it okay if I take these?"

Pointing towards the stack of plates, the other boy, Felix, quickly grabbed them and handed them to her. Underneath the plates, their fingers touched briefly. A sheepish smile followed from both, and she quickly scurried to put the plates in the dishwasher. All she had to do was get them checked out, clean the three plates, clean the milkshake cups, the soda cups, and sweep. Some general maintenance, and if nobody else came in, she was in for a decent night.

"Hey, you didn't charge us for the milkshakes," Chan mentioned softly, slight accusatory tone. "They're on the house," Willow smiled back from the bar island, and Chan cocked his head in confusion, "if that's okay,"

"That's really kind, thank you," once again, a gentle, dimple-filled smile from Chan, and a sheepish, red-cheeked one from Felix. She wished to hear the blonde boy speak again, his voice so rich, so deep. He seemed sweet.

Her first thought was that they were boyfriends. It angered her, but only in a way that two of the cutest guys she'd possibly ever seen were together. It was adorable, to say the least. Little did she know, they were definitely not together.

Willow came to collect the money, and Felix stared up at her. "Are you from around here?"

Her eyes widened, and her mind went blank. That was usually how someone asked if she would be missed had she been kidnapped. "That sounded really creepy, I'm sorry," he clarified, and she loosened her shoulders a bit, "We are new to town, and we don't know where Glarien Avenue is. We just moved in, and can't find our way back. The GPS says the street doesn't exist," he finished quickly, and she nodded gently, deciding on whether or not to tell him.

"Oh, uh," she bit her lip, "the street got a new sign on accident, and the GPS or whatever national database that programs the information never got updated, I guess. If you pull out of here, take a left and go forward like three-ish blocks. There's gonna be a bright yellow house, and once you see that turn right, and then take a sharp right again and if you just keep going down you should see Glarien. If you get lost, just come back,"

It took only five minutes for the two Australian boys to clear out, and for Willow to finally take a breath. As she took care of all of the dishes, she went for the check last. Their total was somewhat cheap, twenty-three dollars, for two full meals, two sodas, a sweet tea, and extra sides of fries.

As she counted out the money, she was thoroughly confused. There were two twenties, and two fives. There was fifty dollars here, and their meal was less than thirty. On the check was a small note.

Really good food, really good service. We hope you have an amazing night, and whatever is left after our tab is paid is yours. Thank you!

An exasperated sigh left her mouth, and she sat in the booth where the two boys sat. Staring at the money in front of her, her chest felt heavy. All of her emotions poured out, and the thought that a strangers kindness' brought her to tears was shameful yet elating. That would be three less hours she would have to work, three more hours of sleep, or soccer practice, or studying. More time to not stress over bills.

She sat there for a few minutes, breathing in and out, as deep as she could. Wiping her face of any tear remnants, she stood up, collecting the money in hand. As she eyed the clock, she sighed inwardly. It was only 2 AM.

A little less than five hours later, she was walking into the doors of LaPrine High School, with at least two hundred other students. For seven in the morning, teenagers were pretty damn annoying. Squeals and loud murmurs was everything that she could hear, and it made her turn her headphones up louder.

For a private school full of snobby inbreds, there were some okay kids there. Most of them were the scholarship kids, who'd had their fares paid for, like Willow. If someone found out that you were a scholar student, you'd immediately be laughed at and taunted. She managed to keep hers a secret, though. She excelled, and she made sure to throw in an occasional snicker when needed to prove she was just one among the bunch.

She wasn't popular by any means, but everyone knew her. She was a suck up, that was for sure. Every teacher liked her, her grades were impeccable, and she was an all-star soccer player. She managed to have better stats than Ian Rewns, the past all star soccer legend, and he wasn't even a midfielder.

She also was known to stay pretty quiet, and to herself socially. She had a few casual friends, some classmates she talked to, but nobody really close. She was okay with that, she was pretty busy anyways. She had school from eight in the morning to three, then soccer practice from four to six-thirty, and if there wasn't a game, she'd go home around seven, and at eleven she would go work the graveyard shift at the diner. On average, she'd get four to five hours of sleep. Friends, or a social life, just take away from that time.

As she stopped at her locker to pull out her textbooks, she felt a tap on her shoulder. "Ms. Arroyo," it was her principal, Mrs. Samson. "Can you come with me, please?"

It was only two weeks into the school year, so there wasn't much she could get in trouble for. Maybe it was to rearrange her classes? No, every class she had was only alotted for that specific hour, there was no way. Her tuition? God, she hoped not.

"How are your classes so far?" as they rounded the office hallway, Mrs. Samson was making casual conversation. The clicking of her heels intimidated Willow a bit, but she'd known her for over a year. She wasn't as scary as everyone made her out to be. "They're good, I just finally settled in,"

"I know this year seems like it may be hard, but by the looks of your GPA next year, I think you'll be satisfied with it." Praise made Willow purr like a kitten, and her entire body tingled at the realization that this probably wasn't bad.

"Me too," she replied softly, and Mrs. Samson held the door to her office open for her, and they stepped in. Her office was tidy, shades of light blue and gray, and was a little too cold for Willow's liking. "Come and take a seat, hun,"

Unsure still, she took a seat. Her back didn't touch the seat, her anxiety from not knowing why she was there overtaking her comfortability. "You're not in trouble, don't worry," the older woman smiled at her as she took her own seat opposite her desk.

"So, I know you are a busy girl," she looked at her with eyes of compassion, and a soft smile decorated her face. "I have a proposition for you," she continued.

"Do you happen to remember when you did student tours for the incoming freshman?" Her first year at LaPrine, she was allowed to do student tours as community service hours for NHS. She was actually so good at it, and the organization of it, that she got to do it again this summer, and handled it all by herself without any staff. It was pulled off effortlessly.

"Of course, this year too," Willow nodded in agreement, and she waited for the woman to continue. "Well, if you agree to help me for a while this year, I will make sure all of your community hours are taken care of, and anything else you need help with will be considered done,"

Willow wanted her to get to the point.

"What is it?"

"Remember on your National Honor Society resume, you said you're bilingual and speak more than just English? You weren't lying, right?"

Willow laughed so hard she nearly bust a lung, and quickly covered her mouth with her hand. "Mrs. Samson, my last name is Arroyo. But of course, I can speak more than just Spanish, though,"

"You listed Korean, correct?" she eyed a piece of paper, which was most likely her aforementioned resume.

"Yeah, I can speak it somewhat fluently, and I can read Hangul well, I sometimes have trouble writing it, though. I don't imagine I'll be writing Korean letters, will I?" Willow's Hangul was absolutely preposterous, any native Korean would agree.

"No, that's silly," The elder crossed her hands together, and leaned forward. "Starting tomorrow, we have eight foreign exchange students coming from Korea, and you are an exemplar student who also happens to speak said language. One is a native English speaker, and two others speak it fluently. The rest can manage only a conversation or two, so you can understand our worry. I'm sure it would be nice for them to have a friend as well,"

"For the rest of the year?"

"Yes, but I'm sure that they'll manage to speak more fluently as the year progresses," and Willow shook her head, "I'm not worried about the language, I just don't know how that would work,"

"How so?"

"Well, are they all girls? Are they boys? Is it a mix? And won't their classes be much different than mine?"

"They're all boys, ranging from sophomore to seniors, and they're super sweet. Very respectful boys, from what I hear. I promise you, I will make it worth it if you help me out, and at least be a friend and reliable student to these boys. And no, they will not all have the same classes as you, but it will probably be courses you have taken, save for the seniors."

"I will also put in a good word for you to Mr. Ramirez, and how that head position on the team should be an exemplar student and player," she mentioned the soccer coach, and Willow cringed inwardly. She hadn't spoke Korean, in full length sentences, in over a year. She could remember it, but she'd be rusty.

"Okay, but you owe me one. No, more like eight; you owe me eight, Mrs. Samson."

"Deal. Come in tomorrow early if you can, and you can give them the tour. I will be here as well, so if you want to meet me in the cafeteria, I will bring you coffee."

"I like my coffees with extra creamer and sugar."

"Done."

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champagne-bucky · 4 years

Text

Debt to Be Paid: I

Summary: Earth fears intergalactic war with another planet. The Avengers are called to work out negotiations on Zevitar, the planet of peace. What happens when they are reunited with their long lost team member?

Warnings: dark!Bucky x reader, mentions of non/dub-con, age gap (reader is of age)

Notes: SHE’S HEREEEEEEE!!! Welcome to the first chapter of DTBP, the sequel to IOU!! If you’re new to this story make sure you check out IOU before you read this!! To all those who have read IOU... buckle up... Anyways enjoy!! Let me know what ya think! Please make sure to like, comment, reblog, inbox, and follow me for more! Enjoy :)

Throughout his lifetime Steve Rogers was exposed to many types of pain. Whether it was physical, mental, or emotional, Steve could handle just about anything life could throw at him. That was until he lost you. In all his years of fighting alongside the Avengers, having been responsible for the demise of half the world’s population, and the tons of toxic chemicals pumped into his body could never prepare him for the pain of losing a child. While there is no biological relation, Steve couldn’t help but mourn for the loss of his daughter.

When Sam and Tony had come to the island to end his vacation they were trying to keep quiet about the situation that occurred back home. It wasn’t until three hours into the flight back home that Tony finally cracked and told Steve what was up. Steve was in shock, his daughter fought and nearly killed his best friend? Impossible.

Needless to say, Steve Rogers was an emotional wreck once he got back to the compound. He saw the state of Bucky’s room, he saw where they kept you locked up, he saw the damage that had been done to Stephen and Wanda when you escaped. He saw parts of you that he never knew you held. How dark had you become since he left, he wondered on those late sleepless nights.

Steve didn’t speak for days. Instead, he spent them walking around the taped off ruins of his beloved compound. What was once a home for him and his family felt more like a cold, steel, jail cell. He was truly in hell without you.

The nights were filled with him lying awake in bed, eyes opened wide and darting to every corner of the room, praying that you would somehow walk out of the shadows and back to him. Instead of taking sleeping pills that Tony suggested to him, he would get up out of bed and start researching, questioning, and theorizing where it is that you could be.

After a few weeks and two overworked coffee machines later, Steve had created three possible theories about what could have happened to you:

Being an Avenger came with a handful of enemies.

Almost everyone on the team had their own enemies. From empty threats to stalker incidences, no one on the team was really safe. Any form of social media was constantly monitored, every time they were in a car there was security two cars behind, the second an Avenger leaves the tower they have surveillance on them 99.9% of the time.

Still, that .1% haunts Steve. He knows that people have their ways when it comes to the innovation of technology. Perhaps there was someone out there that was too good with computers. They hacked you, stalked you, and threatened you not to tell anyone. Maybe it got so out of hand to the point where you ran away for the protection of yourself and for the others. Maybe you attacked Bucky to keep the secret hidden or you got so scared that attacking him was an accident.

2. Everyone has their demons… maybe you had kept yours hidden too well.

As days grew longer, so did Steve’s suspicions. He never thought bad things about you. In fact, Steve knew there wasn’t a bad bone in your body. So why did he keep thinking you were secretly an evil person?

He theorized that there could’ve been another side to who you were. The nice and sweet you was all an act and you were waiting for an opportunity to show your true self. Between him not being around anymore and you now having full access to technology and weapons only Avengers have access to, you took advantage of your new found status and got carried away. Bucky found out and tried to put a stop to you and that’s how he ended up getting attacked. You broke out before you could face any consequences.

Steve shook his head at this theory. He knew you like he knew the layout of his old 40’s apartment. You’re not a bad person and never once have you said you hated someone. You never said you even hated Bucky, just upset that he didn’t seem to like you as much as the others did.

3. Being apart from Steve sent you towards a downwards spiral… basically it was all Steve’s fault that you’re gone.

This theory made a whole lot of sense, and none of it at the same time. Yes, everyone could confirm that you really missed Steve. You missed training with him and hanging out with him. You missed his presence around the compound as well. Something about Steve just made your days way better than when he wasn’t at the compound at all.

What didn’t make sense to anybody was why would you attack someone over this? Sure, you missed Steve, but nobody thought you missed him so much to the point of nearly killing someone. Bucky did give you a hard time, but as far as the Avengers knew it was just some name calling you didn’t appreciate.

Everyone recounted their last few days with you at the compound. You seemed okay, nothing out of the usual for you. However, Peter did speak up saying you seemed a bit jumpier and a little bit down and out than usual. Again, it chalked up to you missing Steve really bad. Then there was the matter of Stephen and Wanda.

They were your last victims before you escaped. The pair had gone through extensive questioning. However, they both had the same story. Wanda and Strange had tried to calm you down, but things got out of hand and you ended up lashing out at them.

Steve hit a brick wall at this point. How could no one know what happened to you? He tried hacking into security cameras from that day, but he was met with a disappointing glare from Tony and a handful of security to escort him out of the room meant for their investigation.

What was there even to investigate? You were gone and as far as anybody knew, there was no trace of you in New York, the United States, and pretty much any other country that agents were sent out to look for you. Steve guessed they only continued because Bucky needed to get some sort of justice or closure, but he swears that he was attacked for no reason. Everyone knew about their slight tension, but thought it wouldn’t go as far as leaving Bucky hospitalized.

Bucky kept quiet after Steve came back. Truth be told, he feared what his friend might do to him if the truth got out. He made sure to delete any evidence he could off his computer of you. When he visited you those last days, he managed to fuck up something in the control room that cut off the audio of him talking. No one had called him in to question his meeting with you, and Bucky was relieved because he needed more time to come up with the perfect excuse.

Now all he had to do was get rid of Wanda and Stephen, or get them off his back. He knows that they must know something. Tensions around the compound have been high around the three of them. The pair had been cold towards him after the attack, only going so far as signing a ‘Get Well Soon’ card and pitching in a few dollars for a thing of flowers, but that was all.

Wanda and Strange wasted no time after their questioning was over. They got right to work trying to compile all the evidence they could to expose Bucky. Unfortunately, it was proving to be more difficult than expected.

Bucky’s room had been blocked off by agents. He had to change rooms until the investigation was cleared. Everything in the room remained untouched, but no Avengers, besides Tony, had access to the room.

Strange and Wanda even went in from another angle and enlisted Peter to help find that security footage, but so far everything was blocked off to them. It seemed like there was one dead end after another. If the pair weren’t fast in their findings, they might never get justice for you. Even if you were long gone, Bucky shouldn’t get away with what he did.

No matter what, the pair of Avengers new they needed to finish the job you attempted to start… and Stephen Strange and Wanda Maximoff will be damned if justice wasn’t served.

~Meanwhile~

You emptied your stomach of breakfast later in the day. Same as yesterday, the day before that, and the day before that… something’s got to be up?

Maybe it was nerves? That could explain a lot seeing as the nightmares weren’t letting up anytime soon.

Seeing images of Bucky Barnes every time you close your eyes led to a lot of sleepless nights. It led to much more than sleepless nights, but you tried your best to listen to Carol’s advice and put the past behind you. Sadly, it would take a lot more than blocking that vile man from your thoughts.

Carol saw how you were feeling sick everyday. She also tried to put the worst out of her head, but curiosity piqued. It was important for her to tell you, but it was also important that you found out now before you were back on your home planet alone and scared.

When she first suggested that you may be pregnant, you laughed in her face, then you cried, then were angry, then depressed. There was no possible way, right? You remembered to take your birth control every night, right?

Okay, now you were freaking out. There was one night you might’ve forgot to take it, and that time spent in your jail cell, and maybe one or twice while on a mission.

Now you were panicking.

You forgot some days to take birth control, you were off it for a couple of days too. Bucky was relentless. The possibilities were leading towards confirmation. Every sign of pregnancy pointed to yes.

You tried to deny it for a week, but as you looked at the remnants of today’s breakfast being flushed down the toilet again you collected yourself and came towards acceptance. Coming out of the bathroom, Carol was right there with a quirked brow. She was about to say something, but you opened your mouth first.

“FUCK!”

#dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky x reader #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #dark!bucky #dark!winter soldier #winter solider #James Buchanan barnes #James Barnes #dark!marvel #dark!avengers #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #mcudarklibrary #debt to be paid #IOU

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transcendentalmaggot · 2 years

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When you’re born with a rare birth defect you’re faced with a litany of roadblocks that compound the older you get. The local hospital that treated me both times my recurrent infections due to anatomical anomalies and a host of other issues developed into a kidney infection leading to sepsis had no adult urologist or nephrologist that had treated someone with my condition before. The only one was a pediatric urologist. They were finally able to create a Transitional Care Program run by this urologist through the pediatric urology department that now gives me the ability to even have a consultation with a pediatric urologist as a 30 something and finally get a consultation with the only doctor in the entire state that has any experience treating patients with bladder exstrophy. Cue the calls every few weeks of confused office staff trying to figure out why an adult has an appointment on the books or assuming I must be pregnant since that��s the only reason they can fathom being scheduled to see him at all.

I can’t go out of state because I haven’t had an income in almost 3 years due to multiple disabling conditions after being injured in 2019 disrupting my hours and then being laid off during Covid 2020 so I’m on a ACA state exchange plan with supplemental Medicaid - much to my inconsolable shame my exorbitant premium is covered by my Dad. I’ve lost my job and have been struggling to find a new one that can accommodate my conditions despite wanting to do just about anything that isn’t abhorrently unethical or physically impossible at this point. My SSDI hearing denial is being appealed and I’m in worse shape than I was when I began due to having to pick and choose which life-sustaining medical care to receive based on my limited support. Entire countries don’t have any doctors at all with working knowledge of this condition and experience performing surgeries to treat it causing people to need to take trips by airplane for simple check ups. Of course I receive a call today that my appointment on August 4th is being bumped until August 23rd because apparently the doctor is never in the office the day they made the appointment.

I don’t blame the office staff. I blame a system that sees sick kids even more intensely through that sense we all know - if you’re sick, die, or make a complete recovery with no residual effects from the initial ordeal. The charities we have, funded by profit making ventures in the private sector more than any other depending on the charity like smiling, wholesome, and conspicuously uniform in sanitized smiling faces imploring you to give them money to find the cure. But no support for those currently living with the disease (outside a community camp out or hosting an online support group). Once those kids, those that do survive, reach adulthood we’re disposed of entirely. The process for surgeries for me is arduous. At the hospital I’ve been going to since the day I was born, I need both an adult and pediatric urologists. This means they have to organize switching time slots for the OR across separate departments. The bureaucracy and capitalization of every aspect of this system is killing us all, workers included.

Sure, you’ve missed more than a couple years worth of schooling, socialization including spending more time in a hospital than a home for the first few years of your life, dream jobs, opportunities you worked years to get to, anything I’ve ever wanted to put effort towards, relationships, missed most major life events you were excited for on multiple occasions, but this is all clearly just evidence you’re hysterical and weak. You’re expected to never put the burden of needing help on others while being endlessly scrutinized each and every moment as to whether this is all an act. For what fucking purpose? Sure, they’ve spent millions of dollars, implanted complex medical implants and cadaver parts and animal muscles into me across several hospital systems, and the insurance has paid out each time (usually with a fight) because I like to take my vacation from a hospital bed. I’ve fooled hundreds of medical professionals according to this convoluted and cruel mindset somehow.

I vacillate between soul-shattering rage, immense grief, and a numbness that goes beyond any dissociative state I’ve experienced.

#venting #disability #healthcare #medical system

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repentantsky · 4 years

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5 People Who Should Not Be in The Gaming industry

Our choice of entertainment, when we choose video games has nearly endless potential, with works that are inspiring from varying genre’s, to varying resources, and many people who work on these games are as inspiring as they are instrumental to the industry’s continued growth and success, these 5 people, here are none of these things, and are nothing short of a detriment to it. Whether it’s because they broke the law, multiple times, clearly don’t care about the people who work under them, or are simply unable to tell their fans the truth, here are 5 people, who simply should not be here. Be warned, I may trigger you one way or the other depending on where you stand, and I’m not sorry about it if you want to defend these losers. Oh and, one final note, my lists aren’t usually ranked by how important an entry is, or in this case, how messed up they are, but rather by how much I want to talk about them, so do keep that in mind.

5. David Cage.

David might be the least unworthy person on this list, depending on how you look at it, (I think he’s one of the worst people here, but you do you) but he’s also possibly the biggest A-hole. Running the company Quantic Dream, most regarded for their game Detroit: Become Human, the company, Cage, and another key member have been under investigation for years, for mistreating their employees, and violating contracts. Most famously with Elliot Page, back before when he was known as Ellen Page, as the game Beyond: Two Souls, did have a fully nude model that for a time could be hacked to be visible in the game, which was a violation of the contract Elliot had signed at that time. Other accusations include, bullying, anti-woman rights shown in the work place, and harassment of employees, namely of the female variety. This isn’t mere speculation either, as Quantic Dream did a few years back, lose a case against a former employee in court, and if one thing most people have learned about abuse or mistreatment of others these days, is that if there’s one case, there’s probably more. While things have been quiet on this front in light of COVID-19, the investigation, is still on-going.

4. Randy Pitchford.

The laundry list of offenses this man has committed should have seen him end up in jail, but money talks, and he settled his crimes out of court. What crimes did he commit you ask? Let me see if I can remember everything. He, supposedly had child pornography on a flash drive, for which he was acquitted, with that never being shown in a way that can be confirmed or denied, he refused to work with Troy Baker on Borderlands 3 who played Rhys in Tales from the Borderlands, because Troy has joined the closest thing to a union within voice acting, which meant Pitchford would have had to follow certain guidelines, that he wasn’t willing to, he stole 12 million dollars meant to be bonuses for employees of Take Two after completing Borderlands 2, and the opening funds for Borderlands 3, which he seemingly used to pay off his court case, he assaulted Claptrap’s original VA when they were still working together, and refused to bring him back in Borderlands 3 because he wouldn’t do the voice for free after leaving like he had before, he refused to pay a musician for work done on Duke Nukem Forever, and while not nearly as heinous as the rest of these, refuses to acknowledge that any criticism against Alien: Colonel Marines is legitimate. So yeah, complete A-whole. Kind of makes you wonder how people like this stay in the industry, instead of in jail where they belong.

3. Todd Howard.

Todd Howard, is to put it lightly, a habitual liar, and often tries to play up his good guy persona while lying through his teeth. Fallout 76 is a key example of how he can lie, as just about everything he said about the game when it was announced, was untrue, though he’s used to that as he also lied about Skyrim, Fallout 4, Elder Scrolls Blades, Elder Scrolls online, seemingly favoring single player games while 76 was still not known to the public, the list goes on. Todd Howard, for as bad as his voice is for it, is basically the hype man for everything major Bethesda does, and usually seems to be in charge for finding a fall guy when his lies don’t come to fruition. It’s not really shocking per-say that he lies, but man, it would be nice if he could just tell the truth, if anyone could believe anything he says. Never, have I heard so many untrue things said about a game from one man, and yet, you literally have to question everything that comes out of his mouth, and assume all of it is overplayed nonsense, because Bethesda seemingly pays him to try and make us believe that he can say anything of factual value. But alas, he can’t, he even lied about the paid mods controversies Bethesda tried to pull, both times they did it, and nothing came of it. Someone who cannot seem to tell the truth, should not be in this industry.

2. Marcin Iwinski.

This may not be a name instantly recognizable to many, but Marcin is co-founder of CD Projekt Red, and is it’s most prolific liar. Unlike other CEO’s who have people below them spread lies so fans go after them instead of the guy at the top, Marcin has been Cyberpunk 2077′s voice in a manner of speaking, as he was the one told all of us the lies surrounding the game. He tells people what to say about the game, so he’s responsible for the lies made to retailers, fans, and of course Sony and Microsoft, and he even tried to get ahead of a piece written by Jason Schreier, with a non-apology that was actually more damage control for the horrible release of Cyberpunk 2077. While he’s by no means the only person who has committed these sorts of acts in this industry, his recent example of what a CEO will do to save face for his company, regardless of much BS there is within, makes him a prime target for fans to show those who run massive game companies, that lying to people for years, be it about how a game is running, or how it’s being made, shout out to all those people he said weren’t crunching, and then trying to downplay it when we found out, is not okay. Letting people like that go, only incites more to do the same.

1. Andrew Wilson.

Yet another name you might not know off the top of your head, Andrew Wilson is the CEO of EA, a company that is so corrupt under his watch, that they tried to break Belgium gambling laws because they just...thought they were above it? I don’t know the whole story there, but I do know that EA, under his run as CEO, clearly thinks it can do anything it wants, and feels like they can lie about whatever they choose, regardless of how poorly it reflects on the industry, or how it hurts smaller developers just trying to turn their passion into a career. Killing off beloved studios like Visceral games, Black Box Studios, Origin, and Playfish to name just a few, EA has become the killer of studios, and every time Andrew Wilson’s face is on screen, smart people began to worry. Mr. Surprise Mechanics himself may not have committed any crimes that we know of (aside from again, breaking Belgium law because he thought he could get away with it), nor has he lied his way to success in the public, but killing off studios loved by all in order to force everyone under his employ to mainly focus on games as a service, a move that is more harmful than good in the industry, is cause enough for him to be forced out.

And that’s my list, what did you think? It’s not often someone actually calls people out in this industry, and I honestly think more people need to do it so there’s some of that. Let me know if you can think of anyone else who deserves being a swift kick out the door, reblog this if it interested you, and feel free to leave a note.

#video games #bethesda #todd howard #ea #cyberpunk 2077 #andrew wilson #CD Projekt RED #take two #borderlands #randy pitchford #quantic dream #ellen page #elliot page #david cage #beyond two souls #detroit become human

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blissfulalchemist · 3 years

Note

“ you made it look so damned easy to leave me. ” + twc kids xx

Ah Thank you Stella! Some angst but nothing detrimental but we’re dealing with an ex so there’s that. I hope you enjoy a little back story as timeline wise this would take place just before main game events.

It’s the worst type of weather, always had been for Hayat, the sky grey chilling the air and the clouds holding back the rain desperate to fall, combining into a sticky cold day. Always the second week of April every year without fail, a constant in this small town. Normally, Hayat would have been inside still, inviting others on the police force to have lunch in his “office” so they could all relax and have fun for a little while, not today though as he forgot his lunch and the lack of breakfast made the vending machines no longer an option for the day. So here he was, walking down Main Street unsure of where to get a decent lunch and starting to freeze, he should have brought a beanie with him today.

It’s the familiar scent of grains of paradise that slows him down. It comes from a new restaurant, open only a few weeks, one he’s been wanting to try, hoping to have a little bit of home closer to where his home is now. No time like the present, he thinks making his way to the door, blowing on his hands for some warmth.

His speed picks up the closer he comes to the door, inattentive to another customer walking out. Their eyes are focused on their phone, running straight into Hayat, the two of them almost falling over.

“Oh. Sorry man, didn’t-,” Hayat’s words catch in his throat as he identifies just whom he ran into.

Bobby Marks.

Despite the glasses Bobby wears now, Hayat would know the dark blonde hair anywhere with it being the same style since they first met in college, short along the sides and enough length at the top to spike it up with some kind of hair gel or wax depending on the weather, It would have been wax on a day like today. Bobby brushed himself off, giving Hayat a lopsided smile, “Don’t worry about it, handsome,” Hayat repressed the growl at the old nickname, “Surprised to see you out at this time.”

“Just needed some lunch,” he took a step to the side, the reporter following him, “so if you don’t mind,” Hayat tried once again to make his way into the restaurant.

“Maybe we could eat together,” Bobby stepped closer, “just like old times.”

Hayat scoffed, “‘Like old times’.” He shook his head, crossing his arms, “What do you want?”

“Who says I want anything?”

He rolled his eyes, Don’t be difficult, “Because it’s you, Bobby. You always want something from me. Whether it be some story, information, or privileges there’s always some ulterior motive with you when it comes to me.”

“Maybe I just want to have lunch with you,” Bobby shrugged, “especially since we’d be having the same food.”

Not any more, Hayat turned on his heel, “You know what, I'm actually not that hungry anymore.”

“Bull. Shit,” Bobby spat out, moving to keep pace with the officer, “You can’t lie to me, I know you better than that.”

“The fuck does it matter to you anyway?” Hayat stuffed his fists into the pockets of his jacket, “I don’t like hanging out with you unless absolutely necessary and this,” he stopped looking down on the journalist, “isn’t necessary.”

Bobby glared at him, clenching his jaw, “You know what I don’t understand with you? How you act like I didn’t ever love you when the exact opposite is true.”

Hayat rolled his eyes grumbling, “Could have fooled me.”

“It’s the truth Hayat,” Bobby pleaded, stopping himself as soon as the words left his mouth. He shook his head, “Why am I even arguing with you about this? You were the one that made it look so damn easy to leave me.” Hayat flinched, crossing his arms, “Don’t look at me like that. You think I didn’t see the traveling,” Trying to find a way back home, “the new relationships,” It was the only way to stave off the loneliness and feel something, “all of it leading to this shiny job that everyone says you’re just born to do. ‘Just like his old man, Rook!’ that’s what they all say.”

Hayat laughed, mouth thinning as he paced in a slow circle, “Easy, right. That’s what you’ve been telling yourself all these years?” He shook his head running a hand through his dark hair, “Bobby, leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve had to do. I loved you. Leaving was the last thing I wanted to do, but what was I supposed to do? You screwed me over to a point that I had to make a new life with new passions from scratch.”

“That was never my intention,” he snapped, “You could have stayed. I could have helped you find something. I could have taken care of you.”

“Taken-? No! I didn’t need to be taken care of and like hell I’d let you be the one to do that.”

“Fine. But you didn’t have to leave me still. We still could have had a life together, you and me,” he jabbed a finger into Hayat’s chest, “but you were the one that threw us away.”

Hayat shook his head, pushing Bobby’s hands away, “No, I didn’t. That was you, the minute you decided to frame me like the coward you are. You threw our relationship away, not me.”

“How was I supposed to know that they’d strip you of your academic accomplishments! You were so nice and good, you never broke a rule in your life! I thought they’d go easy on you, Hiya.” Bobby bit his lower lip, “I’m sorry they didn’t.”

“What kind of universe are you living in that made you think they’d go easy on me, Bobby?” The journalist looked at the ground, rubbing the back of his neck fumbling for a response, “Look, I don’t know if you’ve cared to notice but I’m not like you,” he kept his breathing even, his voice rising in volume, “There’s a reason I never broke a rule, why I had to be so nice to people that I would have loved to have avoided in any other situation. The reason? Because it was hard enough to get past the assumptions on what my education would be used for, getting past the sneers by some of the other students as the fear mongering grew once again, and to top it off the department head had been looking for just about anything to use as an excuse to get me out of there since day one,” The racist bastard. “So yeah, I can be as mad as I want about it because you, of all people, should have known what they would do to someone like me.” Hayat’s fists shook, taking a deep breath, he just had to calm down, He’s not worth the fight. Not worth getting this angry over, “You're just selfish and that’s all you ever will be.”

Hayat finally turned away from him, stalking towards the station, hearing Bobby call out, “I wouldn’t have come back if that were true you know!”

Hayat scoffed, grumbling, “What fucking bullshit. Only here cause you figured the job was easy,” And that I was still easy to manipulate.

“There’s something bigger going on here! You’ll need me one day! Just you watch,” Bobby called out, He’s just wanting to get under my skin, Hayat thought as he walked faster, eyes focused on the cobblestone below.

“I’ll never need him. Never did to begin with,” he mumbled nearing the edge of the park. He just needed a bit of a walk before heading back to the station, he could use the cool down. The station would be fine without him if he was late and if it wouldn’t be then he carried a phone for a reason. It wasn’t long before the trail became uneven, Hayat glancing up, he’d made his way towards the woods surrounding the town. He paused, letting out a long breath, whispers of fog leaving him, “Guess I start heading back,” he whispered, turning a one-eighty on his heel. The shaking had stopped, his head becoming clear once more, shoulders starting to hang and feel sore, stomach cramping with hunger. “Little deli by the station it is, I guess.”

The focus he held for the ground below him didn’t give any leeway to notice the person nearing him, not like the stranger paid much mind either as he worked to light a cigarette. Their shoulders connected, Hayat stumbling back a few steps while the dark haired stranger stayed in place. “Watch where you’re going,” he growled out, Hayat getting the briefest look at the man already stanturing away. He had to be new in town, or just passing through, his dark olive toned skin showing some time in the sun, Probably on vacation somewhere exotic. How lucky. His shoulder length hair blew softly in the breeze that picked up, Hayat rolling his eyes, Probably gets to just use some dollar store shampoo for upkeep I bet.

He let out a sigh, eyes catching the bright white carton on the dirt trail. He bent down to pick it up, the structure still stiff and showing little wear on the edges, a near brand new box. Hayat couldn’t help but glance inside the box, half the cigarettes already gone, Good luck to him in five years. “Hey wait up,” he called out, jogging the small distance between them, “You dropped these.”

The man turned slightly looking at Hayat's outstretched hand, quickly grabbing the box. “Thanks,” he said simply, walking away from him and pocketing the carton before Hayat could utter a response. With one last look, he gave a shrug, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket making his way back to the station, where Tina waited for him with a small meal from Haley’s bakery.

“Heard about your run in,” she said with a sympathetic smile, “You know if you need help in learning how to ignore him, I’d be more than happy to teach you.” She sat on the edge of his desk, leg swinging beneath her, “Can’t tell you how many people I’ve had to do that for.”

Hayat laughed, “Oh I wouldn’t be surprised with you, Tina,” her jaw dropped, giving him a small slap on the shoulder with a smile. He gave her a light push off the desk, the two of them laughing a moment more as he opened up his lunch. “Thank you, Tina. You’re a good friend.” She posed, batting her eyelashes with a big grin she couldn’t contain, Hayat giving a chuckle, “Alright Miss America, go and get what we need for patrol before you make me regret saying it.”

“Aye, Aye, Captain,” she said with a salute, laughing as she made her way to the other side of the building.

#but I love my boy so much! Thank you Stella!#I am sadly nothing more than someone that sticks close to canon with changing what I don't like #hayat khademi oc #will also be reblogged no more than three times in 24 hrs sorry #I just feel nervous about posting this #twc oc #twc detective oc #twc detective #the wayhaven chronicles

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keelywolfe · 4 years

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FIC: The Rose and the Thorn: Chapter 18 (Mafia AU)

Summary: Rus makes a decision.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Cherryberry, Mafia AU, Flower Shop AU, Violence, First Meetings

Warning: Heads up, let me add a warning here for attempted sexual assault and violence.

~*~~

Read Chapter 18 on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Lilies were lovely flowers, and it was a damn shame that Humans seemed to only associate them with funerals and Easter. They made for a beautiful focal point in a bouquet, large waxy petals in a bright array of colors surrounding the dark stamen, dozens of them spilling out and around a vase or basket, brilliant shades complimented by a delicate frame of leafy greens.

So many gorgeous colors available and Blue grew many of them, but the lilies Rus was working with were white, only a hint of creamy yellow at their centers. They smelled nearly as beautiful as the crimson roses that joined them, each delicate bloom nestled into its cushioning bed of neighboring white.

(A single red rose, please)

Only Rus’s fingers were stained with redness, not from those velvety petals but from the thorns, the dark crimson of his own marrow spotting the lilies, smearing bloody across those pale petals and he couldn’t stop even as they began to wither under his touch, white petals spotted in redness curling up and dying, and—

Rus woke with a gasp, the cold sweat on his bones chilling him as the dream of withered petals slowly faded. He sank back against the mattress and ran a trembling hand over his face, grimacing at the dampness.

Next to him, his brother slept on obliviously, his smaller frame buried deeply in the luxurious comforter on their borrowed bed. The bathroom light was on, seeping out to cast the room in shadows and even in the dimness, Blue’s much-loved face was lined with obvious exhaustion. The crow’s wing of a bruise running down his cheekbone wasn’t quite hidden into the pillow, stark against pale bone.

Thoughtlessly, Rus reached out with the vague idea to heal it and hesitated with his fingers still inches from that bruise. Tired as Blue was, he sure as hell wouldn’t be able to sleep through any sort of magic being used on him. Better to let him rest and take care of it when he woke up, and if looking at it made his gorge rise with swelling guilt, then Rus only had himself to blame. This all might have started with him getting dragged in, but things had changed since that day in the shop when he had hidden behind the counter in a stranger’s arms.

That day was over and a new one was dawning, one where Rus complicit, for not listening to his brother’s warnings, for not keeping his distance, for letting his desire for Edge overrule his rather uncommon sense.

No, that wasn’t entirely true, at least one other person was at fault here, the one who’d caused that bruise. He wasn’t sure he believed Blue that their so-called host wasn’t to blame; even if he hadn’t struck the blow, he’d obviously failed to protect them as promised. Broken promises tended to multiply, that was a hard lesson Rus learned while they were still Underground.

Well, he certainly wasn’t lost in a metal fog any longer. He felt as if he were waking up from more than an unpleasant dream. His pleasure-tinted memories of last night in Edge’s bed had lost their luster the moment he got a good look at his brother’s bruised face and cold reality settled in its place, sinking down into the pit of his soul like cold water sinking to the ocean floor.

Somehow, he’d been slowly starting to forget the truth; that he and Blue were here unwillingly, staying only for protection against revenge that hadn’t been theirs to begin with. They were very bad men, Edge warned Rus of that from the very beginning, and Edge was still planning on dealing with Blaze however he would; someone would likely be dead and dust by the end, and Rus couldn’t allow himself to forget that, if only to ensure that neither he nor his brother were part of it.

Rus wrapped his arms around his legs, settling his chin on his updrawn knees. Where the hell did he think this was all going to go, anyway? When everything was said and done, and Blaze was dealt with, where did he fit in a place like this? He didn’t, that was how, did he really think he’d be able to finish up his shift at the shop making bouquets and then come back here to pretend he didn’t know what was happening around him, both inside and out of these walls. Even if Edge wanted him for longer than a few nights, Rus couldn’t do that. He couldn’t.

His brother’s comment about getting paid well might have been cruel, but it wasn’t entirely untrue. Only it didn’t seem to be dollars that Rus was bartering with, but instead his own soul.

No. He couldn’t let that happen, not to Blue. His brother worked so hard for everything they had ever since their pop left. He wasn’t going to throw it away, not for a few minutes of pleasure, he couldn’t.

This would end eventually; they would go back to their home and their flower shop and leave all this madness behind, and though it made a fresh lump rise in his throat to think of it, Rus decided that he would tell all of this to Edge today. Whether it ended in pleading or demands didn’t matter, he was going to end whatever this was, could it even be called a relationship? All Edge knew about him was what he’d seen through a window. It was time to set aside this ridiculous fantasy, if not for himself then for his brother’s sake.

The sheets were still clinging to him clammily, sweat from his nightmare drying uncomfortably on his bones. Rus slipped carefully from the bed, snatching up his phone and using the flashlight to help him pick out fresh clothes from the closet.

It was still relatively early, only barely past six am, no wonder Blue was still sleeping. Normally, Rus would be as well, it was another hour before his time to groaningly drag himself out of bed and down to the shop for his daily shift. As tired as he was, the idea of crawling back in to lay on the damp sheets didn’t appeal much.

Instead, he went into the bathroom to change, this time in a pair of loose, flowing trousers with an oversized sweater layered over a plain button-up. It was a heck of a lot closer to something he’d find in his own closet, even if he could tell by the feel of the fabric that it was from some pricy department store and not the local thrift shop. He wondered idly if someone had actually gone shopping for these new clothes or if they’d simply ordered in like Chinese takeout. He had kind of a hard time picturing a delivery boy turning up at the back entrance of the club loaded down with bags of clothes instead of egg rolls. Whoever brought ‘em, he was reluctantly grateful for the quantity even as he shrank away at the thought of how long they might be intended to be there, and how could he stay away from Edge living directly down the hallway from him, how could he…?

Rus resolutely pushed that thought aside, splashing cool water on his face and patting it dry. It was a good thing their closet was filled, he told himself, ‘cause the clothes he’d worn yesterday were downstairs in the stripper’s dressing room, probably never to be seen again.

That thought made him cast a guilty look at the clothes he’d worn up here, the ones loaned to him by Mona for her brief tutorial on dancing. They were lying in a careless pile leftover from last night’s shower and he bit the tip of his tongue worriedly. Maybe Mona would need them back, someone had to. He could ask the Dogs to bring them to her with a note of thanks…or he could take them himself and let her know that he was all right.

Plus, it’d be a chance to give her some proper gratitude for trying to help out. Sure, it hadn’t worked out the way he’d hoped, really not, but that wasn’t her fault, and she didn’t have the first idea how the story ended last night. Seemed like she should at least get to know Rus probably wasn’t gonna end up with cement shoes or anything, but this time, if he was going downstairs, he’d do it properly and walk.

Decision made, Rus gathered up the clothes, folding them into a tidy bundle. They were rumpled and stank richly of sweat and sex. He blushed to think of returning them that way, but he couldn’t lie, it felt less embarrassing to bring them back to Mona than to leave it for the Dogs to find on laundry day. Worst that could happen with her was it would confirm some suspicions she already had.

He carried the bundle out of the bathroom with him, hesitating as he glanced at the bed and the lump in the covers that was his sleeping brother. This time there wouldn’t be any slipping off without a word, no more secrets, not if he could help it. He paused at the little table by the door to write his brother a note, his scribbly handwriting stating clearly that he was returning something downstairs and he’d be back soon.

That was one thing done right, at least.

That done, he slipped out the door to the hallway, closing the door hastily before the light could wake his brother. As expected, there was a Dog standing guard outside and it turned to him questioningly, its headed tilting to one side.

“excuse me, can you take me downstairs to speak with the ladies?” Rus said. Firm yet polite seemed like the best route and he held up the bundle in his arms. “i have some stuff to take back to them.” He really hoped they didn’t offer to just take it for him and not just because there was no way a Dog wouldn’t pick up on the reek. He was gonna talk to Mona one way or another, flimsy excuse or not.

The Dog said nothing, and Rus still wasn’t quite sure if that was a choice, an order, or simply a physical impossibility. It seemed to consider, then pulled out a cell phone, unhindered by its paws as it briskly tapped out a message. Whatever reply they received, they nodded and led the way down the hall to the elevator, the same one Edge brought him upstairs in, hey, he was starting to get the hang of this place.

Once the doors open again, Rus took the lead, heading to the dressing room from last night. The Dog waited at the entrance as he slipped inside, clothes in hand.

It was mostly empty now, none of the bustling and hurried dressing of the night before. The only stripper in the room was the Cat Monster…Lilith, that was her name, and her clothing was a stark contrast to their first meeting. Her revealing slip of a dress was exchanged for simple jeans and a t-shirt with ‘Bad Girl’ written in sparkly letters across the chest. She was tying the laces on her sneakers, glancing up and then again in a doubletake as she caught sight of him.

She gave him a sultry smile, pink tongue curling over her lips. “Well, hey there, sugar skull, stopping in for another visit or are you hiding out again?”

“no, um,” Rus said, awkwardly. He held up the bundle. “mona loaned me some clothes, i was just bringing them back.”

“Oh, is that all?” she yawned, showing sharp teeth, “Night shift is over, hun, Mona’s gone for the day.” She tilted her head in the direction of a large bin that was already overflowing with clothes, bra straps and stockings hanging over the sides. “You can toss it in the pile, they’ll get take care of.”

Rus wavered, torn, then decided he didn’t need to keep them as an excuse to visit with Mona. A lack of one hadn’t stopped him yet. He tossed the bundle in the pile and started back out to the hallway, then hesitated to ask, “do you know when mona will be back?”

Maybe if she worked tonight, he could slip down to see her before she started for the night.

“Sorry, hun, schedules change. If you want to wait, I can check after I get a smoke. I’m dying for a cig.” She held up a pack of cigarettes and against his will, his gaze strayed to it longingly. He hadn’t had one in days now and his nicotine craving lifted its ugly, eager head, starting a painful itch in his marrow. Damn, he hadn’t even checked his backpack when the Dog gave it to him and didn’t remember if he had a pack of smokes in it. He sure wasn’t about to ask Edge or, angel forbid, Red for one. It might be days yet before he got out to buy a pack himself.

Lilith gave him a knowing look. “Want one, sweetheart? You got that kind of look.”

The sudden flood of saliva in his mouth was embarrassing, but eh, the rules were a little different for smokers, nothing wrong with bumming the occasional cigarette so long as it didn’t become another habit, a worse one than smoking itself.

“i…yes,” Rus said gratefully, “if you don’t mind?”

“Nah, c’mon, I can share.”

She turned and walked towards the back of the room, her slender tail curling around her feet and Rus followed her to heavy door with a bright ‘Exit’ sign gleaming over it in neon red.

“I’d get a smack on the hand if they caught me sneaking out this way,” Lilith confided. Her whiskers quivered as she wrinkled her little muzzle. “But I can’t stand walking all the way ‘round for a quick smoke. I get enough exercise on the pole, you know?”

He didn’t, but he could certainly guess. He followed Lilith outside into an alleyway lined with trash cans, the sky overhead tinged grey with the coming dawn. She shook out one for herself and lit it before handed over the pack, and the first hit of nicotine melded into his magic with deep, mellow relief. Talking didn’t seem necessary, Lilith only played on her phone while both of them smoked silently through their cigarettes and when Lilith was done, she tossed her butt to pavement already littered with dozens more and shook out another before handing the pack back to him.

“May as well have another, honey,” she said, and he really shouldn’t, he had enough debt as it was, and what was that look she was giving him, something like regret…?

There was a sudden stinging at the back of his neck, coupled with hot breath, whispering low in flame-speak. “Yes, do have another. It might well be your last.”

The still smoldering butt fell from his nerveless fingers, falling into a puddle with a hiss, the dizziness already swarming over him distancing him from both his senses and his magic. He whirled clumsily around to see a fire Monster standing behind him, as tall as he was and nearly as broad as Red. The hectic flutter of his purplish flames cast the alley in disturbing shadows, devils dancing to their deaths in the slowly growing sunlight.

Blaze.

Rus took a stumbling step back, fumbling at the door, but there was no handle on the outside, only smooth metal. He looked at Lilith disbelievingly, slurring out, “wha…why?”

Tears were streaming down her pretty face, soaking into the short fur. “I’m sorry, honey, I’m so sorry. He was offering money, so much money, you don’t understand what it’s like here—”

He didn’t hear whatever else she said as he was suddenly seized, pushed back against the rough bricks of the alley wall. Those deep purple flames managed to be somehow both dark and blinding, Rus squinting against that painful light, cringing away.

“don’t—” Rus stuttered out. But his hands were disobedient and strengthless, pushing helplessly against Blaze’s shirt as he stepped closer, his surprisingly heavy body pinning him against the wall. His face was too close, burning fingers painfully pinching his chin and forced Rus to lift his head, the smoky ash of his breath gusting over Rus’s face.

“Perhaps I judged too quickly on Edge’s tastes. You are rather a pretty thing, after all.”

Rus cried out, the sound muffled, choking as his mouth was taken in a rough kiss, the pained heat of flaming tongue forcing its way between his teeth. He didn’t think, could hardly manage a single idea past no. He bit down automatically, choking again as his mouth filled with bitterness reminiscent of gasoline.

He nearly fell as he was released, gasping for breath, and he only barely managed to open his sockets enough to see the blow before it struck, his vision exploding into whiteness as Blaze backhanded him and sent him to his knees amidst the filthy puddles and the rotting old cigarette butts.

Dazed, he could only watch as Lilith grabbed hold of Blaze’s arm as it rose again. “Stop it! You said you wouldn’t hurt him!”

“So I did,” Blaze said, and someone Rus couldn’t see was translating in a gleeful drawl, “You should have secured the same promise for yourself.”

A deafening sound rang through the alley and Rus stared dumbly as a bright blossom of red appeared on Lilith’s shirt, splatters of crimson stark against her white fur like winter berries in a snow bed. She looked down at herself in confused disbelief, touching that awful wound with trembling fingers and smearing that stain across her shirt as she slowly collapsed to the ground. Filthy water splashed, more redness tainting the puddle in a slowly spreading pool as she stared sightlessly up at the rising sun.

In that moment Rus found his voice, managing to croak out something like a hoarse scream before a rough hand slapped over his mouth, the brutal grip painful on his jaw.

“Come on, put him in the backseat. I’ll see if I can keep our guest entertained for the trip.”

He was dragged over to a waiting car, shoes scraping the pavement uselessly, barely noticing the leather seats beneath him. A door slammed and hot hands hauled him upright until he was sprawled awkwardly across an uncomfortable lap, a scorching mouth licking a painful path up his cervical vertebrae. Fingertips plucked threateningly at his clothes, but didn’t wander beneath them, and that only made Rus shudder helplessly, dizzily nauseous and numbly clouded in rising fear over what was to come.

edge. help me. It was hardly more than a distant, uncertain thought, the words never making it to his slack mouth.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #the rose and the thorn #mafia au

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bi-writes · 4 years

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notorious: reboot — prologue never enough

Whatever I do, it is never enough for you. Don’t you love me?

type: series, alternate universe detail: mob!tom word count: 4.8k warnings: mature language and themes series masterlist

“This has never been a business meant for you.”

You couldn’t remember how many times you’d heard those words. When you tried to look over daddy’s shoulder, he would put his papers away, scolding you for snooping. When you tried to check on him by peeking into his office, he forbade you from even entering that wing of the house. When you tried to assert your opinion, your father made it clear that “darling, you have no opinion.”

When he said that this business wasn’t mean for you, he didn’t mean that entirely. He simply meant this business wasn’t meant for women. He pushed you out just like he pushed your mother out. You hated it. It’s why you didn’t let his words get to you. You knew one day he’d need his only child, even if that meant you were exactly what he secretly abhorred—a woman.

Your father was too proud to marry someone else. He came from old Italian roots, where tradition was cherished as preciously as diamonds. When you were born, he was ecstatic, of course, up until you were the only child your mother could give him. The love your father had for you only was present only when he expected another child, a baby boy, to be specific.

You had reason to believe your mother was doing it on purpose, that she was holding back on your father because of his strong desire for a boy. He constantly made you feel like you didn’t matter because of how he spoke about the future. He was saving everything for his boy, for his heir. Little mementos, special heirlooms. His first Cartier watch with a scratch on the dial, his gold cufflinks, the pocket watch that had an extra tick every once in a while. And then there was daddy’s gun.

It was chrome, silver, proper and handmade. It was the kind where you had to pop the chamber out and put the bullets inside one by one. It was small, and he kept it hidden always. He had other guns, sure, but this one was special. He cherished every single scratch, every single curve, every single slight depression. He seemed to have more love in his eyes for his gun that he ever did for your mother, or for you.

You wanted those things. You wanted them, and you wanted your father to give them to on his own accord. You wanted him to be proud of you, to have pride in you. You just wanted him for once in his life to think of you as his only daughter, his only daughter completely capable of anything he threw at her.

“Baby, come here.”

His strong voice brought you out of the fog in your head. You had zoned out completely. You blinked, looking over to where your father was seated at his desk.

There was a bit of smoke still rising from the ashtray by the books laid out across the wooden surface. It was quite dark, the only light source was a dim chandelier in the middle of the room, and it cast a soft, yellow glow throughout the room, creating dark shadows where crevices lied all over. The walls were lined with books, and behind your father’s leather chair was a safe he kept an eye on, always.

“Yes, daddy?”

He nodded his head, beckoning you over, and you came over slowly. Your heels sounded against the hardwood floor, and you kept your hands behind your back, crossed at the wrists. You were wearing tight jeans and a leather jacket, your hair done up high to keep it away from your face. He had a few papers across his desk, and he picked out a few, handing them to you. You got a glance at the ticking of his wristwatch.

“I need you to check these numbers for me. I paid $10 million for this shipment, and I need to make sure what I got back—”

“Matches the expect profit,” you finished for him. You meet his eyes. “I thought you had people for this. Don’t we pay them enough?”

He took his glasses off, taking you by the wrist and pulling you down lower. “Listen, y/n,” he said sternly. “When you have a business like this, every transaction matters. I don’t deal small, and everything must be to a T. I can’t have one fucking dollar out of place, or everything is off balance. If even one number is out of place, then that means someone is screwing with my business, and I can’t have that. I’m responsible for everything. Every. Dollar. Counts. Do you understand?”

You were surprised for a moment. A lot of times when something happened that you didn’t understand, your father would wave his hand, wanting you to go away. He would never explain things, never take the time to teach you anything, and he just seemed uninterested in keeping you in the loop. You knew why he did those things, and you knew it wasn’t your fault, but it still hurt. Your own father, not wanting to teach his daughter the things she needed to know before it was too late.

Lately, however, he had been giving you bits and pieces. If a shipment was late, he didn’t leave the room to handle it. He allowed you to listen to him talk, allowed you to take note of how he handled it. When things weren’t organized, when the money was in the wrong places, your father stayed with you as he fixed what was wrong. It was fascinating, and you tried to absorb every detail.

“Do you understand me, y/n?”

You blinked, out of your daze, nodding as he let go of your wrist. You took the papers and a pen and made your way out of his office. His phone rang, and he picked it up right away, his voice honey like and low as he spoke in hushed whispers. He seemed upset now. You went into the kitchen, sitting down at the marble island, and you spread the papers out in front of you. Then you went to work.

Each individual shipment you separated on blank paper in front of you, then calculated the costs deducted for transportation, security, the likes. Your father kept those costs steady, as steady as he could, so the numbers were ingrained in your head. 10% of some for the lackeys, another 15% here for the car, the warehouse hold, more men. You were tedious in the way you did your calculations. You could say that you adopted that from your father. If there was something you were good at, you were good at it always. You never wavered, and on the numbers, you never failed. Always, always, your numbers were right. Your father sometimes had you do this for him, especially when the numbers were particularly large. It’s true that he always, always wanted to be thorough. He knew everything about his business. Being at the top didn’t stop him from knowing what was going on even all the way at the bottom. He had eyes everywhere, and he paid good money for that privilege.

You finished the numbers, looking down at the total you had circled and underlined at the bottom of the page. You pulled another paper out, comparing the two numbers. They didn’t match.

You bit your lip, checking your math again, even though you knew it was right. As you dragged the pen back down the page to the same conclusion, you narrowed your eyes. Your father was out 20 grand. To you, that wasn’t a large amount. But to your father, you knew that would be detrimental. Because to him, 20 grand was significant. 20 grand paid for men. Paid for bribes. Paid for benefits that he didn’t outsource. It would be suspicious to him, you knew that much. And you were almost certain that you would never find out where the trail ended. You were certain these numbers were the only contribution your father would ever let you give to his business.

You stood up from your place in the kitchen, taking the papers and going back upstairs. You knocked on the door of his study, opening the door. He glanced up at you.

“Well?” He asked. You came towards the desk, putting down the papers. He had poured himself a glass to drink since you left.

“You’re not going to like this, daddy,” you said gently. Visibly, his eyes darkened.

“How bad?” He asked, even though the papers were right in front of him. You circled the desk, standing beside him, marking the spot with a pen.

“20 grand,” you voiced, slowly as to gauge his reaction. His eyes darted between paper to paper, wanting to make sure what you were saying was true. You wanted to roll your eyes at his lack of trust in you, but you refrained. You didn’t want to upset him more than the news already had. “Let me take care of it,” you said after a few minutes, boldly. Your father took his eyes off the papers immediately, staring up at you.

This wasn’t the first time you asked to take on some responsibility. In fact, you asked all the time. He always told you no. It was always no. But you never stopped trying.

“Excuse me?” He asked it as if he was offended. This was familiar territory, but for some reason, you felt inclined to argue this time. You wouldn’t take no for an answer this time. It was far too late, your father wasn’t going to marry again, and you were it. So you stood your ground. Your father was not going to have another heir. It was going to be you wearing the crown when he was gone, whether he liked it or not. Because even though you know your father didn’t like that you were a woman, he was too prideful to give the crown up to anyone but family.

“Let me take care of it, daddy.” You took a seat on the wooden desk, taking his hand in yours. “I can do it. I can take care of it. I’ll get the money back for you. And I’ll find out who’s behind it. You...have so much on your plate already, I just want to help.”

You gave him soft eyes, and he sat back in his leather chair. He ran a hand through his hair, brushing through the peppery locks. He clenched his jaw for a moment, and you squeezed his hand in yours hopefully. Your father always said no to you when it came to business, but in every other situation, he always said yes. You had some sort of leeway with him, you just had to keep the right tone. And since recently he had been confiding in you, you knew this was your chance.

Your father never believed in you, not really. He just didn’t believe women were capable of being anything more than mothers, than eye candy, than something expendable. That was what your mother was to him. But your mother knew better. She knew what you were meant for. She always told you what you were going to be.

It happened the night you discovered what your father did for work. You were seven. It was late into the night, and you had woken up from a nightmare, the kind of dream that made the walls in your room seem like monsters in the dark. You slipped out of bed and out of your room. You went upstairs to go get your mother, but neither her nor your father were in their room, so you went back downstairs to check his study.

You weren’t allowed in your father’s study. If he even saw you playing near it, he would get upset with you, and you hated when he was upset with you, so you stayed away. But tonight, you still had visions of monsters in your bed, so you made your way to the large double doors, grabbing onto the knob and opening the door.

Both your parents turned to look at the little girl standing in the doorway. The carpet had been rolled into the corner, and something was rolled inside of it. Your eyes went to the dark, thick liquid spilling from one of the ends of the rug.

“y/n!” Your father snapped, and you jumped, in a trance at the way his study looked. That dark substance was on the walls, even on your father’s clothes. Your mother turned quickly to face you.

“y/n, baby,” she left your father’s side, picking you up in her arms. You had your eyes on the rolled carpet in the corner when your mother brought you out, closing the door behind you. You wrapped your arms around her neck, pulling back to look at her strained expression.

“Mama,” you said quietly as she brought you into the kitchen. “I-I’m sorry. I couldn’t find you.”

Tears were starting to come to your face, and she set you down on the counter, wiping the tears that fell from your eyes.

“It’s okay, baby,” she said softly. She swallowed hard, going into the fridge to get some milk. She was going to make you hot chocolate, something warm and filling to put you back to sleep. She always did that when you had nightmares.

“Is daddy mad at me?”

“No, baby.” She puts the milk to boil, coming back to you, her eyes on yours. You were looking at her expectantly, and she knew she had to explain. You were young, but girls were always smarter, more attentive to details. She knew you had seen too much, and she knew you were curious. “You know you’re not supposed to go in there.”

You wiped your nose. “I...I had...I-I—”

She puts a hand on your cheek, and you swung your legs a bit.

“Is daddy bad?” You asked finally, and she didn’t know how to answer that. She leaned forward though and kissed your forehead. “Is that why daddy doesn’t want me to spend time with him?” You asked in a quiet voice.

She brushed your hair back, away from your face, and she brought you close to her.

“Daddy doesn’t know how smart you are, that’s all,” she said in a low voice. “He just doesn’t know how capable you are, y/n. And that’s okay. He...he doesn’t know any better. But you know what, y/n?” You perked up at her words, “you’re going to prove him wrong. I know you will. He’ll see how perfect you are, baby, and he won’t...he won’t be like this forever. Okay? You just have to show him.”

She melted some chocolate into the warm milk, and then she shut the stove off.

“What if daddy doesn’t like it? What if he gets mad at me when I try and show him? What if he doesn’t believe me?” You asked as she took your hand, guiding you back upstairs with the warm mug in her other hand.

She stared ahead, clenching her jaw a bit angrily.

“You don’t take no for an answer, y/n,” she answered seriously. “Your father isn’t the only one that will say no to you. He won’t be the only one that will underestimate you, and he won’t be the only one that will not believe you. But you do it anyway, y/n.”

“Even if he tells me not to?”

“Especially if he tells you not to,” your mother closed your bedroom door behind her, helping you get back onto your bed. She knelt to your level. “Men like your father are ignorant. They will always tell you no because they think they know someone else that can do it better. But you, y/n,” she pointed to your head, “you will always be better than everyone else.”

“You don’t know that, mama,” you sniffled, and she shook her head.

“I do know that.”

“How?”

“Because you’re my daughter,” she scoffed a bit. “And I’ll be damned if I let you be anything but the best.”

Your mother did more than deliver on her promise. From that point on, she was the one that groomed you to take over your father’s business. While your father would push you away, your mother picked you right up, filling in the gaps and the holes when he refused to do it himself. She handpicked your father’s best men to teach you how to be better, faster, deadlier. She hired tutors, trainers, and she filled in when no one else could.

She did it only in the middle of the night. During the day, you’d go to school, be your father’s good little girl, and by night, you’d be with your mother, learning and growing. Some nights were spent with trainers. They got you in shape, and when you were old enough, your father’s men would risk their lives to come and teach you how to fight. If your father found out what they were doing, they’d be dead, but they also weren’t inclined to say no to their boss’s wife. So they did as she asked, teaching you hand to hand combat, weaponry, intelligence gathering. Most of them were former intelligence agents, and they spilled all their secrets, and you absorbed it like a sponge. By the time you were 18, it was all you knew.

Your mother would never have admitted it, but she had created something special out of you, out of her own daughter, right under her husband’s nose. She thought it was ironic that your father turned to lackeys to do his work when his own daughter was ten times the men they were.

But then she was gone. And after she was gone, you tried to tell your father about everything you had done during the years he neglected you.

“Ridiculous,” is what he had said when you explained it to him. “No, y/n. If you’re planning on working for me, with me, you’re mistaken.”

“But daddy—”

“No, y/n!”

No. He had said it. He had said no to you. Just like your mother said he would. You wanted to be strong like she told you. You wanted to stand up to him, yell at him, tell him he was wrong, but you couldn’t. You had only turned and left, crying as soon as you were alone. You couldn’t be strong without her; you had realized it that night. She had been your rock, and now it was time to finally stand on your own, and you couldn’t.

Now it was your shot. For some reason, you finally had the confidence in you to stand up to your father, to ask him for more. So you squeezed his hand tight, reading the apprehension and hesitation all over his face. His daughter, responsible for finding out such sensitive information? Did you even know how to do that?

Of course you did. Your mother had been thorough.

“Daddy,” you said, breaking up his thoughts. You slid off the desk, onto your heels. “If you don’t say anything, I’m just going to assume that’s a yes.”

“Now, wait—”

“No, dad, you wait,” you interrupted him. His head shot up to glare at you, and you glared right back. “It’s time to stop fucking around. It’s time. No more fucking math,” you pushed the papers towards him, and they flew off the desk, “no more editing contracts, no more paperwork. I’m done being your pencil pusher. I’m done with it.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, circling the desk and standing in front of it now.

“You have lackeys for that. And I’m not a lackey,” you said darkly. You put your palms on the desk and leaned forward, lowering your face to his level. “I’m your daughter. Your only one, and not to mention the heiress of everything in this goddamn room. Say yes, or I’m just going to walk out of this room and do it myself.”

If you hadn’t been gripping the desk, he would’ve seen how badly your hands were shaking.

Your father grumbled under his breath, inaudible. He never would admit it, but it made him...proud to hear that come from you. You looked hungry in your eyes, eager to make something of yourself. He saw himself in you for a moment.

“Go on, y/n,” he nodded finally. “Get it to me. Names. I want names more than I want my money.”

“Yes, daddy.”

You bent down and picked up the papers from the floor, taking them with you. As you closed the door behind him, you let out the deepest breath, one that you had been holding. You couldn’t let him down. You couldn’t prove him right; you couldn’t let him keep thinking you weren’t ready or capable or good enough. You had to prove him wrong.

Lackeys didn’t know that there was always someone writing down numbers as product and cash were transported. There was always someone that was taking note of how much, how many, what it is, and where it is. It was a master log of information that mostly went unnoticed until something like this happened.

$20,000 missing was a lot of money, but compared to the amount flowing in, it was a minuscule loss. Your father made millions a day. Losing $20,000 on one shipment would not even put a dent in his profit margins, but your father didn’t care, of course. It was his pride that was hurt. The fact that someone under him thought that taking his money could be done was unacceptable.

The log of information was what was in front of you on the table. At each place something touched down, there had to be an entry added detailing certain information. If it was product, there had to be a log about how much was there quantity wise, how much it weighed, brief descriptions of what it looked like, and who it was handed off to. If it was money, there had to be a log on how much money, how much it weighed, in what currency it was in, and how much was deducted at that particular drop. There had to be signatures by those dropping it off and those taking on the load, and it had to be done always and in the same manner.

There was one stop where there were inconsistencies. The weight ratio and currency value logged at a stop in New York City. The money was moving from Italy to Long Island, then made a stop in Brooklyn to be passed onto the next person that would bring it cross-country. The Brooklyn stop is where the numbers didn’t add up. For the weight of the currency, the value of it logged off by just a small percentage, but enough to account for the lost $20,000.

You got on the phone once you noticed the outlier, holding it between your shoulder and your ear as you chewed on the back of your pen.

“Miss y/n, what can I do for you?”

The phone hadn’t rung for long. Your father’s men were afraid of him, and even though your father didn’t always treat you like his only child, his men were expected to treat you with respect. If there was anything you needed, they were to abide by those demands.

“De Luca,” you said his name clearly. “I’m told you’re the man to talk to if I need to move something.”

“Yes, Miss y/n. What is it that you need me to get rid of?”

“No. I don’t...that’s not what I need,” you bit your lip. “I need names. There was a shipment of cash that came in from Italy one week ago. It made a stop in Long Island, and then another stop in Brooklyn. I need the names of your contacts in Brooklyn.”

There was a pause, and you frowned.

“Hello?” You sat up a bit.

“Yes, I’m here,” he said hesitantly. “I just...it’s funny you say that. I haven’t been able to schedule another stop in Brooklyn in the past week. I’ve been moving things through Queens, which isn’t convenient, but it’ll do for the time.”

“Why? What happened in Brooklyn?”

“Don’t know. I was supposed to send someone out to check on them, but—”

“But what?” You snapped. “Your contacts in Brooklyn don’t show up for work, and you don’t think that’s something to be worried about?”

“I didn’t want to jump to conclusions and be wrong,” he corrected himself. “I don’t want to start a war, Miss y/n, on account of just...suspicion.”

“A war? A war with who?”

“Tom Holland.”

It was quiet tonight, strangely. The Hudson River looked strangely beautiful from this height, sparkling with the glare of the moonlight, even with the crowded harbor breaking the coastline.

The sliding door opened, and the crunch of the concrete beneath shoes broke the quiet sounds. Stepping onto the balcony like this meant he didn’t want to be disturbed. He lit a cigarette, leaning over the railing, just staring out at the water. It was started to get cold in the city. He liked it when it was cold.

His peace was disturbed when a gentle knock came on the glass door behind him. He never liked being disturbed like this. When he turned, he gave the boys standing there a hard glare, letting them know that whatever they were interrupting him for must be important.

He opened the door, and only one stepped through, his phone in hand.

“Tom, mate—”

“This better be fucking good, you know how much I hate being interrupted,” he snapped, licking his lips.

Tom Holland was not an ordinary man, though sometimes others tried to make him seem so. He was very mysterious, and he was very cold and aloof. There was no one he was gentle for, soft for, not even his own friends or his family. He expected nothing but the best from everyone around him no matter who they were. He wanted consistency, loyalty, efficiency, and professionalism. There was no room for anything else in his mind. Anything else meant exposure, attention, chaos. Tom Holland didn’t mind chaos, but if it was chaos that he couldn’t control, it was chaos that he didn’t desire.

He was staring intently at his best friend, a man that had been with him since childhood. He knew those blue eyes better than he knew his own. But by the time Tom was beginning to get his hands dirty, his best friend knew things would never be the same. They were in this for life, until death, and they leaned on each other for that simple shared truth. And when Tom became his best friend’s boss, he made it clear that their relationship would change.

Harrison Osterfield didn’t care. The money was good, and once he had seen it for the first time, he never wanted to let it go. Tom was difficult at first, but they fell into a rhythm with each other over the years, and though Tom was the one that ordered him around, Harrison was never afraid to speak his mind. They were glued to each other, stuck to one another, and they had survived far too many close calls to trust anyone but each other.

Harrison held out his phone. It was a video taken from a security camera at the JFK airport. Tom held the phone close to his face, staring at it over and over again before he looked up.

“What is this?” he asked, sucking on the cigarette hard. “Is this supposed to mean something to me? A woman?”

Harrison put his phone away, crossing his arms over his chest.

“That woman is y/n y/l/n. The heiress,” Harrison explained. Tom frowned.

“Heiress?” He muttered to himself. He thought for a moment, and then his brain clicked. The name was familiar, so familiar on his tongue. It didn’t take him long to figure out where the connections lied. “What is she doing in New York?”

“What the fuck do you think she’s doing in New York?” Harrison scoffed. Tom put the cigarette out, letting out a final clouded breath.

“I didn’t know he had a daughter,” Tom said finally.

“No one did. But she exists. And she’s here, for something, and that can’t be a coincidence.”

“Of fucking course it isn’t a coincidence,” Tom shook his head. “The bastard knows we’re up to something. Or she’s here to fuck with us. I don’t know.”

Harrison leaned over the railing beside him, and they both stared out at the moonlight water.

“So what do we do about it?” Harrison asked lowly. Tom waited for a few moments. He had to think about this. He always thought. Tom Holland never made a rash decision. Every decision he ever made was calculated and purposeful. He had to make each one count. If he didn’t, it meant death, and he had too much on his shoulders to make a mistake.

He already had a lot to think about. You arriving, you coming...the reason wasn’t coming to him, but he was damn curious, that much he knew.

“Nothing,” Tom shrugged a bit. “We wait.”

“Wait?”

“If she’s here because of why we think she’s here, then we wait.”

Tom looked into the dark, smirking to himself.

“She’ll come to us.”

read chapter one

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