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thus-wrote-mrs-zeppeli · 2 months ago

Note

Hello! I have a request. Can I have some head canons about how La Squadra would react if you were disrespected by someone? Let’s say their s/o (preferably female) works at a cafe or restaurant and a rude customer throws the money at her, completely expecting her to pick up the bill from the floor (yes, that is a real experience I’ve had, unfortunately).

How would they react? What would they do afterwards or say?

Would really, REALLY appreciate it. Honestly, I wish someone had stood up for me back then.

Author’s note: Hey hey~

Thanks for the request~

Sorry no one stood up for you, what happened to human decency?

And I can totally relate, the entitlement of people is insane. Two days in to my very first job as a cashier I had a customer say some really atrociously awful things to me and I just took it because I didn’t know what else to do and afterwards my managers told me I should’ve called them wow. Like my manager literally wouldn’t repeat what the customer had said because it was so abhorrently inappropriate and disgusting.

So yeah. Respect employees, we’re all human beings here it’s literally so easy to Not be insanely rude.

Interestingly enough I actually had some thoughts on this written in my personal La Squadra notes, particularly in regard to Prosciutto since he gives me lots of thoughts about stuff similar to that, cool that I get to address that heh.

-La Squadra x female reader: When someone disrespects you

Content, PLZ READ: female reader who works as a waitress, discussion of unhealthy and toxic masculinity paired with sexism (Prosciutto), La Squadra is a group of (mostly) pretty aggressive men who act on that feeling so. Some canon compliant aggression, threats, violence and blood. They’re a group of assassins so Lots of Bad men doing bad things. Melone’s slightly perverse tendencies

Various scenarios involving rude customers, including the example in the ask.

Established relationship: dating/married depending on the character

Ok while writing this it’s finally really hitting me how bizarre it’d be to be a non stand user witnessing or experiencing a stand attack-

Reader is aware of stands and that her La Squadra man is a member of the Mafia

And attempts at Italian hopefully it’s correct but if not please lemme know!

Micro fics style

-Formaggio: Out of all the members of La Squadra he’s noticeably much more chill and relaxed than the others. But he’s still a proud member of the Italian Mafia. And you’re his girl. He’s no knight in shining armor or Prince Charming for you, he won’t intervene when there’s an occasional irritable customer giving you a bit of a hard time. He knows you can take care of yourself.

However, if some entitled customer has the audacity to go too far and say or do something Really disrespectful while he’s around, I think he has a preference for good old-fashioned humiliation, and only results to intimidation if they decide they wanna keep making a fool of themselves.

He plays it up like: “ooh, hey, if you wanted that pretty lady’s attention there are much better ways to get it, buddy.”

You don’t have to add anything. You resume work quietly, but keep your eyes and ears focused on him, in case he decided to get carried away.

After a little bit of back and forth with him using his usual coolness and charisma, the offender gets increasingly frustrated and flustered.

When your boyfriend’s finally had enough of this stupid game he stands up from his table. His playfully mocking expression remains, but his smirk shifts ever so slightly into something more sinister. “If you want we could just take this outside,” he says it so casually, with the tone of a man who wasn’t going to hold back if it actually did escalate into a fight. He was not bluffing at all either.

At full height and with the clear confidence that he was absolutely gonna win the fight, the rude customer wisely decides Formaggio was Not someone he wanted to mess with and awkwardly leaves the restaurant, Formaggio loudly exclaiming taunts as the guy skittered away with his tail between his legs.

He seems awfully pleased with himself after “defending your honor” like that. You let him enjoy that feeling, because honestly that was pretty well done and it didn’t get too ugly. He has some nerve expecting a bunch of praise from you for that though.

-Illuso: Someone saying or doing something rude to you is like insulting him as well. And his stand is uniquely qualified for an entertaining punishment against some arrogant idiot giving you a difficult time.

Illuso doesn’t say anything, but when you look over at him while some jerk is screaming his head off at you like it’s your fault his food took five minutes longer than usual to arrive, you see that he’s pretending to fix up his appearance in a fancy compact mirror you had gifted him on your one year anniversary.

You can tell immediately he’s actually angling it at the guy screaming at you so he can activate Man in the Mirror. You inwardly groan because honestly you welcome your husband’s interference, but it will be difficult to explain a man magically disappearing in the middle of a restaurant, especially while he’s causing such a scene with that excessive screeching.

All of a sudden…silence. Such a sudden silence that the sound of Illuso clasping his mirror shut is audible to you from where you’re standing. Of course all the customers were looking at that guy who was freaking out at you. And he literally vanished before their eyes. So you do the only thing you can think of and spread your arms in an exaggerated manner and go: “Ta-DAAAH~” like the supernatural disappearance was just a magic trick.

In a rather weak attempt to sell it, Illuso starts slowly clapping for you and commenting: “molto bene~”. You can’t muster an annoyed glare at him; the slight smile tugging at your lips gave you away. A few customers join him in clapping, a bit confused, but honesty just glad that the yelling has stopped.

Illuso’s version of torment is to leave the guy completely alone in the mirror world. Confusion combined with isolation is a cruel combination, and given his captor was Illuso who was absolutely bound to prolong the punishment because of his sadistic tendencies, you almost feel sorry for the guy.

“Make sure you let him go by this evening,” you remind him before you get back to work.

“Let who go, dearie?” he says, his acting pathetically bad.

Sigh. So he was going to play it that way…

“I’m serious,” you grumble.

“Me too.”

You meet his eyes at that remark, and his smug smirk tells you he wants to see if you’ll keep nagging him about it.

When you don’t indulge him he’ll get bored and let the guy go. Hopefully that brat learned a lesson. And if not, at least he has a story literally no one will believe.

-Prosciutto: Despite not being a very nice man to you, he’s got that ridiculous belief that only he’s allowed to be harsh to you. It’s “tough love” when he’s hyper critical of you or snaps at you for something small, but if anyone else does it to an excessive degree then it’s apparently unacceptable, rude behavior. Really it’s just his pride as a man and unhealthy view of masculinity that causes him to freak out when you’re disrespected. He’s your fiancé…By his logic, you need him to protect you, and it’s his job as a man to do so.

He’s a big hypocrite.

But at least he stands up for you.

You could usually feel Prosciutto watching when a customer started to get a little ornery with you. He wouldn’t always step in, unless something he deemed entirely disrespectful was said or done; he does think dealing with irritable people is okay for you until they get carried away.

It looked like he wasn’t going to intervene this time over the dirtbag being extraordinarily picky and fussy with you, just because he liked bossing essential workers around apparently. Prosciutto was listening, as usual, but didn’t seem too concerned, drinking his coffee disinterestedly. Until the customer decided to toss a crumpled up napkin at you when you turned around.

Ohhh boy, you didn’t even have to LOOK to know the coffee mug getting slammed down on a table was Prosciutto.

You debate what you should do. He strides past you, and you opt to just…hold still and listen for a moment. Pretend you don’t know him, and let him do whatever it is he’s about to do (though you have a pretty good guess what it is).

Despite all the tough talk he was doing before, that customer couldn’t hide the slight panic in his voice at Proscuitto’s sudden approach.

Unlike a lot of Passione members who preferred to hide their affiliation to the mafia, Prosciutto wasn’t nearly as subtle with that tailored suit, open shirt and the demeanor of a man who’s killed before and will kill again.

“Hey who the hell do you think you are?! Stay away from m-” the jerk’s nervous ranting is cut off by Prosciutto dragging him to his feet by the collar of his shirt.

“You dropped something,” Prosciutto says in that certain tone you’ve grown all too familiar with. He uses it often when he’s pissed off or teaching a lesson or both at the same time.

Before the man can even squeak out the beginnings of some sort of excuse or counter he’s gagging, and you turn around to stop Prosciutto from straight up choking the guy by shoving the same napkin he tossed at you down his throat, speaking about how disgustingly disrespectful it was to throw anything at a woman.

“Hey, I think he gets it,” you cut in.

You wonder if he’s actually gonna listen to you this time. For a moment it seems like he might ignore you and continue the lesson. But he decides you may have a point and that he’s not worth the trouble. Though it doesn’t stop him from roughly shoving the guy to the ground when he lets go of his shirt.

“Make sure you add an apology when you pay the check,” he says to the sniveling man on the floor desperately telling himself not to make a run for it like a coward now that Prosciutto’s back was turned.

You don’t know whether to smile or roll your eyes, knowing all your fiancé meant was that he better leave you a generous tip as compensation for such disrespectful behavior.

“Go smoke outside,” is all you say to him when you see Prosciutto reach for the pack of cigarettes in his jacket. He smoked when he was especially irritated; so he went through a lot of cigarettes. He waves his hand dismissively at you, but obeys and goes outside. Though he stays close to the entrance. He’s making it clear he’s not leaving til you’re getting paid well for all that trouble.

The guy ended up practically handing his wallet to you.

Prosciutto internally checks off his: do one good thing for his fiancée today mission.

-Pesci: He’s not the most confrontational of La Squadra, and there’s no love lost between the murderous members of the team beyond a mild respect for each other’s strength (and that’s only sometimes) but he’s more than familiar with how most of the other assassins handle disrespect or things they don’t like in public with violence and aggression (hard glares at Ghiaccio and Prosciutto in particular). And that usually results in them getting asked to leave the premises, how embarrassing-

He doesn’t want to embarrass you either when a particularly volatile customer started screaming at you and freaking out for no valid reason. But he can’t just sit there and let you take that kind of abuse either.

He tries to excuse you from the situation by calling you over to his table like he was a customer and it was something urgent. And well…it might just escalate the irritation of that insufferable jerk screaming at you but…

You go to Pesci anyways, opting to just ignore the jerk, pretending to be busy dealing with some made up issue Pesci was improvising.

To your surprise it actually kinda worked. The guy was steaming for a bit and yelling at you from his table but. You just ignored him. And if anything actually happened Pesci was 100% capable of handling it if he had to. He didn’t usually try to start fights, but if pushed he could absolutely finish them.

“Do you usually get customers like that?” Pesci asks with genuine concern in his voice once the guy finally gets mad enough to leave (without paying but that was a problem for later).

“Well…” more often than someone who doesn’t work in food service would think…

“Sometimes,” you admit vaguely, not wanting to worry him but not wanting to lie either.

He thinks you should find some different job, not that he’s actually in a position to suggest that given he’s literally a La Squadra assassin. And you’ve heard from the few times you’ve met with his coworkers that the money they make in the business of murder is minuscule all things considered. Honestly he should get a new job too. One that didn’t rely on the occasional commission and splitting a check with eight other people.

You both know it’s not that easy to just Find a new job. And he doesn’t think it’s a great idea to suggest you get more involved in Passione for quick but dirty money…sigh…no easy solution…

-Melone: Your boyfriend was the least confrontational man in La Squadra.

Usually you encourage him to not visit you at work…because he always stares at you in such a manner that your coworkers or customers sometimes warn you about a creep in the corner booth who’s been watching you for a while.

As someone who’s used to being yelled at (though only because he’s the one being a FREAK so it doesn’t Really count) he’s sure you can handle the occasional ornery customer who decided to raise their voice at you. He usually intervened only if you directly requested it, because more often than not you got annoyed at him for worming his way into your other problems. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t notice when he’s typing on his laptop at the restaurant you work at and someone starts destructively causing a scene all because you brought them the wrong brand of soda by accident. It’s been a long day, you’re tired, you’re working the evening shift and the restaurant’s about to close. So you don’t bother to try and appease this guy, you know he’ll just complain and give you a hard time no matter what you do. And he apparently took your: “I’m sorry, let me grab you the right one,” as disingenuous and insulting, because you didn’t call him “Sir”. You really don’t feel like dealing with this, and you’re about to just let it go until he has the audacity to knock the soda off the table and onto the floor, staining the floor and even getting soda all over your shoes.

God…just to humiliate you over something small-you find yourself quietly staring at the floor for a moment, trying to register what you should even do…bend over right now to try to salvage your shoes before the soda dried? You had napkins in your pocket. But then the damn customer won…

And you know Melone was watching everything. He’s so invested that he’s stopped typing.

Melone’s no gentleman, and has no shame, but he can’t just let someone get away completely with disrespecting his girlfriend…especially given he had bought those cute shoes for you!

You can only mumble Melone’s name quietly when he approaches the situation, his demeanor energized despite how late it was. You weren’t gonna deny him stepping in but saying his name was a warning not to be too weird.

He clicks his tongue, making a point to not even look at the jerky customer, like he wasn’t there, and focuses all his attention on you.

“You know those shoes weren’t cheap, tesoro mio,” he chides playfully, immediately plucking off some napkins from the customer’s table and kneeling in front of you so he can wipe your shoes clean himself.

You bite your lip. It might seem gentlemanly to onlookers, but you knew he was also using the opportunity to get close to your legs in public. But he manages to behave himself, even putting a few napkins over the spill on the floor once he’s done with your shoes.

When he finally stands back up, he makes a point of leaning very close with an especially devious look on his face.

“What a shame,” he says in a strangely exaggerated tone. “I think I’ll have to buy you a new pair of shoes…”

You just give him a confused look after reminding him you’re on the clock when he leans in for a kiss.

Then he wanders off. But at least he distracted the customer enough to dampen the worst of the disrespectful behavior.

You finish your shift. Melone was waiting for you outside with his motorcycle, as he’s your ride back to your shared apartment.

He looks especially pleased with himself.

“What’d you do this time?” you sigh and yawn, too tired to feel especially concerned with whatever he might’ve done.

“Your next pair of shoes is going to be Especially nice…I’ll even get you a pretty dress to go with them~” he licks his lips.

Under the dim light of the street lamp, you finally notice the wallet that he’s holding up. It isn’t his.

His little kneeling act by the table with the rude customer apparently had many purposes…your boyfriend really was quite a sly opportunist…

“Melone…” you were gonna chide him gently for taking the guy’s Entire wallet but…it was too late to start arguing with him, given he was your ride home. And you didn’t care too much about it in the first place, especially right now.

-Ghiaccio: Everything ticks him off so when you’re working you don’t mind if he doesn’t bother to stop by and say hi even when he’s in the area. He tends to get worked up about something minuscule even during quick visits. And your restaurant is quite popular with tourists, who he has a borderline obsessive type of hatred for. Yeah. You were okay with him NOT visiting you while you were working because inevitably one day he was gonna cause quite a scene-

You feel a very ironic cold shiver down your spine when you catch sight of a familiar red Mazda Miata going way too fast in the parking lot looking for a space to park.

“Dios mio…I don’t need this today…” you mumble to yourself, not realizing a particularly entitled customer was watching you act distracted for a moment by looking at a car from the window.

When you get to his table, you don’t really know what he’s yapping about when he says waitresses these days are SO ditzy and aren’t properly trained. You’re not listening too hard because you’re watching Ghiaccio walk past the window on his way into the restaurant. He gives you an acknowledging glance when he spots you, and it pisses off the customer even more because now he’s complaining about how completely unprofessional it was that you invited your boyfriend into the restaurant while you were working. You have no idea where this guy is even getting all these assumptions, or what was even so terribly wrong with the scenario he’s making up, so you don’t pay it much attention and just brush it off as the customer’s eccentric personality trait.

Until he says that if you were going to be disrespectful by inviting your boyfriend to work, you might as well look busy.

What a freaking idiot, waiting for Ghiaccio to walk in to the restaurant before literally throwing the money for his meal at you, completely expecting you to pick up all the bills.

Ghiaccio doesn’t even need to know the context to react (though it’s probably for the best he didn’t hear what started it because it’d just piss him off even more).

“Hey, hey, hey…” Ghiaccio’s voice from the entrance can be heard from half way inside the restaurant. “If you meant to give the money to her, it’d be MUCH more efficient for both of you if you just HANDED it to her, you freaking moron-“

Oh God, here we go…Ghiaccio wasn’t screaming quite at full volume as he speed walked to where you were standing, his hands twitching slightly, either oblivious or simply ignoring all the customers exchanging nervous glances as they watched him. He has to be literally the WORST AND the EASIEST member of his entire team to piss off…and when he got like this he sometimes didn’t even listen to you.

The customer glares at him, and dares to open his mouth to respond, but Ghiaccio’s rant wasn’t over and it just pisses him off even more to see the guy had the audacity to try and interrupt him.

“Ghia, hey-”

Yeah he was definitely not gonna listen to your attempt to calm him down. You wonder if he even heard you because he grabbed the guy by the back of the head while you were talking.

“IT DOESN’T MAKE ANY DAMN SENSE WHEN I THINK ABOUT IT! I MEAN, WHAT THE HELL IS THE POINT OF THROWING MONEY ALL OVER THE GROUND?! YOU JUST GET OFF WATCHING HER WASTE A BUNCH OF TIME PICKING THAT ALL UP?!”

Was he…more pissed about the illogical nature of the behavior or the fact that you were being disrespected…?…It’s kinda hard to tell…this ornery yapper on even more ornery yapper violence was Quite a scene this early in the morning…

“DON’T YOU HAVE A LIFE, IDIOT? OR DID YOU GO OUT JUST TO KILL TIME BY POINTLESSLY INCONVENIENCING A WAITRESS?! YOU MIGHT NOT HAVE ANYTHING BETTER TO DO WITH YOUR LIFE BUT SHE’S GOT AN ACTUAL JOB TO DO AND DOESN’T HAVE TIME TO PLAY 52 CARD PICKUP WITH ENTITLED JERKS LIKE YOU!”

It doesn’t even cross your mind that most people would be mortified to watch their boyfriend completely lose it like this in public, you’re so used to it at this point; you’re thinking about how it’s a bit hypocritical of him given how you’ve witnessed him Also going off on a poor server for nothing.

“GHIACCIO!” you finally make yourself shout, reaching out and grabbing the wrist of the arm he was using to hold the panicking rude customer by the back of the head.

You know Ghiaccio. He was about to slam that man’s head on the table.

“WHAT?!” he snaps, but when he whips his head, you can tell the raging blizzard of his soul wavered just a bit when he looked at you.

“Don’t…you’ll break the table, they’re flimsy…”

His physical strength always astounded you, given he wasn’t particularly large, and he wasn’t even resisting your hand on his wrist but you could still feel the power in his arm. “You already made your point…” you whisper, worried about getting in trouble for the scene he was causing.

“BUT-“

“Thank you, it’s okay…”

He REALLY has to debate it, but reluctantly releases the man with an irritated huff and an audible growl. Such a lucky guy…you were one of the few people who could get Ghiaccio to think before taking something too far.

“Is your shift almost over?” he asks, clearly still incredibly irritated, tapping his foot rapidly against the ground.

“About fifteen minutes to go.” You glance at the trembling rude customer, gazing wide eyed and flinching every time Ghiaccio moved in any way.

He checks his watch and the customer climbs further into the booth out of fear of the simple gesture, but Ghiaccio is forcing himself not to pay him any mind.

“I’ll wait for you in the car then.”

“Alright.”

As long as he left the restaurant…

Now everyone knew he was definitely with you in some capacity…damn.

He sends a pointed glare to a couple of the customers on the way out. A “gentle reminder” to keep manners in mind.

And when you give the rude customer one last look, you see he’s on the ground picking up the money he had tossed at you.

He’s trembling a bit. Probably from fear of Ghiaccio changing his mind and coming back to actually break his face. But he’s probably a bit cold too, just from coming into physical contact with Ghiaccio could leave anyone with a chill if he partly activated his stand while touching someone.

You really needed to have a chat with him about his temper but as the previously inconsiderate customer blubbers out apologies and begs you to protect him from your scary boyfriend while shoving the money (and a generous tip) directly into your hands you hesitantly decide today is not the day.

-Risotto Nero: He doesn’t go out in public often, but minus the whole “leader of an assassination division in the mafia with a truly frightening appearance” he’s a pretty normal guy. Keeps to himself and stoic, but he can hold a conversation. You’re fine with him not visiting you at work often, you get that he’s super busy, but when he does stop by you’re glad to see him (and he doesn’t cause any scenes. Bonus points for Risotto).

It was a slow morning for you, and he had finished an early morning mission earlier than he had expected. He even checked to make sure the diner you worked at wasn’t busy before he decided to stop in and see you.

Your face lights up when you see him, running over to him and giving him a quick hug, and bringing him a small cup of coffee on the house, allowing yourself a brief moment of respite to speak with your boyfriend. It wasn’t busy yet…there were only two other customers, but it was just your luck that one of them woke up on the wrong side of the bed and decided to come over and give you a hard time for taking a moment to spend with Risotto.

“Does your boss pay you to flirt with customers?”

You can’t even believe someone really came over just to say that to you. You weren’t even sitting down to talk to Risotto, and it’s not like you were being loud or obnoxious or anything.

“She’s doing her job,” Risotto points out with that signature stoic nature. The guy seems slightly put off by Risotto’s unique appearance, but was apparently in a bad enough mood to not back down so easily.

“If she was doing her job she’d be bringing me a refill and not wasting her time chatting with a guy she already served,” he points out indignantly. What an insane level of entitlement…Risotto seemed to think the same thing, though he wasn’t a fan of escalating things.

But this guy…he had some audacity talking to you like that.

Risotto puts his hands on the table, and stands up slowly, deliberately, to his full height, tilting his head slightly to better look the smaller man in the eyes.

“She’s just being polite,” Risotto corrects the man. His voice is still calm, but his speaking speed is Slightly slower. Paired with him purposefully emphasizing his full height, the warning that he wasn’t going to stay civil for much longer was clear.

The unwanted visitor inwardly debates for a moment, visibly shaken from Risotto’s intimidation but absolutely too embarrassed to just back off now.

He foolishly decides to keep going.

“She-” he’s cut off by an almost explosive gush of blood coming out of his own nose. You gasp at the suddenness, but instantly realize what’s happening. He slams his hand over his nose, the blood not stopping that easily, almost immediately leaking through his fingers.

“Oh…” Risotto remarks with obviously fake concern, leaning in as if he were examining the “mysterious” nosebleed. “You’d better take care of that before you get blood all over the place…” he states the obvious with complete unconcern.

It was admittedly a bit funny to watch that jerk sprint to the restroom clutching his bloody nose.

There is a minuscule tug to the edges of Risotto’s lips.

“Risotto! Sudden unexplainable nosebleeds aren’t funny at all,” you chide, despite not feeling an ounce of pity. It’s not like Risotto was trying to kill that guy, if he was he would be bleeding out on the ground right now. The goal was just to embarrass him a bit, and he definitely succeeded.

“I think that was just a suitable divine punishment,” Risotto replies with a shrug, as if his stand, Metallica, had nothing to do with it. It’s subtle but…you can tell he’s irritated someone really had that kind of nerve to bother you for no reason. But you won’t let it ruin his whole day, reminding him that you got off work early today and you’ve been really excited to finally have some free time to spend with him.

Author’s closing note: I hope this could bring you some entertainment~it was enjoyable to write and consider how a few of them could use their stands to mess with people but wow I was being sent back to my first job on occasion with some of these customer characters, sheesh-

#jjba x reader #jojos bizarre adventure x reader #female reader #la Squadra x reader #Formaggio x reader #Illuso x reader #prosciutto x reader #pesci x reader #melone x reader #ghiaccio x reader #risotto nero x reader #Thus Wrote Mrs Zeppeli

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storm-angel989 · 8 months ago

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Hi, I'm a huge fan of your writing. I was wondering if I could request a one-shot of valentino's teenage daughter running away from home because she's feeling neglected with how busy the vee's always are and how they keep missing important events of hers for work. Thanks.

OMG thank you so so so much! I can't express how much I appreciate that you are a fan of my writing! It astounds me every time I get a like or a compliment that another human actually LIKES my work! It means the world to me!

The editing continues! What a weekend! Enjoy <3

I'm REALLY looking forward to not working tomorrow- happy summer y'all!

I slammed the last of my absolute favorite clothes into my duffle bag. Another game had passed, another three hours of scanning frantically through the crowds for any sign of my father- or even my Aunt Velvette or my Uncle Vox. Another night of watching, waiting for them post game, only to be met with Derek, my Dad’s favorite limo driver.

“Your family sends their regrets,” he told me as he opened the door. “And your dad personally asked me to congratulate you on your win.”

“Thanks,” I replied glumly as I climbed in the back.

I laid my head against the window and wondered what could be so important that they had to miss one of the last water polo games of the year. As the miles passed, I could feel the anger growing, festering pent up emotions. Uncle Vox? His meeting was really so important he couldn’t even jump through the camera to say hi? Aunt Velvette- was her fashion show such a big deal that she couldn’t have come for even a few seconds?

And my father…whatever it was he was so wrapped up in. I still wasn’t exactly sure what my father did for work, but I knew it involved privacy and dirty movies. And at eleven years old, I was sick of the secrecy, sick of being ignored.

So I stalked into our empty flat and began to pack a bag. I wouldn’t need anything more than the basics. I left the gold credit card my father had given me on my night stand. I had enough cash on hand and my own personal debit card. I didn’t need his money. I didn’t need any of them.

I shoved my watch and my cell phone under the mattress of my bed and swung open the window of my room. All the movies talked about scaling down the wall, sneaking out into the darkness of the night. But as I looked down from the very top of the V tower, I decided it was a better idea to take the elevator down.

It was a sense of freedom as soon as I stepped outside the main entrance. The fact that no one saw me meant Vox was too busy with whatever to be watching the cameras. Far too busy to care about me. My anger continued to fester as I wandered the dark streets. The more time passed, the more unease settled over me. Without my phone, I couldn’t access my VoxQuest GPS. Even more so than I did after the game, I felt alone.

I turned down a side street and stepped in front of the building brightly lit up with the numbers 666. Outside, a tall shark demon in a well pressed suit leered at me.

“Pretty thing. Need a job? We’re hiring.”

I felt his hand on my shoulder and my heart almost stopped. A job. I would need one of those but this? What was this?

“What…kind of work are you offering?” I asked timidly.

He laughed, “oh sweetheart, you’ll be perfect. Just come inside. The boss is here, and I’m sure he’ll be thrilled with my…er…you.”

Against my better judgment, I followed him inside. Bright lights flashed, loud music blared and I cringed. Around me, scantily clad women rushed drinks around to demons dressed in suits. Waitressing. If that was the job, I could do it.

“Just smile pretty, and the boss will eat it right up. Soon as he approves, we’ll get you out there with the rest of the girls. Don’t worry- we’ll give you everything you could ever need,” he said as he led me over to a table where a mix of practically naked demons surrounded one tall demon. I watched as his face buried itself into the demon directly next to him, either not noticing my approach or not caring. I opened my mouth to introduce myself but then I noticed it.

The red jacket.

I felt my stomach drop. No. It couldn’t be. Involuntarily, I took a step back as the demon shoved me forward.

“Hey boss, what do you think of this pretty little prospect? Innocent, young, but we’ve had a demand for that,” he said loudly, his fingers pressing hard into my shoulder.

“D-daddy?” I practically whispered.

“Heh, you do learn quick dontcha?” The shark demon chuckled. “See? I found a good one.”

The demon turned away from his make out session and I could feel myself pale. His expression changed instantly from annoyance to horror.

“Reader! What the fuck are you doing here?” Valentino hollered as he stood up, pushing aside the table and the surrounding girls. “All of you, out! NOW!.”

He grabbed my arm and yanked me towards the back of the club. Lights flashed and a steady stream of people moved quickly, exiting the building faster than I had ever seen anyone move. Behind us, the room went dark.

I heard the door slam and I could feel myself shaking as I watched my father pace the room, screaming into his phone at who I assumed was Uncle Vox. Finally, he turned to me.

“How are you here? Why are you here?” He snarled, fury in his eyes. “You’re supposed to be at home, doing homework or…or…”

I could feel the fury rise, “or what, Dad?” I stepped closer to him and balled my fists. “Is this why you couldn’t come to my game tonight? You were too busy making out…making out with…” I could feel the tears of anger and frustration start to well up in the corners of my eyes. He really didn’t give a shit about me.

I watched his expression change from anger to something I couldn’t name.

“That was tonight.” He said slowly. “Your game was tonight.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah, it was tonight! And you promised, you fucking promised me you would be there and you didn’t, Dad! And neither did Aunt Velvette or Uncle Vox, none of you could make time in your busy schedules. If I’m so much of a burden to you I’ll just, I’ll just leave!” Unable to hold back anymore, I dropped my duffle bag and burst into sobbing tears.

“That’s why you were here, you were running away,” he said as he walked towards me. “Ninita, I…”

“Your point is made, Dad!” I yelled through the tears. “I don’t fucking matter!”

He pulled me to him and I buried my face into the white fluff of his jacket as I choked on each sob that escaped.

“You do matter, you are my world bebita,” he said quietly as he held me. “I…I never meant, I never thought we…I…” He swallowed and tightened his grasp around me. “Let’s get you home.”

“Why? So you can say you’re sorry and then do this all over again next week?” I choked out as I pushed away from him.

He looked pained. “No. So we can figure out how to make sure this never happens again.” He lifted up my duffle bag and put his arms around me, guiding me out the back door to an awaiting limo.

Too upset to care, I let him.

In the limo he kept his arm around me and I laid my head on his shoulder as I tried desperately to stop crying. Part of me wanted to keep screaming, to keep yelling, to demand to know why he chose to do what he did tonight. But the other part of me, the bigger part of me, basked in every drop of the attention he was giving me.

“Shussh, cariño, you’re going to give yourself the hiccups,” he said gently as he rubbed my back. “Slow, deep breaths. Shush. Listen to Daddy, okay? We’ll fix this. This will never happen again.”

His words sent me into another spiraling round of tears. He kept the steady pressure on my back as I cried into him. Exhaustion swept over me, and eventually I closed my eyes. My entire face felt puffy and swollen. After what felt like forever, the limo stopped.

“Come on little girl, Daddy’s got you,” he muttered as he lifted me into his arms.

Too tired to care, I let him snuggle me to his chest and I buried my face against him, I felt him carry me inside, and listened to the sound of the elevator ping. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. And finally…seven.

“Is she okay?” Vox’s voice was full of panic.

“She isn’t hurt, is she?” Velvette’s voice, equally as frantic.

My father ignored them both and instead, carefully set me down on the couch.

“That’s a girl, keep breathing. Keep calm. Daddy’s here. Velvette, would you be a dear and get a warm washcloth? And Vox…if you would put the tracker back on her wrist.”

“I’m fine,” I said as I pushed myself up. “I’m…”

He pressed his lips to my forehead. “No. You’re not. And you shouldn’t be. We fucked up- I fucked up. Big time.” He turned and took the washcloth from Velvette’s hand and gently pressed it against my face.

I closed my eyes and let him fuss over me as he dabbed at my cheeks. I felt Vox slip the tracker back on my wrist, his fingers pausing just at the pulse point. After a few minutes, he released me and I blinked my eyes open and sat up.

“Daddy, I’m fine, I’m not hurt…”

“Not physically, but we did hurt you,” Vox said quietly.

“We fucked up,” Velvette added as she sat down next to me. “We really fucked up.”

“We let work get in the way of our family,” Valentino said as he sat on the other side of me.

I could feel the anger start to rise as I remembered the scene I had walked in on. “Work? You call being out at a bar making out with someone work?”

Both Velvette and Vox looked at Valentino with a mix of horror and disgust. Vox sighed and gave them both a glare.

“Only that part, Valentino. Got it?” Vox grumbled. “And only because she doesn’t need that image burned into her brain. The rest is on us.” He turned his head to me. “Reader…you saw what now?”

I felt my fathers fingers under my chin as he tilted my head towards Vox. My gaze met his and his eye began to swirl.

“That’s right. Good.” Vox continued, “Reader, keep looking at me. What did you see?”

Instant calm washed over me and I leaned my head against my father’s shoulder.

“I…I saw my Dad…”

“Yeah, you did see your Dad…you saw your Dad working in his office, right? At one of his clubs?”

I swallowed as the calm sank deeper. My memory felt soft, almost fuzzy. An image of my Dad, wrapped up in his red jacket, sitting behind a desk. The feel of the bouncers hand, guiding me into his back office. His anger, and the beginning of our fight.

“Baby? What did you see?” Vox asked again.

I blinked, a sick feeling sinking over my stomach. “I…I ran away. I got pulled into a club, and the guy took me to my Dad’s office. He was at his desk and…and we fought…”

“Ah, babygirl,” Valentino muttered as he put his arm around me. “We didn’t fight so much as you…put me in my place. I’m sorry, cariño.” He kissed my forehead. “I promise I personally will never miss one of your games again. I love you, reader. You are my world.”

“Our world. And we never meant to make you feel like anything else,” Velvette added quietly.

“Next time we fuck up, come barging into our office and yell, okay?” Vox pleaded as he moved himself closer. “The streets of hell are dangerous. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

“Yell, scream, but please don’t run away again,” Valentino muttered. “It won’t happen again. We promise.”

I buried my face in my fathers shoulder and took a deep breath as I nodded. The sense of calm that washed over me lingered as exhaustion washed over me.

“Promise? Like really promise? I just want your…I want you,” I mumbled.

“You have us,” Valentino said soothingly. “Always.” He kissed my forehead. “Let’s get you to bed, we can talk in the morning about how we can make this up to you.”

“Play a practice round with me?” I asked as my father once again lifted me into his arms. “Go to the pool the three of us?”

“If that’s what you want, sure. We’ll do it tomorrow.” Valentino promised with a glance at the other two.

“Tomorrow we are all yours,” Velvette added.

“Totally yours,” Vox chimed in. “Goodnight, reader.”

I fell asleep the moment my father tucked me under the covers. Tomorrow, tomorrow we would have a family day.

#the vees #hazbin hotel #valentino x reader #valentino x you #valentino #the vees x reader #vox x reader #hazbin fluff #valentino hazbin hotel #voxval #hazbin hotel valentino #hazbin hotel velvette #hazbin velvette #hazbinhotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin #hazbin vox #hazbin valentino #hazbin vees

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narislvr · 9 months ago

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HEY THERE, SUBW4Y GIRL

one-last-stop au ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ | e.williams x fem!reader

cw? reader is painfully bad at asking women out (she will get better dw) new characters introduced, plot is beginning, literally just fluff for now, book dialog and possible(not really) spoilers, not proofread

nari note ᝰ.ᐟ Hi! I just wanted to say thank you so much for all the support on the first part of this series, it really motivates me to keep going and I hope I don't disappoint! Im not staying entirely book accurate but If you've read the book and want certain scenes to show up then please let me know! If you'd like to be part of the taglist then lmk also! That's all for now, and thank you again ♡

m.list [๋࣭🪻] part one [ 🌆 ] palestine-resources & daily click

"The spark in Subway girls eyes ignites so brilliantly that August half expect her to jump out her seat. "Wait, that's my sandwich! I invented it!" ── page 35

Weekday evening shifts were your favorite.

The lights were always dim, painting the old diner atmosphere in hues of orange and amber, and with how slow it was, you weren't forced to run around hoping that table six wouldn't holler you over as you ran to get pancakes for table nine. It was actually quite nice at times.

Being a waitress at a 24/7 diner was not in your plans when you moved away from your last campus all the way in the other corner of the country, but Millers was nice. The building, despite it’s age and outdated fashion, was homey and even with the annoyance of leaving the place smelling like pancake batter and greasey bacon, it was a place youve come to hold dear in your heart.

Having a soft spot for the place and liking your job, however, didn’t mean that you were necessarily good at it a hundred percent of the time. Sleep deprived rushes particularly, made you loath coming in saturday evenings, but today was good.

The evening had been going relatively smooth so far. In the two and a half weeks you’ve worked here, your mistakes have leveled down to now and then little to mix-ups —not counting wedsdays slip up— and your boss, Eliza, had yet to come in and save the day by placing an extra plate of toast on your tray when you accidentally forget them in the kitchen.

With it being close to nine on a Thursday, work was slow, thus, you found yourself leaning on the front counter scribbling random drawings on your notepad with a Miller’s House Of Pancakes pen in hand. With the scribbling, you mindlessly began to reflect on your week so far; your first full day of lectures went well, and balancing work and lectures hasn't been so bad yet ──but then again, the semester just started. Rent was coming up and you had saved enough to pay your share of the apartment and really other than Monday morning's coffee accident, things have been good.

Monday morning…

Subway girl.

Truth be told, you hadn't stopped thinking about the pretty stranger you met on the train a little over three days ago. Sure, she may have only offered her kindness out of pitty at the sight of your teary face, but it was something touching to you nonetheless. It was something that she needed that day, spmething that went right. You didn't see her on your commute to work earlier today, and a part of you couldn't help but feel disappointed. She was just some girl ──green eyes, freckled cheeks, tall and teasing── you had talked to for no more than five minute and yet your mind couldn't stop replaying her smile and her fingers brushing the curve of your shoulders as she wrapped her scarf around you.

You were hopeless

Eliza comes up behind you, shaking her head with a tut of her tongue as she perches her elbow on the counter beside you. "Slacking off on the job, new girl?" Her brow was arched and despite the edge in her tone, you could tell she wasn't exactly scolding you for it either.

"Sorry," you respond as you straighten yourself up. There's a hint of a smirk on the women's face for a second before she shakes her head.

"You eat?" In the six hours you've been in shift, you hadn't eaten anything other than a pack of fruit snacks you'd taken from one of your roommates snacks in the pantry, but did she really have to know that.

‘Uhm, yes?”

"Liar. That's why you slack off. You don't eat. You have no energy," Eliza shakes her head calling out to the man on the grill before you were even able to argue back.

“Jesse!”

"What!" He responds, annoyance in his muffled voice.

“Ew special”

"I already made you one!" Eliza groans, responding with a "for the new girl, Jesse," in an even more annoyed tone before turning to leave at the sound of table 3 calling for more syrup.

What in the world was an ew special?

—

An Ew Special as it turns out, was a sandwich with hashbrown and some cheesy ketchup concoction which honestly, was way better than you expected.

The time on your cracked screen marked 10:07 as you made your way into the subway station for your commute back home. Atleast tonight you'd get a decent night's rest before another full day of lectures and another evening shift. And with that, you sat on one of the benches under fluorescent lighting waiting for your train.

Around your neck was the scarf from before, this time it being worn to keep you warm rather than to cover a stain on your shirt, and definitely not because it was a gift from the handsome girl from before. Nope.

It doesn't take long for your train to arrive, and as you walk in, you can't help but glance around for a familiar auburn haired girl. And again, she's not there, what were you expecting? She was merely a kind stranger, one of the few you've encountered and have never seen again, why would she be any different?

—

The following morning, you follow your usual routine. Wake up, take your vitamin c gummy and see if there's any breakfast worthy left overs before taking a shower, get ready, and leave the 4th floor apartment to make your way to your station. It was a nice routine, one you wouldn't mind repeating the rest of your days in Seattle with the exception of one new thing you've recently had the habit of doing: look around for the girl on the subway, Subway girl.

Subway girl was a smile lost in the tracks. A girl who showed up, saved the day, and blinked out of existence.

It was embarrassing the amount of times you've looked for her only for the same result, so, in order to save yourself another disappointment, you'd instead focuse on yourself and not look around.

And you don't look around, not intentionally atleast, not until a group of late-twenty year olds step off the car two stops into your ride and you catch a glimpse of a familiar auburn girl.

Subway girl. The flannel she had worn the day you'd first met her sat neatly on her lap alowing for a better view of the outlined tattoos on her arms as her white t-shirt sleeves were cuffed below her shoulders.

You couldn't believe your luck.

Her eyes were closed as her head leaned against the window sill, but as she felt your gaze from across of her, she slowly opened her eyes and her mouth formed a soft "oh" in surprise.

"Coffee girl," She smiles, sitting up in her seat as she turned to face you directly. There's a pleasant glint in her eyes as she looked at you, one that you hoped you'd see forever.

“Subway girl.”

Her smile spreads. “Mornin’.”

Your brain tries to reply with a "hi", perhaps ask about her day, but your mouth goes to say "morning", and so what comes out is, "Horny.”

Maybe it's not too late to jump out the emergency exit. You expect her to turn away, wonder why she'd even tried to talk to you, but instead she snorts.

Her eyebrows raise in amusement before she grins teasingly with her voice ever smooth, "I mean, sure, sometimes." She rolls her shoulders back and pulls down her faded green headphones, the ones you saw the day you met her, before setting them on her lap with her flannel and taking out her Walkman to pause her music. It was interesting, you'd never seen anyone actually use a Walkman ──much less walk around with it── but you didn't question it.

"Sorry, I'm─ morning brain. It's too early," you muster out and something shifts in her expression.

"Is it?" Subway girl asks with what seemed like genuine interest.

"Yeah, um... I had a late night.”

Her brows raise again, and you couldn't help but look away as she seemed to try and guess what it was that had kept you up. "Doing what?”

It's not necessarily a lie, but it's not exactly the truth, and really you just needed some cover to not look like an idiot after the word vomit from a moment earlier. "Oh, uh, I had a night shift. I wait tables at Miller's and it's twenty-four hours─”

"Miller's...? As in Miller's house of pancakes on the edge of the city?”

She rests her elbows on her knees and perches her chin on her hands. Her eyes are wide, and curious, her attention solely on you as she awaited your answer.

"You know it?”

She bites her lip, which is fine, and she shakes her head.

"Oh man, I used to wait tables there too," She says. "The owners would argue about how they wanted to name the place so it would always change until they stuck with that.. Jesse still in the kitchen?”

You laugh, her mind blown expression causing a flurry of butterflies in your stomach. Lucky again. "Yeah, he's been there forever. I can't imagine him ever not being there. Everyday as I clock in he's all─”

"Mornin' buttercup," She says in perfect imitation which earns another small laugh from you. "He's such a babe, right?”

"A babe? Oh god," Your reaction gets yet another snort out of her, and as the two of you meet gazes again you both fall into a fit of laughter. It was sweet, and nice, and maybe, just maybe, meant to be.

"Man, there's this thing they serve there now and.. God, it's delicious. I had it the other day, an Ew special'.”

The spark in Subway girls eyes ignites so brilliantly that you half expect her to jump out her seat. "Wait, that's my sandwich! I invented it!”

"No way! Really?"

"Ew is a play on to my initials E.W," She explains. "I had Jesse make it specual for me so many times that eventually everyone else started having them too. Can't believe he still makes them there. He might be in love with me or something," She quips.

"Maybe. He makes them all the time and it's absolutely delicious, it definitely brings you back after a long shift, so, thank you.”

“No problem,” Subway girl says. Shes got this far-off look in her eyes as if she were reminiscing on the sights of customers and the smells of the diner, but she shakes the look off and lets out an exhale. “God, I miss that place. I don’t know if you feel it but, something about it… It's magic.”

You don’t do magic, but who were you to say that when she looks so wistful as if there was a deeper meaning behind her words so you simply hum in agreement.

‘I don't know how they haven’t fired me yet. I’m not the worst waitress, promise, but I accidentally dropped a pie on a five-year-old two days ago. We had to give him a free T-shirt.”

It takes a second, but Subway girl laughs, loud and hearty before shaking her head. “You'll get the hang of it soon,” She says with so much confidence that you believe her instantly. “Small fuckin’ world, huh?”

“Yeah…” You agree. “Small fuckin world.”

A comforting silence lingers in the air as you smile at each other. Subway girl is the first to break it as she glances at the scarf sticking out of your bag, “Nice scarf, by the way.”

You forgot you still had it with you so you quickly go to take it out and hand it to her but subway girl is quick to hold up a hand. “I told you to keep it and besides,” she pulls out a blue plaid one out of her bag, “It's been replaced.”

You look between the scarf in your hand and the green eyed girl in front of you, “I, yeah– thank you again, so much. I wanted– I mean, it was my first day of class and i was already late and didnt want to show up looking–”

“Hey, I mean, Its not that you looked bad,” Subway girl counters. “You just… looked like you needed something to go right that morning. So.” She shrugs, and the intercom suddenly comes on, announcing a stop that was barely audible from how unusually garbled it sounded.

Subway girl points over at the board. “Thats your stop right? The one heading to the college?”

Shit. It was your stop.

You realize as you swing your bag onto your shoulder and glance at the girl across from you that you might never get this lucky again. You seeing her again after 4 days of disappointment could have just been the world messing with you, raising your hopes up only to have her leave for good leaving you with only the memory of the pretty subway masc who saved the day and left you wanting more.

“I’m working breakfast tomorrow. At Millers,” You blurt out as you stand up. “If you want to stop by I could sneak you a sandwich. As payback for the scarf y’know?”

Subway girl looks up at you with an expression so strange and unreadable that you feel your stomach drop, of course, you had to find a way to ruin this. Whatever “this” even was.

Her expression clears up however and she smiles again, “Oh, man. I'd love that.”

“Okay,” you say and start walking to the door, still looking at her. “Okay. Great. Cool. Yeah-” You were going to stop saying words any second now. God, you usually weren't this awkward about asking people out.

Subway girl only watches you go, an amused look in her eyes as she moves a strand of hair from her face.

“What's your name?” she asks.

You stop in your tracks and turn around accidentally hitting another passenger getting off with your bag. “Ah– It’s [ ]. My names [ ].”

Subway girl's smile softens as if she somehow already knew.

“[ ],” she repeats. “I’m Ellie.”

“Ellie.. Hi, Ellie.”

Subway girl, now known as Ellie, smiles. She brings her hand up to her face and gives you a small salute as you say her name, a dorky gesture but one you found endearing nonetheless.

There's a little warning bell to announce the door closing so you quickly step off while still trying to keep your eyes on the auburn haired girl.

“The scarf looks better on you anyways,” Ellie winks, and the Subway doors close in front of you.

TAG LIST ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ @seraphicsentences @amberputh @k1ssesworld @mikellie @williamellieslilho @boobdrug

#HEY THERE SUBW4Y GIRL ᝰ.ᐟ #one last stop au!#subway girl!ellie ☆#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie williams au #ellie williams tlou #ellie x fem reader #ellie x you #ellie williams fluff #tlou fanfic

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maykitz · 1 month ago

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reading an article about underage prostitution in a german city that is incredibly bleak and features an interview by young trans girl who was pimped out by her family, translation under the cut. i cropped several parts but it's still a bit long. be mindful of heavy subjects ahead, ofc.

The man picks Maxi up in a Mercedes. Drives her through the night. In the middle of a forest he parks in front of a mansion, kisses Maxi on the mouth. "What's wrong?", the man asks. "I've never done this before," says Maxi. The man smiles from ear to ear.

In the bedroom he gives Maxi a glass of water. Tastes weird, Maxi thinks. The man grabs a remote, puts on a porno. Disgusting, Maxi thinks. Then the man starts undressing her. T-shirt, pants, boxershorts. "Lay down on the bed, I'm giving you a massage," the man says. Disgusting, Maxi thinks again. She's 15 years old.

[...]

Germany was nothing like Maxi expected. She grew up with a foster family in Romania. When she turned 14, her mother took her in at her home in Dortmund. She was excited to get to live with her mom and siblings for the first time. It went fine for a year- then she came out. "I said: Mom, I like boys," Maxi tells us. "She beat me up badly."

[...]

Maxi is very familiar with the [child prostitution] scene, particiapted herself for years. It all started with her outing. Her mother, Maxi says, threatened to kick her out of the house. She wasn't allowed to attend school anymore, one some days not even to eat. "Faggot," was how her siblings referred to her.

First she became an outsider to the family, then a source of income. "My mother saw me dress and move very femininely," says Maxi. "Then she had an idea: she could sell me to old men." Her mother, who had herself worked as a prostitute, explained "how it's done" and promised that bringing home money would earn her her family's love.

[...]

In 2010, a 28-year-old woman from Dortmund received a sentence for child sexual abuse, forced prostitution and human trafficking. She had approached the parents of her eventual victim, a 13-year-old girl, in Bulgaria, her country of origin. She promised to provide the girl an education and a job as a waitress.

For a child growing up in poverty, this life sounded like paradise. What actually followed was hell. From the summer of 2007 until October the woman forced the girl into prositution, selling her to male clients. Resistance was punished with beatings.

Authorities only became involved when the perpetrator's own brother helped the girl escape. Together with another young woman they were on their way to the Netherlands when a routine check at the border became suspicious of the group.

In 2017, a whole trio of pimps stood trial. Over the course of several years the three young men forced young Bulgarian women to prostitute themselves in Dortmund and Hamm. The investigation only began after one of the women, who had been forced into prostitution since 2009, contacted the police years later. When she first was made to enter the red light district, she had been 15 years old.

In 2019, a woman was sentenced for aiding in human trafficking for the purpose of sexual exploitation and for aiding in forced prostitution. In her home country of Bulgaria, she had established contact with an impoverished woman suffering from cancer. In a "woman-to-woman talk", as the ruling puts it, the defendant promised that she would find work for the ill woman's daughter in Germany. She spoke of "normal work", such as becoming a cleaner or lunchlady.

For as little as 100 €, the 15-year-old daughter was then sold to the defendant and her husband, who brought the girl to Germany in 2006. What was lined up for her there was not a well-paying job however, but a brothel. The defendant - who had herself been forced into prostitution by her husband - instructed the girl in various sexual practices. The husband, who was senteced as well, defined the prices: 30 € for sex, 20 € for oral sex and 40 € if she allowed the men to touch her during the act. On her first night she was delivered to eight different men. From then on she was made to meet with five to six Johns, every day.

The victim says she had no idea what was going on when she left her home in Bulgaria. "I didn't know what I was supposed to do in Germany. I only got into the car because my mother told me to," she testified in court. Her passport and papers were taken from her, as well as all of her payments. When she ended up getting pregnant by one of her clients, the couple sold her to him - for 400 €. All of these cases share a similarity: not once did any of the men who molested the children stand trial.

Maxi will probably never forget her first client. "I still feel his hands on me," she says. After about 5 to 10 minutes it was over. "Go shower," he said. Blood ran down her legs as she cried in the shower.

Besides this man there are two others whose faces won't leave Maxi's head. "One client noticed that something was wrong. I had bruises, acted weird. When he wanted to kiss me I closed my eyes," Maxi tells. She remembers the conversation vividly.

"He said: 'You don't want this, do you?' I replied: 'No.' He was surprised. Then he said: 'Should I take you home? I'll give you a little money so your mother won't get mad at you.' What I know is that he was a politician. Another time a police officer took me. He knew I didn't want it. It made him enjoy it more."

We're not able to vouch for whether what Maxi tells us is true. But the social workers we spoke to [the ones taking care of Maxi who facilitated this interview, I cropped this out earlier] confirm the details of her life and say that Maxi is one of many examples. They're familiar with these stories from many cases. Oftentimes boys are even younger when they're entered into prostitution. 12-year-olds, 13 or 14. Many clients are looking for those as young as possible.

How many men abused her in total, Maxi can't say. Sometimes it was six or eight per week. All of them had been very old, wealthy, and specifically searching for children and adolescents.

According to Maxi, her family turned her into a business. "Everyone knew: Grandma, uncle, just everyone. They were happy with the money they received from me." Her Johns were paying several hundred Euros for each meeting. "Everything went to my mother, every last Cent. She used it to build a house for herself in Romania."

Many of the victims of child prostitution stem from Romani families. This is not a coincidence to the social workers. Selling your body has been one of the few ways to make money for the Romani people for generations. Throughout centuries of discrimination and marginalisation they've been denied access to education and the labour market.

In Bulgaria and Romania, where the Romani people constitute about 10 % of each population, many live in slums at the edges of society. No plumbing, no heating, rarely any electricity. Money is earned from hand to mouth. Some try their luck as farmhands or panhandlers in other EU-states.

One social worker trying to offer assistance to leave prostitution visited these Romani slums in Bulgaria. She describes "unimaginable" living situations. A local organisation shared the results of a recent survey with her: "They'd found that nearly 80 % of Romani girls and boys see their future in prostitution." A paradox: The subject of sex is heavily tabooed to many Romani. Few speak about it openly.

Maxi remembers the first time her mother woke her up in the middle of the night to meet a client outside. A German man, much older than 60. Maxi barely knew any German, but understood enough of the conversation: "My mother told this guy: 800 € for a few hours with me. She didn't say I'm her son."

[...]

[A] social worker shows us the street where the boys who meet with her wait for clients. The older ones teach the younger ones where to go. Their uncles, their own brothers sometimes. "They're recruited by older ones in the community. They say: 'If you get into that guy's car, you'll make 20 €.' Many kids just go along with it. They don't know what's waiting for them."

She herself has driven up and down these streets, any time of day and night, she says. But even though she knows countless affected boys and finds that childhood prostitution is "shockingly normal" in the area, she has never once managed to see any of the Johns. "It's just so frustrating. We know it happens, but we can't stop it. The men just get away with it." [...] The boys, too, do everything in their power to not get caught. "The kids are like little foxes. They know every unmarked police car, spot them at 10 km away," she says. "The kids are gone in a flash."

[...]

After four months of being made to meet with men who raped her after paying her mother, Maxi decided she couldn't take it anymore. "I ran away from home, through the window. I just started running for my life," Maxi recalls. Eventually she reached a highway. "There was this older Polish woman. Spoke no German. I just repeated: 'Police, police!'"

She was driven to a hospital first to receive stitches for an injury left by a client. Then she told the officers everything. [...] Maxi left her mother that day, but not prostitution. She continued working on the street in Dortmund, keeping the money for herself now.

At 16, she was older than the others. "One time I met a boy who had just turned 14. He showed up with make-up on and said 'I want to make money to get away from home.' I asked him why, he said: 'My dad is an alcoholic, we have no money.' I told him where to find help, that I ran away from home too."

Maxi spends time watching the Johns. How they attempt to lure in boys with chocolate or coffee. How they photograph them, hang around for hours. "There was this guy, I told him: 'Leave him alone, he's still a child,' He just replied: 'That makes it hotter.'"

[...]

Social worker Thomas Franke has spoken with countless boys, he says. He plays with them, cooks with them. After a while, they confess the way they earn money. Some even had photos or videos showing their friends or cousins getting into older men's cars.

These situations are hard to bear for the social worker. "A child tells me: this is happening to me. But please, don't tell anyone. So what am I supposed to do now? I want to tell. But if I do, if I get someone involved, I lose their trust. It's a heavy burden."

[...]

What frustrates social workers: Prostitution is heritable. Many seem to see no way out. Many of the abused children grow into troubled adolescents and young adults struggling with addiction. To keep affording the drugs they turn to crime, continued prostitution or pimping out younger kids. "And then they're no longer seen as the abused children, but as asocial, criminal Romani."

Prostitution is a taboo topic anywhere. And a community with sexual morals as strict as the Romani has even less room to talk about it. "-but I'm not gay," is the first thing the children tell him, says Franke. The parents often react the same way. Rather than "Help, my kid was molested!" the first response tends to be "Help, is my child gay?!"

Still, the social worker sees working with the parents as the only way, trying to convince them to report to the police. He's never been successful, however.

People like Maxi share their story to lift the veil of silence on childhood prostitution. Maxi now wants to live as she really is, as a woman. She's known that she was born in the wrong body since she was 6 years old, she says. But only since cutting ties with her family can she be true to herself. Therefore we write "she" instead of "he" from this point onward. [note: the article uses male language for Maxi until here to do this reveal, I've chosen to change that because I find it pointless and obfuscating the way transmisogyny played a part beside homophobia.]

For our interview the now 20-year-old is wearing black leggings, a black T-Shirt and a black sports jacket. She's carrying a jeans purse with little rhinestones. Maxi lives in an apartment provided by the youth office, frequently visited by several social workers. She has no friends, she says. "I don't really want any. I don't want anyone getting close to me, I don't like it."

Maxi is battling depression, has attempted suicide three times in the past. She's currently "on break" from prostitution, she says. "It's not good for me." If she could imagine quitting for good? "I don't know. If I marry a rich sheikh from Dubai, maybe life will get better," she laughs. A little too loud, a little too long.

Two things are giving her hope, she says towards the end of our meeting. She's on a waiting list to receive gender confirmation surgery. And she's working on compiling information to report her mother to the police.

#removepaywall com probably works on this one and google translate usually does well enough if you want the background stuff i cropped out #translation

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mrsparrasblog · 11 months ago

Text

STRIPCLUB GHOST

I think he wouldn't go to a Stripclub in the Canon but my brain was working again lel. You can find more on my A03: Mrsparras

Moving to England to study abroad has always been your biggest dream since you were a child, so when you graduated and were old enough, you did it. You blessed Erasmus that you wouldn't have so much debt—well, at least you thought so, but in the end, you couldn't make ends meet.

So you decided to search for a job that you could do while studying that also fit with your busy schedule, so you started to work in a strip club in Soho under the promise that you would only be a waitress and nothing more.

You stood behind the bar counter wearing the skimpiest clothes you had and prepared drinks, and to your surprise, it was fun. Even watching the stripper from far away gave you straight-up BI panic; they were also beautiful and mature.

Surprisingly, you even got a lot of tips despite not dancing half-naked around the pole. The customers all called you Angel; being the youngest and most unattainable had its perks.

One day there was a new customer who wore a Ghost mask and was a brick house of a man. He was nice to you despite looking scary.

"Come on, Bunny, tell me why you are doing this," he asked while you served him a glass of his favorite Bourbon. He was nice, always left you a good tip, and was generous. So you didn't feel the urge to lie to him; why should you?

"I need to pay bills; food and rent are expensive in Manchester."

"I see," he said, leaving this time a 60-pound tip on his 18-pound Bourbon.

"Sir, it's too much."

"It isn't Bunny; buy yourself something nice with it, okay?"

And you did buy yourself a proper meal after a long time of only eating pasta with pesto, and it was delicious.

The next day, when you went to work, you got an offer from your boss: 500 pounds for a private striptease, 120 pounds more if it turns into a lapdance. You never wanted to do this; you couldn't dance, and you were insecure about your body. But it was easy money, and you could always bottom out if it was too much for you.

"The man left this costume for you behind." Your bodyguard gave you a bunny costume with bunny ears, white soft lingerie, and a bunny tail. Oh god, what a freak. Problem No. 2: It was at least 2 sizes too small, making your tits almost fall out.

You were curious to find out who specifically requested you, and when you walked into the private room, you saw Ghost. You were smiling; you knew you could trust him, and you would lie if you said you didn't develop a crush on him the last few weeks when he slowly became your regular.

"Ghost"

"Bunny"

"So, um, do you want me to dance?"

"I want you to be comfortable, but yes, I would love watching you dance."

So you began to dance awkwardly at first, but then you enjoyed it, dancing around provocatively, shaking your ass a bit in his reaction, and he enjoyed it. The half-hour stopped, and you were a bit sad.

"It was fun, Ghost."

"It was Bunny."

You thought it would be the last time you did this, but when your bodyguard told you Ghost requested you for the rest of the week, every day your vagina made this weird butterfly-clenching thing. You would dance for him every day.

So you began to dance with him every day, even being bolder and giving him a lap dance. You touched his strong abs while circling your hips around him. You were afraid that the fabric wasn't thick enough to hide your throbbing cunt.

"Love, please don't move," he whimpered.

You looked at him in confusion and asked, "Did I do something wrong?"

"Bunny, no, just don't move."

You felt his massive erection under you, and you grinded against him again. "Do you mean because of this?"

"Stop it. I don't want to use your poverty for my gain."

"Did you call me a prostitute?" You asked him, feeling completely furious, and you would have fucked him even despite the money.

"No Bunny I'm just saying you're too good for me, okay? Im a dirty man; men like me aren't made for little sweet girls like you," he said before leaving you in utter confusion, horny, and alone.

You didn't think he would return the next day, but he did, and you refused his cash this time before going to the private suite with him.

"Why do you refuse my money? You need it, and I have enough of it."

"I don't want you to see me as a prostitute."

"I could never see you as less than an angel."

This time you didn't strip for him; you just sat on his lap and talked. He told you that he works as a police officer, even though you thought this was a lie, and you told him all about your native country, how you moved here, and how you loved it.

"All I'm saying is I don't think sex is good enough to pay for it," you claimed while laughing. The erection pressing against your thighs was something you already got used to.

"Then you were with the wrong men before Bunny; sex is great."

"It's okay"

He laughed, "You never had an orgasm before ?" his fingers trailed down on the thin fabric of your pants.

You blushed immediately and shook your head, grinding against his fingers for the smallest friction.

"That explains why you are so desperate, Bunny," he chuckled and left.

The next day, one day before your day off, you went to work again, instinctively walking to the private room where he already sat, this time shirtless. He was the picture of a perfect man with strong abs, and a blonde happy trail down to his thick erection that was only covered by his briefs.

"Sit down and give me a lapdance, please, Bunny."

You sat down on him, but this time he grinded against you, not you against him. You would love that sudden change, but you were a bit mad that he left you yesterday after calling you desperate.

"Tell me you want me, and I'm all yours."

"I don't want you," you lied to him.

"I think you want this, bunny. Don't lie to yourself." He leans in close, his hot breath tickling your ear. "I can see it in your eyes. You want me to fuck you hard and make you scream."

"No"

"Yes, you do," he insists, pulling down your costume to expose your bare ass. His hand traces the crack in your ass before dipping between your cheeks, pressing against your entrance. "Admit it, bunny. You want me inside you."

"No, I don't want you," but your body betrayed your stubborn act. You were soaking wet and a moaning mess for him. He was so hot and big, and all you wanted was to let him take care of you. Let him show you what a real man is.

"Lie to me again, and I'll make sure you regret it." His fingers begin to probe, seeking entry into your tight little hole. "Tell me, bunny. Have you ever been taken like this before? Fucked raw by a real man." He laughed at you, his voice sounding mean and dominant to his usual nice behavior. Maybe he had a stressful day, but did you care about what made you so lucky today?

"Good," he growls, finally pushing past your resistance and forcing his middle finger inside you. "Because I'm going to make sure you scream for me." His other hand moves up to grope one of your breasts through the costume, pinching the nipple hard.

"Oh fuck, Ghost."

"That's it, bunny. Let me hear you," he demands, adding a second finger to stretch you wider. His thumb rubs over your hardened nipple as his fingers thrust deeper, searching for that sweet spot inside you. "You like that?"

"No," you moaned.

"Lie to me again, and I'll gag you," he warns, pulling his fingers free with a wet pop. "Now tell me the truth." He grabs your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes. "Do you want my cock inside you?"

You were thinking of lying again only so that he could gag you, but you needed him right now more than you needed anything in your life before. "Yes"

"Good girl," he praises, lowering his mouth to capture one of your nipples in a hot, sucking kiss. His other hand slides down between your legs, rubbing against your pleading clit.

"You've never felt anything like this, bunny?" He purrs against your skin, "You just want me to shove my cock inside you and claim you as mine, don't you?" He already knew the answer, and he was determined to give you your real first orgasm.

"I never felt like this before, Ghost."

"That's right," he agrees, standing up and pushing your legs apart. His hot breath is fanning across your wet folds as he stares down at his prize. "You're going to feel even better when I'm buried balls deep inside you."

Your pussy clenched and throbbed, and now he saw the evidence of your lust.

"You see, bunny," he says with a chuckle, "your body knows what it wants." His thick cock is at your entrance now, slowly pushing inside. The head teased the tight ring of muscles before finally breaking through with a small groan from both of them.

"Oh god, it's too big." It was bigger than the dildo that you had at home, but you liked the burn and to be filled.

"That's because you've never had a real man inside you before," he growls, starting to thrust deeper. Each movement hits your sweet spot and makes your insides clench around him. "You like that, don't you? Feeling my cock stretching you out?"

"Ghost, im going to cum," you whined as he started to stroke your hard nub while he fucked you restlessly.

"Good," he says, picking up the pace. His hips slam against yours as he takes you hard and fast. The chair creaked under their combined weight. "You're mine now, bunny," he pants out between moans. "Say it."

"Im yours, Ghost," you moaned. He continued the abuse on your pleading clit, leaving soft hits on it before starting to circle it again how you liked it. He read you like a novel that needs to be analyzed. He tried to interpret every movement of yours and intesed his flicks against your clit until you finally came, screaming and crying. Your head fell against his neck, and you bit it like a feral animal. Fuck you thought what has gotten into you.

"There's my good girl," he murmurs, he leaned down to kiss you roughly. His free hand squeezes one of your breasts as his cock continues to pound into you. "This is how a real man fucks." Simon picks up the pace even more, grinding against you as his hips smack against your perfect ass.

The head of his cock hits that sweet spot inside you, again and again, sending waves of pleasure through your body. "Fuck,"

"Ghost, please." You started to whimper, being completely cock drunk.

"Please, what, bunny?" he asks between moans. His thrusts become even more erratic as he loses control. "Do you want me to cum inside you?" he asked while his eyes turned darker at the thought of claiming you as his, his little innocent bunny.

"Yes"

"Yes, bunny?" he asks teasingly. His free hand left your breast to snake down between your legs, teasing at your clit. His cock is throbbing inside you as he takes you harder than ever before.

"Yes, yes, please." You started to beg, and you felt a bit pathetic.

"Yes, what, bunny?" he asks, his voice rough with desire.

"Cum inside of me, Ghost."

"You want me to cum inside you, bunny?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. His thrusts become even more erratic as he nears his climax. "Tell me how much you want it."

"So much, Ghost," you whined.

"Tell me you're mine," he demands, his voice laced with need. His cock is throbbing inside you as he reaches his peak, filling you with his hot cum. "Say it, bunny." You were in orgasmic bliss, clenching around him as he erupted inside of your willing womb. You took everything of his big cock and cum so eagerly, almost greedy, afraid someone would steal it from you. I'm yours."

"Tomorrow at 8 p.m., I will pick you up; we are getting dinner."

You looked at him confused, and he only chuckled, "Did you think I fucked my perfect girl and let you leave then? No, we are going out; well, only if you want to go on a date with this old perverted dog."

"It depends on whether you are ugly behind the mask."

"Quite the opposite, love."

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wintaerbaer · 2 years ago

Text

things we don’t say: part 1 (kth)

banner credit goes to the absolutely incredible @itaeewon

summary: Three years after graduating college, everything seems to be falling into place for you: stable job, cozy apartment, and a long-term boyfriend with a ring box hidden in his desk drawer. But when a mutual friend makes a remark that your best friend of nearly two decades is clearly in love with you, you realize that life may not be as simple as it seems.

pairing: Taehyung x Reader (with some VERY brief Seokjin x Reader and Yoongi x Reader)

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

genres: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers (they’re so, SO stupid), slooooow burn, angst, fluff

word count: 8.4k

series warnings: swearing, sexual themes, one instance of mild violence, alcohol use, infidelity, brief mentions of neglectful parents and alcoholism

chapter warnings: potty mouths, oc teasingly threatens her friends, art world inaccuracies (probably, idk how art shows work), fns music festival dynamite performance taehyung (BLESSED), friends who can’t mind their own business, quick backstory on the aforementioned shitty parenting, oc needs (and has) a drink

a/n: so here is my first foray back into writing after being out of the game for several years! big shout outs to @itaeewon / @jeonqkooks for the banner and encouragement as well as @taegularities for giving me writing advice and letting me cry in her inbox every time i got frustrated with this. they’re also both INCREDIBLE writers so go show them some love once you’re done here!

SERIES MASTERLIST // MASTERLIST

Read on ao3

“She was checking you out.”

“She was not checking me out.”

“Kim Taehyung, she was so checking you out!”

“No.”

“She tucked her hair behind her ear and gave you the ‘come hither’ head tilt.”

Taehyung makes a face. “No one says that anymore, and that’s a perfectly normal gesture to make in everyday conversation.”

“When you want to get someone’s pants off.”

He shushes you, eyes flicking over to the nearby tables in the mostly-empty dining room with all of its dim lights and dark wood paneling. The bar had been a go-to for you and your friends in college, boasting a wide variety of burgers, sandwiches, and wraps that could even satisfy Jungkook and his bottomless appetite. Though your visits have become fewer and farther in between after graduation, nostalgia occasionally drags you back for a lunch or round of late-night drinks, which is how you’ve wound up here on a bright Saturday afternoon.

“You should ask for her number.”

“I am not asking her for her num—!”

“Can I get you anything?”

Taehyung’s face turns bright red as the waitress materializes at the side of your table as if on cue. It’s subtle, but she bats her eyelashes at him, body angled in his direction as if you’re not even there. You raise an eyebrow at him from across the table. See?

“I think we’re ready to order,” you say, mostly to put Taehyung out of his misery as he wordlessly stammers at the blonde.

You’d think he’s never seen a girl before in his life.

The waitress jots your orders down before strolling away in the direction of the kitchen, and you’d swear she’s swinging her hips a little more dramatically than before. You turn towards Taehyung.

“Told you.”

“I said no,” he says sheepishly, cheeks still brushed with pink. “Besides, she looks like she’s probably still in college.”

“You look like you’re probably still in college.” Taehyung rolls his eyes. “And we’re not that old, Tae. You could date a college student.”

“Pass.”

You sigh, leaning back in your seat. “Fine, but we still need to find you a date to the wedding. Can’t let those youthful good looks go to waste.”

Taehyung huffs in faux annoyance, but his lips quirk up at the compliment. “I’m not bringing a date.”

“So you say, but I’m going to change your mind.”

His smile widens. “Oh, really?”

“Really.” You hold out a pinky, and he only hesitates a moment before linking his with yours.

“Okay, we’ll see.”

You fall into one of your usual conversation patterns as you ask about how his job is going. He tells you about the upcoming art show at the gallery where he works as a curator, doing some freelance photography as a side gig. He’d managed to snag Maya, one of the aforementioned friends, a spot in it, and he smiles as he gushes over how great her pieces turned out, cheeks lightly flushed with what you interpret as pride. The two of them met freshman year as photography majors and quickly developed into friends and partners, challenging each other artistically and now occasionally teaming up to shoot larger weddings and events.

It makes pride warm your own belly, seeing him flourish and succeed in the field he had always dreamed of. Photography had been an outlet for him throughout high school, a vital reprieve from the insulated struggles of your shared childhood. Taehyung has never been a negative person, never weighed down in spite of the home life which would have given him every justifiable reason to become jaded. Still, you’d watched a new light bloom in him after he discovered photography as if the camera lens truly gave him a fresh way of seeing the world.

And you’ve always loved seeing happiness spill from your best friend.

Your food is just being brought to the table when Jimin comes shuffling up in a zombie-like trance, eyes wide and mouth slack.

"Finally made i—woah, are you alright?"

Jimin drops into a seat, glazed eyes fixated on the window overlooking the street.

"Maya and Kook are hooking up."

Taehyung chokes on his drink, water spraying onto his plate, while your jaw hits the floor.

"They're what?!"

"What the fuck?!"

Jimin works his jaw before wiping his hands over his face, "Yup."

You and Taehyung gape at him.

"What in the name of God would make you say that?" you ask emphatically, just as Taehyung says, "They hate each other."

"I don't know. Probably because I just caught her straddling him on our couch half-naked. But it’s just a feeling."

"Oh my God, we don't need to know that!"

"Our couch?!"

Jimin scrubs a hand over his face again as if he could wipe the image from his brain. “Yeah, I…can’t say I’m entirely surprised, but, Jesus, I did not need to see that with my own two eyes.”

“Okay, wait, wait,” you say, blinking rapidly in a futile attempt to clear your thoughts. “You’re sure it was Maya—not another one of his random hook-ups?”

“You think I don’t know what she looks like?” Jimin asks, pulling a face. “Look, she stopped by to grab some camera equipment Tae left for her and said she was going to hang around for a minute to wait for an Uber. I was already late for here so I left, but I forgot my wallet. When I went back they were…compromised. And I didn’t exactly stick around to interrogate them.” He frowns again, turning to Taehyung. “Speaking of, can you cover me for lunch?”

“This is unreal. Fucking unreal,” you fume. “I’m going to kill them.”

“Is it really all that surprising?” Jimin asks. “Somewhere in all of their bickering and nagging and constant frowning at each other was always some thinly-veiled sexual tension.” When you glare at him, he adds, “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t sleep with her.”

“That’s not the problem, Chim. You know how this shit goes.” You rub a thumb between your eyes, trying to ease the sudden tension there. “They already fight all the time, and sex only ever complicates things. How long until this blows up and we’re forced to choose sides?”

And that’s the crux of your worry—a disaster seems inevitable. Maya and Jungkook have always been clear about their bare tolerance of each other, seeing it as a necessary evil for the benefit of the rest of your friendships. And while their arguments and bickering have been relatively muted in recent years after you, Taehyung, and Jimin had put down a collective foot and told them you were tired of hearing their shit, you are not eager to see them test the fragile thread that links all of you.

You’ve dealt with enough instability regarding the people in your life; the last thing you need is more.

The waitress comes up to take Jimin’s order while Taehyung studies you as you press the heels of your palms to your eyes.

“Hey,” he says as the waitress walks off again, a hand sliding across the table in your direction but not quite making it there. “No one is getting divorced or anything. Just talk to Maya first. We really don’t even know what’s going on here.”

Jimin lets out a puff of air. “I do. He had his hand up her—” He shuts his mouth as both you and Taehyung shoot daggers at him.

After a moment, your fingers tap absent-mindedly over your phone. “Yeah, I guess I’ll talk to her tonight. We’re supposed to go dress shopping for the art show.”

“Gotta get something nice for Jace?” Jimin asks, wiggling an eyebrow. You smirk back at him.

“No, he can’t make it. Work has him putting in overtime like crazy for their annual convention in a few weeks.”

“How is he doing—Jace?” Taehyung asks. His tone is light, but as Jimin turns to look at him, he notices his hand on the table had closed into a fist.

“He’s good,” you say, the tension finally melting out of your face as your eyes light up. “He’s been incredibly upbeat lately, actually—more romantic even.” There’s a pause as you hesitate. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was going to…you know.” You wave faintly with your left hand.

Jimin’s eyes go wide. “You think he’s planning to pro—” You quickly press a finger over your lips, and Jimin slaps a hand to his thigh. “Fuck yes! About damn time. Hey,” he settles his face in his palm and stares off dreamily. “Can I be your maid of honor?” Then, when you giggle, “Don’t laugh. I would look great in a dress.”

“I’ll put you on the short list,” you say, turning towards your food as Jimin pumps a fist. “But no more talk about that. I’ve waited damn long enough and do not want to jinx it.”

Taehyung’s knuckles had gone white.

“It’s really none of your business,” Maya says, picking up a bright purple, thigh-length dress off the rack and holding it up to her shoulders. “How about this one?”

“Too short.” She puts it back. “And I beg to differ. When something stands to get between two of my best friends who I care about deeply, I think that makes it my business.” When Maya doesn’t say anything, still nonchalantly flipping through dresses, you press on. “You know this can’t end well, right? You’re adding sex to an already volatile relationship, and I don’t like the idea of the friend group having to split if and when the two of you implode.”

“First of all, we’re not your damn parents. Kook may be a walking man child, but the rest of us are mature adults. We’d figure it out,” Maya says. She holds up a green gown, frowns, and returns it. Turning towards you, she quirks an eyebrow. “Second of all, who says that this morning was the first time?”

Your jaw drops. As you stand speechless, Maya resumes her dress perusal.

“Wha—how long?” you finally choke out.

“Ooh, this is pretty.” Maya pulls out a deep red cocktail dress, silver roses adorning the fabric. Catching the look on your face, she says, “Two years, give or take.”

“Two—!” you squeak before shaking your head. “No. No fucking way. You two can barely be in the same room for two minutes let alone sleep together for two years.”

Maya smirks. “Turns out he can do much better things with his mouth when he’s not using it to talk out of his ass.”

“Maya, oh my God!”

“What? You wanted to make it your business, right?”

You take a breath to steady yourself. “Look, I am just worried about you guys, okay? That’s it. You’re two of my best friends, and I don’t want to see anyone get hurt. And I certainly don’t want to be put into a situation where I have to choose between you.”

“That won’t happen,” Maya says, trailing off towards a dressing room. “For someone to get hurt, there’d have to be actual feelings involved, and the only feeling he gives me is a migraine.” She slips into a changing stall while you lean against the wall, still trying to wrap your head around what you’re hearing.

“Besides,” Maya’s voice sounded from behind the curtain, “Jimin only found out because of his stupid wallet, and he notices everything. If we could fool him for that long with no problems…” She pulls the curtain back. The red fabric of the dress hugs her hips, her dark hair draped over one shoulder. “How do I look?”

“Gorgeous, as usual,” you say. And then, because you can’t help it, “I’m sure Kook will love it.”

Maya rolls her eyes. “Oh, please.” She steps back into the stall and yanks the curtain closed again. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just…weird.”

“It’s only weird if you make it weird,” Maya says over the shuffling of clothes. “Nothing changed during the two years when you guys didn’t know and nothing has to change now.”

Maybe she’s right, you think to yourself, resting your head back and closing your eyes to the bright fluorescents above you. Maybe everything would be fine. Jungkook, in spite of his cocky playboy persona, may be a big teddy bear at heart, but you’ve never known him to mix emotions with pleasure. And Maya is certainly capable of handling herself.

Still, the whole thing just reeks of disaster waiting to happen.

The sun has just started its descent when the two of you step out of the shop, Maya now carrying a long white bag along with her. You pause for a moment, taking a slow inhale of the soft spring air. This is probably your favorite time of day, when the whole city is tinted gold, the push of the foot traffic slowing to a lazier pace as college students and businessmen alike meander their way to dinners and evening plans.

“Do you want to do dinner at my place?” Maya asks, starting to move in the direction of her apartment as you trail at her side. “I was planning on trying this new pot roast recipe, and I’d rather not get stuck with too many leftovers.”

“Ooh, that sounds good,” you say. “I’m in.”

“You just have to promise to stop looking so constipated.”

You let out a puff of a laugh. “I’m sorry—I really don’t mean to meddle.” You purse your lips. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“I know, you said that already,” Maya sighs. “But we’re all grown-ups, Y/N. I know you mean well, but you’ve gotta loosen up the reins a little bit.”

“Whatever. As long as I don’t have to walk in on you guys like Jimin did.” You chew the inside of your cheek. “And just…be careful.”

Maya rolls her eyes for what feels like the hundredth time that day. She knows your heart is in a good place—the stereotypical “mom friend” just looking out for everyone—but your own blind spot drives her crazy.

You insist that you don’t truly mean to meddle. Maya, however, has no such qualms.

“You know,” she says, smirking at you with a sideways glance. “If you’re really worried about someone getting their heart broken, you should spend less time worrying about me and Kook and more time worrying about Tae.”

Your steps slow, frown lines gradually forming on your face. “Tae? What about Tae?” You pause. “He and Luna broke up months ago. He said he was over her.”

They were barely together a year, but the relationship had been the longest of Taehyung’s life. He’d spent the two weeks following the breakup locked in his room while you juggled both making sure he was alright and moving into a new apartment.

Maya gestures to the bag in her hands. “Don’t stop walking. This thing is a bitch to carry.”

As you jog a few steps to catch up, you ask, “Why? Did he say something to you?”

“Oh, please.” Another eyeroll. “He was never into Luna. It’s a wonder they even lasted as long as he did.”

“Then who?”

“C’mon, Y/N.”

“Maya, I genuinely have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

It’s Maya’s turn to stop in her tracks this time, passerby giving the two of you dirty looks as they swerve around you. She pins you with a pointed expression that has you blinking back at her. “What?”

Maya only continues to stare, tilting her head and biting her tongue until you finally put the pieces together. Your eyes going wide before you shake your head vigorously.

“No. No. You’re wrong.”

Maya scoffs and continues walking. “Uh-huh.”

“I’ve told you this before. We’re just comfortable with each other. He’s my—”

“Best friend who has made heart eyes at you the entire time I’ve known you two.”

“He does not. He looks at me like he’s always looked at me.”

“Exactly.”

“I—need I remind you that I’m in a committed relationship?”

“So? That doesn’t affect his feelings.”

“Tae has dated plenty of girls.”

“And with much success, obviously.”

You hesitate. “It’s not his fault that they all—”

“See how he looks at you and decide not to waste their time?”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Sure it is.”

“You’re misreading it. It’s just that we have history.”

“And chemistry. And while we’re rattling off school subjects the two of you share, I’m sure he’d be willing to help you with your physical education.”

“Maya.”

“I’m just saying!” She adjusts the bag, the plastic rustling the air. “I just got this sense that something, I don’t know, broke after Luna. I figured he finally realized how hung up on you he is or something, and that’s why he hasn’t dated since.”

The idea of a broken Taehyung squeezes your heart as your frown impossibly deepens. “That’s not…no. That’s definitely not what it was. He’s fine. We’re fine. Everything is fine.”

“Okay. Fine. If you say so.”

The two of you fall into silence, the light crackle of Maya’s bag hanging delicately between you. The sun is starting to dip behind buildings now, stretching long shadows onto the ground in front of you as you turn onto her block. You inhale a long, shaky breath.

Yes, it’s been a while since Taehyung has dated, and yes, this is a little peculiar. He may be your best friend, but part of that means you’ve watched him grow from awkward kid to gangly teenager to one of the most handsome men you’ve ever laid eyes on. You’re not blind—you’ve seen how it’s unsurprisingly garnered him a good deal of female attention throughout the years (Saturday afternoon was not the first time he’s been hit on by a waitress). And while he’s never been anywhere near Jungkook’s level of playboy, he’s definitely been on his fair share of dates.

You don’t doubt that Maya’s noticed something of a shift in him—after you, she’s probably the person who knows him best. But both you and Taehyung have always insisted that your platonic relationship is, well, entirely platonic. So even if something changed for him, she has to be off base as to the why.

Right?

“Maya—”

“Look, I’m not telling you to sleep with him or leave Jace or anything like that. Just…” Maya purses her lips together, blowing air out of her nose. “Step back and look at what you’re doing to him before you lecture the rest of us. The guy is crazy about you, and you’re the only one who doesn’t see it.”

Well.

Shit.

She climbs the steps to her front door, slipping in the key and opening it before turning back to where you remain at the bottom of the stoop fiddling with your purse strap.

“You coming?”

“Um,” you hesitate. Your eyes drift off down the street, mind suddenly racing . “I don’t know. I’m not really hungry anymore.”

Maya’s expression softens. “I didn’t mean to upset you…”

“No, no,” you say with another shake of your head. “I’m not mad. I just think I want to go home, maybe take a bath.”

“Okay,” Maya slowly responds. “I’ll see you at the show Friday night?”

You smile. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Perhaps, Maya muses as she watches you saunter down the sidewalk, calling you out was not the right move. But the thought only lingers for a moment before she turns with a shrug and goes inside.

It’s Sunday night when you find yourself at the guys’ apartment for your and Taehyung’s weekly meal prep tradition. The ritual is the evolution of several years of having to care for yourselves—a need to eat turned into a sacred bonding activity for two people who had learned to rely on each other.

You and Taehyung met when you were eight-years-old after your teacher had fatefully situated your desks next to each other on the first day of school. A compliment from Taehyung on the color of your pencil case (a bright and bold turquoise) turned into a fast friendship that rapidly deepened as you realized just how similar you were: both only children living in homes with parents who were neglectful in their own ways.

In spite of growing up in a lavish, sparkling house with more rooms than you could count, your childhood was a struggle as your endlessly-busy, high-powered-lawyer parents virtually ignored your existence and left you to your own devices, working late hours every day and oftentimes not even ensuring that you had been properly fed. The mansion had felt like a prison, long hallways and tall ceilings devoid of life, filled with nothing but a terrible sense of loneliness.

That was, at least, until Taehyung showed up.

When either of you had a bad day (which was, admittedly, most days), he would slip away from the tiny, one-bedroom house on the poorer side of town, where his mother had abandoned him to an alcoholic father, and you'd sneak him in the back door (your parents either never noticed or simply didn't care). The two of you would raid the kitchen cabinets for snacks and lug your loot up to your bedroom, where you'd throw together a giant fort made of pillows and blankets with your prized possession at the center—a small globe light with tiny cut-out stars.

You never really talked about your respective situations—there was never really a need to. He saw your non-relationship with your parents firsthand, and you had heard the rumors about his family—whispers at school about the boy with secondhand clothes and a dad who often had to be dragged out of the local bars. The outside world may have been cruel, passing judgment on the both of you (and Taehyung especially) for circumstances outside of your control, but in the comfort of your room, even that fostered your kinship. It was like your own minuscule universe, belonging only to the two of you, and as you munched on your popcorn and watched the soft stars dance across the propped-up fabric, you'd talk and tell each other stories. Stories about anything from kings and queens to pirates to cowboys to astronauts. The only rule was that every tale had to have a happy ending.

As you got older, you traded your storytelling nights for evenings experimenting in the kitchen, sick of gorging yourselves on chips, pretzels, and sodas. Occasionally, once Taehyung purchased his first camera from a secondhand shop with money he saved delivering newspapers, he'd drag you around town for a photoshoot. You’d wander the streets together, helping him to scout out areas for inspiration, and he’d use you as his model to practice portraits and photographing human subjects. This tradition, too, had faded once the two of you escaped your hometown to go to college (you're not sure your parents even realized you had left), as Taehyung began working on class projects with Maya and you started spending more time with Jace. Only your weekly meal prep had persisted.

Your cooking had been a staple during college, you and Taehyung hosting “family dinners” for you and your friends on weekends (usually followed by a good few rounds of drinks), eventually shifting into you making batch meals on Sundays once you’d all graduated and begun working. That was when it had been you who’d lived in this apartment, back before you’d moved in with Jace and Jungkook had taken your place here. Still, even as lifestyles and living arrangements changed, you always wound up cooking with Taehyung on Sunday nights.

“What are mom and dad making tonight?” Jimin trills, reaching over the counter to take a swipe at a baby carrot. You shoo his hand away.

“Nothing, if you keep stealing our ingredients. Aren’t you supposed to be going to the gym?”

“I am, but someone,” he turns to yell over his shoulder, “is taking their sweet ass time getting ready!”

A door clicks open down the hall before Jungkook’s voice yells out, “Calm down, asshole, I’m almost done!” The door slams shut again.

“Such a diva,” Jimin huffs, gaining an edge to pop a carrot into his mouth. You let out a cry of protest.

“Chim, cut it out!” You turn to Taehyung who is at the opposite counter with his back to you, chopping more vegetables. “Tae, stop him.”

Taehyung snorts, not turning around. “That’s my job?”

“You have a knife.”

“Sorry, I’ve taken a vow of nonviolence.”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter as Jimin tries to reach around you again. “Hands off, Park, or I swear to God I will kick you in the balls, and you will not see it coming.”

“Guy’s gotta get some action somehow, am I right?” Jungkook comes striding down the hallway in a tank top and shorts, looking more like he’s ready for a magazine cover shoot than a gym visit as he bounds up to where you and Jimin stand in the kitchen.

“Hey, I get plenty of action!”

“You were literally whining this morning that it’s been three months.”

Jimin flushes. “That’s because I don’t sleep with my friends.”

“Neither do I,” Jungkook says, throwing a wink in your direction as you roll your eyes back at him.

“You’re disgusting. It’s a wonder Maya puts up with you.”

“It’s definitely more of a puts out situation.” He taps his chin thoughtfully. “And not really up? Contrary to what you might expect, she’s usually under—“

“Jeon Jungkook.” Then, when he makes a move to grab a carrot, you turn to Taehyung and snap, “Tae, give me a knife, I’ll stab them myself.”

Barely looking up, he reaches over to grab a knife out of the block, twisting it in his hands to hold it delicately by the blade and offer it to you handle-first. You grip it, only to slam the knife down firmly on its side in front of you, staring down Jimin and Jungkook in a silent challenge. But Jimin merely quirks an eyebrow in silent laughter, while Jungkook lets out a teasing, “Hot.”

You glare and raise the knife to chest level, pointing it at his sternum and trying to muster as much threatening energy as you possibly can in the face of a guy who could bench press you in his sleep. And while his facial expression remains one of passive amusement, he raises his hands in mock surrender and says, "Fine, fine, we're going."

With a sweep of their gym bags, they make their way out, and there's one last, "Save some for us!" from Jimin before the door swings shut behind them.

You sigh. "Idiots."

"But they're our idiots," Taehyung says, and a glance over your shoulder tells you that he's laughing at your frustration, a smile brightening his features and warming your chest.

"Remind me why we adopted them again?"

"You instantly fell for Jimin's puppy dog eyes when he was wandering around lost at orientation, and Kook..." He trails off. "Why did we adopt Kook?"

"School administration made you dorm with him, and we haven't been able to get rid of him since?"

"Oh yeah, that's right."

You fall into a comfortable silence, the only sound being that of your respective knives hitting the cutting board before Taehyung speaks up again.

"Speaking of Kook, you never told me how your conversation with Maya went."

You're thankful you have your back to him because you immediately feel yourself flush, heat shooting up your neck like an erupting volcano. You want to say, Yeah, it went great. She told me that you're desperately in love with me, and I'm the reason why none of your relationships have worked out. But that's ridiculous, right? Right?!

Instead, you do your best to mask your expression into one of relative impassivity and say, “Well, according to her, this isn’t new. They’ve been doing this for two years.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish.”

Taehyung ignores that. “How did none of us ever notice?”

“That’s what I can’t figure out. You’d think we would’ve noticed a change or something, right?”

He’s quiet, and you glance over to see him staring at a distant point out the window, lost in thought, the heel of the knife absentmindedly tapping a beat against the board. Taehyung’s always been introspective—content to sit in contemplation as he slowly works an idea through his mind. He’s thoughtful like that, ever the deliberator and rarely one to act on impulse. You balance each other out in this regard, with you having always been more inclined to break rules as you see fit and Taehyung being there to reel you in as needed.

“Maybe it works for them,” he finally says, and you feel your eyebrows shoot halfway up your forehead.

“You can’t seriously think this is a good idea.”

He shrugs, attention drawn back to the vegetables in front of him. “It hasn’t caused a problem yet, right?”

“The operative word there being yet.”

He shrugs again, brows tilting together. “I’m just saying that they’re both consenting adults, and if it’s gone this long without any catastrophes, maybe it really is a good arrangement for both of them.”

“It’s Maya and Kook. They’re always a catastrophe.”

“Exactly. They’d probably have an eventual falling out even if they weren’t sleeping together, so who knows? Maybe it actually helps them work some of that tension off.”

“That’s a terrible idea.”

“I didn’t say it was healthy.” He finishes chopping his last onion and sets his knife down, crossing the kitchen to check your own progress. Reaching over you, he grabs a piece of carrot and slips it into his mouth, grinning when you frown at him. “Really, Y/N, what can you do?”

“I know, but they’re…they’re the closest thing to family that we have. You know that.”

“Families can be dysfunctional. We both know that.” He munches on another carrot. “I’d still take them over my biological family any day.”

When that still doesn’t seem to entirely placate you, he reaches out to squeeze your shoulder, the tips of his fingers brushing the base of your neck and raising goosebumps there, before he slides his hand down to loop your pinkies together. “What will happen will happen. Don’t let it worry you unnecessarily.” Then he’s off heating up oil on the stove.

Normally, the brief touch would have barely registered in your mind—a simple gesture you had gotten into the habit of using when you were kids to provide reassurance. But it’s like your conversation with Maya has been inked under your skin, recoloring your perspective on the single-most steadfast relationship you’ve ever had in your life.

You hate it.

The oil begins to bubble on the stove, but Taehyung is distracted, rummaging around the refrigerator for something, so you take over, dumping in the beef that will help form the base for the soup. You throw in some seasoning, poking at the meat with a spoon and willing it to brown.

“So you’re really not interested in dating again?”

The words slip out, and the contents of the pot pop angrily at you.

Yeah, you might regret this later.

“Hmm?” Taehyung closes the fridge, cracking open the beer that’s now in his hand.

You curse your loose tongue under your breath. “Just…the other day at lunch. You were so against asking that waitress for her number.”

“She wasn’t my type.”

“And you don’t want to bring a date to the wedding.”

“I’d only bring a long-term girlfriend to a wedding. Less of a chance we’d have to edit her out of pictures later.”

“And how many dates have you been on since Luna? It’s been what, almost a full year?”

His brow scrunches, and the way he’s studying you makes you blush. “Why the sudden interest in my love life?”

You stare determinedly into the soup pot, trying to look nonchalant. “You’re my best friend, and I want to see you happy. Of course I’m interested.”

He props his hip against the counter in thought and takes a long drag of beer before he answers you. “I thought after Luna that it would be best if I take some time to focus on myself before diving back in. That’s all.”

“She really did a number on you, huh?”

“Something like that.”

You poke at the beginnings of your soup, memories of an absolutely miserable Taehyung surfacing in your mind. “It sucked, you know.”

“What?”

“Seeing your heart break.”

“Ah.” He takes another drink. “Right.”

“I swear, if I saw her again, I’d be tempted to kick her ass.”

He chuckles at that, and it rumbles his entire chest.

It might stir something in yours, too.

“I mean it, Tae.”

“Oh, trust me, I know you do.”

“Could be anywhere: club, grocery store. I’m not afraid to throw hands.”

He gives a tilt of his head. “She was a third degree black belt.”

“Well I kicked that Kenji kid in the groin during recess after he stole your backpack, and he cried for like twenty minutes. Remember that? He was practically six feet tall in the fifth grade, and that didn’t stop me. First degree black belt my ass.”

“Third degree.”

“Whatever.”

“Well as much as I appreciate your determined defense of my pride, I can assure you any emotional distress I suffered was minimal—“

“You haven’t dated since!”

“—and is definitely not worth putting yourself in the hospital over.”

“You don’t miss it though? What about like…” You trail off, cursing your stupid mouth getting ahead of your brain. You’ve never really talked about this before. Relationships, sure, but when it comes to the physical, along with your families, it’s one of the few subjects you avoid.

As your pause stretches on, he raises his eyebrows in question, and you decide to just come out with it.

“What about sex?”

Taehyung, to his credit, is unfazed by your sudden mention of the taboo. “I still have two hands, and they haven’t failed me so far.”

“Oh, Tae, ew.”

He grins devilishly at you, mischief brightening his eyes. It’s a look that he used to wear all the time when you were kids but which became rarer once he mellowed out with adulthood.

Seeing it on him now makes your heart jump.

“Point taken, forget I asked,” you say, and he laughs.

“Really, I’m fine with taking a break from dating for now. Isn’t that what that band you love is always preaching? Self-love and all that.”

You huff out a breath, nodding at his hands. “You don’t say.”

He laughs again, grinning down at you, and the uncertainty you’ve been feeling bubbles up again, your nerves sparking in time with a particularly loud crackle from the pot on the stove.

“Ah, geez, don’t let it burn,” he says, nudging you out of the way to take over. You take the opportunity to wander over to the fridge for a water bottle, feeling the need to cool yourself down. Honestly, what is wrong with you?

Taehyung, in sync with your moods by now, reads you like a book. “I feel like I should be asking you if you’re okay.” He says as he sets the meat aside and begins simmering the mirepoix in the fat. “You seem distracted.”

The conversation has become too much for you to wrestle with at this point, and you feel the need to shut it down before it gets out of control entirely. So you swallow down your anxieties like a pill without water and deflect.

“There’s just…a lot going on right now.”

It’s almost imperceptible, possibly a trick of the light, but his back stiffens ever so slightly. “Hmm, I’m sure.” He looks up at you from the stove, eyes pinning you where you stand. “But you’d tell me if there were something?”

You swallow. “Of course. You?”

“Of course.”

And that has to be enough for now.

The glow of the sunset creeps into your room as you put the finishing touches on your make-up for the night. You're running later than anticipated as you had hoped to catch Jace before you left—you know he has a virtual client meeting scheduled in fifteen minutes that he had planned to attend from home, but he texted you a half-hour ago saying that he got caught up at the office and might just take it there.

With your make-up done, you can't justify lingering any longer and decide to just leave him a note letting him know when you'll be back. Jace's desk is an absolute mess, but you're thankfully able to locate a notepad easily. A pen, however, is a different matter, and it's not long before you're rummaging through the drawers trying to find anything to write with. For a man who keeps his appearance so well-groomed, he has a true affinity for clutter, and you roll your eyes at the junk you have to sift through in search of a simple writing utensil: a hammer, old movie tickets, a broken picture frame, a ring box...

A ring box?

You pause, fingers hovering over the black velvet. Surely, you shouldn't look, right? You already feel like you're crossing some line by discovering the small box—you should preserve some element of surprise for both of your sakes.

Still, the devil on your shoulder whispers to sneak a peek...

Your decision is made for you as you hear the front door click open and shut, and you hastily close the drawer and try to school your features into something casual.

"Hey, gorgeous."

Jace leans in the doorway grinning, not a single sandy brown hair out of place and his impeccably-ironed dress shirt pulled tight across his toned chest. In a fraction of a second, you see his eyes flick from his desk drawer to where you stand stiffly in front of it.

"Hey!" The word comes out a little too loudly, and you rush to cover up the blunder. "I thought I wouldn't see you."

"Wanted to surprise my girl," he says, smile brightening as he swings a hand from behind his back to offer you a single red rose. You feel your cheeks heating up as you take it from him, marveling at how—even four years down the line—he can still manage to charm you.

He presses a kiss to your mouth, hands trailing down the back of your dress to palm your ass with a groan. "Fuck. Can't believe I have this work meeting when you look like this."

"And unfortunately, I need to get going, too, or Maya will have my head." You lean in for another quick peck. "Rain check for later?"

He chuckles, letting you go with one final squeeze. "I'll hold you to that."

"Look who finally showed up!" is what you're greeted with when you locate your friends in the gallery atrium, dodging the other patrons milling about.

"Sorry, got caught up with Jace," you say, shrugging at Maya's teasing glare.

Jungkook winks at you. "I'm sure you did."

"Yah, Kook, don't be gross," Jimin complains, slapping him on the arm.

"What?! She looks great! Right, Tae? Tell her she looks great."

You meet Taehyung's eyes for the first time since you walked up, and he shifts on his feet, gaze darting down to the accentuated curve of your hips. Clearing his throat, he smiles and says, "You look beautiful."

Cheeks hot, you murmur a quiet, "Thanks," so distracted by the awkwardness of the moment that you don't notice the look exchanged by Jimin and Maya between you.

Friends can call friends beautiful and not have it mean anything beyond that, right? You told Maya she looked gorgeous when she bought her dress with you last weekend, and you’d definitely be willing to admit that Taehyung looks incredible tonight. His navy blue suit hugs the lines of his body perfectly—highlighting his tall, lithe form—while his hair is combed up and off his forehead in a style that projects both professionalism and approachability. Combine that with the easy smile he keeps on his face, and he’s basically in male model territory.

You’ll be stunned if he doesn’t get hit on again tonight.

You make some idle small talk with your friends for a few minutes (Jungkook is trying to convince the others to head over to the bar where he works after the reception) before Maya gently nudges you with an elbow.

"Go and have a look around. Mine are back there," she declares, nodding her head towards the right hand corner of the exhibit, "but you should really check out all of the work—there's some good stuff. Hoseok and Sunny are around somewhere too."

You nod, welcoming the chance to see what it is your friends have been working so hard on, and excuse yourself to peruse the gallery. You may not be much of a creative mind yourself, but years of friendship with Taehyung and his infectious enthusiasm have at least helped you develop an appreciation for art. Weaving between the walls of frames and canvases, you stop here and there as a piece catches your eye: dark bars slashed across a messy outline of a heart titled Fake Love; a small boy offering up a waffle cone that holds a rose instead of ice cream—For You.

However, you find yourself slowing down entirely when you get to Maya's collection of photographs. They're mostly black and white candids of strangers. A woman shopping in an outdoor market. A girl chasing a dog in a park. Your friends pop up occasionally, and you smile at one of the memories you recognize: Jungkook pushing Jimin into the pool during your friendcation last year, bunny smile stretched wide across his face.

And suddenly you're frozen by a photo that's in full color.

It's Taehyung's face in close-up, his head turned to the side as he looks at something out of frame. His jaw strikes a downward line, mouth ever so slightly dipped open in something akin to wonder and tan cheeks curving with subtle delight. It's his eyes you can't look away from, though, opened wide enough to soak in whatever he's looking at that they reflect the golden lights around him, tiny galaxies swimming in his irises.

"Enjoying the view?" a deep voice teases at your shoulder, the man himself coming to stand at your side.

"That's an incredible picture of you," you tell him, still taking it in.

He hums in agreement. "I told you, she did a good job."

"Was that last summer?"

"Yeah." He nods his head at the picture of Jimin and Jungkook. "Same night as that, I think."

"What were you looking at?"

Taehyung is quiet as he thinks, scratching lightly at his nose. "I can't say I remember. Probably Hoseok walking out with that plate of pork belly. That was mouth-watering."

You laugh, and he smiles back at you before gesturing at the rows of artwork. "Can I show you some of my favorites?"

"I'd love that."

You let him drag you away, but not before glancing back to read the title card delicately placed next to Taehyung's image.

Your eyes tell.

Taehyung navigates you around the exhibit for a while, describing his role in organizing the gallery and stopping to gush about his favorite pieces. You've always loved hearing him talk about art, his passion for the subject illuminating his face as he enthuses about light and shadows and colors.

He's explaining the rule of thirds to you when Maya interrupts, telling Taehyung she has a potential client for him that she wants him to meet. He promises to find you later as she whisks him away, and, alone again, you decide to head to the adjoining reception area in search of your other friends.

You’re only a few steps into the room when you hear a voice call out your name, Jimin flagging you down from where he stands at a table with Jungkook, Hoseok, and Sunny, and you quickly slide up to hug the latter two.

“You guys made it! We’ve missed you. How’s wedding planning going?”

Hoseok groans into his champagne. “Please do not remind me,” he grumbles. “It makes med school feel like a cakewalk.”

“What my wonderful fiancé meant to say,” Sunny says, playfully elbowing Hoseok in the side and making him sputter on his drink, “is that it’s going fantastically, and we can’t wait to celebrate with you all.”

“Rumor is that it’s the can’t-miss event of the year,” Jimin singsongs. “And Kook and I are bringing the party!” He reaches over so he and Jungkook can share a short but excessively elaborate handshake.

Sunny looks on, amused. “Speaking of, do you two know if you’re bringing dates? We don’t have to finalize headcount quite yet, but knowing sooner rather than later would be appreciated.”

“I will definitely be going stag, but I think Kook might have one, yeah?” Jimin’s voice is teasing, but Jungkook doesn’t catch on, throwing him a quizzical look and causing Jimin to clarify with a smirk. “Maya.��

Jungkook scoffs, muttering, “Not a chance,” while Hoseok’s and Sunny’s eyebrows shoot up in sync.

“You and Maya are dating now?” Sunny asks, eyes wide.

Jungkook tosses Jimin a glare. “No, he’s being an ass.”

When Sunny and Hoseok continue to look confused, glancing back and forth between Jungkook and Jimin, Jimin explains, "We found out recently—and unpleasantly for me, might I add—that Maya and Kook here have been engaging in some activities with, ah, no strings?"

Hoseok's eyebrows go impossibly higher, threatening to meld with his hairline, as his mouth pops open in surprise. "Uhh...congrats?"

Jungkook shakes his head, bottom lip jutting out like a child. "Chim's just jealous because he's in a drought."

"Hey!"

"I, for one, don't see an issue," Sunny says, hopping in to play peacemaker before Jimin and Jungkook devolve into one of their notorious bickering sessions. "You're both adults. And don't sweat it, Jimin, any girl would be lucky to have you."

"What's that supposed to mea—" Hoseok starts to ask before Sunny shuts him up with a finger to his lips, subtly nodding her head at the clearly placated men.

"I just can't believe you two are finally getting married." You change the subject, snatching up a flute of champagne off a tray as a waiter walks by. "Been a long time coming."

Sunny hums. "To be honest, I'm surprised we're beating you and Jace to the alter," she says, and now it's your turn to cough on your drink. "When is that happening?"

"Oh, I, um—" you stutter, as you weigh how much you should say. You should keep what you saw earlier a secret, right? After all, what if you're wrong and you come out looking like a fool?

But four pairs of eyes are now fixed on you expectantly, and these are your friends so you cave.

"Okay, I am swearing all of you to secrecy," you say, making deliberate eye contact with each of them in turn to emphasize your point, "but I literally found a ring box in his desk earlier when I was getting ready to come here."

The table erupts in your friends' squeals and cheers, Jimin and Jungkook coming around to playfully shake your shoulders.

"Oh my gosh, I knew it!"

"That's amazing news!"

"I want to be man of honor!"

"I already called dibs!"

"What are we calling dibs on?"

Your heart skips as Taehyung joins your table, smiling at the five of you but obviously perplexed as to what the ruckus is about. And maybe you're imagining it, but your friends all seem to quiet down at his appearance as well, causing Maya's words to once again echo in your mind. The guy is crazy about you, and you're the only one who doesn't see it.

An awkward silence drapes itself over the table, Jimin being the one to pipe up when Taehyung's expression begins to morph from curious to concerned. "Y/N, tell him the good news!"

At that, Taehyung's brown eyes settle on you, and so you take a deep breath and spill. "I found a ring box in Jace's desk."

You're looking at him intently, and it's only the tiniest sliver of a second, but you see it. Unmistakably.

His face drops.

If Maya's photo captured stars in his eyes, you watch each go out one-by-one, his lips pressing together like he's trying not to be sick. A heaviness hits his shoulders that has his chest curling inwards and you almost reaching out to him...

And just like that—all at once—he's gathered his features into a smile and beams at you.

"That's fantastic, Y/N. I'm so incredibly happy for you."

His voice sounds genuine, dripping in the baritone honey that is so warm and so him, but you know what you saw—you're sure of it—and it has your mind spinning.

Shit, shit, shit, she was right.

You down your champagne in one gulp, oblivious to the shocked faces around you as you throw it back and thump the glass harshly on the table. "I'm going for a drink. Anyone want anything?"

You barely give them time to shake their heads before you're scurrying away to the bar and ordering a cosmopolitan—strong. Thoughts whirring, you try to make sense of Taehyung’s crestfallen expression as the bartender mixes your drink. There surely must be an alternate explanation, right? Until now, Taehyung has never, ever given any indication that he has feelings for you. This must be a mistake; you must be seeing things…

But just as the bartender slides your glass across the countertop, you glance back at the table, blood running cold as you find Taehyung already looking at you. He gives you a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t quite make it to his eyes before turning back to listen to whatever Jimin is currently saying.

You quickly down your second drink of the night and order a third.

a/n: and we’re off! likes, reblogs, comments, asks, feedback, constructive criticism, and carrier pigeons are all appreciated! this started off as a story with all OCs, and the first drafts of some of these scenes were originally written in third person omniscient so please forgive me if the POVs are a little all over the place in this chapter. it’ll be rectified moving forward!

taglist open: just message or reply 😊

#taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #taehyung imagines #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst #taehyung #bts fic #bts fanfic

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explosionshark · 1 month ago

Note

💙or 💜 for fuffy

that's drunken/tipsy kiss and impulsive/surprise kiss. i think this fill counts for both.

Honestly, Faith hadn’t planned any of this.

She just gets antsy whenever she’s recalled to the Castle in Scotland. She hates it, if she’s being honest. It doesn’t feel like a real place — too old, somehow too big and too claustrophobic at the same time. She’s got this theory: slayers are meant to be solitary, there was only ever supposed to be one at a time. She’d said to Buffy once that maybe that was why they could never get along. She thinks she might have been onto something, even if she’d only half-meant it then. Being around so many other slayers makes her skin buzz, makes her irritable and restless.

She’s here as a show of goodwill. And because B called and asked for her, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it. As soon as the debrief ends, when Faith’s got her marching orders (leaving with a small team of girls to track down some magical book that’s been stolen, while Buffy leads another team to raid a vampire cult’s headquarters to free a kidnapped warlock) she bails.

They’re not leaving until tomorrow morning. It’s stupid, probably, to go get drunk when she’s got to be on a plane in a few hours, but there’s not exactly a huge amount of options for entertainment in rural Scotland. It’s pubs and churches and football clubs and only one of those is open at this time of night.

It’s not her first time in the area, so she already has a game-plan in mind when she rolls into town. She avoids the smaller local pub — townies always pay her too much attention. The chain pub on the high street is her best option — she knows she’ll stick out there too, but with a booth in the back and an unfriendly enough attitude, she might get a chance to drink in peace.

It goes okay, at first. She orders a pitcher of beer and a couple shots to boot, heads off to a dark corner. Smile nice at the girl that serves her, glowers hard at every man that looks at her twice. A few pints in she takes another glance around the room, sizing up the barflies. Maybe it could be worth it, she thinks, finding someone to go home with. Blow off some steam — that itchy feeling from the Castle hasn’t quite left her and there’s no chance she’ll get to go slaying tonight, so a round or two with some stranger she won’t have to call again seems as good an outlet as any.

Then she glances at the clock on the wall. Wheels up in less than 10 hours. She should probably call it quits now, head back to the Castle. Work herself up to get some shuteye.

She orders another round of shots instead.

Slayer metabolism makes it kind of tough to stay drunk. Getting drunk? Easy enough. As long as she doesn’t slow down too much, it basically works. Unfortunately, this is the kind of behavior that tends to worry bar staff.

“Honey, I know you’re just doing your job, but I’ll let you know when I need something,” Faith says, pushing away the glass of water her waitress sets in front of her.

She holds up her hands. “Courtesy of that woman at the bar.”

Faith looks over to where she’s pointing.

Ah, shit.

As soon as they’ve made eye contact, Buffy slips off the barstool, crossing the room to slide into the empty spot across from Faith. She looks up at the waitress, smiling beatifically. “Thank you.”

Faith hunches low into her seat, barely managing not to fold her arms over her chest like a sulky teenager. “Hey Buffy.”

“Don’t sound too excited,” Buffy mutters.

“Well, didn’t exactly expect you to crash,” Faith says, knocking back another shot just for something to do with her hands. “You’re kinda blowing up my spot here, B. Clam-jammin’. What if I was looking to get lucky?”

“I’d say that’s maybe not a great idea when you’re supposed to be on a plane in a little while. But then again, neither is getting hammered,” Buffy says, frowning. Then she leans forward, plucking a shot glass right from between Faith’s fingers and draining it with only a slight wince. “Are you?”

It takes Faith a beat to register Buffy’s question. She was still staring at the line of Buffy’s throat. “Huh? Am I what?”

“Looking to get lucky?” Buffy says, glancing around the room, that judgy little wrinkle between her brows.

Holy shit.

Faith blinks, hands clenched so tight around her pint glass she feels it start to give, a spiderweb of cracks spreading outward from her grip. She lets go quickly, flushing. Is this…?

“Are you, uh, offering?” Faith asks, wincing. Fuck. Way to go Lehane. Smooth.

It’s Buffy’s turn to go beet red.

Fuck. Okay, so she wasn't.

“Sorry, sorry,” Faith says waving a hand in the air by her head as if she could swat away the clumsy offering lingering between them. “Swear I'm not trying anything, I know where we stand. Just drunk.”

And stupid. Sullenly, she draws her pint glass nearer and takes a hearty sip.

Surprising her, Buffy reaches out and pours her own glass of beer from the pitcher. Faith can count on one hand the number of times they've drank together. “You've been avoiding me.”

She can't help but notice the way Buffy doesn't meet her eyes when she says it.

Faith fidgets in her booth. “No,” she begins, cut short by the unimpressed look Buffy sends her across the table. “I mean not… You know I don't exactly love your digs here, B. Too crowded. I needed to get out.”

“Only you would call 2 acres of land and a massive medieval building crowded,” Buffy scoffs.

Faith shrugs, “Yeah, well. I like my space.”

At this point, Faith even isn't sure if that's a lie anymore. She's been more or less on her own for the past few years since Sunnydale went down and all the Potentials were activated. Giles and the other eggheads at Buffy's place keep her busy - she lives on a generous stipend, flitting from place to place, taking down monsters, fighting the good fight. She's gotten good at being alone.

“You should have said something. You don't have to stay on the grounds if you hate it so much,” Buffy sighs, then leans an elbow on the table, propping her cheek against her palm. “Do you want to get a room here in town?”

The pub lighting is dim but warm, the yellow glow of the light fixture dangling over their table makes everything feel so intimate. For a moment, Faith lets herself indulge in a little fantasy - that they could be strangers or old friends, that Buffy asking if she wants to get a room could mean something else.

“Why'd you kiss me?” Faith asks, startling herself. They said they wouldn't talk about it, but fuck, not talking about it seems to be just as exhausting. Maybe this is better. Rip the band-aid off. Put those stupid little fantasies to bed.

“I don't know,” Buffy says, takes a guilty swig of beer. “I just… wanted to.”

It had been about a month ago. Faith got in over her head trying to hunt down a rogue witch who had integrated herself with a pack of vampires in Vegas. She'd called in for backup and had been surprised when Buffy herself arrived. They'd spent a week dealing with the mess down in Sin City, both of them nearly biting the big one a few times each. Sleeping in the same hotel room, first for convenience, then for the company.

Then, finally, the night after they'd finally staked their last vamp, Buffy had surprised her by electing to stay another night. They went out to celebrate. Danced. Drank a little.

The kiss felt like something she'd dreamed. Honestly, Faith hadn't even really been able to enjoy it — it had freaked her out. That's probably what ruined it. Faith never seems to get it right with Buffy, she'd been too stunned to kiss her back, to savor the moment. Sure, it probably wouldn't have gone anywhere, but at least she'd have had that memory. That one movie moment, kissing under neon lights on the strip, Buffy’s hands in her jacket. Instead she'd frozen, then it has been awkward and Buffy had apologized and well. Now they're here.

And it's awkward again.

I just wanted to. What the hell kind of answer was that?

“Trying something out?” Faith pushes, hoping for more. “Curious about chicks?”

Buffy flushes a little, buys herself time to answer with another drink of beer. “Not exactly. You're not the only girl I've kissed, Faith.”

That stings a little more than she expected it to.

“Oh.” She wants to ask more. Who? When? What did it mean then? Was it only kissing? Why wasn't Faith her first?

Buffy tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “It felt right in the moment. I don't know. I didn't think it through. I guess… I mean, I assumed you wanted it.” Buffy winces. “Ugh, god, why does that make me sound gross?”

Faith feels like she'd just jabbed a fork into an electrical outlet. What the fuck.

“I did,” she blurts out. “Want it.”

“But you didn't even kiss me back—”

“Well, you fuckin pussied out like immediately, I hardly had a chance to react,” Faith shoots back. “Fuck, B, I was shocked.”

“I didn't know anything could shock you,” Buffy mutters.

“Fuck me,” Faith laughs, disbelieving. She plops her elbows on the table between them, leaning in to sink her hands into her hair, shaking her head.

“I got embarrassed,” Buffy admits. “Like, I'm super creeper predator girl all of a sudden and I totally misread like our entire deal for years and—”

“Our deal for years?” Faith echoes, looking up.

“You've literally asked me to kiss you before,” Buffy points out. “There's always been that vibe. Don't play dumb.”

Faith flushes. She's not sure why this is embarrassing — she'd convinced herself that Buffy never picked up on what she wanted all those years. Learning otherwise now, she can't help but cringe a little at how desperate she'd been before. How obvious.

“You said it felt right in the moment,” Faith says, haltingly. She bites her lip and takes a chance, sliding across the u-shaped booth until her knee knocks against Buffy's under the table.

“Yeah” Buffy says, practically whispering. The light is casting shadows over her face. She smells good, perfume and the slight tang of beer on her breath. She looks like a painting, like something Faith could have dreamed.

“What made it feel that way?” Faith asks, letting her gaze drop to Buffy's mouth. Might as well make it obvious this time.

“We were a little tipsy,” Buffy says.

Faith reaches across the table, drags her pint glass over and takes a drink. She watches as Buffy, hands trembling, takes another sip of her own drink

“Yeah?” Faith prompts.

“Uh, you were close. Leaning on me.” Buffy doesn't break Faith’s gaze as she leans in, one arm sliding over the back of Buffy’s booth, crowding her. She presses her knee harder into Buffy's thigh

“Yeah,” Faith breathes.

Buffy’s eyes are huge. “You looked so pretty. And I just…”

Faith doesn't fuck it up this time. When Buffy lets her eyes drift shut, leans in, Faith meets her halfway. She kisses her with force — not rough, but with intention, the kind of thing it would be impossible to write off or misinterpret.

Faith wraps her arm around Buffy’s shoulder, pulling her close. With her free hand she reaches up, toying with a strand of Buffy's hair briefly before cupping her cheek. She licks at Buffy's lips, tastes strawberry lip gloss and lager.

It's like everything Faith imagined but more, better. Buffy’s lips are plush, her mouth is warm, inviting. She makes a little sound in the back of her throat that sets Faith's nerves on fire, makes her want to dive in, to push Buffy back into the booth hard, to feel her buck and squirm and to find out what other noises Faith could get her to make.

She holds back though, contenting herself with this. With Buffy's right hand on the back of Faith’s neck, holding her there. With her left fisted in the lapel of Faith's jacket, like the first time.

Faith lets the kiss linger. Savors it, like she should have the first time.

When they finally pull apart, Faith stays in Buffy's space, eyes locked on hers, waiting for what's next.

Buffy bites her lip. Cranes her neck to look at the clock on the opposite wall, by the bar. “It's getting late. We have early flights tomorrow.”

Ah. Well, Faith tells herself, it's stupid to be disappointed. She'd gotten another shot. She didn't waste it. It's more than she ever expected.

“Right,” Faith agrees, a little embarrassed by the hoarseness of her voice. She clears her throat, leaning back. “So—”

“We should probably get that room,” Buffy says, voice even, but Faith can see the nervousness on her face. “It'll save us time instead of driving back.”

“Oh,” Faith breathes. “You mean it?”

Buffy nods.

“Cool,” Faith says, stupidly and can't help the way she grins. “I'll close the tab.”

#replies #Anonymous #fuffy #prompt fills #explosionfic #btvs #woohoo!!!! yeahh!!! another one down!!!#this feels long enough for ao3. so. expect that later.#sorry for the use of 'clam jamming' i just think that's the kind of cringe shit faith would one hundred percent actually say

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cloudyeventss · 4 months ago

Text

I thought I try my hand at writing a little story about being 141's assistant. I'm not sure where I'm taking this or even if I should continue. Let me knoww but be sweet. This is literally my first attempt at writing anything

Warnings~ cussing, slightly anxious ? Idk

Y/n pov

He's staring right at me. Slouching slightly to his left, strands of blue dyed hair peeking out underneath his hat. He clearly hasn't been sleeping, I can see the dark circles under his eyes. I don't think I’ve seen him blink once. This is too much. Too fucking much I'm starting to fidget with the belt of my purse, shifting back n forth trying to ease my nerves. I'm overwhelmed and overestimated. This bus smells worse than a gas station bathroom, it doesn't help it’s hotter than the damn desert in here, my sweater is starting to itch and the constant sound of the buses bell going off is enough to make my head explode. GOD why did my car have to break down today? sweat is beading my forehead I feel nauseous. GOD DOES THIS MAN EVER BLINK?!? *ding* fuck finally my stop. I've never been more relieved in my life to leave somewhere... stepping outside I feel like I can breathe again not by much though, last night, laying in bed i got a call from my father's friend Laswell telling me to meet her at a Cafe not too far from my home. Usually, I wouldn't be so nervous to see her, being Laswell and my father worked together for the past 10 years. She’s been around quite a few times but this time She spoke about a potential job opportunity as an assistant overseas. I'm not even sure I heard her right, i was a bottle deep into Apothic red wine. Nothing special but drink enough it’ll knock you on your ass. I've been anxious ever since. After finishing my associates degree in mind and body psychology, I wasn't sure I wanted to continue with school. Maybe I just need a break, but I also need a job. I take one final deep breath to attempt to calm my nerves as I wipe my sweaty palms down my jeans. Okay now’s the time to be confident y/n don't freak out .....

There she is sitting with her back against the wall right in between both exits like always. I'd say she's paranoid but with the work she does it's more justifiable. Laswell stands to greet me "Y/n , it's great to see you!" She moves to sit, and I follow. " it's good to see you too Kate, it's been awhile" . Lunch goes by smoothly; it always was easy falling into conversation with her. A red headed waitress with long legs and black trim glasses drops us our check before walking off to tend to her other tables. My eyes follow her as she passes, she's one of those girls who are effortlessly beautiful. Laswell gains my attention again " so your father tells me you are looking for work"

" I am"

"I could use someone I trust"

"Tell me more"

.....

It'd been two weeks since I met with Laswell, and I accepted the job offer. She explained it mainly consist of filing paperwork and doing whatever task ask of me, running errands, and so on. Kate didn't really give me any details of who I'd work for, just that it was four men she trusted with her life and assured me I'd be in good hands. Today's the day I get on a plane and uproot my whole life. I spent every bit of yesterday taking care of last-minute arrangements. I sold my piece of shit Honda to some high school kid . I almost felt bad for taking his money, but I told him of its issues. In a way I'ma miss Johnny. I named my car after a porn star, Johnny Sins. Ha. It still makes me chuckle . My honda wasn't much, but it always got me where I needed to be hints the name. After taking care of my car I went to see my father. He graciously agreed to look after my apartment for me while I was gone. We spent the rest of the evening watching old westerns on TV and saying our goodbyes.

.....

It's only four hours into the flight, and I'm already regretting my decision. I've spent most of the time in the bathroom emptying my stomach while avoiding angry knocks on the door. The taste of bile in my mouth makes me a little less caring about the people outside. Deciding I can't spend the rest of the flight in the bathroom, I pick myself off the floor and do my best to rinse my mouth. Flying has never sat right with me. I like my feet on the ground instead of tempting God. Regardless, I have to tough it out, its not like I can get them to land now. I walk out the restroom, mumbling hushed, apologizes, and take my seat. Just six more hours.. you got this y/n.

#cod x reader #call of duty #mw2 #simon riley #captain john price #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick

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glubsurleseuil · 10 months ago

Text

Don't be scared - Chapter 1

This is the first chapter - Next

A Pennywise X F!Reader fanfic 'cause I need to get these ideas out of my head before they eat me up. I'll post this thing on AO3 when I'm not so lazy to create an account. If I go ahead with it, it'll be NSFW, sexually disturbing, gory, violent, reader is an autistic drepressed suicidal girl… In short, skip it if you're a sensitive soul. For the rest of you, enjoy (I hope).

(Note: It was translated by Deepl, English is not my mother tongue, so I apologise for any mistakes. If you want to correct me, don't hesitate!)

(Note 2: The image is by @fandomscreenshots but you should already know that because what she does is amazing)

You've always lived in Derry, Maine. Well, actually you were born in Derry, went to school in Derry and, like any good citizen, you now work in Derry. You don't like it, you never have, and you know that no matter what you do, you'll never like it.

Firstly, because no matter how hard you try since childhood, you just can't seem to make any friends. Worse, people seem to have agreed to shut you out and hate you. At best, they ignore you, at worst… well, let's just say there are certain people you've learned to avoid at all costs, so you don't have to spend the evening licking your wounds…

Secondly, because there's something unhealthy about the general atmosphere of this town, as if it were being devoured by a cancer that affected not only the surrounding greenery, but also the buildings and even the people. A cancer that could be called suffering, melancholy or despair. And although no one knows where these feelings come from, everyone seems to accept them as an inevitable burden.

Tonight, like most evenings, you're working at the Canal Rouge, a rather quiet bar where people can drink and listen to local artists perform on a small stage. You're a waitress, and it's not the most pleasant of jobs, especially when you're a woman. Fortunately, your boss is a woman too, and she's very strict about the respect customers show her staff, so things could be a lot worse.

But tonight, you're in a particularly bad mood. Fatigue has always been a difficult thing for you to deal with, and lately your nights have been… tormented. You've been having a dream, always the same with little difference, on and off for over a week. It's a hazy, dark, incoherent dream that's hard to remember. What you remember most is anguish, fear… and an unbearable feeling of being watched by something dangerous, making you feel like prey waiting to be devoured. When your therapist asked you to describe this dream, even with random words, you said 'fear', 'red' and… 'clown'. You laughed after saying that last word, a nervous, uncontrolled laugh, like a continuation of the one you always hear in this dream before waking up.

But tonight, the worst is yet to come, because you have to serve Jenny's gang as consumers, young people your own age who, like you, are stuck in Derry and like to pass the time by annoying other people. Especially you, since you met them in kindergarten. You know you won't be able to get home safely tonight…

And your fears are confirmed as you finish your shift. As you emerge into the alley to which the service door leads, you see them laughing at the end of it, looking in your direction. This is the way home. You quickly think of another option, but you know that even if you take a longer route, they'll be able to corner you sooner or later, and that's what they'll do. Unless… you go through the forest…

You don't hesitate, knowing that your pursuers won't follow. Their parents have given them the same instructions as you: never go into the forest at night. Ever. Your father had made it clear that he meant business by emphasizing his order with the back of his hand. But tonight, you're a grown-up, and between your dead father's old superstitions and Jenny and her gang's guaranteed beating, the choice was quickly made.

You head into the forest, at first more worried about your pursuers who, as expected, quickly abandon their target. Then you decide to turn on the torch on your phone, as it quickly becomes very dark between the tightly packed trees in the middle of the night. You recognize the path you're on and follow it to the ancient oak tree where you used to climb as a child to escape the bullies. But even this place, reassuring by day, gives off a menacing aura by night…

All is quiet, too quiet for a forest where animals should be going about their nocturnal lives. You get the impression that a kind of fog is floating around, light but unnatural, and as you look at the thick branches of the oak tree, you get a strange feeling… Like a memory from another life… Like a dream…

Suddenly, there's a sound. A sound you know well, having heard it every night for over a week. A laugh. A clown's laugh… You turn in all directions, shining your phone in every nook and cranny around the oak. And just as you realize that there's nothing there, that maybe it's your imagination playing tricks on you, the laughter starts up again. You jump back against the tree, light pointed ahead, anticipating the appearance of someone, something… The laughter becomes more distinct, closer… But it's not coming from in front of you, nor from the sides… It comes… from above?

With a quick gesture, you point the light towards the branches of the oak tree and there, hidden in the shadows of the leaves, you see it: a clown. No, THE clown. The one who has haunted your dreams, distressed your nights, devoured your sanity. This present moment has repeated itself endlessly in your nightmare and now it's all happening for real, clear as day and just as terrifying.

With a muffled scream, you drop your phone, the lamp face down and your legs buckling beneath you. The little light that escapes from beneath your phone only faintly illuminates the bottom of the tree, but you know IT's there.

And it's not long before he leaps down from the tree. You can only make out a silhouette in the darkness, and as you hear him coming closer, you try to remember the end of the dream. It's all a blur, and all that comes back is a vague memory of a hunt in which you are the prey… Back on the grassy ground, you pull yourself back as best you can with your hands, never taking your eyes off the presence. Is this how you're going to die?

He moves slowly closer, slipping into the shadows. You can make out that he's leaning forward, then addressing you in a childlike voice.

"Hiya Y/N! I'm Pennywise, the dancing clown!"

He suddenly picks up your phone from the floor, pulling it up slowly, light downwards, gradually revealing his appearance as he continues.

"I've been looking forward to meeting you, you know? Don't be scared, I'm not going to kill you…"

As he utters these words, light finally shines on his face, reflected in his abnormally large and sharp teeth, piercing yellow eyes focused on you, and horror fills you.

"… yet."

The instinct to survive gives you new energy. You leap to your feet and flee the way you came, briefly illuminated by your phone in the clown's hands. You run at full speed, ignoring the noises behind you that make you think he's chasing you. If you've got a chance of getting away, you're going to take it. In fact, the forest exit isn't far off. One last push! You close your eyes and accelerate again… when hands often clutch your collar, brutally stopping your momentum.

"There you are, you bastard!"

"I told you she'd come back! She's such a pussy!"

"No way out now, you bitch!"

Jenny and her gang… It was Tim, the big muscular guy who caught you. They were waiting for you just outside the forest…

"Why are you running so fast? Are you afraid of the big bad wolf?"

They burst out laughing, but the sound reaches you distorted. The adrenalin from your run is wearing off too slowly and you can still hear your heart pounding in your eardrums. You struggle on, your brain unable to make sense of what has just happened. Suddenly, you hear a foul noise. A kind of hoarse, inhuman growl, coming out of the depths of the woods like an echo to their pitiful mocking laughter. You feel Tim's hands trembling with uncontrollable fear on your collar and watch their faces disintegrate before your eyes. Tim lets go and they all flee in a single scream of terror, leaving you behind.

You turn around, your body still tired from your frantic run, and you quickly understand what made them flee: golden eyes, shining menacingly in the darkness, perched on a huge, muscular, fur-covered figure, its multiple sharp teeth accentuating the evil growl rolling down its throat. A werewolf.

You barely have time to realize that it's the clown from earlier before he disappears between the trees with a hoot that sends shivers down your spine. Just as you regain your strength to flee, something falls near you. You examine it carefully: it's your phone, and as you turn the screen towards you, you see a message written in a torn red font:

DON'T BE SCARED

You don't wait any longer and run towards town without looking back.

#it 2017 #pennywise #pennywise x reader #pennywise x you #pennywise fanfiction #it #horror #damn i'm so scared of posting this why #anxiety my old friend

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shardminds · 1 month ago

Text

a sacrifice in your name

pairing: azriel x gwyneth berdara rating: e (for eventually they'll fuck) wc: 4.8k almost (ch 1 - 3) primary tag: (for later chapters lol) dub-con, prophet/demon, blood play

read on ao3 - prologue under the cut

Honestly, the cul-de-sac picket fence cottage was exactly like the intel had suggested; sleepy little street, the cutest little picket fence and a garden filled with lavender and wildflowers. Aramis had been expecting something a little more run down, a cabin in the woods or something, but no. They’d been getting sloppy. This bitch had just been living in the town, going about her business, making friends with the neighbours. All it took was one flash of an old graduation photo to the hag working the counter at the general store, a fabricated nickname and some sob story of surprising a sorority sister from college — people will fall for anything these days. That shit would not fly in a city, but something about the cloying fresh cut grass smell and lack of starbucks drive thru’s drove these people insane. Community spirit, or something.

Hell, it made his job easier.

“Like candy from a baby,” Felix says, his meat suit — a waitress they’d picked up along the way — adjusting his- her blouse. “Only the baby’s dead and the candy is the sweetest win we’ve seen in centuries.”

Aramis nods. It’s a once and a lifetime deal. Almost worth stringing up an angel for.

“D’ya reckon this will be enough?” From the back seat of their piece of shit sedan, Leona reapplies her vessel’s cologne. Unfortunately, she’d wrangled into the flesh of a mortician in the throws of his mid life crisis. That’s the kind of stink that doesn’t fade away with a cheap $5 bottle of horse piss. Some people have no taste. “I mean, will it appease—”

“If he doesn’t want her, someone will.” Stepping out of the car, Aramis checks the surroundings for signs of life. This far past midnight, not even the streetlights greet them. “Either way, we’ve hit the lotto, boys. Now shut the fuck up until I give the signal.”

His own vessel — a twenty something peaked in high school type — stands out a little too much in this quiet town. Having two mediocre-hot girls turn up with a pre-balding guy past 2am in the middle of nowhere? It only screams only one thing. And, from the looks of things, this ain’t that kind of town. Who gives a shit. It’s an in and out job. He’ll be back in the pit tearing out spleens with his bare hands in no time.

If he’s lucky, they might even let him eat them. Damn, a guy can dream.

They approach the cottage in silence, the buzz of a far off highway their only companion. Until it’s not.

There’s a heavy creak, almost intentional, coming from the whitewashed porch. He holds out his hand, signaling Leona and Felix to halt or split or do something. They didn’t really discuss signs before they left the car. Luckily, both demon’s stop behind him.

She’s there. Outside. Sitting at a plastic al fresco dining set, as if that’s normal behavior for a human. Well, it could be. He hasn’t been human in centuries. He wouldn’t be above ground if he didn’t have a debt to pay. It’s cold here.

Gwyneth Berdara is a slip of a thing — tall and skinny, with her hair tied out of her face in some kind of messy knot. Aramis doesn’t know much in the concepts of flesh bag beauty but there’s something about her that clenches in his gut. Something other. The cherry of her cigarette glows brighter as she inhales and it illuminates the marks leading up her neck. Tattoos, perhaps? He’s not close enough to really tell, but it doesn’t matter anyway. He would wear the fuck out of her.

“Three demons, huh? For little old me?” She exhales a cloud of smoke and something that almost sounds like a laugh. “You guys are late.”

Leona shoots him a look. Felix does the same. He lowers his hand, taking tentative steps towards their prey.

“My apologies, sweetheart. Car troubles, wardrobe malfunctions — you know how it is.” He’s not too sure why he’s lying. Really, they should grab her, knock her out and drive to the closest portal without even breaking a sweat. This vessel isn’t really built for that kind of grunt work, though. The sweat pools on her lower back, a long drip following the curve of her spine, despite the pre-fall chill. That and his vessel’s wearing pretty much a handkerchief with a belt. Not exactly bounty hunting gear but, you know, needs must. He’s done more with less. “We’re here now. That’s what’s important.”

She stands, unfolding her crossed legs slowly and it’s crazy because she doesn’t even look towards them — just stands, stubbing out her cigarette in the half full ashtray as she does. Like she’s bored. This probably worked on normal people. But they aren’t people at all. Felix sniffs as if he can smell it too. Faint, but still there. Her fear.

“It’s no problem, really. Take your time.” She says, rolling up the sleeves of her jacket, the same scribbles on her neck littler her arms and wrists. They must be tattoos, or she’s an art teacher or something. He can see that — surrounded by kids, paint by numbers, sketchbooks and poster paints. Aramis’ mouth waters, suddenly hungry. Gwyneth Berdara isn’t an art teacher. No, it’s much worse than that. “Quick question, does Hell have AC? I don’t do too well with heat—”

“Shut up, bitch.”

Felix snaps his head to Leona, meat suit’s honey voice sharp with barbs. “Now now.”

Aramis shrugs it off. Leona’s never been the patient one. Millenia spent in the furthest pits only serving to hone her like a blade. Vicious. A worst case scenario type. He preferred to take it slow, play the long game. Back in hell, he’d been known for it. But a few bad bets, bad calls, bad deals — the house always wins. And in this case, the house won’t just break his legs.

“You’re going to come with us willingly or we’ll drag you out ourselves.” He says, each step a little more tentative. The fact that she isn’t cowering kinda pisses him off. Like she’s too good for them. No, it really pisses him off. She should be scared. The stench of fear should be intoxicating, he should be feasting on it, drowning in it. Fuck, he should be wearing it thicker than Leona’s piss water cologne, parading it around the pit like a king. “I don’t mind ditching this tux for yours if I have to,” He smirks. “I’d be gentle, I promise.”

Gwyneth Berdara sighs. She fucking sighs.

“Well, I was going to go nicely,” She descends the stairs, all casual arrogance as her booted feet hit the gravel path straight to them. Aramis will dream of his fist around her throat for the rest of his days. That and more, he’s sure. She’s less than an arms length away when she stops. He can scent her fear still but it’s coated in ozone, like someone left it out in a storm. She shrugs her shoulders in an act of nonchalance that boils his piss. One more fucking word— “But then you were late. No hard feelings, right?”

Felix twists, eyes black as she looks between him and the girl.

“What do you mean no hard feelings?” is the last thing he hears before the world burns from his periphery, circling in. It’s worse than the pit, it’s worse than an exorcism. His very essence is being clawed from the inside out, each extension of him severed from the confines of his vessel. He shouldn’t be able to taste his own burning flesh — fuck, there shouldn’t be any flesh to burn, especially when he can feel the vitality of the cheerleader surging in his- her skull; unharmed, cheering on his demise, waiting her turn to take control again. He screams but there is no sound. The body doesn’t obey him anymore.

Leona and Felix can’t help him, their faces contorted in pain, in horror. True faces, not their vessels. He can see them now, through the veneer of flesh. Oh fuck.

The lights go out.

“Like I said,” It comes as an echo, strung out as if rattling around what’s left of his form. He doesn’t hear it so much as it invades every part of what he is. He tries to grasp for it, but it’s elusive, like water, like salt. Pouring through smoke he’s losing control of, burning when it catches the shriveling curls of his form. “No hard feelings.”

He burns until there is nothing left.

read on ao3!!! >>>

#ficminds #gwynriel #gwyn x azriel #pro gwynriel #acotar fanfiction #i have given up on tagging #love me

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herrscherofinsanity · 1 year ago

Text

One of us is falling

Summary: Getting lost trying to find a party was never meant to be a good thing, but Jimin always found a way to surprise you.

Fluff

Yu Jimin (Karina) x fem!reader

Word count: 1.8k

_____________________

I’m late, I’m late, I’m so late. Mrs. Santos is going to kill me.

Those were the words echoing in your mind as you raced down the street towards the restaurant you worked at. Your sister was supposed to drive you there, but the old van you two had been sharing finally gave up which meant you had to make a run for it if you wanted to keep your job.

You burst through the doors of Café Contigo startling the people inside. You sent them an apologetic smile as you made your way to the register where one of your other coworkers was doing her best to stifle her laughter.

“You okay?” Sana, another waitress at the restaurant, asked. “It’s not like you to be late, and you look like you just ran a marathon”.

“Car problems” you mumbled, trying to tame your hair. “I’m sorry, just give me a second to get my uniform and I’ll join you”.

You made your way to the small locker rooms located at the back of the restaurant, trying to get yourself ready to go as quickly as possible. You sighed, it’s not like you hated your job, the restaurant was very well kept, the pay was generous, and the staff (bosses included) were very nice, what bothered you was the fact that you were wasting precious quality time with your best friend.

Yu Jimin, your best friend since middle school who was a college student on the other side of the country while you stayed in your hometown working as a waitress.

You and Jimin had done everything together ever since you had met, you were inseparable, but when the time to graduate came around you realized your plans were different. Jimin wanted to go to college as soon as possible; you on the other hand, wanted to take a year off and get some rest.

Even though you took different directions, your friendship kept standing strong. You tried to talk to each other as much as possible, and you were understanding of the other’s schedule; nevertheless you still longed for your best friend.

When Jimin announced she would be coming back for a few weeks you were over the moon, mentally planning everything you and your best friend would do together. It would’ve been perfect… if only your work schedule didn’t clash with absolutely everything.

You had spent the first day of Jimin’s break glued to each other; from watching movies, to catching up or simply enjoying each other’s presence, but it couldn’t last forever. You had an early shift at the restaurant the very next day, so you weren’t going to be able to hang out with the other girl. Jimin had complained at first, but she relaxed when you proposed an impromptu sleepover. As you finished getting ready, you blushed, remembering Jimin’s words from the night before.

“You have no idea how happy I am to be back home”.

“What’s so good about Bayview? You’re not missing much”.

“I wasn’t talking about Bayview, I meant you. You’re my home”.

Butterflies. You frowned at the feeling, you had never felt like that when it came to Jimin, it was foreign. You shook your head, walking out of the locker room and towards an occupied table. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on your new found feelings for your friend, you had a job to keep.

“Hi, welcome to Café Contigo! Are you guys ready to order?”.

____________________

“Hey y/n, it’s time for your break” Sana walked up to you with a smile on her face. You thanked her and made your way to the back so you could check your phone. You let Jimin know last night when your break was supposed to start with the hopes of her joining you for a bit.

As you retrieved your phone from your bag, you noticed you had two missed calls from your best friend. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, did something happen to her? You dialed her number and Jimin, impatient as always, picked up on the first ring.

“Finally!” she exclaimed. “I thought you had a break right now?”.

“I do” you laughed “it just started”.

“Okay, well, that’s great because I have something important to tell you”.

“Yes?” you bit your lip in anticipation, the butterflies coming back.

“I have this bucket list of things I want to do before I have to leave, and one of those things is going to a party with you!” she announced happily, you giggled at her antics.

“And why is that something you want to do? We’ve been to parties before”. Jimin paused for a second before replying as if she was weighing her options.

“Because it will be different this time, we’re older and wiser” she said, but her argument wasn’t really convincing, nevertheless you accepted. You would gladly walk through a burning house if Jimin asked you to.

“Okay then, whatever you say” you replied.

You two kept chatting away for the remainder of your break, the butterflies never leaving you alone.

____________________

“Hey!” Jimin exclaimed when you got into her car. “You look beautiful tonight”.

You had rushed home when your shift at the restaurant ended, you didn’t want to make Jimin wait, so you got ready as fast as humanly possible. Your outfit and make up could be better, yet Jimin still thought you were the most beautiful girl she had ever seen.

Jimin had insisted on driving you both to the party so you could spend as much time together as possible, and you didn’t have a reason to complain so here you were.

“Thanks, you look gorgeous”. You meant what you said, Jimin looked amazing with her signature black jean jacket, the rest of her outfit matching it effortlessly. The longer you stared at your friend, the hotter your face felt. Butterflies, great. You cleared your throat, trying to pull yourself together, Jimin looked at you curiously. “So, where exactly are we doing?”.

Jimin chuckled nervously before replying. “I have to be completely honest with you, I’m not sure”, you shot her an incredulous look which made her laugh genuinely this time. “Don’t look at me like that. I have the address, I’m just not familiar with that part of the city, but it’s okay! It’s part of the adventure!”.

You playfully rolled your eyes at your friend, only Jimin would say something like that. “Whatever you say, Jimin, at least we’re spending time together”.

“That’s the spirit!” she said as she drove away from your house.

Laughter filled the car, you and Jimin kept exchanging stories and singing along to the playlist you had chosen for the ride. Everything felt right in that moment, there was nothing that could ruin the peace you shared.

"Oh wait" Jimin said, she lowered the music's volume as if that would help her see better. "I think we're here".

Jimin parked the car near a house that looked like it hadn't been inhabited in ages. Even though Jimin didn't give you much details regarding the party, you were still sure she wasn't the type to go to abandoned places for fun.

"I don't think this is the place, Jimin" you said carefully. She squinted, trying to get a better look at the house and then turned to you with a shy look on her face.

"Yeah, I think you're right" she set the car in motion once again "let's keep going, it shouldn't be far from here". You hummed in agreement, but boy were the two of you wrong.

Jimin had made a total of six stops where she was “one hundred percent sure” the party was taking place. With each failed location, the frown on her face deepened and her frustration sky rocketed; you on the other hand, found the whole thing hilarious. From the way Jimin would furrow her eyebrows in concentration, to how she would run her hands through her hair in frustration and the way she pouted her lips like a child… you found the scene to be more than a bit amusing.

You finally cracked when Jimin locked eyes with you, the frustration swimming in her eyes was clear, but the little smile she sent your way in an attempt to seem nonchalant made you laugh your heart out.

Your laughter filled the car, Jimin scoffed at your reaction but eventually joined in on your amusement. You both laughed until your stomachs ached and tears were spilling out of your eyes. Jimin made an effort to wipe your tears away, but she had always been clumsy to a fault. Instead of being smooth and brushing your cheeks, she ended up stabbing one of her manicured nails right on the bridge of your nose, leaving a small scratch behind.

Jimin panicked when she realized she had hurt you, she leaned in to try to get a good look of the scratch and that’s when your laughter died down. She’s too close. Butterflies.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you!” she exclaimed as she cradled your face with her hands, examining the small wound. You felt your face heating up at the close proximity and the attention you were receiving.

“It’s fine, I know it was an accident” if you hadn’t been staring so intently at your best friend, you would’ve missed the way her eyes moved from the scratch on your nose to your lips for a split second.

“I’m sorry…”

“Jimin, you don’t have to keep apologizing, I’m okay” you breathed out, she was still holding you close.

“That’s not what I’m apologizing for”.

Before you could ask her what she meant, Jimin cut you off by pressing her lips against yours. The butterflies you kept feeling around your friend came back in full force. You quickly moved your lips against hers, not wanting her to think you were rejecting her advances.

You had never done this with your best friend before, you had no idea you felt this way towards her, but in that exact moment, with Jimin softly moving her lips against yours, caressing your cheek with one of her hands while the other was tangled in your hair, everything felt right. Kissing Jimin felt right, it felt like coming home.

The kiss ended way too soon for your liking. Jimin pulled away but her forehead was pressed against yours as she tried to catch her breath. “You have no idea how long I have been wanting to do that”, she whispered.

You smiled, pecking her lips before quickly pulling away. You giggled at the pout she had on her face. Wrapping your arms around her neck you sent a sly smile her way, “should we keep looking for that party or would you rather go back to my place?”.

“Maybe you and I should have a party of our own”, Jimin replied breathlessly before pressing her lips against yours once more, the promise of something more was made very clear with the way she kissed you a bit more desperately this time.

____________________

A/N: Hi! It's been a while since I last posted something, I've been way too busy with classes this semester. I hope you enjoy this one shot, I will definitely make an effort to finish the longer ones I have planned.

By the way, if you get the references included in this work, we should get married.

#aespa imagines #aespa scenarios #aespa x fem reader #karina imagines #aespa #karina scenarios #yu jimin #yu jimin scenarios #yu jimin x reader #karina x reader #yu jimin imagines

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wheresmymilliondollarman · 2 years ago

Note

can you do hcs of dating grayson hawthorne?

grayson hawthorne x fem! reader

hcs about meeting & dating the heir apparent of the hawthorne family.

a/n: ofc!! thx sm for the request & sorry for the wait!! i just got a new one also requesting grayson so this one goes out to you too anon!! grayson hawthorne is one of the lomls🫶 i am so indecisive between him & jameson fr (but for avery i think jameson is better suited for her). hope u enjoy!! i'm a sucker for the poor x rich trope sorry & i love tobias lowkey playing match maker in these LOL & this follows some of the main story but then kinda trails off

word count: 6.8k

warnings: almost drowning (LOL), minor mature language, few spoliers for final gambit i guess?,

before you were dating the second oldest hawthorne, you were just a girl working part-time at a diner as a waitress, trying to make enough money to buy a car. you were relentlessly getting picked up/dropped off everywhere by either one of your parent's vehicles.

being a waitress wasn't ideal when dealing with rude customers, pretentious managers, and occasional annoying co-workers, but you had decent pay, and tips weren't too bad.

most of the time you were running the show on your own. serving tables, acting as hostess, dealing with unsatisfied customers, etc. it wasn’t even the lack of staff, it was lazy behaviors of your co-workers and manager - who got the job because her dad owns the business.

one peculiar afternoon you were doing your usual job of serving tables and taking orders when an older gentleman walked in, way classier than your usual customers. you seated him, gave him a menu, and then returned to the kitchen to serve your other tables.

the diner staff seemed to be murmuring words and glancing back at the man, but you didn't pay any mind to it. it wasn't unusual for you to catch staff gossiping about customers.

going back to the table, you gave him the complimentary water and then asked for his beverage of choice - he chose a simple black coffee. you went to the kitchen and returned with his drink. you were on the verge of asking for his meal order, but he looked preoccupied with a crossword puzzle.

you peaked over, and noticed he looked possibly stuck, so you offered your help because you often did crosswords when you were bored. "do you mind if i take a look?"

he said nothing, only gesturing his head toward his little crossword booklet and pen beside it. even his pen looked fancy.

you looked over the one he was one, and after reading the hint and the number of boxes for the word, you could figure it out.

"tatersall."

the old man peered at you as if you spoke a different language.

"it's fabric with checks and lines, the phrase is a bit old-fashioned. i only know it 'cause that's what my dad refers to his shirts as." you explained.

he looked intrigued by your words, as if you'd given him an idea. he thanked you, then went on to fill out the boxes.

words were said much after that. he drank his coffee and left sometime while you were busy serving other tables. when you returned to ask him if he wanted anything else, he was already gone. but not before leaving $200 dollar tip next to his finished coffee.

you thoroughly checked if it was real, not believing anyone would purposely leave such a tip for a cup of black coffee. but in fact, it was very real. and you even bought yourself a very cute dress to commemorate. just to double check it was legit, of course.

the older man with silver-blue eyes continued to come into the diner every few days, never ordering anything other than a black coffee and always being generous with the tip.

you two had polite conversations and odd ones rooted questions he dropped on you. you noticed a lot of them pertained to money and contributions. but you never passed on answering.

they were questions like "what jobs have you worked?", "what are your parents' occupations?", "are you interested in charities and donations?", and "what do you do with the money you earn?"

thru these visits, he finally gave you his name, tobias. it shouldn't had surprised you he had a unique name to match his unique personality.

you didn't get much information about tobias. all he revealed to you was he enjoyed games, was obviously wealthy, and has 2 daughters, one son, and 4 grandsons - who weren't too off from your age.

he liked to talk about a certain one, the second oldest, grayson. you created an image he was a closed-off, goal-driven, cunning, and loyal guy. you didn’t wanna jump to conclusions, but one could say he was slyly trying to set you up with him.

it wasn’t uncommon for grandparents to come in the diner and rave about their grandsons. at times they would even show you a multitude of photos saying how handsome they are and well-raised gentlemen who would be a great match for you.

you never had the heart to straight up tell them ‘not interested’, so you listened to their praises and then fabricated a lie as to why you were unable to date their grandson.

if tobias ever were to ever try and do that you would use the same methods. you were sure his grandson was an acceptable man, but you had no interest in going on a blind date with anytime soon.

however, the conversation didn't maneuver that direction; instead, he went on to talk about how grayson was in charge of a foundation he owns and basically manages everything.

you found that rather impressive, considering he was only eight-teen. then you thought, 'just how rich is this guy?'

this arrangement continued for a few more weeks and then it turns into a constant routine for months. still never ordering anything order than a coffee, and leaving after.

one day, tobias abruptly stopped coming into the diner. and after a two-week hiatus, you figured he was likely not returning again.

you didn't realize how tedious work was without the old man's presence, you were still as busy as ever doing everyone's job, but now you didn't have the levity from your conversations.

it stayed like that for the following three months, no word from tobias. you wanted to contact him somewhere, but you began to realize how little you knew of him, hell you didn't even know his last name. he knew all the basics of what comprised you, but you couldn't even say his favorite color. and you’d known this man for almost a year.

but as it turned out, you didn't need to contact him yourself because a man came into the diner asking for you.

at first, you thought it was an unsatisfied customer here to berate you some more; it wouldn't be the first time. but you were more than relieved it was a guy you'd never seen before, a particularly handsome and well-fitted one.

you went up to the man and politely greeted him, asking how you could help him. he took you presence in when you appeared, looking up and down. it wasn't in a 'checking-you-out' type way, it was of an 'i'm judging what type of person you are' way. you felt scrutinized in your lousy diner girl uniform. it didn't help he was dressed pristinely from head to toe.

he finally spoke, "it's pertaining to my grandfather, tobias hawthorne."

you were piqued up at the mention of tobias, this was the first time you'd heard of his last name, but you didn't know any other tobias's so it must be him.

the man in front of you was one of his infamous grandsons he loved to chat about, although you weren't sure which one. but based on his stern and disciplined attitude, you'd place your bets on grayson. but just to be sure you asked.

"right, my name is grayson hawthorne." you called it. "unfortunately, my grandfather has recently passed. my family is in the middle of gathering everyone for the matter of the will, but all parties must be preset. my grandfather's law firm has informed me you are also mentioned in it."

your heart broke at the reveal of tobias passing. you knew him less than a year, but you still had formed a connection with him.

then the other portion of his statement dawned on you, he mentioned you in his will. why?

grayson seemed to have wanted to know this too. he said tobias mentioned you in passing but didn't offer details about your relationship. he didn't hide how he was suspecting and untrusting of you.

you filled him in on details of how you met, your meetings, and the last time you conversed with him. grayson was still wary of you, but he didn't have any reason yet to say you were lying.

he then urged you to gather your belongings because the two of you had to head over to his family's residence as soon as possible. he has already informed your boss of your leave of absence.

it was all so sudden, you were still processing all this information. grayson's insistence made it nearly impossible to do anything but listen.

so, grayson took you home to change and pack a few items. you left a note for your parents, letting them know you'd be spending a night or two at a friend's house. you knew if you explained what was really going on they would not let you go; they'd probably even scold you for befriending a random old man at work, calling you naive.

although, that had merit because you were currently off with a man you knew for like five seconds because you believed he was the grandson of a man who you also didn't know for too long.

you thought the chance of getting kidnapped was better than overworking at the diner.

you were astounded when grayson casually took you to the destination of his private jet. you'd never flown first class, let alone a private freaking jet.

you two took off, and a few hours later, arrived in texas. the moment you stepped off, a bodyguard guided the two of you into a limousine. from there, you sought off to the mansion.

when you arrived, you thought you'd been driven to some sort of fancy hotel, but not it was where grayson and the rest of the hawthorne lived. you'd likely get lost trying to go from the kitchen to your bedroom.

grayson had to physically drag you away from your jaw-dropped stare at the property.

when you entered the entrance hall , another girl was already there, an older girl with her as well.

she turned her attention toward you when she noticed you entering, she seemed to have recognized grayson, but had a questioning gaze toward you.

the older girl was the one to speak to you first. “and here i thought we’d already met everyone affiliated with this crazy rich family. hi, i’m libby and this is my sister avery. are you grayson’s girlfriend?”

you could’ve died from awkwardness right there. you didn’t even wanna take a glance at grayson’s reaction, you imagined he would have a look of discontent.

“er, no. we just met today actually. he came into my work saying i’m needed for a will reading, and next thing i know im off in a private jet and in this mansion.”

this time avery spoke up, “sorry about libby’s assumption. it was just because you guys came in together and he’s carrying your bag.”

grayson was in fact hold your small luggage bag. he taken the liberty of taking it out of the trunk of the limo and carried it since.

you didn’t say anything, you just snatched your bag out of grayson’s hands, mumbling a quiet thanks.

grayson let out a laugh, but covered it up as a cough.

avery talked about her situation being similar to yours, except she’s never met tobias hawthorne before. it made you feel better there was someone else who felt like an outsider.

you were led away by grayson, guiding you to the room the will was being read. but you ran into a numerous amount of people on the way.

first, it was xander, the youngest hawthorne grandson. he appeared out of secret passage, jump scaring you. then he introduced himself.

nash, who had a country accent, followed a bit after walking in with his mother skye. she asked you a few invading questions about yourself, and you replied cordially. very relieved when grayson excused you both.

finally, you’d met jameson on accident. you were on the way to the bathroom, using directions given to you, and that’s when you bumped into him. he was very obviously drunk. he slurred a few words, but you quickly excused yourself, not wanting to deal with whatever was going on with him.

once you were finally in the room, you took a seat next to avery since she and her sister were the best options.

finally the will reading began, and the lawyers started reciting its words and designated belongs and money to different family members. all the families were stunned that the grandsons, especially grayson, hadn't gotten the entire fortune. yours and averys names had yet to be mentioned.

"to my newfound friend y/n l/n, i leave conservatorship to the hawthorne foundation. the remainder of my estate, including all properties, monetary assets, and worldly possessions not otherwise specified, i leave it to be shared upon y/n l/n and avery kylie grambs."

nothing could have you prepared for that. you thought it was a prank at first, some sick joke rich people do that get less-than-fortunate people's hopes up. but no, the lawyer did indeed confirm it to be true.

avery and yourself turned toward each other wide-eyed, completely flabbergasted. then the whole room erupted into chaos, everyone standing up to demand an explanation, accusing you both of having done something.

you had just met these people, and you couldn't for sure say they were capable of murder, but you'd seen enough movies about the rich to know it's definitely a possibility.

luckily, oren, tobias' (now ex) bodyguard, stood in front of you girls, preventing the hawthornes from stepping any closer. he claimed he worked for you both now, so it was his job to protect you.

"should we trust this guy? what if he's just playing us to get the inheritance." avery whispered to you.

"a bodyguard with ulterior motives is better than being left to the wolves."

"good point." libby chimed in.

it didn't end there; there were conditions for the will, saying you and avery must remain at the hawthorne estate for a full year to receive the inheritance.

so not only did you become enemy number one toward most hawthornes, but now you had to live with all of them. lovely.

that jump-started your now future of being involved with the hawthornes (and the grambs sisters)

after the will fiasco, the grayson made it his mission to unmask whatever game you played to get the inheritance, but he always came up empty-handed because you, as you insisted to multiple hawthornes, did not manipulate tobias. you didn't even know the guy's last name until you had met grayson.

if you had a talent for taking advantage of rich men, you would not be wasting time being a waitress for a shitty diner.

however, you tried to look on the very bright side of things, living in a gorgeous mansion. your bedroom was the size of your home's first floor. you;'d never slept on a comfier or larger bed.

one thing that set you apart from avery in the will was that you had complete ownership in the hawthorne foundation and his involvement with different charities. alissa had informed you that you'd need to learn to manage it- designating which associations to donate to, how much, how often, etc.

it was overwhelming to think about; if you failed to be a conservator, it would be given to the grandsons. you also knew having authority over it bothered zara hawthorne, since she'd spent basically her whole life running it. you knew it you were to make a wrong move, she'd be quick to call it out you.

alissa had arranged for you to go to the foundation and meet with someone who'd help you navigate the ropes. a part of you assumed it'd be zara meeting you there, maybe forced by alissa to help you. but instead, it was grayson, who still thought you were some master con woman.

he was the only grandson that had an issue with you and avery, but for some reason, you were more suspicious to him. xander, jameson, and nash seemed to have adjusted to events and were now somewhat friends with you. it was pretty infuriating how grayson would not listen to reason, no matter how much you tried to make amends.

grayson remained professional, not wanting his personal feud to hinder the foundation's work. he started giving you a tour and explaining an overview of how things ran. it became easier for you to imagine yourself running it.

you stopped when you passed by various black and white photos hung up in midair. they'd been hung since the beginning of your tour, but you'd only truly taken notice just now.

"who took these? they're beautiful."

"i did."

'of course, you did' you thought. he seemed to be good at everything.

"can i have a copy of this one?" you pointed toward a photo to your left; it was of a couple dancing together in the rain, in front of the eiffel tower.

"why?"

"i'd always wanted to see the eiffel tower. plus, i just really like it." it was true. the photo was captured exquisitely, and going to paris had always been a goal of yours, along with traveling to different places in the world.

he didn't respond. grayson went up to the photograph and carefully unlatched it. he then turned to you and gestured for you to take it, "here, you can have it."

you were a little shocked he just gave it to you, but hundreds of photos were decorated throughout the building, so it probably didn't mean much just giving you one.

you took it in your hands gently and thanked him. you both then continued your tour into the conference room to discuss further management of the hawthorne foundation.

but unbeknownst to you, the photo you now owned was one of his favorites.

it became easier to get to know and warm up to grayson the more you visited the foundation, which you did quite often because you now that you had (or will have) conservatorship to the foundation, you wanted to ensure you knew everything involving it to ensure you'd continue its success.

you could now say the two of you were somewhat friends, but there still seemed to be a wall - built by grayson, between the two of you. likely from the lack of trust he still has toward you.

at times he'd look at you as if you were the enemy, and other times he'd treat you courteously. his constant mood changes were driving you crazy.

you had been staying up later than usual since your stay at the manor began. it didn't help that there was possibly a secret passage in your room like avery's has.

but your leading cause of distress stemmed from the mystery of the whole will situation. you'd gotten a small letter like everyone else, but it failed to offer any closure.

in fact, all it said was, "good luck". you'd never had the urge to strangle a dead old man til now.

however, this night you decided to walk outside. you'd been hesitant to wander around the mansion, but then again, you technically half owned it now, and nobody could really stop you. so you decided to go to the pool area, carefully avoiding alerting your new bodyguard of your movement.

when you got there, it was empty as you had hoped. the pool was illuminated with the lights, the area surrounding it was dimly lit.

you settled for solely dipping your feet in the pool and gazing at the stars upon the sky.

half an hour in, you heard the faint sound of someone possibly approaching. you took it as a sign to get back to your room before oren noticed, if he hadn't already.

you got up a bit too quickly, causing an imbalance in your step - leading you to stumble backward into the pool.

most people would simply swim back up to the top and pull themselves out, but you couldn't do that for one big reason. you never learned to swim.

panic began to seep into you as you flailed your arms all over the place, attempting to float to the top, but it only made you sink further. it didn't help drowning was on the top of your list of 'ways i would hate to die'.

you were midway through choking on the water when someone jumped into the pool and carried you back onto the pavement.

after coughing the water out of your lungs, you looked at the face your your savior kneeled in front of your; low and below there was grayson hawthorne - wearing nothing but swim shorts.

the sight of him shirtless made it harder to steady your breathing.

"are you alright?" you nodded in confirmation.

"what were you thinking getting into the pool so carelessly?"

"well, i just to test out my new waterproof mascara." you said sarcastically. "obviously i didn't end up in the stupid pool purposely!"

he rolled his eyes. “god, were you born a horrendous swimmer or just taught by an imbecile.”

you stayed silent, looking away from him, not wanting to admit the embarrassing truth.

“do you…do you not know how to swim?”

"….. define knowing to swim.”

he gave you an incredulous look, “seriously? even most 5-year-olds know how to swim, better yet, they wouldn’t almost drown in the 7ft part of the pool.”

“okay i get it! it’s pathetic i don’t know the basics of swimming. you don't have to be an asshole about it.” you stood up angrily in your soggy clothes and attempted to walk away - but grayson grabbed your wrist.

“wait. alright, i apologize for being quick to judge. if you want..i’ll teach you to swim.”

you were taken aback by the gesture, not quite sure what to think. on the one hand, it could be a plan to embarrass you further, but on the other hand - you really didn’t want to live your life not being able to swim any longer.

“alright.”

the following night he made good of his word when you went out to meet him. (oren being aware this time, after he warned you he'd lock you in your room if you snuck out without him again.)

this time you had proper swim attire, a 2 piece bikini alissa had purchased for you, along with others.

grayson was already in the pool when you arrived, swimming laps. once he noticed your arrival, he stepped out of the pool. you would've thought it was a scene from a movie from how smoothly & dreamy he moved.

you averted your eyes before you stared at his form too long.

you weren't sure if it was your imagination or you saw grayson do a double-take when he saw you.

all his attractiveness was shortly forgotten when he went to his bag to retrieve something, then handed you some plastic. it took you a moment, but then it clocked - these you arm floaties.

"you're joking right?"

"hey, after that near-drowning experience, it's better to be safe than sorry."

"it's like you want to humiliate me."

"don't worry i chose the ones with the flowers to enhance your matureness." he fought back a smile with his words.

he got a nasty glare in response.

still, you knocked down your pride on putting on the floaties before you and grayson submerged into the pool.

then grayson began reciting exercises and movements for you to do. after floating around for a bit, he instructed you to remove the floaties. you were obviously hesitant, the floaties were keeping you from drowning, but grayson insisted that you trust him.

he grabbed your waist with both hands and got behind you; that was enough to quicken your pulse.

his hands held you steady as you attempted to stay afloat by moving your arms and legs. it would get harder to focus when his hands moved up and down your back.

"okay, i'm gonna let you go now."

"ok. wait what-"

you were abruptly cut off because grayson immediately removed his hands, leaving you on your own. being caught off guard, you began a repeat of the night before, but this time attempting to swim correctly. regardless, you were still beginning to choke on water and sink down.

grayson swam back to your aid in an instant, holding you up above the water by the waist.

"shit- i'm sorry. i assumed your instincts would kick in if you had less reaction time."

"oh, because it worked so well yesterday."

"right, perhaps i should've given it more careful thought." he moved a hand to the side of your face, "are you sure you're okay?"

you nodded, unable to verbally respond. the tension in the air thickened as the two of you continued to stare to one another. for a brief moment, his gaze wandered to your lips, and you stopped breathing.

his face slowly leaned into yours. you didn't know what you'd do if he was going to kiss you - a big part of you was ready to kiss back and the other part told you i'd be a mistake if you did.

but the moment was interrupted by alissa, who was calling your name because she wanted to ho over tomorrow’s events with you.

you also knew, based on alissa's critical gaze, she'd seen what was about to possibly happen. she has already given you a fair amount of warning about getting involved with hawthornes.

grayson then pulled away, awkwardly bidding you farewell, saying he'd see you later before he made his way out of the pool.

since then, the brewing tension between the two of you grew. it didn't help you already see him quite a bit during the day, then alone at night. apparently, it was evident to everyone there was something happening because thea calligaris cornered you.

"the last girl who was with grayson ended up dead."

you were unsure what to believe after that, you really didn't trust thea, but didn't mean it couldn't be true. 'don't rich people always have some murderous secret?'

you couldn't help it, and brought up the topic to grayson, who went very still at the mention. he lashed out at you before walking away. you suppose that confirmed it.

he avoided you for a few days, even skipped out on swimming lessons, so you kept yourself busy with school and hanging with avery and xander; solving the still ongoing mystery of the will. which you'd lowkey given up on because riddles were not your forte.

you felt bad your question, but he didn’t need to act so harshly toward you. so, you weren’t going to talk to him until he approached you first.

a knock sounded in your room when you were getting ready for bed. however, it didn't come from the door but from behind a large painting.

'i swear if this house is haunted, i'm running back home'

you tried to remove the painting, but it was stuck to the wall. then you discover a small button hidden on its frame. against better judgment, you press it, making the painting and the wall behind it move forward and slide to the left.

you knew there were various passages, but having one in your own room kind of freaked you out.

behind the moving wall stood grayson. you screamed at first, only seeing a figure in the dark. but then grayson quickly stepped into the light and closer to you to put a hand over your mouth. you were relieved to see him and not someone who would possibly murder you.

he didn’t remove his hand, you gave him an expectant look.

“just hear me out, before you demand i leave. i came to apologize.”

you nodded, allowing him to continue. he sighed and pulled his hand away. then he opened up to you for the first time, telling you about a girl name emily laughlin.

he explained her condition, how both hom and jameson were involved with her, and how she died.

the more the story went on the more you felt bad for both brothers, especially grayson since it seemed it was still affecting him. you even felt for emily, obviously, she lacked something in her life to play 2 brothers.

“i'm not complaining, but why did you decide to tell me all this” the two of you at some point made your way onto your bed, sitting side by side each other

he humorlessly laughs, and looks directly at you. “to be honest, i’m not even sure. all i know is when i look into your eyes, i have this urge to tell bare my soul to you.”

deja vu to the pool incident, you both didn’t say anything, just looked at each other, slowly leaning your face closer.

you were ready to be interrupted again, stopping the act before it can happen. but there was none, and your lips were now an inch apart, and your heart was beating like you just ran a marathon.

“tell me to stop right now, or i’m afraid i won’t be able to hold myself back.”

you said nothing.

wasn't like he gave you much reaction time anyway because he kissed you a second later - like you were the last person he was ever going to kiss.

and oh boy, was it a good kiss.

even when he left your room later that night, after much kissing you were still reeling from the shock of it all.

you didn't know what it meant for the two of you - did he like you?, was it a one-time thing?, or did he kiss you as a way to forget emily?

you were only sure of one thing right now - you felt something toward grayson that crossed the friend zone.

the kiss was never brought up over the days; grayson and you continued to work together and swim at night together almost every other day. you weren't sure if you were relieved or offended he never mentioned it.

you swore he got flirter since the kiss - his hand brushing against yours, standing very close behind you when reviewing something for the foundation, hands wandering when helping you swim, even a subtle flirty remark here and there.

you confided in avery about the events. she was insistent on the fact grayson liked you, and that he didn't seem like the type of have a fling nor rebound.

you wanted to believe he liked you, but then you would hear thea's voice in your head, reminding you of emily, and how he isn't over her.

it was driving you mad, so you convinced yourself you were simply reading into things. you weren't.

it all came to a head at a charity event the both of you helped plan for the foundation. you'd wore a beautiful namebrand designer custom-made gown, the fanciest dress you ever adorned.

however, the whole night grayson ignored you and made it clear he was avoiding you. anytime you approached him he gave an excuse to the person he was talking to that he had to go somewhere. or if you tried making eye contact, he was quick to turn his head the other direction. you didn't know what his deal was.

when you took to the outside for a breather, you sensed the arrival of his presence.

you scoff, "so now you wanna talk to me or what?"

he didn't respond, which upset you more. so you opted to walk back into the ballroom, but grayson stopped you.

"anytime i look at you too long, i think of our kiss that night. then i have to hold myself back from doing it another time. and if i kiss you, i thin- no. i know i won't be able to help but fall for you."

you were again dumbfounded by such confession. a habit that seemed to always happen in the presence of grayson hawthrone.

"i don't mind."

"neither do i."

he crashed your lips together with his in a flash.

unlike the first one, the kiss was messy, and messy was never a way you thought you'd describe the pristine grayson hawthorne.

his hands made their way to your face keeping you close while his mouth was almost devouring your lips. you steadied yourself by holding onto his shoulders because you did not trust your wobbly knees to stand on their own.

you pulled away first, heavily breathing like the night you almost drowned. your mind was still hazy, unable to properly form a sentence to speak.

grayson hands stayed, caressing your face gently,

"you can have my entire being if it means i get to kiss you like that whenever."

you both didn't end up returning to the charity that night. not while your makeup was smudged and all your lipstick was transferred on grayson's face.

though it was never verbally official, the two of you were evidently more than friends at that point.

you didn't even need to tell anyone of your newfound relationship because you'd come to find out jameson had seen the two of you that night, and he would could never resist a gossip about grayson. so the information easily made its way throughout the entire hawthorne manor.

in relation, grayson fought jameson. unfortunately, you weren't allowed to watch the fight because grayson didn't want you to witness any violence. you were lowkey disappointed because you and avery were ready to place bets.

alissa also made sure to have a talk with you both regarding public appearances. she advised it was better to keep it private because everyone was still reeling from yours and avery's newfound inheritance, and this news could possibly do damage to your media reputation. plus, it was better if grayson was advertised as single.

you personally didn't mind, you weren't the biggest fan of pda when you had a thousand new eyes on you. and alissa's advice was wise since you were new to the whole being a public figure thing. and well, you both lived together anyway.

grayson was more hesitant to agree, but mostly for your benefit he listened to alissa.

it was fun in a way, acting platonic in public then kissing when you got to the mansion or even the limousine. it was like having a secret relationship.

whenever interviews tried to insinuate something, you learned how to shut it down after much lessons on pr. but grayson liked to leave sly comments; only the two of you could understand.

"yeah, y/n's quite well at exploring the mouth of new things."

"y/n and i have become very acquainted with each other."

"you could say i'm into women who sink instead of swim."

it made you wanna laugh and playfully hit him all the same.

what really made your relationship step into public light was when rumors about you and jameson dating started circling around.

a photo of the two of you had been taken getting out of a limo together then entering a building, where people rumored you had a 'date'. in reality, both of you were there to talk to skye hawthorne after she was removed from the hawthorne mansion.

grayson was less than happy about these rumors, and jameson not denying anything to the press to get a rise out of grayson, was making things worse.

so, in a grayson hawthorne manner - he took care of things himself. he bought out all of the press and made them debunk the stories.

then to be even more dramatic, the next time the two of you were out together, he made a whole show of kissing you. even going as far as dipping you down in his arms before the kiss - felt straight out of a cheesy romcom. you couldn't say you didn't enjoy it, though.

the paparazzi had a field day with those photos & the two of your the front page of gossip magazines for weeks. alissa was ready to explode after only finding out the two of you went public from the media.

being in a public relationship was harder than being in a secret one. there were somehow even more eyes on you, picking your relationship apart. they mostly targeted your flaws and even took digs at your old diner job. even a surge of online hate came at your direction.

even grayson couldn't buyout every magazine or person who had a negative thing to say about you, and trust that he very much tried to.

but being official in public also had great pros. now, grayson and you could go out on dates wherever without worrying about hiding and disguises.

you couldn't stay anywhere too far at first because of the 'stay in the house for a year' rule, but you had dates at all sorts of fancy places. even though you were technically a net-worth nigher than him,now, he always insisted on paying the bill. ever the gentleman.

grayson knew how to plan one himself. a personal favorite of yours had to be the picnic in a hot air balloon.

but once the year was up, the first place gray took you was to paris, which he knew was always your dream. paris now seemed like a mundane dream compared to all of the past year's events.

still, paris was absolutely incredible, and being there with your boyfriend made it better - and helpful because he was fluent in french while you barely passed the high school class with a B.

seeing the eiffel tower was the best part, it was even more amazing up close. standing there with grayson, the grays started to cloud, and small drizzles of water came down.

your bodyguard (one oren forcefully implanted) had advised you both to head to the car before it started pouring. you were ready to follow along, but gray tugged your sleeve, stopping your movement.

you gave him a questioning gaze, so he held out his hand, asking you to dance.

you laughed and accepted nonetheless, even when the rain started to pour in more. the two of you began a clumsy (on your part) waltz across the pavement. both of your faces filled with blissful smiles. to this day, it is a favorite memory of yours.

it was even better when grayson gifted you a photo of you two that day, one he asked the bodyguard to take. now, the picture was framed next to the one grayson had taken & grayson hung a copy of it at the hawthorne foundation.

since dating, grayson's insomnia has improved immensely. it mainly had to do with the fact you two frequently sleep in his bed together. he jokes your his personal nyquil.

it's true when they say he sleeps like a deadman, even has a tiny snore - though he keep denying it. but he has some sort of sixth sense that enables him to know when you leave the bed.

like for instance, you needed to use the bathroom one night, and the moment you got up from the bed - grayson is up and asking where you were going.

the swimming lessons were not forgotten - you two still had that nightly routine. but you weren't becoming a michael phelps anytime soon. not when most of your lessons involved more kissing than swimming.

but hey, at least you've moved past the need for floaties. because grayson just carries you himself if it's too deep for you to swim.

he loves to buy anything that reminds him of you. a jewelry piece that matches your eyes, a dress he thinks would look pretty on you, a shift from your favorite film/show/artist, or even an item you offhandedly mentioned you wanted. he'd have them wrapped and ready to give to you the next moment he saw you.

much to our surprise, grayson was also the clingy type. his love language was more gift-giving but doesn't mean he wasn't a bit touch-starved.

he revels in hugs, kisses, and intimate moments. he always wants to hold hands when you both are walking together. jameson and nash love to tease him on it.

he has as a domestic side to him. he helps you put on your coat or even sometimes makes you wear it, keeps you on the side of the sidewalk not near the street, carries your purse or shopping bags, and helping you slip on your heels and shoes.

overall, grayson hawthorne was nothing less of an amazing boyfriend. except when he sees eve for the first time.

you were in the office of the foundation looking over a few files when you saw tobias' name mentioned then initials at the bottom. 'T.T.H.'

"huh, i thought your grandfather didn't have middle name."

grayson looked over your shoulder, "oh, he didn't. at least not until had changed his legal name less than a year before his passing."

"what is it?"

"tatersall. quite peculiar right?"

you laughed to yourself. perhaps he was trying to set you up with her grandson after all.

@itzchanelx @marigold-morelli

#grayson hawthorne #grayson hawthorne fic #grayson hawthorne x reader #grayson hawthorne x female reader #the inheritance games #the hawthorne legacy #the final gambit #jameson hawthorne #avery grambs #x reader #reader imagine #reader insert #x female reader

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