#just enough to not be able to make enough money to ever get ahead | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sunderwight · 1 year ago

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AU where there's no system (or a decidedly less restrictive one) and Shen Yuan transmigrates into an OC rogue cultivator before the start of the novel, and decides he's gonna steal the protagonist before Luo Binghe even gets to Cang Qiong.

The logic is sound -- he'll keep Luo Binghe from experiencing neglect and abuse at Shen Qingqiu's hands, raise him away from the pressure of the sects and the likelihood that anyone else might find out about his heritage and try to harm him over it, keep him fully away from the Immortal Alliance Conference, and then Luo Binghe's course will change trajectory because he'll have no reason to want revenge against the world and no access to Xin Mo. Shen Yuan will be able to spare Luo Binghe some suffering and possibly survive in a world less subject to the harrowing whims of a half-mad tyrannical overlord. Win-win!

However, the tricky bit is that he's not sure exactly how far ahead of the novel he is, and also Airplane didn't specify where Luo Binghe grew up. This means that Luo Binghe could be any age younger than twelve and in any number of places along or near to the Luo river.

Shen Yuan decides he's going to approach this by pretending he is looking for the long-lost son of his sister, traveling through the likeliest areas, asking after abandoned children who might fit the protagonist's description. It's a long shot, he knows, and he's mostly relying on the existence of Narrative Destiny. But eventually he is directed by several people towards a particular city, which is not as close to the river as he'd have expected Luo Binghe to grow up, but then again he only knows that was where baby Binghe was found, not where the washerwoman who took him in ultimately lived.

It becomes clear to him, though, that he's been sent to the wrong target. But also why he's been sent astray is apparent in nearly the same breath, because among the slave children living in this area is a little boy who could be his much younger clone.

Seriously, this kid looks just like him! Or, well, close enough. He looks a lot like Shen Yuan's actual nieces and nephews from his past life. It's uncanny.

Also, because of his search, the slave kids get wind of what he's looking for (his long-lost nephew) pretty quick. The boy with the obvious resemblance to him greets Shen Yuan's own assessment with wary cynicism, but he's just a little boy. So it's not difficult to notice the way he's also practically vibrating with hopefulness, half-hiding behind a protective older kid and looking at Shen Yuan with big dark eyes like he expects to be rescued or destroyed with whatever he has to say next.

Shen Yuan has a big problem now. He just knows that if he says something like "actually no this boy is too old to be my nephew" or whatever other excuse, no one will believe him, and also this poor kid is going to be permanently scarred by it. He's going to think Shen Yuan is lying just so that he can reject him. On top of that, he's not in a good situation here. None of these children are even remotely well cared-for.

Shen Yuan's rogue cultivator self isn't rich on the level of being like a wealthy sect leader or anything, but he's made some money since transmigrating by doing random cultivator jobs and quests along the way here. He uses it all to purchase two little slave boys (Do Not Separate), then takes another job and uses that coin to acquire a somewhat rundown manor which used to belong to the local gentry. The Qiu family (rings some bells but that's not exactly an uncommon name) kept it up for a while in case a branch family sprung up in need of a residence, but they've been in decline and the place is downright decrepit, so they had been looking to sell it instead. It's too big for a wandering bachelor like SY to ever need on his own account, but that's sort of the idea. He makes more money taking on cultivator work, at first taking his boys along with him for lack of any alternative. Nerve-wrackingly dangerous! Eventually he hires workers to start restoring the manor, particularly setting up a yard to be a school area, and then starts taking on any freelance jobs he can get in order to steadily buy out the contracts on all the other kids. He gets it nice enough to house and care for as many orphans as he can acquire.

Not because he's a big old softie though!

His story of looking for his nephew is a bust now, since he's apparently "found" the kid. So he's got to change tactics! If he can't find baby Binghe and the washerwoman, the next best approach is to create an opportunity for them to come to him. So once he's got his new household established, he starts offering free lessons to all the local kids. Not just the ones he's taken in, but also any who come by and want to learn some things. It's a tempting setup for anyone who wants their child to get education but can't afford a tutor, and Luo Binghe's mother had been entirely the sort of person who would have packed up and left her situation if there had been an opportunity for it.

On that note, SY also starts hiring single mothers to help look after his new gaggle of children and do the work he doesn't know how to do in these times, like keeping house, laundry, cooking, actually raising kids, etc.

His "little school" is not universally popular. A few groups try and ruin him, because the poverty in the region provides a basis of business for them. The ringleaders of the human traffickers in the area don't want their trade to dry up, even if it means selling all of their merchandise for this round, so when they find out that their underlings let Shen Yuan buy off all the kids they try and intimidate him into returning them (it doesn't go well for them). The Qiu family also isn't thrilled after it becomes clear what he's doing, and get him investigated by the local authorities (read: use their bribed officials and local goons to try and interfere.)

When that doesn't work either the sects get involved, because the Qiu go crying to Huan Hua Palace that Shen Yuan is sketchy and is trying to establish his own sect. So Shen Yuan talks his way around the matter, and frankly the Qiu are small fish even if they're the biggest ones in the local pond, so HHP doesn't care to pursue things much further. (Read: SY could mop the floor with the disciples they sent to investigate him, and it's not worth it to piss off someone this mysterious and powerful just to bully some impoverished children.)

Shen Yuan is appalled by all this bullshit though. Trust the world of PIDW to make it so hard just for a guy to teach some poor kids how to read and do math!

It makes him dig in his heels about it, because he is at heart a stubborn bastard. The fires that once fueled a thousand angry screeds on zhongdian literature site is now aimed at the local magistrate. One of the women he's hired on has some dirt on the Qiu family, which leads SY to dig up some more until he eventually has enough to turn the tables on them. Local officials won't investigate because they've all been bought, but that in and of itself is of some interest to their superiors closer to the palace, and so SY arranges an investigation of his own that goes way further than he thought? Turns out there are some ugly skeletons in the Qiu closets, and the imperial investigator comes down on them hard.

Well, he can't say they didn't have it coming? Though he does feel bad for the children in the family, especially the oldest son, who gets hauled off to jail along with his father. At least the girl is sent to live with relatives. Maybe he should have done more to shield the minors in the situation...?

His kids tell him not to worry about it, though, that apparently young master Qiu was known to run people down in the streets and beat his servants and do other cartoonishly awful things. SY's not sure how much of it is true and how much of it is his little flock of fluffy sheep trying to ease his conscience, though they do all seem to take a lot of vindictive delight in the whole affair. Especially Nephew, who clings to his sleeves and loudly declares that the investigator should have publicly flogged the discredited nobles so that everyone could go watch, and then begs him for sweets as if that wasn't a creepy thing to hear come out of an eight-year-old's mouth. SY just sighs and tells him he can have something good when he finishes his calligraphy practice.

Of course, it's not exactly easy running what is basically an orphanage-slash-school (and maybe a budding sect...?), especially when pretty much all of the kids have been traumatized and faced stuff like rampant dehumanization, food insecurity, abuse, and neglect. Hiring single mothers soon becomes not only a plan to try and lure in Luo Binghe's mom, but an absolute godsend of an idea because SY has no clue WHAT he would do on his own about the discipline issues or emotional breakdowns or acting out that some of the kids get up to once it registers that they're in a safe enough place to unpack their baggage.

Apart from Nephew, SY's favorite kid is the one who came with him, the oldest of the flock of former slave children. He's the big brother of the group, the one who tries his best to look after the others and to not make any trouble himself. But even poor Little Yue is still just a kid who has been through too much, and he also eventually starts having some meltdowns and struggles with processing everything that has happened to him as a vulnerable child in an unkind world.

SY really didn't mean to start a trauma center for mistreated children!

Though, that's still not necessarily a bad thing for Luo Binghe to one day come across, provided he ever actually shows up...

Eventually, Shen Yuan does figure out that he must be ahead even of Luo Binghe's birth, though he still doesn't put together that he's interfered in the scum villain's backstory. Probably something even more amusingly obscure, like the creation year of some random artifact Luo Binghe used in some wife plot or other, tips him off and he mentally throws his hands up in the air. He's got to wait DECADES? Maybe he ought to try and find Luo Binghe's biological parents and just follow them around at this point!

Not that he can, now, though, because he has to make sure no negative IQ villains (who will probably just be cannon fodder for a subplot one day) decide to send goons to literally burn down his orphanage. Also if he's gone for too long his kids get upset. Probably because no one else is as weak to their puppy dog eyes and pleas for treats and toys as he is.

At least it gives him time to shore up his position, and train Nephew and Little Yue more extensively in cultivation. Despite his initial assurances to HHP that he was but a humble orphan wrangler who was only incidentally a cultivator, Shen Yuan does also teach the other kids some basic cultivation exercises. There are a few reasons for that.

One is just the principle of the thing. No, these kids don't all have the potential to become great immortals or anything, but they can still learn some of it and it's good for their health if they do. The only trouble is if they try and push too hard or attempt things beyond their range, and that's a risk with everyone who cultivates. Or even just exercises!

Another reason is that it helps stave off the jealousy that some of the kids have towards those with more cultivation potential. Teaching a lot of the basics all around makes it into just another topic at school. Some kids might not be as good at it as others, but those kids might also be better at math, or memorization, or board games, and while cultivation can open more doors to people as adults, for the children this is generally enough to satisfy their sense of fairness. Or at least reduce outbursts and fights.

Finally, the impression that any of SY's kids might be a cultivator also makes wicked people more reluctant to try and abduct or interfere with them. Cultivators are revered and nearly mythological figures in the public consciousness. It isn't difficult to see why, if even a rogue cultivator NPC like SY* can mop the floor with most random muggers (*Shen Yuan is not a normal rogue cultivator). Not many people want to risk bringing SY's ire down on them, but of those who might chance it if he wasn't around to immediately react, even fewer want to risk that the kids themselves could kick their asses.

Not knowing that only two of the orphans probably could in fact mop the floor with them helps keep all the rest safer, and is more believable when all of them can conduct themselves enough like disciples to fool anyone who doesn't know what to really look for.

Developments that surprise Shen Yuan but wouldn't surprise anyone else who is paying attention:

People start leaving unwanted babies and younger children on his doorstep. Not all the time, but more than once has he had to frantically find wet nurses and worry that he's changed things enough that some fishermen might just randomly drop the protagonist outside his gate, and he wouldn't even know because Binghe would be a literal infant??

Nephew (SJ) and Little Yue (Yue Qi -- only Shen Yuan calls him "Little", especially when he gets taller than SY by the time he's sixteen) are prodigies who get really good at cultivation, really fast, and between that and Shen Yuan's OP skills they completely warp Shen Yuan's ideas for what normal cultivation potential looks like. This would probably cause more problems if he wasn't teaching all the kids how to cultivate anyway, but means his students actually do kinda run the usual range of skills for a small sect.

SJ and YQ swiftly reach the point where they need more advanced equipment than just SY's teaching can provide, if they're going to keep building their skills. Gaining access to certain tools, aids, and materials (like spiritual swords) is a real hurdle though, and usually is for rogue cultivators (one of the major disadvantages of no sect affiliation.) Shen Yuan is hesitant to use stuff from the plot, since it's For Binghe, but he eventually caves and starts going after some things that he doesn't think the future protagonist will miss much. He also ends up buying stuff from HHP, since they're willing to sell things like spiritual tools and weapons if the price is right, whereas most other sects like Cang Qiong reserve them for members only.

They get an invitation to the Immortal Alliance Conference. Not the one where the Abyss opens up, obviously, the one where (originally) Shen Jiu reunited with Yue Qi and killed Wu Yanzi. Shen Yuan debates on going but the boys really want to, and things have calmed down enough that no one's trying to burn down the school whenever he leaves these days, so eventually he figures it'll be interesting to see some of the Cang Qiong characters and should be safe enough if he keeps his disciples close.

They don't run into young Yue Qingyuan or Shen Qingqiu on the trip, but Wu Yanzi does show up and get killed, and SY only hears about it and assumes they just missed all that action. (WYZ just got caught by some senior cultivators who recognized him and killed him to avenge some disciples he murdered.) Nephew and Little Yue do meet young Liu Qingge, Shang Qinghua, Mu Qingfang, and Su Xiyan though! Which gives Shen Yuan the opportunity to tell them all (mostly Su Xiyan) that if they're ever in trouble near his school, they can come to him for help. Hint hint.

This open invitation ends up being accepted broadly by a lot of traveling cultivators after the conference, who from then on treat Shen Yuan's school like a free motel whenever they're passing through. Plenty aren't even people SY met, but it seems his statement was taken as a general one to fellow righteous cultivators all around! Luckily, this has some advantages. Shen Yuan has no qualms running off anyone who tries to take unfair advantage of him or especially his kids or staff, and no shame in conscripting anyone who is decent enough to help teach his students, even if it's nothing to do with cultivating, and somehow word gets around and people start bringing school supplies, medicine, food, or other useful things along with them as gifts to help repay the hospitality. Young Liu Qingge comes by a lot on his way to and from various quests, or even seems to just turn up randomly sometimes (he comes to challenge YQ and SJ to fights), and SY's just like "I guess this is happening now" and teaches him to recognize the early signs of qi deviation and advises strongly against meditating in caves.

At one point a young Shang Qinghua turns up in one of the spare rooms, very obviously hiding an ice demon. Shen Yuan again is just like "I guess this is happening now" and shelters them until Mobei Jun has recovered, and sends a message to Cang Qiong that one of their An Ding caravans was attacked and their disciple is recovering under his roof but isn't well enough to travel yet. Much less stressful situation for Airplane (who is desperately trying to figure out what he did to manifest SJ's benevolent uncle from somewhere???)

Su Xiyan seems like the only person they met at the Immortal Alliance Conference who doesn't turn up at their door in a state of emergency at some point.

A few years later, there is a big scandal involving her and the demon emperor. Su Xiyan disappears, Huan Hua Palace accuses Tianlang Jun of plotting against the righteous sects, and Shen Yuan is even invited to the meeting where they try and rally everyone to go kill Binghe's dad. Naturally, he declines to participate in the witch hunt, but the major sects agree to it. By luck (or narrative fortune) Shen Yuan comes across Zhuzhi Lang on his trip back home, and mentions the ambush and his distaste for it (not knowing who ZZL is). ZZL warns Tianlang Jun and the confrontation goes very differently, especially since there's no Yue Qingyuan wielding Xuan Su.

It doesn't go well for the sects involved. Huan Hua Palace gets decimated. The Old Palace Master gets killed. Shen Yuan is like uhhhh that's... whoops? Didn't Luo Binghe need that in the future?? Fuck.

But the sect isn't wiped out completely, they just take a massive beating. Some of their younger disciples end up leaving and turning up on Shen Yuan's doorstep, for some reason. The manor house is becoming too small to account for all of these foundlings! They have to expand. Though the expansions would be a stretch to term a "palace" they end up occupying a much larger chunk of territory, and even investing in farmland and some storehouses to help support the sect. That's still not really a sect, of course. Even if a lot of the business that would have normally gone to Huan Hua Palace starts coming to them instead. Once HHP is back on its feet the stream will probably dry out. Probably?

Zhuzhi Lang starts hanging around. He's actually looking for Su Xiyan or their baby, dead or alive and per Tianlang Jun's instructions, but he uses Shen Yuan's school as base camp for his kind of hopeless efforts to find any traces of them, while also looking for ways to try and repay Shen Yuan. All the kids are just like "oh great, another weird man has fallen in love with Shizun -- someone go run interference" about it.

Some years later, an older woman and her young son turn up. Shen Yuan's off on a quest at the time, so SJ receives them. As is standard procedure he gives the woman a job and places the boy in classes, after giving him the aptitude tests. The kid is cute and precocious, so SJ uses him to distract YQ while he himself sneaks out to go join LQG on a monster hunt (and claim the valuable parts of the beast's remains for himself), and neither SY nor ZZL notice anything until SY's going over the paperwork for stuff he missed while he was gone. Since he procrastinated, it takes him like a week to find out that Luo Binghe is finally under his roof. He's going over the admission form right when SJ arrives with The New Adorable Child to try and distract SY enough that SY will let him go on a solo hunt -- as far as being distracted goes, it is way more effective than even SJ anticipated.

Then he has to figure out how to let ZZL know, so that ZZL can let Tianlang Jun know, so that Luo Binghe will have more family than just his mom and more resources than just a shabby little not-sect! But even once he figures it out and sets up the dramatic reveal, TLJ is just like "great! so can he just stay with you? he's probably fine there" which... irritates SY.

SJ fully conscripts Luo Binghe as a minion in his many cons. He never lost his street kid conman tactics, although he now uses them less as a ruthless survival tool or weapon and more to just get things to go his own way. LBH has the face and disposition of a little angel, which SJ no longer can pull off as a full grown adult, so he fills a gap. LBH also knows full well what's going, especially since a lot of SJ's tactics involve throwing LBH at SY like a smoke bomb.

Luo Binghe inevitably still develops a big fat crush on SY, so this is fine by him. Especially when he gets older, he starts bringing SY tea and making him breakfast and running his errands until even SJ is like "wait a minute, this little brat's stealing my job!" and by then it's too late. Luo Binghe is SY's personal assistant, the disciple at conman puppydog eyes has surpassed the master! While SJ was busy being like "I'm going to trick this idiot into doing my chores" LBH was going "I'm going to trick this idiot into giving me his job".

SY takes too long to officially name his school so everyone calls it the Shen Sect, much to his embarrassment.

#svsss #scum villain's self saving system #shen qingqiu #shen jiu #scum villain #long post #bingqiu

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formula-ghost · 3 months ago

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The Driver (FC43 x fem!reader)

SUMMARY: After years of being with your boyfriend, Franco Colapinto, you should feel secure and ready for your budding future. When old anxieties creep in, will your relationship withstand the pressure?

WORD COUNT: 9.5k

WARNINGS: Semi-public car sex (reader and Franco are both switches, fingering, p in v). Angst, mentions of cheating. Heavy mentions of marriage, incredibly Champagne Problems coded but I have to stick to the Måneskin theme. Probably incorrect geographical depictions of Spain. Reader has an anxiety disorder/struggles with mental health. Same universe as Supermodel/RYD (in RYD, Franco’s Aston Martin contract is only one year, so we’re just skipping ahead here).

A/N: You all asked for Franco car sex and instead I gave you emotional pain :) I don’t think I’ll ever stop writing for RYD!Franco, I just love him too much. After this I’ll keep writing for Wildflower and then maybe do a few one shots before the next series perhaps? Either way, hope you enjoy!

TAGLIST: [COMMENT TO BE ADDED TO MY FRANCO TAGLIST!] @scopeiguess @storyteller-le @xivilivix @htpssgavi @wierdflowerpower @justsisse @uncreativetm @ncrsbrg @tillyt04 @amz824 @ellelabelle @aliwritex

If you gonna set fire to the night, baby let me be the lighter

If you’re already high and you wanna fly, I’ll be the hit that takes you higher

If you wanna love when you touch the sky, you can be my midnight rider

If there’s nowhere to go when you wanna go wild, I wanna be the driver

After getting his first multi-year Formula 1 contract—complete with a hefty sign-on bonus—there were three things that Franco Colapinto needed to buy.

The first was a house for his parents.

He led his mother around the massive home, showing her every little detail that he had noticed when he chose it, all perfectly arranged according to her taste. At first, she wasn’t sure what her son was doing; he had wanted it to be a surprise, so he didn’t tell her anything.

“Yes, Franquito, the home is beautiful,” she said, craning her neck to look at the high ceilings, the sunlight from the massive windows illuminating her face. “But why would you buy a house here in Argentina? You’re hardly ever home, you can just stay with us in the off season.”

Franco, like his mother, was a pragmatist. He’d never buy himself a mansion in Argentina unless he had retired from F1 and decided to settle down. But his career was just getting started.

She continued, “I mean, you and YN don’t need this much space—”

“It’s not for us, Mami,” he said, finally letting loose the smile that he’d be fighting all day. He was never able to keep secrets, too much of a chatterbox. “It’s for you.”

“Franco—”

“Mami,” he said, already anticipating her hesitation. “It is the least I can do. I can never repay you for all you’ve done for me.”

“That’s my job. You don’t need to repay me.”

“Maybe I don’t need to, but I want to.”

Tears had begun to well up in his mother’s eyes. She knew it was impossible to stop him. It was every athlete’s dream to make enough money to buy their mother a house one day; she wouldn’t take that from him. “I’m so proud of you, mijo,” he said, enveloping her son in her arms. “You have made me proud beyond measure.”

It was Franco’s turn now to tear up, though he blinked them away and smiled. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I figured something was up,” she laughed, “this house is too much my style for you to buy it. I think YN would like it, though. How is she doing?”

“She’s good,” he answered, unsure of how to proceed. His mother let him pause, knowing he was about to say something. “I’m… thinking about asking her to marry me.”

“Oh, wonderful!” she replied, her smile now stretching ear to ear.

“We haven’t talked about it yet, though. So don’t get your hopes up. She might not say yes.”

“Why wouldn’t she?” his mother questioned. “You’ve been together for years, through thick and thin.”

“I don’t know,” he said, scratching the back of his neck in nervousness. “We just…haven’t talked about it. I’m nervous.”

“Well, don’t ask her until you’ve talked about it. But I see no reason why she’d say no.” She reached out to smooth over a piece of his hair that was stuck up at an odd angle. “Take your time,” she continued. “If you all aren’t ready now, there’s no harm in waiting. You have the entire rest of your lives to be together.”

Franco gave her a weak smile, his expression still plastered with nervousness. “But when you do get married,” she continued, as if it was a fact, “I expect grandbabies.”

He laughed, despite knowing that she was dead serious. That would be a bridge to cross later.

For now, he had a second purchase to make: his first real car.

Franco, despite being a Formula 1 driver, had always been down to earth. When he drove for Williams, they had to fight him over taking the bus every day. Even in his early days, his future had been too unstable to spend all his hard-earned money on something like a flashy car, especially since he’d be away so often that he’d hardly be able to use it.

But now, he knew that the time was right, and he’d more than earned it. So, when Franco woke you up at the crack of dawn to go to the luxury dealership in Madrid to pick up his new car the second that they opened, you obliged him despite the hour being far too early.

As the salesman handed him the keys, Franco beamed as if he was holding his newborn child, his eyes wide with love and anticipation.

“She’s beautiful,” he whispered, running his hands up and down along the hood of the flashy luxury car.

You stood back, afraid to even touch this car that was more expensive than your net worth.

“She’s perfect. She’s the most perfect car I’ve ever seen.” He looked up at you, smiling like a giddy child. “Isn’t she perfect?”

You smiled back, amused by Franco’s happiness. “It certainly is a nice car.”

“It’s not just a nice car. She’s a machine.” You chuckled back at him. “Let’s go for a ride.”

You were honestly a little scared of getting in the car. But when Franco crossed over to open your door for you and help you inside, you couldn’t tell him no.

Sitting inside, you had to admit that it was a really nice car. Franco yapped on about the technical abilities of the engine, but it was in one ear and out the other—despite his many years in F1, you couldn’t say you had learned anything about the machines that your longtime boyfriend drove for a living. But you loved to hear him talk, especially when he was this happy, so you nodded as if you were listening intently.

Franco went to back up the car, putting his hand on your headrest and leaning over his shoulder. The move showed off his prominent muscles and instantly melted you. Even after all these years, it was the little things that you never got tired of.

He sped along the highways, giggling to himself as he heard the engine rev and felt the smoothness of the ride. His smile never wavered as he increased his speed and weaved through the slower cars.

He skipped the exit that would lead back to your home, though. “Where are we going?” you asked.

“I want to show you something,” he said, being intentionally vague with his intentions.

You raised an eyebrow. Franco wasn’t one for surprises; he talked too damn much to ever keep them. If he hadn’t told you before now, it must be something serious.

He moved his hand over to hold your thigh, another one of those little things he did that still made you crazy no matter how many times he did it. “Trust me, amor,” he said.

Of course, you trusted him. So when he exited the highway and began driving into the Spanish countryside, you said nothing, instead choosing to enjoy the feeling of his hand rubbing soft circles into your thigh as the trees blurred past you and the engine purred.

After a while he finally slowed his speed, bringing the car up to an empty overlook off the main road. Through the tinted windows, you could see that this place was hidden, nestled off by the trees so that you could only get here if you knew where you were going. The view was gorgeous; miles and miles of lush greenery, and in the far off distance, the city that you had just left.

“Wow..” you whispered. “How’d you find this place?”

“I used to run on these roads out here when I was younger,” he said, admiring you as you admired the view.

“It’s beautiful.”

“I don’t get to come here much anymore,” he said. “I never thought I’d come back here one day as a Formula 1 driver.”

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. His face had the slightest tinge of blush, so subtle that only you could see it.

“Come on, let’s get a good look,” he said, turning off the engine and opening his door.

You got out of the car and softly gasped again when you saw the view with your own two eyes, rather than through the tinted glass. It left you breathless.

You sat cross legged next to Franco on the grass, taking in the sights of the countryside around you. For a while you were quiet, just soaking in the sounds of nature.

Then Franco broke the calmness. “Have you ever thought about getting married?”

His voice was soft, but his words startled you. “Married?”

“I mean, we’ve been together for a while. About time, no?”

Truthfully, you had thought about marriage quite a bit. The mere idea of it scared you. And talking about it scared you even more.

“You sound enthusiastic,” you joked.

“You know what I mean.” He looked down, clearly also nervous for this momentous discussion. Still, he kept his voice light and steady. “I love you. I can’t think of anyone else I’d want to spend the rest of my life with.”

“I’d hope not,” you chuckled. But your attempts at diffusing the tension with humor failed.

He adopted a more serious tone. “YN, I want to marry you,” he said. His eyes looked up to meet yours, and for some reason, you felt your heart drop into your stomach. “I’m not proposing right now, but it’s something we should start thinking and talking about.”

You looked out into the distance and took a shaky breath. Why was this so difficult?

“So, talk to me, amor,” he said.

“You want to marry me?” you asked, your voice small and squeaky.

“Of course I do,” he replied, brushing your hair out of your face. Now there were no barriers between you. “You’re the love of my life.”

You wanted to cry. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t know. It’s just so…final. What if something goes wrong?”

“Then we work through it, like we always do.” He was right. Your relationship with Franco had certainly had its rocky patches, but he treated you like a queen. You two overcame every obstacle, including your own mind that often worked against you. You often felt like you didn’t deserve someone so patient and kind.

“Things change when you get married.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m not saying any of this lightly. I’ve thought about it a lot.”

Even after years of loving him, it still surprised you whenever Franco told you that he thought of you. You could never get used to existing in his head when you physically weren’t there.

“What do you think about?” you asked, moving closer to him.

He reached his arm around your waist, resting his hand on your hip. “I think about you, in a white dress. We’d be in the church in Argentina.” You knew the one. He’d gone there growing up, and had shown it to you several times when you went to visit his family. “And we’d have a ridiculous party, into the morning,” he said smiling, leaning his head down closer to you. “And, a while after that, maybe a few months or a year or so, you’d be eating for two.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop your eyes from watering. “That sounds…”

“Perfect?”

No. You were going to say real. That sounds real. And it scared you.

Truthfully, you could imagine the wedding, and the babies, and the many happy years of being Franco’s wife.

But you could also imagine the distance. The exhaustion. The bitterness.

“Growing up, I never thought I’d get married,” you said, shifting the conversation. “I just… I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to marry me,” you laughed.

“I do,” he said. The effect of his words weren’t lost on you; the same words he would say to take the vow. “I want to marry you.”

You had told him a long time ago that your insecurities weren’t something he could fix. He remembered that, and he respected it. But still, it always broke his heart when he realized that even after years of loving you, those old wounds refused to heal.

“Why?” you asked. Your head was beginning to hurt from holding in all the tears.

“Why?” he echoed, incredulous at why you’d even need to ask such a ridiculous question. His voice held no malice, though. “Because I love you.”

“Don’t you get tired of this?”

“Of what?”

“Of…me being difficult for no good reason?”

“You’re not being difficult. Marriage is a huge deal, obviously. I don’t want us to rush into it if you’re not ready.”

“What if I’m never ready?”

He sighed. “Then…well, honestly, that would break my heart. I’d want you to work through whatever is holding you back. But I’d be with you every step of the way.”

You looked away into the distance. Part of you wanted to run and disappear in the thick foliage of the Spanish countryside. The other part of you wanted to bury your head in Franco’s chest, finally letting go of all the reservations that had haunted you for years.

You knew Franco. You loved Franco. You trusted Franco.

So why were you still so afraid?

“Mi amor,” he said, gently guiding your head so you had to look at him. “Do you want to get married?” He tilted his head closer to you.

You knew what he was asking. Not if you were ready right now, not if you were scared; but deep down, in your heart of hearts, did you want to marry Franco Colapinto?

“Yes,” you whispered. Just as he didn’t have to explain, neither did you. He knew what you meant; yes, but I’m scared. Yes, but I’m not ready. Yes, but I’m afraid I’ll never be ready.

He brought his lips to yours, gently kissing you as you let the few tears that had been welling up in your eyes finally go. When he pulled back, he wiped them away.

“We don’t have to make a decision now,” he said. “We’ve got time. I want us both to be ready.”

You kissed him again, this time more forceful. There was nothing sexier than a man with emotional intelligence.

He pulled away again to finish his thought. “Just keep thinking on it, okay? We can talk about it as much as you want.”

“Okay,” you said, smiling as he looked at you.

“What?” he asked, his own playful smile dancing across his face.

“You’re so hot when you respect my boundaries.”

He laughed. “Mi amor, that’s the bare minimum.”

“Keep going,” you joked, “I’m so close.”

“Don’t say that,” he said, leaning down to kiss your neck. “I’ll start misbehaving.”

“Maybe I want you to,” he said, sharply inhaling as he gently bit the skin on your neck, sure to leave a mark.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine as he nibbled on your earlobe.

“Get me home and show me how horrible I am, then,” you teased, reaching out to touch his waist.

“We don’t even need to get home.” He reached up to hold your neck with one hand as he continued kissing up and down your jaw.

“Here?” you said, darting your eyes around.

“In the car,” he said, his voice already getting breathy.

“No,” you urged. “It’s new.”

“Exactly. We have to break it in, no? Or bless it,” he said. His hands were beginning to roam underneath the hem of your shirt now.

“You’d never forgive me if I messed up the seats.”

“They’re leather, it cleans easy. I can get it detailed.” He stifled your next complaint with a deep kiss. “No one is ever around here. And the windows are tinted,” he whispered into your mouth.

You laughed. “You’re a freak.”

“I’m your freak. And don’t lie, you love it,” he said, snaking his hand down to tease its way under your skirt. “I can tell how much you love it.”

You stopped him before his hand could go any further—after all, you were technically still in public.

“Get in the car, whore,” you joked, before Franco hopped up and nearly sprinted to open the car door and set his seat back as far as it could go.

He sat in the seat and patted his lap. “You joining me?”

You playfully rolled your eyes, getting up to meet your lover at the car and carefully climb onto his lap, occupying his lips with a deep kiss that he moaned into.

“Did you plan this?” you asked.

“Plan what?” he said, a devilish grin across his face.

“Bringing me out to your scenic spot to fuck me in your new sports car?”

“Wasn’t planned at all. I’m a spontaneous man.”

“Mhm. How many other girls did you bring here before we started dating?”

“Less talking, more fucking, yeah?” he said. You probably didn’t want to know the answer. But that was all in the past. Franco was yours—he had been for years now, and he wanted to be yours forever.

There would be time to think about that later. Right now, all you could think about was the beautiful boy sitting beneath you, looking at you as if he needed you as simply as he needed air. You could feel him hardening beneath you.

You shifted your weight to straddle him, grinding down on his length, eliciting a sharp exhale from him.

“You’re so needy today, Franco,” you said as you ran your fingers through his soft curls.

“I’m always needy for you.” He brought his lips back to yours, hungry for the taste of you. His lips trailed down to your jaw and neck. “YN, you don’t know what you do to me…”

“I think I can feel it,” you joked, softly grinding your clothed pussy over the growing bulge in his jeans.

“Don’t tease me,” he begged, roaming his hands up the hem of your blouse.

“But it’s so fun,” you said, leaning over to whisper in his ear. “I love to see you fall apart underneath me.”

“Fuck, YN—”

“Less talking, more fucking, no?” you said, mocking his statement from earlier. You met his mouth in a kiss, and he moved his hands down under your skirt, running up and down the soft skin of your thighs. When he finally teased his fingers over the wet spot that was already growing in your panties, you softly inhaled, showing your desire for him.

“I’m not the only needy one,” he teased, breathing in the smell of your perfume and shampoo, his head buried in your neck.

You softly moaned as he moved your panties to the side and began circling his fingers around your clit.

“Franco, fuck…”

“What happened to all that talk, huh? Or are you too busy trying not to cum on my fingers?”

All you could do was breathe as his fingers found their way inside of you, pumping in and out to prepare you for his cock.

“Don’t try to stop it,” he said, “let go. Cum for me.”

You obeyed, your legs shaking as your walls pulsated on his fingers. You whimpered into his neck, steadying yourself by holding him.

He kissed your cheek, but wasted no time in unzipping his jeans and plunging into you while you rode out the waves of your orgasm. He let out a breathy moan as he felt the sweet warmth of you wrapped around him.

You were overcome with sensation; the burn of his cock stretching you out, the last dregs of pleasure now mixed with the pain, and the burn in your legs from sitting in the same position for too long.

It was all the more motivation to bounce up and down on his cock, finding a steady rhythm as he guided his hands to your hips.

You rested your head next to his, moaning into his ear with every thrust. The small space of the car may be cramped, but you couldn’t help but appreciate the intimacy of the moment. Franco’s eyes were closed in sensual bliss, his breath ragged as you increased your speed.

You wanted to watch him come undone from the sinful pleasure that your pussy brought him.

“YN—” he moaned, his hands digging hard enough into your hips to leave bruises, “Oh, God, YN, you always feel so fucking good. So good for me.”

You whimpered from both the praise and the pleasure. You had to slow down—the fast stamina was too much on your legs, which were now burning from the awkward position you were stuck in.

“I think you were made for me,” Franco whispered. “And I was made for you. See how well we fit together?” He took control, lifting you up as if you were weightless and bouncing you up and down on his own. You yelped at first, then your surprise gave way to bliss as you both chased your release.

But Franco was relentless in his praise. “You’re my fucking soulmate. I wanna fuck you every day for the rest of our lives.”

“Franco, I’m so close—”

“Cum for me, mi amor. Again.” His own voice was strangled with desire, so close to his own peak.

With a high pitched whine, you obeyed, and the heavenly feeling of your walls contracted around him brought your lover to the edge soon after.

And when you did both finish, you held each other, too tired to even move from the uncomfortable position from the car.

Franco was a talker. You always knew that. He loved nothing more than to fill your ears with sweet nothings when you made love. But the context of the conversation that just transpired weighed on you, even with the comfort of Franco’s hands rubbing small circles into your back as you both tried to catch your breath.

“You okay?” he asked, and you murmured in response, unable to form any coherent words in the aftermath of everything. “Let’s get home and we can take a shower, yeah?”

A warm shower sounded heavenly right now. You awkwardly shimmied your way into the passenger seat and took one last look at the view, thankful that the overlook was still deserted. You sighed as you settled in and buckled your seatbelt, relishing the relief of finally being able to stretch your legs.

“Hey,” Franco asked as he readjusted his seat and turned on the car. “Are you okay, really?”

“Yeah,” you said. It was true; you were exhausted, overwhelmed, and hurting, but it was all worth it for him.

He leaned over to kiss your cheek and smiled before putting the car in reverse.

The third item that Franco had to buy was the ring.

Truthfully, the conversation hadn’t gone as smoothly as he would have liked. In his dreams, you'd jumped for joy when he’d broached the subject, and you’d live happily ever after.

But despite his disappointment, he understood your hesitancy. He was just as afraid to ask the question as you were to say yes. He knew that your struggles with self esteem and anxiety were lifelong. He knew all this about you from the very beginning, and he loved you anyway.

Still, it was times like this when it broke his heart that he couldn’t fix it.

It didn’t matter. You’d come around eventually, you always did. And you had been honest when you said you wanted to marry him—there was just a lot of stuff in the way, mentally and emotionally.

So yes, he’d wait a while before he popped the question. But that didn’t mean he had to wait to buy the ring.

He knew the exact one. You had fallen in love with it years ago, when you had worn it in a PR shoot for one of his high profile sponsors. Though time had passed, he still remembered the sadness in your eyes when you had to give it back after the photoshoot. He had vowed to himself that day that he’d earn enough to get you that ring.

And now he finally had.

A few days after your conversation, he found the now faded card that he had stuck in his wallet and called the number. When the same brand rep picked up, he exhaled, letting go of his fear.

“Franco! How nice to hear from you. I was beginning to think we’d scared you away.”

“No,” he laughed. “The opposite, actually.”

“Let me guess. You’re ready for that ring?”

‘How’d you know?”

“I’ve been doing this a long time. When a woman looks at a ring like that, and she’s with a man that truly loves her, it’s just a matter of time.”

He had swiped another ring of yours to get the measurements, and he completed the entire order over the phone on his drive back home from a day of pre-season meetings. He had three months before the beginning of the new season, and he wanted to propose before that so you could start wedding planning once the season started. Would three months be enough time for you to think about it? He didn’t know.

But he couldn’t wait any longer. The giddiness was eating him alive.

You could tell something was amiss, but the idea of a proposal was the last thing on your mind.

Franco was hiding his phone from you. Which meant that Franco was hiding something important from you, and he was doing a horrible job of it.

Your lover was never the type to be quiet or secretive about…anything really. He talked too much. You had to physically restrain him every Christmas from spoiling what he got you weeks in advance. So if there was something that he was truly trying to hide, it was something major.

And it scared you.

The thought that you had been holding back for years finally broke through one night where he put his phone face down at the dinner table after his phone lit up with several notifications.

“Who’s texting you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice innocent despite the rush of dread that was rising in your stomach.

“No one,” he answered, too quickly for your liking. You didn’t respond.

You knew Franco was attractive. Every girl would kill to have him. He was kind, funny, beautiful, and flirtatious. But he was yours. Right?

Franco had never crossed the line before. You trusted him with your life. But something within you just felt deeply, deeply wrong, and it came spilling out later that night when he tried to touch you.

His phone was left on the nightstand, untouched since dinner; his focus was on you, running his hand up and down your side, gently dressing his lips to your shoulder as you faced away from him.

“Not tonight,” you whispered, unable to keep your voice from shaking.

“All you alright, mi amor?” he asked, pulling back your shoulder to make you face him, seeing how you were desperately trying to keep the tears at bay.

“I’m fine,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek.

Even after all your years together, Franco never quite knew when to press on and when to keep quiet when you said those two infamous words. And he didn’t have much time to think, because you rose from the bed and left the room, mumbling about needing a minute to get fresh air.

You stepped onto the back porch and took a deep breath, steadying your heart rate and calming your nerves, if only for a moment. The night air was serene; you felt vile contaminating the peace with your anxiety.

Would this last forever? You couldn’t remember a time when you hadn’t felt this push and pull. You wanted to tell Franco to go, to relieve himself of the burden of your mental illness. You wanted to bottle up every insecurity, every doubt, every negative thought into a vault that you didn’t share with anyone.

But you couldn’t. If Franco left you’d be broken. You couldn’t stop yourself from letting these thoughts and fears control you. In the past, therapy had helped, but you knew this was a weight you’d always have to carry. And that made you miserable.

So yes, maybe it was for the better that Franco move on, find someone better, more stable, and build a life with her.

“Mi amor?”

Franco’s voice broke your hopeless contemplation.

“Talk to me,” he said.

You just shook your head. He must be so tired of reassuring you, endlessly, knowing that it didn’t help one bit.

“YN,” he urged, “you know I don’t like it when you try to shoulder everything alone.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. That was all you could say. “I’m sorry that I’m like this.”

“Like what?”

“Impossible.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. We have the same conversation over and over again. Don’t you get tired of it? Of having to reassure me and it never helping? Of me crying over every little thing? Franco, I’m a mess!”

“YN…” he sighed, “When have I ever said any of that?”

He was right. He had never expressed any frustration regarding your mental struggles. He had always been there when you needed him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Have you just been up in your head, or did something happen?”

You contemplated lying, but you knew better. “You set your phone face down at dinner.”

“I— did you think I was…?”

“It’s not you, Franco. It’s never you. That’s the worst part. You have to deal with all of this and it’s not your fault at all,” you said, not even allowing him to say aloud what you both knew was true.

Franco took a deep breath. “YN,” he said, calmly, “let’s go back inside and go through my phone.”

“No—”

“Yes,” he commanded. “I want you to be 100% confident that I love you and only you.”

“Franco—”

“Let’s go.”

He had a firmness in his voice that only made your anxiety worse, and immediately you felt horrible for even insinuating anything to the opposite. But he was your rock of reason in times like these when your anxiety took over, and so you followed his command, unlocking his phone when he handed it to you.

As expected, there was no incriminating evidence, just far too many unopened emails and messages left on delivered. Even his recently deleted texts showed nothing.

The buzzing that you had been so afraid of turning out to be…emails from a jewelry company?

“I ordered a custom necklace for your birthday,” Franco explained. “They’ve been so difficult, though. They lost the order and then sent me the wrong thing. It’s been hell.”

You handed back the phone with your head hung low, ashamed. “I’m sorry I ruined the surprise.”

“You know I would have ruined it beforehand anyway,” he said. “I’m not upset at you.”

“You should be. You deserve someone who trusts you.”

“You do trust me,” he said, “I know you do. It’s not you that’s saying this.”

Fuck. Franco really did know you too well.

“You know why I stay with you, even with all this?” You looked up at him, curious for the answer. He had never been this direct before. He continued, “Well, first of all, because I love you. But even during times when I’m frustrated, I remember everything we’ve been through, when you forgave me and were there for me when I didn’t deserve it. I was so close to losing you and it terrified me.”

Once again, your eyes were watering. He said, “I promised myself that if you really gave me a chance, I’d never forget it. I’d be there for you and be the best boyfriend I could be. Because…” he paused, searching for the right words, “I know that some of why you feel these things is because of how I acted in the past. I’ve done my best to make it right, but some things never leave you.”

“When did you become so damn wise?” you said, laughing through the tears as he smiled and wiped them away.

“You bring out the best in me.”

The conversation was laid to rest then. Franco held you until you fell asleep, safe in his arms. As he heard your soft breaths even out, he grabbed his phone and frantically searched for a necklace to buy to cover his lie.

He hated lying to you, but in this case, what else was he to do?

The necklace and the ring arrived a few weeks later, right before you all were scheduled to take a flight to Buenos Aires to spend the rest of the break with his family.

But he had a plan. The break in Buenos Aires would be one to remember—for your “birthday” he was also flying out your friends and family for a few days. He had the whole idea plotted out, with help from many others, to plan a surprise karting birthday celebration, with all your loved ones there. Then, he would propose.

It seemed so perfect—surrounded by all your loved ones, doing a fun activity, the perfect balance between public and private. He knew you’d love it. He knew you’d say yes.

He was giddy as he carefully packed the two jewelry boxes in his luggage, surrounded by clothes for safe keeping.

And as the day of the birthday party came closer and closer, he could barely hold in his excitement. Everyone knew but you; he had colluded with every guest, telling them his plan and getting their blessing to finally ask you to spend the rest of your life with him.

Everything was perfect. The day before, you parents and friends arrived, and Franco told you everything but the grand reveal.

He gave you the present, a beautiful necklace that complimented your tastes perfectly. You split a bottle of wine amongst loved ones, and your parents brought out their own gift: a photo album of pictures that they’d never been able to show Franco.

You cringed at the embarrassing baby photos and records of bad middle school haircuts, but you couldn’t help the tipsy smile on your face. You leaned your head on Franco’s shoulder as he flipped through the pages.

Franco’s mother got out her own photo albums, showing picture after picture of him as a baby, his blonde curls and toothy grin smiling from ear to ear.

“You were such a cute baby,” you giggled, and he blushed.

“Were? I’m still a cute baby,” he joked, kissing you on the cheek. You scrunched your nose and smiled.

You were so in love with this man that it hurt.

That night, when you all retired to your room, he rubbed your back, enjoying the simple quiet between you two.

“I love you,” you said to him out of the blue. He smiled; he said those words often, and you always said them back, but it was rarer, more meaningful, for you to say them unprompted.

“But it’s not fair. You were a cute baby and you’re cute now. You can’t have both,” you giggled.

“We’d make cute babies,” he teased, and you blushed.

“You trying to find out?” you responded, the alcohol in your veins giving you more boldness.

“Not when you’re this tipsy,” he said. “Besides, I need to put a ring on your finger first.”

At the mention of marriage, you sobered up quickly. You hadn’t really been thinking about that conversation you’d had back in Spain—in fact, every time you thought about it, it just made you more anxious, so it had the opposite effect of you actively avoiding it.

Of course, you were still scared. You loved Franco more than words could say, and that was the problem—it was so good that eventually, it would have to not be good. It was a backwards logic, yes, you had convinced yourself that at some point, things would only be able to go down.

You didn’t want to lose this beautiful thing you had created. But Franco had said he wasn’t planning to propose any time soon, right? In your mind, you still had plenty of time.

But Franco did not, and the next morning was chaos.

His phone was blowing up with last minute organizing and words of encouragement from your friends and family in the proposal plan group chat. He was sweating bullets, constantly checking his pockets before you all left for the kart track to make sure that yes, he had the ring. He contemplated putting it in his bag instead, but he didn’t want to lose it, so he ultimately settled on his pockets.

He knew that he needed to stop checking them or else you’d notice and ask. You were always observant, in that way.

But every time he sat down, the stupid box kept falling out of his shorts. The pockets were too small. He’d just have to check one last time before he left the house and be careful. Yes, everything was going to go according to plan.

And as you all arrived and he changed into his race suit quickly, all he could think about was the speech he had tried to memorize. You were a woman who appreciated words; he wanted to express how you made him feel, but in his head, he kept stumbling over them.

YN, you make me so happy. No, too simple.

YN, will you make me the happiest man in the world? No, too cliche.

YN, I never knew happiness until I saw your smile. No, too melodramatic.

He’d have to figure out the words as he said them. For now, he’d just focus on enjoying the moment with you.

And that wasn’t hard; you were as giddy as a child as you sped around the track, spinning out and pushing the poor kart to go faster and faster.

Franco had arranged a tournament of sorts; of course, he had spoken with everyone beforehand to rig you as the winner.

On your end, you knew everyone was letting you win. You were awful at karting. But it was your birthday event, after all. You didn’t care, you were having fun.

It came down to the “championship” battle: you versus Franco. Of course, you knew your boyfriend would let you win, as he always did, but you loved the rush of adrenaline as the wind whipped past you anyway. You couldn’t stop smiling as you crossed the finish line and took off your helmet, flipping your hair out.

You heard Franco stop his car behind you and get out, too.

“I can’t believe YN won!” Franco’s mother said, smiling wide.

“Thank you all for so graciously giving me that win,” you joked, looking to all your family and friends circled round, cheering for you. Franco was behind you still. You almost turned to him, but his mother interrupted. “Let me take a picture!”

This was the moment. All he had to do was take the ring out of his pocket and get down on one knee.

He reached in his pocket and pulled out… nothing.

His pockets were empty.

He looked back at his father, the fear of God in his eyes, and patted his empty pockets. No one said a word.

His mother, now done with taking the picture, leaned over to give you a hug. She sent a death glare to Franco over your shoulder, but still gave him the time to sprint back to the locker room to try and find the goddamn thing.

He ran faster than his F1 car could drive, cursing under his breath at how stupid he could be. He could still save this, though.

He found his bag and shook out the contents, frantically searching, until finally, at the bottom of the bag, he saw the box. He must have stuck it there while changing and forgot about it.

He let out a breath with enough power to shake the entire building. He opened the box to get a quick glance just to make sure everything was okay.

Except, everything wasn’t. There was no ring in the box.

He had grabbed the empty necklace box.

Knowing you were far enough away to not hear him, he sweared very, very loudly. Unbeknownst to Franco, his father had followed him back to the locker room.

“Did you find it, mijo?”

“I brought the wrong box,” he said, “This is for the necklace.”

His father sighed. “Franco…”

“I know, I know.”

“We can still fix this. Give her the ring at dinner!”

“I guess I’ll have to,” Franco said. He had never been more disappointed in himself. He had ruined everything.

“Hey,” his father said, “chin up. You’ve still got this. The ring will be the perfect end to the perfect day, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, still not entirely convinced. But you would be wondering where he went soon; he couldn’t stay and mope too long.

His father left him to go relay the information to the rest of the group. Franco took a few deep breaths as he changed, mentally readying himself to see you again. He put on a smile as he saw you waiting for him outside the track with the others.

“So, we’ll all head back and get ready, then meet for dinner tonight?” his mother said.

“Sounds good,” Franco answered, wrapping his arm around you as he walked you back to the car.

Thankfully, when you got back to his parent’s house, you immediately wanted to take a shower and wash your hair, giving him time to search the entire room. Which he did, from top to bottom, and he still couldn’t find the ring.

It was just…gone. He had gone through every compartment of his suitcase, every pocket in his clothes, every hiding space. Still, it was nowhere to be found.

His parents even helped him look, carefully parsing through every possible place until it was too late. You were nearly ready for dinner, and they all had to rush to get ready to make it to the restaurant in time for the reservation.

Franco texted the groupchat the horrible news—he had fucked up. He had lost the ring. There would be no proposal.

Kind words flooded his phone, but they meant nothing to the depressed Argentine. He had planned this out so perfectly; how did it end so badly?

And the worst part? He couldn’t even tell you.

The atmosphere at dinner was more somber than usual. His sister had bought a bottle of nice champagne that would now have to go unopened. He would just have to propose some other time.

That’s what he reminded himself, every time the thought came up and threatened to choke him. Maybe next time he would fly his family out to Spain instead. He wasn’t in any rush. And you’d never have to know how badly he fumbled.

Well, while you didn’t know the details, you could tell something was up. You mentioned it to Franco on the way home.

“Is something wrong?” you asked, and Franco cringed internally. He was always bad about hiding his emotions.

“No, I’m fine,” he answered.

“Well, everyone at dinner just seemed…off.”

“Probably just tired.”

You just hummed to yourself, refusing to allow your thoughts to wander any further. You, too, were tired. When you got back to the house, you both started to get undressed, taking off your fancy heels and jewelry.

You took off your necklace—the beautiful gift that Franco had given you, that you’d now treasure forever—but the box wasn’t on the nightstand where you had left it yesterday.

“Franco, have you seen my necklace box?” you asked from the bedroom. He was in the bathroom washing his face, and only barely heard you over the running of water. The mention of the box just made the whole night worse.

“Yeah, it’s in my bag,” he said, and you raised an eyebrow. How had your necklace box ended up there?

You leaned down to his bag, rustling around until you found the familiar box, though it was heavier than you remembered.

When you opened it, you were nearly blinded by the glint of a beautiful diamond engagement ring.

It was familiar; the same ring you had fallen in love with years ago. And it was in Franco’s bag. He had…bought you an engagement ring.

He was going to propose.

You could feel your heart rate increasing by the second. But you weren’t ready. You had only talked about it a few weeks ago. You were scared.

It was okay, though. It was okay. You would just put the ring back. You’d find a way to hint to him that it wasn’t the right time. You could just fake it. He’d never have to—

“YN?”

You looked up at Franco’s face, widened with shock. You didn’t respond.

“Where did you find that?”

“In your bag.” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

“I—” Franco was too stunned to speak. You quickly closed the box and put it back in the bag.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see anything. This never happened,” you said, your voice rapidly talking without even thinking. You got up to leave the room, too anxious to stay seated, talking to yourself even after you were out of earshot of your lover.

Franco sat on the bed and sighed. Now he had majorly fucked up. First of all, how had no one found the ring in his bag, even after 3 people looked in there? And second of all, how did you find it?

But that wasn’t the biggest issue anymore. His plan had already been ruined, but he knew by the look on your face that your surprise was not a good one. He saw that fear that nestled itself into every crevice of your expression.

You weren’t happy to find that ring. Not because it had ruined the surprise element—you just didn’t want him to propose.

He now had two options. He could do what he knew you’d want: act as if nothing ever happened and never broach the subject of marriage for several years to come, allowing you to shove away all those scary feelings until you’d deluded yourself into thinking you were over it.

Or, he could do what he needed to do, and talk to you.

He took a deep breath and followed you outside.

You were sitting on the back porch. Not crying, just quiet, looking out into the backyard. When Franco sat next to you, you didn’t say anything. He reached out to grab your hand, and you let him, softly admiring how he curled his thumb around your palm in soothing circles.

“The plan,” he began, “was to ask you today. At the karting track. But I brought the wrong box.” He softly smiled at the absurdity of it. “When you were getting ready we were all frantically looking for it. I don’t know how we missed it.”

You just hummed in response, unsure of what to say. You needed to be honest. You needed to say the difficult things.

You began, though your voice felt choked. “Franco, if you would have asked me today, I would have said no.” You felt his hand tense up. “I mean, I would have said yes, because everyone was there. But…”

You trailed off, your words fleeing from you now.

“I don’t understand,” Franco confessed. “We’re happy. You’re happy with me, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Then why don’t you want to marry me?” His voice dripped with sadness, and all you wanted to do was hold him. You turned your head to face him, and the deep sorrow in his eyes nearly brought you to tears.

“I do want to. I just…”

“I’ve done everything I can to be good to you. I’ve tried to always be there. I know I’m not perfect, but—”

“It’s not you, Franco. It was never you.”

“Then why? What can I do?” His voice cracked, seeping with hopelessness and frustration. “If it’s not because of me, then what am I supposed to do?”

You got up. “Come here,” you said, and led him to the living room. The home was quiet; his parents were asleep, and the vast emptiness of the home was eerie.

You grabbed the photo album that your parents had given you, and sat down on the couch, motioning for Franco to sit next to you.

You opened it to a picture of you at your 4th birthday party. In the photo, you grimaced though the uncomfortable sensation of a plastic party hat. “Do you see her?” you asked him. He nodded.

“I remember feeling like this when I was that little. This…fear. I desperately wanted friends but was too afraid to talk to anyone.”

You flipped to the next page, pointing to a photo of you sitting alone in a park, a forced smile across your face. “What do you notice about this picture?” you asked him.

Franco leaned in closer to look. “I don’t know,” he said.

“I’m alone. See all the other kids in the background?”

You kept flipping until you found the first photo of you when Franco knew you. You were fifteen, smack in the middle of your awkward teenage years, in the stands at one of his races.

“I remember that,” he said.

“That’s me, spending time with my first real friend,” you said. “I didn’t know it yet, but I had a huge crush on him,” you joked.

“He was going to ask you to marry him today. And you just told him you would have said no.”

“I know,” you said, trying to be gentle with your tone. “But what I’m trying to say is that you’re not just asking me. You’re asking her. And she feels so alone, and she’s scared to trust anyone.”

Franco sat with the thought for a moment, before getting up to grab his own photo book. He opened it to the first page, and pointed to a photo of him as a toddler, wrapped in a scarf, toothy grin spread wide.

“And that’s who asked you.”

You felt a knot of emotion in your stomach break. All you wanted was to cry.

“This goes both ways, YN,” Franco continued. “I understand that you’re scared. But I can’t fix that fear. Only you can.”

The dam broke, your tears flooding forth. He was right. So you told him.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you said, and he wrapped his arm around you, rubbing your back through the tears.

“I’m not perfect either. I shouldn’t have rushed it, I was just excited.”

“Don’t apologize for being excited to propose,” you laughed through your tears. “I should probably go back to therapy.”

“If you think that’ll help,” he said.

“It will,” you sniffled. “I just… I’ve been so afraid that I’ve been ignoring all the signs. I should have seen this coming. You’re never that excited to let me beat you in karting.”

He smiled at your banter. You continued, “But really, you’re right. I’ve just been avoiding this because I’m scared, getting up in my head. I just feel so happy and that scares me, because at some point it has to fall apart, right? You’re never happy forever.”

“You’re not unhappy forever, either. Of course we’d have rough spots. But that’s the beauty of marriage,” he said, “you vow to be there for each other through it all.”

“How did I get so lucky to have you?” you asked, meeting his gaze.

His eyes were full of compassion and love. “I’m the lucky one.” He leaned down to kiss you.

You didn’t really believe him. You still didn’t understand how someone so perfect could love you, someone so…broken. But one day you would. You had to.

The next year was difficult. You began your healing journey again—a journey you were convinced you’d be on your entire life. But you’d do it for him, and for you.

And slowly, bit by bit, the wounds began to heal.

It wasn’t linear. With Franco’s new contract, he had lots of attention and responsibilities. He was away from home more. He was tired, stressed, more short-tempered. There were arguments. Some days it felt like you took one step forward and two steps back.

But you made it through. For every argument there was an honest conversation. For every night away there was a sweet gesture or text message to remind you that he still loved you, and from it grew a solid, blooming trust. For every mistake—on both ends—there was an apology and a commitment to be better. For every night of tears, there was a night of laughter with the man you loved most in the world.

And by the end of the season, you and the relationship were stronger than ever.

Of course, things weren’t perfect. But the fear that had once held you hostage was an adversary you knew you could overcome.

Franco kept the ring in his nightstand. You had found it again one day while cleaning. It wasn’t really hidden, as if to say, we’ll get to this later. It was no secret now. You just put it back in its place and smiled, going on about your day.

But Franco had been giving the proposal much thought. He decided against inviting anyone again, wanting it to be a tender moment of vulnerability between you and him.

No, he wanted this time to be simple. Honest.

He just hoped you were ready.

A few weeks before the beginning of the next season, he took you out to the place where all this had begun; the outlook in the countryside, where he first told you that he wanted to marry you.

This time, he double and triple checked to make sure the ring was there in his pocket.

The sun was setting over the Spanish countryside, painting the sky rich shades of orange and yellow. The air had cooled with the impending coming of night.

He opened your car door and set up a blanket on the ground, where you sat and he laid his head in your lap, letting your fingers run through his hair as a way to calm his nerves.

He took a deep breath as he sat up, and you knew what was coming. Again, he had rehearsed a speech, but almost instantly forgot it the second he opened his mouth.

“YN,” he began, looking you directly in the eyes, “I… I love you. So much. More than words can say.” He was nervous, swallowing before he continued, letting his eyes wander off to the picturesque view. But he had more important things to be looking at.

“I can’t imagine a version of my life without you in it. I grew up with you. I want to grow old with you. You’ve made me into the best version of myself. We’ve gone through so many things and come out on the other side so much stronger. And I want this,” he said, reaching out to wipe away the happy tears that now flowed down your cheeks. “I want to be with you. Even though we’re both imperfect, even though we both have our problems to work through, YN, I want to do this with you, forever. I want to fall asleep next to you and wake up next to you. I want to have children and grandchildren with you. I…” he trailed off, not knowing how to finally say what he really wanted to say.

You smiled through the tears. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring, flipping it open and showing it to you.

“Marry me,” he whispered.

Your smile widened. “Yes,” you answered. “Yes.”

He kissed you with a fervent passion. When he pulled away, his smile couldn’t be contained.

“She said yes!” he cried out, though you both were alone. “I did it! She said yes!” You laughed at his antics.

In a few weeks, you’d have the official photo shoot where he got down on one knee. You’d show the world the carefully constructed version that was all they got to see.

But this was real. And maybe it was imperfect; maybe he hadn’t really asked, more instructed, and maybe he hadn’t gotten down on one knee, and maybe, yes, you had found the ring beforehand.

But this was real. In all the ups and downs, the hurt and healing, this love you shared with your now fiance was real. The world didn’t get to see that.

And maybe that fear was still within you. It was smaller now. And when you had seen that shine of the ring, maybe you had felt it rise within you again. But you knew now that it was just a feeling, something you could control. You didn’t have to ignore it or let it reign you. It was just there.

It wasn't real though. And this was. The cold metal of the ring slid onto your finger. The feeling of Franco’s lips on yours. The strain in your face muscles from all the smiling. His hand around your waist, pulling you closer as the sun dipped below the sky, leaving you and your lover alone in the dark—yes, this was real.

And this was yours; he was yours.

For the first time in a long time, you knew you had nothing to fear.

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thisapplepielife · 28 days ago

Text

Written for @steddiebingo.

he keeps on loving me (and i keep on wondering why)

Prompt: Proposal | Word Count: 3503 | Rating: T | CW: Language | Tags: AU, Established Steddie, Rural Living, Corroded Coffin Guys, Good Uncle Wayne Munson, Living Life Isn't Always Easy, But Loving Each Other Is

Also on ao3 || bonus: mini vid edit

The sun is hot, blisteringly so, and Eddie steps on the edge of the shovel again. Pushing down hard. Digging into the old red dirt that's hidden away under the sod. Twisting, taking another chunk out, before tossing it aside. He'd just gotten the grass looking green instead of brown, at the cost of effort and time, both of which are always in short supply. Now there's gonna be an eyesore of a trench cutting across the yard.

Figures.

Get one step ahead, only to get knocked three steps back. It's all Eddie's ever known.

There's definitely a stoppage, and the rural sewer district insists it's on their side, not the county's, which makes it Eddie's responsibility to fix.

Wayne borrowed a hand crank snake from a friend at work, and they never even met resistance as they worked it down through the drain, as far as it'd go. The cleanout still running water out indicated the clog wasn't in the house, but somewhere else in the line, so they rented a hundred foot snake to run down the cleanout.

Sure that'd get it.

Still nothing.

For plan C, Wayne helped him mark the main line, suggesting he dig it up, further out. The shittiest proposal Eddie's ever heard.

But Eddie's doing it. Calling a plumber would take time and cost money, and if Wayne thinks they can do it themselves, well, Eddie trusts him. Wayne hasn't steered him wrong yet.

Eddie is getting concerned the longer he finds nothing, but fuck it. If he gets to the road, it's no longer his responsibility. He'd just have to eat the sunk time costs he's expended.

Goodie's supposed to be bringing out a borrowed mini excavator tonight, if he can. It's been hard with their schedules to make it happen, working opposite shifts at the refinery will do that, but it's getting dire. Eddie has started to believe that they only used to have a band. Past tense. With two of them working the night shift, and the other two working days, it's been an exercise in futility to actually get together at all these days, let alone play. Families, kids, work, overdue bills, all means music takes a backseat. Has to.

Eddie has considered pawning his guitar a time or two, but has never quite been able to make himself go through with that last resort option.

Doesn't matter right now. He's got bigger fish to fry, like digging this trench with his own two hands, if he'd like the drains to ever work again. The smell alone is motivation to keep digging.

That, and he's scared this might actually be the thing that's gross enough to finally send Steve running back to the city.

Eddie hears the car before he sees it. That's how it works out in the country. It might be Wayne coming back with another shovel, or maybe even Gareth is awake and ready to help. He hopes for Goodie and Jeff, but knows they aren't off work yet. When he catches sight of the BMW crawling along the dirt road, kicking up red dust, Eddie stops and leans against the handle of his shovel, smiling.

Steve.

The pretty college boy that stayed.

The boy in the khaki pants, and polo shirts, that hid a wicked smile and angel eyes. He blew into the bar Eddie was working in, sweaty, dirty, after struggling with a flat tire that stranded him. Wanting to borrow the bar phone to call a tow truck.

Eddie could do it better, and faster, himself.

He walked down the block with him, and it was a production. His tire was definitely ruined, and the donut was a little low, but held air when they took it out to the filling station on the edge of town, Steve riding along in Eddie's pickup, face turned towards the window, wind blowing against his face, happy.

Even with the shitty night he'd clearly had.

Tire changed, Steve wouldn't take no for an answer, shoving a wad of cash into his palm. It was more than he'd make in a night, lugging glasses and dirty dishes.

Eddie told him to go slow, to get a new tire tomorrow, and tapped the roof of the car.

And when Steve pulled away from the curb in that shiny BMW, Eddie assumed he'd never see him again.

But then he just kept coming back.

Steve was charmed by Eddie, for some goddamn reason Eddie will never understand, not fully. With a wallet full of money, and no real responsibilities other than getting his ass to classes on time. All Eddie's ever had were responsibilities beyond his years. Steve would have been easy to hate, if he hadn't been so…Steve. Gorgeous, funny, but tinged with just a little bit of sadness that only seemed to lift once he was sure Eddie wasn't annoyed by him coming and hanging out.

Driving out from the nearby college town to sit in a dingy, small town bar, just to be entertained by the barback that always got less work done on the nights he turned up.

He always seemed kind of lost, until Eddie was the lucky bystander that found him.

Steve's never divulged much about home, about his life back in Indiana, about his parents. He talks about them, sometimes, but says nothing. Eddie feels like he almost doesn't know any more about Steve's family today than he did that first night. Eddie's sure he came from a silver spoon, golden rule, private school, never missed Sunday church, good upstanding family.

But for some reason, he took a shine to Eddie. The blue collar, low dollar, out here where concrete meets old red dirt barback that didn't run him off the second he came back to the bar to do homework. Like the college library wouldn't have been a better place for that. But he kept coming back on nights Eddie worked, and Steve worked hard to charm him, like he didn't have it backwards. Eddie needed to chase him, not the other way around.

When he kissed Eddie for the first time, Eddie didn't expect more than a night or two. To maybe be his dirty little secret, while Steve publicly courted some rich college girl he'd go on to marry.

But that's not Steve Harrington.

No, Steve loves who he loves, and is loyal to a goddamn fault when he's loved back. Even when it meant he got cut off from all that old money. He acted like it didn't matter. Like a cushion of generational wealth wouldn't have made his life exponentially easier. He still stayed.

And has kept staying.

Steve could have anyone, anywhere, but he's chosen Eddie. He's chosen to make his home here in this little inherited farmhouse, with Wayne in his trailer just up the road.

He's chosen to work a job that he's overqualified for, and underpaid to do, just so he can live with Eddie in a house where all the drains are backing up into each other. Not even complaining about standing in the slow to drain shower water while Eddie figures it out.

It sure doesn't add up on paper, that's for damn sure, that Steve keeps on loving him, while Eddie keeps wondering why. Questioning why Steve Harrington is his biggest fan, his partner.

His love.

It doesn't make a lick of sense.

Steve wears his heart on his sleeve, except for when talking about home, no matter how many times Eddie has tried to pry. He just says his parents are out of the country, probably. No reason to go home to an empty house.

They might not stay in one place, but Steve definitely has, stepping out of that fancy car, hanging onto the door frame as he gives a little wave at Eddie, "Still no luck?"

"Not yet," Eddie admits. His hands hurt. He can't stop for long, or he won't want to start again. It's always easier to keep doing the thing that hurts, rather than stop and then have to get going again. Wayne taught him that.

Steve slams his car door, disappears in the house. When he reappears, he's in old jeans, and a well-worn t-shirt. Holes around the neck, and sleeves. And one that seems strategic around his belly button.

Eddie smiles, taking him in.

"Let me take a turn," Steve says, stepping down into the trench Eddie's been digging. Straddling the exposed sewer line. Eddie wonders what Steve's parents would think if they could see him. Their perfect boy, digging ditches, by choice. That he'd rather do that with Eddie than go home.

He could work for his dad, in some fancy office building that most likely wouldn't smell like literal shit.

But Eddie tells him where to dig, how deep, and lets him get involved in the project. Let's him pull his weight, as Steve'd say. That's important to him, even if it's not to Eddie.

They take turns digging until reinforcements arrive.

Eddie and Gareth take off a night from the refinery that they can't really afford. It's dark when Eddie crawls up into the bed of Wayne's truck and then helps pull Gareth up, careful of Gareth's bum knee. It's getting worse by the day, even Gareth is pretending it isn't.

Once up there, both of them hold spotlights for Goodie and Jeff to see what they're doing. Night digging isn't ideal, especially not the night before Goodie's wedding. But it's the only evening they've all had time off at the same time. They have to make due, life demands it.

Goodie's twenty-eight, which is nearly ancient to get married around these parts. Jeff and Gareth both got married right out of high school, it's just what's done. Not Goodie, though. He took his sweet time. He's just lucky Mel was patient enough to wait on his sorry ass.

Eddie razzes him about being last, about being scared to commit, but Goodie snaps back that no he's not last, Eddie's last.

Which is true. He supposes. He wasn't counting himself.

He's not scared to commit to Steve. He's already committed. Besotted. Wrapped around Steve's little finger, and happy about it. Knows he won the goddamn lottery, all for the price of changing a flat tire. Something he'd have done for anybody.

Steve wasn't anybody, though.

And when he wanted to stay, Eddie took the refinery job that he'd been avoiding like the plague, just to make ends meet a little bit easier. Wayne getting him hired on — no muss, no fuss.

Now, Jeff's guiding Goodie along in the dark as he claws the excavator into the yard. Careful not to go too deep. They don't want to make the problem worse. Pulling away dirt, and grass. Not the sewer line itself.

They find it. Smell it. A tree root that's grown far — far enough that Eddie never suspected the goddamn tree of burrowing through the pipe, creating this mess of a problem. At least they know what they need to do to fix it, now. That's better than not knowing.

It's two in the morning, and they scrub their hands with Lava soap at the outside hydrant as Mel, Carla and Di unpack food on the tailgate. Di with a sleeping baby strapped to her chest. The newest one. The other older kids, a mix of Gareth's and Jeff's, are all sleeping in the backseats of the cars.

Eddie bites into a fried pork chop, holding it by the bone. It feels like it did when they were teenagers, hauling hay for a nickel a bale. Sweating their asses off, eating lunch out in the fields, covered glass dishes of homemade fried chicken or whatever else the wives of the farmers they'd been hired by had made for them. It was always good, but often sat heavy in their guts in the summer sun.

Tonight though, it's dark, and cool enough to actually be pleasant. They sit around and eat off paper plates, talking, all together for the first time in a long time. Like there's not a wedding they'll all be at later this afternoon. Like they shouldn't all be home, getting their beauty sleep.

But they don't take these opportunities for granted, they are few and far between, circumstances be damned.

Steve doesn't cook, not really, claims he never learned how. Eddie likes to imagine he had personal chefs and butlers attending to his every whim, and that's how he showed up here, not knowing how to boil water. He just never had to learn.

Because his life had been easier, which Eddie is grateful about, honestly. He loves Steve too much to wish his own childhood on him.

He wouldn't want him to be like the little Eddie that had to pull a chair up to the stove when he was too short to reach, just to heat up a can of Spaghetti-Os while Wayne was at work. He was a latchkey kid after his mother's death. He'd ride the bus home alone, the last kid off, and let himself in with the key around his neck, alone. Where he'd stay until seven, when Wayne got home work. Tired, worn out, but still happy to see Eddie it always seemed. Ready to hear about his day. In return, Eddie learned to be responsible. To not burn the house down. To be good.

To brush his teeth without being told, and to lock the doors and go on to bed on time on nights that overtime kept Wayne away longer.

Eddie minded, because he couldn't afford to lose Wayne, too.

He knows now, that was never gonna happen. But at seven, it sure seemed like a pressing concern.

But Steve didn't live that life, and Eddie's shown him how to do things. He can change a tire now. And now he can dig out a sewer line. He can also make a mean peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and boxed macaroni and cheese that's only sometimes over or under-cooked. And that's what he's made tonight. Nobody complains, just eats the potluck of food, eyes drooping. Bone tired like they always are.

Everybody else finally heads home, ready to crash. When Eddie stumbles into the house to shower before bed, he doesn't take the now fully draining shower for granted. Not tonight, not ever.

Eddie's appreciative that Steve made them anything tonight. He definitely didn't need to, he'd made a lot of headway digging before the heavy machinery arrived. Steve's tough as nails, made of hardy stock, even if he doesn't always look like it. Eddie likes to imagine Steve hauling hay. Perhaps shirtless, glistening in the sun as he tossed bales like they weighed nothing. Eddie would have got nothing done if Steve had been there to gawk at, that's for sure. It was much easier to work alongside Goodie bitching, Jeff making him do it anyway, and Gareth struggling with the hooks.

With the water hitting his face, and then disappearing down the drain like it should, Eddie is relieved that it's fixed. Even if they had to do it after dark, under spotlights.

Steve's standing in the kitchen, wearing his glasses, hair a mess after air drying. But he's pouring two mugs of what he calls nighty night tea as Eddie slides into a mismatched vinyl chair at the kitchen table.

"Thanks, sweetheart," Eddie says, picking up his mug. Mindful of the forming blisters on his hands. They're gonna hurt.

In bed, Steve slings his leg over Eddie's, just so they can touch. They both needed to be asleep hours ago. They have a big day tomorrow.

In the morning Eddie knows Steve will dress to match him, he's seen him do it before, as to not overdress for events out here in the sticks. Weddings out here aren't like he's used to back home, Eddie's sure. No black tie. No sit-down dinner. Just cake and punch and cream cheese mints in a church hall basement.

Afterwards, they'll all go out for beers at the bar.

Wedding over, Steve dances with Di, spinning her across the small bar dance floor, her best dress twirling out, as she laughs.

Eddie watches, smiling.

They love Steve as much as Eddie does. Steve might not have grown up here, not like them, but he fits in, did from the jump, honestly. Once they got past his stuffy clothes, and that over shellacked helmet of hair he's grown out longer, softer and let get messy and messier over the years.

He's learned to two-step since he's been here, and the wives are all over him because of it. There's a gracefulness to him that none of the rest of them can replicate. It's natural to him. Innate. A fluidity that Eddie assumes only money can buy.

Steve's definitely tipsy, and edging towards drunk. Eddie can tell just by looking at him. He's laughing, having the best time, Di happily along for the ride.

Gareth isn't looking at them, his head is down on the bar, leg up on Eddie's thigh. Propping that knee up. Not even the shots tonight haven't helped. His knee is fucked, and they're gonna have to do something. Sooner rather than later.

"I can't drum with no knee," Gareth declares, head on his arms.

Well, that's true. But that's the least of their concerns. He can't feed his kids if he can't work, and that's a little more pressing.

Eddie rests his hand on Gareth's calf, rubbing it softly. Steve said he will call in a favor, and Eddie doesn't know what that means. Not exactly. He asked if his dad, or mom, is a doctor and Steve just laughed, so he assumes not.

Whatever trick he has up his sleeve, they'll take it.

"We're gonna get it fixed, don't worry," Eddie tells him, but worry is all they do around here.

The night is winding down. Last call. The bride and groom, long gone.

Eddie settles up their tab. When he goes to collect Steve, he's grinning.

"What?" Eddie asks, unable to keep from smiling back.

"You ever gonna marry me?" Steve asks, a happy drunk, leaning too close to Eddie's face.

Eddie swallows. Well, for one, they can't. Not legally. And for another, he had no idea Steve wanted that. That he's been waiting. It's the best proposal he's ever heard.

"Is that what you want?" Eddie asks, putting his hands on Steve's hips, holding him steady. "You could do better, you know?"

"Pfft, never," Steve slurs, pouting out his lower lip. "Duh, 'course I want you to marry me. Because you love me."

Eddie laughs, patting his hip.

"I do love you, sweetheart. And I'll marry you. Just tell me a time and place."

The grin Steve gives him is blinding, but still slightly wicked. Eddie's not even sure he'll remember this tomorrow. Still, Eddie'll take the proposal for the earnest wish that it is, at least in this moment.

He knows Steve loves him, and only god knows why, because Eddie sure as hell doesn't.

In the morning, Steve's hungover at the table, eyes closed, black coffee steaming in his mug. Oh, it's bad if he hasn't diluted it with ungodly amounts of cream and sugar yet.

"Mornin'," Eddie says quietly, sure Steve's got a pounding headache. He's not about to make it worse by being too loud.

Steve tilts his head backwards, opening his eyes, "In the yard, here at home, after the grass grows back."

"What's that?" Eddie asks, pouring his own cup of coffee.

"Where and when I want to get married. I'm telling you," Steve clarifies and Eddie grins to himself, back still turned away from Steve.

When he turns, he flashes a smile Steve's way, "Okay, sweetheart. That's what we'll do," he says, leaning down. Wrapping his arm around Steve's neck, maneuvering him into position to kiss his face, his cheeks, making him laugh before capturing his lips, sealing the deal.

"But for now, I want hangover eggs," Steve demands, and Eddie can do that. He can definitely do that.

Eddie gets a jar of Wayne's home canned whole tomatoes out of the pantry, and when he's finished, he scoops the tomato and egg mixture onto a plate, next to two slices of toast. Wayne's recipe. He watches as Steve uses the toast to break the first yolk, and smiles. Perfect. Just like Steve.

He drapes both of his arms over Steve's shoulders, down his chest, pressing his face close to Steve's. He's so goddamn lucky.

Steve Harrington not only wants to marry him, but also said that this house, Eddie's little piece of heaven, his mother's childhood house, his childhood safe haven, is home.

He couldn't ask for more, or better. Steve's it. Everything. And he wants to celebrate their already built life here in this place Eddie has lived most of his. With his mom, before, and then with Wayne, after.

And now, forever, with Steve.

Inspired by the song "Wondering Why" by The Red Clay Strays. I also have a little vid edit I made set to the song that inspired this whole idea. It was an earworm that had to be dealt with in fic and video form. It was just screaming to be steddiefied, lol. (Title come from the song, as well.)

If you want to sign up for a future bingo event or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo.

My masterlist for my bingo card can be found here.

#steddiebingo2025 #steddiebingo #prompt: proposal #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #steddie fan fic #steddie fic #stranger things #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: steddiebingo

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hellenhighwater · 6 days ago

Note

I'm in no place to take care of cats right now financially and much as I wish I could ignore that and just go for it, I couldn't bring myself to without feeling wretched.

The thing is, I'm hung up about being sure the eventual cats will have a good place with me, that I've lost any and all reference point of when I'm good to go. In my mind, pets are very expensive (coming from a background where it's ever barely been enough to cover rent and groceries and without any perspective of that changing in the next two to three years) so that fear of running out of resources is blotting out the rational judgement of How To Assign Budgets to things.

Was there a point at which you knew you could go ahead?

Honestly by the time I had a place where I could have cats, I had the budget for it. In general, costs for one cat is about $50/month for food, litter, toys, and other basics; pet insurance and vet visits can make that more. You can buy more expensive foods; you can spend more overall, but you can provide a very satisfactory life for a cat for about that much. So if that's in your budget, that's a good starting point. I'd advise trying to put some money aside as well in case of emergencies, but that can happen over time. If you're looking for a less expensive cat, look for a healthy adult (past the age where they've gotten their shots; already spayed or neutered) and wait for an 'empty the shelters' or other subsidized adoption event. Free kitty!

There's no magic number where you can guarantee coverage for any possible expense, but if you're able to budget that (and maybe start saving that $50/month for a while before you get the cat, so you've got a reserve) it's pretty doable. If things get dicey, there are food pantries for pets! It's good to be prepared but life is unpredictable.

#it's super subjective based on where you are and what you're buying #and two cats aren't exactly twice the cost

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hanasnx · 9 months ago

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“ DOESN’T ALWAYS HAVE TO BE SO BLACK AND WHITE ” — jason todd.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ WARNINGS: fem reader ノ established toxic relationship ノ reader has long hair ノ drug use: roofie ノ pain: scraped knees and hands descrip ノ size difference ノ objectification ノ kidnapping ノ sexual assault mentioned but does not occur ノ sex toy mention ノ dumbification. NOTES: use caution when reading this if you’re sensitive to drug descriptions. no smut but i might make a part two if someone has a good idea for it.

You stumble—hard—landing onto your knees and the heels of your hand. They burn against the pavement. Your internal equilibrium decays with each passing second as your head spins on your neck. To combat the dizziness, you squeeze your eyes shut, and your shoulder collides with the asphalt. You’d fallen further, unable to keep yourself afloat as distant voices sharpen.

“Somebody get her up.” The harsh and irritated command is followed punctually by rough hands sweeping your arms out from under you, hoisting you up as your hair hangs forward. You gasp from the change in altitude, as if your lungs are contracting, but you know you’re still on ground level. Like a doll without a spine of its own, you allow strange men to lead you while your head lulls and bobs from their curt motions. A long lock of hair sets between your parted lips, caught on the latent moisture there. Your heartbeat settles in the sting of your scraped skin.

Another foreign sensation grips firmly onto your jaw, directing your fluid movements towards a being that comes into focus slowly. Blue, and bright, you flinch at it.

“Ah,” that same voice exclaims in frustration. It grates your ears, there’s some kind of static or digital interference to it that churns your stomach in this state. “You gave her too much. Look at her.”

“We didn’t have a choice, boss, honest!” the armored man to your left responds, and the one on your right is eager to chime in.

“Couldn’t take any chances, almost clawed my eyes out.”

“Little thing like her?” he—the boss—confirms, and if you didn’t know any better you’d say there’s an edge of pride to his reply. “Give her to me.” Your body jostles as you’re transferred from hold to hold, the hard and prickly surface of armor and fabric press flush to your front. An arm, thick and muscled, wraps around your waist, and you bend backward. Your gummy limbs can’t handle your own weight, so he handles it for you. His bicep strokes up the curve of your back, so you surge forward but he expertly avoids bumping you. Instead, he looks into your relaxed countenance. The stranger juts his chin at your display, and an uncharacteristically tender gloved hand hooks down your cheek to drag the lock of your hair out of your mouth. “Gave them a run for their money, didn’t’ya? Hm,” That chuckle makes you furrow your brows as it passes from his firm chest to yours.

He stoops, letting you fall over his shoulder, nestling it against your stomach, and lifting you. That same arm secures you by strapping over the backs of your knees. “Let’s go, boys. I wanna stay ahead of schedule.” he says, lumbering with you in hand. Unable to stay in control of your body, you fade in and out of consciousness as the surrounding—deafening—mechanical din scrapes your ears.

You start to lose track of time, you don’t know how long you’ve felt like this. Every so often you’re fed a liquid, or a familiar pair of fingers invasively shoves something down your throat. It keeps you pliant. The dosage is lowered enough, however, until you can stand on your own. Your eyes are blank and empty, your brain just as much, and you stand as still as a doll. The Arkham Knight, you’ve learned his name, commands anyone you’ve ever laid eyes on since your abduction. You’re not sure why you’re here, or why he brings you along everywhere he goes. If it’s to keep an eye on you because you’re a flight risk… you’re not sure that you’d be able to escape and live under these circumstances. However, thoughts of escaping at all rarely formulate past the initial fight or flight instinct your body reminds you that you have. “I should do something… I should do something…” it says.

But you don’t.

All this contemplation causes you to zone out, and your delicate sense of balance deteriorates. Without realizing, you sway, and your weight carries you away from your keeper. Unable to get your feet under you in time, your hair swings to one side, falling fast until abruptly you’re halted. A hand snatches your wrist, and an ache strikes your shoulder socket from the yank back up. You say nothing even when he catches you with his body, your heavy one colliding with his hard chest. You stay there for a while.

When you come back to, the atmosphere feels different. You’re not in some cavernous underground mall anymore, you’re in the small hallways of a makeshift headquarters. Each of your arms encircle the necks of militia that you can never recognize, “C’mon, kitty cat, the Knight wants you. Let’s go.” one says as he adjusts you higher up. The nickname sounds resentful on his tongue, perhaps he doesn’t like you very much or the fact he has to carry you.

“Any idea what he does with her?” the other questions, like you’re not listening—like you’re not even there.

“S’not for us to know.” the first responds.

The armed escort chimes from behind you, “Hey, maybe it’s some form of advanced interrogation. What if she’s got some info on the Bat? Or worse, maybe she’s with the Bat.”

“… Ew,”

“I don’t mean it like that—well, it could be. We don’t know.”

“The way the boss handles her, I don’t think she’s ‘with’ anyone else.”

“You don’t think… you’re not saying—“

“I’m not saying nothin’.”

“Are we seriously lugging around some guy’s sex doll—“

“Shut the fuck up.”

“I went to Princeton, I don’t need this shit—“

“I said, ‘shut the fuck up!’” he hisses the warning, and your heavy eyelids flutter closed.

“Hey—Hey.” You wake up to the sound, and to the light patting on your cheek. “You with me?” That digital voice recites a certain tenderness, speaking low so as to not startle you but with the firmness of a man who won’t let himself show vulnerability. You wince at the brightness of his mask through your closed lids, and the heat of his presence retreats at the sight of you coming to. “Say something.”

The first time you’re prompted to speak. “Water.” you choke out hoarsely. The first time you’ve spoken. He flicks his head in the direction of the exit to one of his subordinates who punctually retrieves you clean water in a little paper cup. It’s a fragile thing, crinkling under the slightest touch of your fingers as you clumsily raise it. To aid you, the Knight’s hand overlays yours to guide the rim to your mouth, and you drink. You didn’t realize just how thirsty you are, downing the contents in a feverish motion. He signals for another to be brought to you, and you pant hard, wiping the excess from your upper lip with the back of your hand.

Your gaze then sweeps and lingers on his puzzling grasp over yours. He notes that, retracting.

“The medic is on his way to check you out. I wanted a moment with you first.” he relays it to you like you’re another one of his employees, someone to be briefed and dismissed. You don’t say anything. His sidearm is in plain sight, and your cognitive ability is slowly regaining. You wish it hadn’t. The Knight leaves you to nervously fiddle with the tearing paper of your cup while he nears a clunky laptop. Graceful fingers clack a few keys, and you wonder if he's summoning the medic or delaying him. "Something on your mind?" His tone conveys a sense of knowing, but he's guarded.

You will yourself to be silent. There's no right move here, you have no information, no leverage. You can't threaten a man with this many resources. Your strength fails you, when was the last time you had a decent meal? He holds all the cards, so you try patience.

"Don't be shy." he goads playfully, and instead of putting you at ease, it frustrates you to be talked down to. You crush the paper cup in your lap. Observing your reactions, he reassesses his attitude. "You won't be hurt." He idles, but when you stubbornly refuse his generosity, his heavy boots thunder as he returns to your seat. A frightening hand reaches out and you flinch away.

"Don't touch me." you bite. That hand hovers an inch away from your upper arm.

"Sir?" the faint interruption of the medic causes you both to whip your heads in his direction.

"Get in here." The Knight barks, and he's prompt to obey the command, setting his equipment aside you as he fishes out his flashlight to check your pupils. Before you knew it, the Knight departs without you.

You're kept in his custody for days, and since the medic barred you from whatever they were drugging you with, you're sober. Somehow, you've picked up on information, but none that explains your being here. The Knight keeps you close, but talks to you as much as he did when you were practically comatose. When you try to refuse him, planting your feet, he treats you as he did before. Overpowering you, he yanks you to him as he stoops, connecting his shoulder to your stomach: a motion that knocks the wind out of you when he hoists you above the ground. Unlike a lifeless body, you kick out and scream, thrashing on him as he takes you where he wants you without your say.

It's a long battle, but he's chipping away at your resolve. He can tell you're ready for round two, that spitfire in you couldn't stay dormant for too long. Militia men have a lot more trouble bringing you to the cockpit of the HQ, dragging you as you fight them.

"I preferred her roofied." one jests, and it does not go unpunished. A shrill shriek emitting from you as you raise on the tips of your toes, loosening their hold for a precious second.

"Nice going, you idiot. What are we supposed to tell the boss if she makes a break for it and you let her go?"

Regardless of your efforts, you sit in front of the Arkham Knight again. Even though he's clad head to toe in armor, there's a smug air about him. "Knew you wouldn't shut up for long. You know, the guys told me when they apprehended you you put up a fight. Gunmen, and you tried to claw 'em. You know how stupid that was? You never did have the best head on your shoulders."

Your brows furrow.

It's quiet. The Knight knows he slipped up.

"Do we... know each other?" you ask.

#indy: drabbles #ch: jason #jason todd drabble #jason todd x reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd imagine #jason todd fic #jason todd fanfiction #arkham knight x reader #arkham knight x you #arkham knight imagine #arkham knight fanfic #reader insert #red hood x reader #tw kidnapping #tw drugs

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kurishiri · 4 months ago

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Mystery Bag 2025 ┊ Team 2: The trash bastards and the troubled fox

Harrison, Alfons, Jude, Nica

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to narrative flow and characterization purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but please don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— the mystery bag 2025 sale is a story set sale where the guys are put into teams and participate in a relay event thing. this is one of three teams (i love al too much to pass this by aa orz)! you can read the prologue, translated by @.judesmoonbeauty, here.

— cw: mentions of drugging or spiking drinks, bribing, and groping.

——Group 2 for the preliminary contest: Harrison, Alfons, Jude, Nica.

[SKY]

Steering committee: Then, we will begin the round for group 2.

Steering committee: Who will reach the goal first and emerge the happy boy for 2025?!

Steering committee: Let us go all out! Take your places, and…start!

[PARK - DAY]

Harrison: Oh, jeez, that was fast. So, why are you guys all standing there?

Alfons: Since the spectators are no longer in sight, so I figured if it was around now or so,

A: it would be a good time to drop this act of competing to the hardest and fullest.

Harrison: What? (O_O)

H: Or wait a minute, I’m pretty sure Al’s no exception; you guys are scheming something weird, aren’t you.

Jude: Who are ya gonna blame when ya don’t have a drop o’ evidence on ya? Way to make others out as the villain.

Nica: Agreed. I wouldn’t dream of scheming anything so bad in broad daylight, you know.

Harrison: Your lies are so damn obvious. I don’t even need to use my ability to figure that out.

H: If you all get caught, would you be alright getting disqualified?

Alfons: Oh, goodness, shiver me timbers. I’ll be honest, so hold your silence, alright?

A: I’m sure you’re aware there is a spot you can take a quick water break a bit up ahead, no?

A: I maaay or may not have pulled an ever so slight trick on the drinks.

A: Said trick being a sleeping drug that can knock one out immediately.

Harrison: You’re the worst.

Jude: Well, seems like somethin’ that walkin’ offense to public morals would pull outta his arse.

Alfons: And what of you?

Jude: Jus’ gave some money on a stick to the committee and told ‘em to tamper with the info and give us the win.

J: There’s been a wave o’ people, so it wouldn’t get outed.

Harrison: You’re no better.

Nica: I’d expect nothing less from the company president, dirtying your hands. Someone as well-bred as me could never.

Harrison: And? What’s up your sleeve?

Nica: Now don’t go lumping me together with that mirror man and president.

N: All I did was use my superior intellect and surveying skills. …Say, did you know?

N: This time, beneath the course there’s a sewer. One that’ll lead you right next to the goal.

N: So I was thinking of slipping underground, bide my time… and take first place.

Jude & Alfons: What a bastard. / Very much as low as trash.

Nica: You guys are the last ones I want to be called ‘trash bastards’ from.

Harrison: Damn, it’s trash bastards left and right.

H: So? What did you hope to gain from all this?

Alfons: Why of course, it’s to use Her Majesty’s authority to do this and that and aaall things in between.

Harrison: I was a fool for ever asking.

H: What about you, Jude?

Jude: Anythin’ goes. There’s a whole load o’ things I wanna do with the Queenie’s authority.

J: Well, I’d bet that bad guy over there would ask for somethin’ ridiculous.

Nica: As if. I’m just trying to earn what I very much love — money.

N: There’s never enough money to go around.

Harrison: If that’s what you really think, then I’ll leave it at that.

Nica: …Being able to pick up on lies, huh. You’ve got a troublesome ability on you, don’t you, Harrison Gray.

Harrison: They said abilities were forbidden. I’m just reading what you’re feeling.

Nica: You’re the only one who’ll ever know if you’re using your ability or not. I’d expect nothing less of the one Cursed by the Lying Fox.

Harrison: Thanks, I guess.

Nica: ——Anyway, what are we going to do from now on?

Alfons: Whatever could you mean?

Nica: I mean, seeing as we all revealed our hands, I can’t imagine this will end nice and smooth.

N: For the record, I’m fine with taking each other down. Since I don’t hold back against bastards and all.

Jude: Ha, I like the sound o’ that. The last one standin’ wins. Simple, clear-cut, n’ easy to understand.

Alfons: Though I can’t say I enjoy such brutish things, I suppose sacrifices may be inevitable.

Harrison: Hey you guys——

Woman’s cry: Ahh!

Harrison: That voice…

Woman’s cry: Someone! There’s a groper— he groped me!

Nica: A groper, huh.

N: Yeah, I figured. There’s bound to be some stupid humans who can’t hold themselves back and take advantage of the festival.

N: I just don’t get it. Well, I’m sure with this crowd, he’ll get caught in no time.

Alfons: I’m sure a man foolish enough to grope others will be caught soon——

A: But as I recall, the direction that man is running happens to be toward the place Kate has come to cheer for us, isn’t it?

Harrison: …I’ll go. I’m worried about her.

H: You guys can do whatever.

Jude: Tch, can’t stand the thought o’ leaving ‘er alone and gettin’ yelled at.

Alfons: Ahha! Are the men who haven’t run that much before going full speed ahead now?

A: What are you going to do, Nica?

Nica: Guess I’ll go too? Standing idle around won’t do much anyway.

[ALLEYWAY]

Groper: Dammit… why are you guys chasing after me! Ah——

Harrison: Okay, caught you.

Jude: Keep that trash bastard o’ a pervert restrained.

Harrison: That was my intention.

H: Ahh, you guys came too?

Nica: Ohh, so this is the groper, huh. Haha, now that’s a face that’ll probably stir up trouble with women.

Alfons: Judging by one’s outward appearance is nonsense. That said, though, he does sport a rather unfulfilled expression.

Groper: I didn’t do it! My hand just happened to touch her butt.

Groper: And besides! Aren’t you guys the one who’s got some unfulfilled desires, stirring up all this fuss all over this?

Alfons: Oh, you happened to, didn’t you.

A: On the way here, I caught onto something, you see.

A: As far as I heard, six women were bringing up how they were getting touched by you.

A: Why that is one hefty coincidence indeed, dare I say.

A: Or could it be your hands were implanted with a magnet that drew you to women’s rears?

Nica: And besides, we’ve got a handy lie detector right here.

N: So? Which is it?

Harrison: Everything you’re saying is a lie. There’s no doubt about that.

H: Well, that’s my intuition, at least.

Groper: …gh.

Groper: D-damn it all! Yeah, okay, I did it!

Nica: Okay, okay, I’ve heard just about enough of that bastard’s dirty voice.

Alfons: Now then, having confessed so honestly, what punishment shall we do?

A: Ahh, come to think of it, our abilities are off the table, aren’t they. Well then, Jude.

Jude: Show that nasty arse o’ yours. The one ya fondled with.

Groper: Guah!

Nica: Wow, that sounded brutal. His bones are probably broken.

Alfons: My heartfelt condolences. Well, what should we do with this knocked out man?

Harrison: Hand him over to the police.

H: Today we’re not Crown and Vogel, but rather just participants.

Jude: Whatever floats your boat. I couldn’t care less.

An unclear cry: Ahh!

Harrison: Another one…? (O_O)

Alfons: What is it this time?

[BRIDGE]

Kate: Ah— guys!

K: There’s a big problem, all the participants who had the drinks from the break spot ended up falling fast asleep!

Alfons: Is that so?

Kate: And then a committee member started to reveal that they’d been threatened and bribed and——

Jude: Hmm.

Kate: And on top of that, it was discovered that someone was going to use the sewer as an unjust move!

Nica: Well, I’ll be.

Kate: Just who could be behind these? It’s too much like what a trash bastard would do, and I can’t look past that!

Harrison: Go on, Kate, keep it going.

Kate: Wha——?

Fin.

team 1 team 2 team 3

ko-fi ☕️ ┊ comms 🤍

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chugging-bleach · 9 months ago

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"SOMETHING TO LOOK FORWARD TO." - the 4 times you almost met jason and the one time you did.

✩ ⋅ ⋅✩ ⋅ ⋅ ✩ ⋅ ⋅✩ ⋅ ⋅✩ ⋅ ⋅ ✩ ⋅ ⋅✩ ⋅ ⋅✩ ⋅ ⋅ ✩ ⋅ ⋅ ✩ ⋅

summary. you regret not speaking to jason todd in high school. then, another masked vigilante by the name of red hood seems to make all your regrets dissolve.

tags. fluff, light angst, slight hurt/comfort, slow burn, eventual happy ending

a/n. this idea came from a jason todd x <y/n> fic i am in the process of writing (if you would like to know when it comes out, follow or check out my ao3). i hope you enjoy reading this <3 feel free to request anything you would like to see me write.

the first time.

gotham high, located at the heart of crime alley, was for lack of a better word shitty. you hated studying, you never got along with anyone and prayed that the time went by fast. the only thing that made you keep going back to high school was staring at that handsome boy with bright blue eyes and ratty black hair who sat a seat ahead of you. how he made it to first place each year was a mystery to you since he was constantly skipping class.

what kept you going was looking forward to that one day he would attend class and then you could stare at the back of his head to make the time go by faster. one day you knew that you would want to freeze this moment and make it last forever, but for now, staring will do. not like jason would care and catch you looking.

then one day he completely stopped showing up. you thought he would come back. but then you graduated. without him ever returning. you hated yourself for never trying to talk to him. you should have spoken to him rather than staring holes into him. actually, staring at him must have been super creepy. were you the reason why he stopped coming to school? creeped out by the girl who bore holes into him, just staring and staring? regardless of the real reason, you know that you would always regret not talking to him. not being able to thank him for making school a little better.

the second time.

as was routine for gothamites, you get saved from some large attack from some big shot criminal at the hands of batman and robin. you were a bit upset at being saved since you really wouldn't mind dying at the hands of a rouge robber. you had nothing to look forward to. there wasn't enough money to go to university. bills piled up no matter how many jobs you worked.

you snap out of your thoughts when robin puts a shock blanket around you and instead of being grateful, you throw it on the floor. you remember that you have to get back to work otherwise you'll be behind on rent again.

"where are you going?" batman placed a hand on your shoulder to stop you.

"work," you simply say.

"stay put for a while. we need to make sure you're alright."

"well, i won't be alright if i don't work and miss rent. again."

you just talked back to the batman. maybe he will kill you and then you might die quicker than working yourself to death.

"let me handle this one," and then robin is making you sit down next to him. you were trying to avoid robin knowing that you will project your regret on to him. the regret of never being able to talk to jason since both jason and robin have eerily similar features. work is just an excuse. you need to leave.

"please. i won't make rent. let me go."

"mad respect talking to him like that. but, you inhaled some poison gas. take the antidote. then you can go back."

"give it to the others here. i don't give a fuck."

you know you shouldn't be this angry. but you are this angry. at yourself. and robin has made that anger surface.

"how about i give you something to look forward to? then you'll stay for the antidote?"

"the person i looked forward to seeing disappeared before i could talk to him," you say before you can stop yourself. you feel ridiculous admitting it, that just staring at some random boy gave you hope. but it did. and now that boy wasn't there anymore.

"that dumbass didn't know how lucky he was."

you shook your head. "he truly is lucky. he was adopted by bruce wayne. i just... he made school less shitty even though he doesn't even know who i am and before i could thank him he was gone. it's stupid, i know, but i just wanted to say thank you to him. like, thank you, jason. that's it. and i'll never get to say it."

robin puts the shock blanket around you again. he was silent. "i'm sorry for saying all that. but now that i said it, i'll thank you instead of him." you turned and stared at robin's eye mask, imagining it was jason. it wasn't that difficult, considering they both had the same bright blue eyes and ratty black hair.

"thank you, jason for not getting creeped out by all my staring." you feel much lighter. maybe you just had to talk to someone. robin rises from your side.

"i'm sure that dumbass heard your thanks, though i'm sure he doesn't deserve any of it."

third time.

life at gotham, heart of wacky and dangerous criminals, was for lack of a better word still shitty. you never saved up nearly enough to go to university but managed to get a decent-ish job at three diners which paid nearly enough for being located in gotham.

you were wiping down table tops and listening to the news playing the death anniversary of jason todd, bruce wayne’s adopted son. it was tragic to die that young. and you were surprised the news didn't leave you as heartbroken as you had thought it would.

you continued wiping down the counters, when for the third time today, thugs burst in and demanded to be served. as per policy, you served anyone especially the dangerous sort. before you could get menus for them and think of how to explain to the next diner that yes, thugs broke in after her shift ended yet again, a person wearing a red helmet/mask comes inside, drags the thugs outside with a "not so fast," and that's that. your shift's over. instead of missing the next job, you will be arriving late, which won't be that difficult to explain.

you finish tidying up and leave.

the strange man with the red helmet has tied up the thugs and left them at the side of the pavement. he is ready to leave on his motorcycle. you make a move to leave, accustomed to strange costumed people taking care of thugs like this.

"for all that trouble, want a ride?" you think being kidnapped won't be too bad. not like you have anything to look forward to.

"sure."

just as quickly as he had tied those thugs up without fanfare, you were sitting behind him, arms wrapped around his waist. you whispered the directions of the place adding, "didn't know this was part of the whole hero thing. giving people free lifts to places."

"you would be surprised how much money i burn on gas for these free lifts."

he drove way too fast. you tightened your hold on him, afraid you were gonna fly off. any conversation was impossible with the loud noise of the engine. but it felt freeing to go this recklessly fast.

"wonder who you need to see here."

oh no. you gave the wrong directions. you were not planning to do this. damn the news for reminding you. you promised last year was the last time you would do this.

before you can stop yourself, you're crying. you were heartbroken after all. "i don't know why i do this to myself each year. he never even knew me," you choke out. you had gotten off the bike at some point, expecting this person to leave.

"if it gives you peace to visit this person, you should. besides this punk is lucky to have you visit him."

ignoring the sense of deja vu you were getting, you shook your head. "jason was anything but lucky. he died so young. i never knew him. i wish i knew him better." he lended you his shoulder to cry on. you had more regrets than you had previously thought. "he did not deserve to die young."

your tears sat on top of his leather jacket and you moved to wipe them away with your napkin. instead, he stops you, wiping your tears away with the pads of his gloved fingers.

"he seriously is a lucky boy to have you visit and cry for him"

fourth time.

you were saving up money to move out of this shithole. nothing was tying you down to this place and there were new vigilantes and new villains rising everyday. none of the other cities were safe, but you had heard they offered better jobs and more affordable bills. less leaky ceilings. you never went to college so jobs still were a little difficult to get, but otherwise, you would be paid more as a server at anyother city, except gotham. if not working for wayne enterprises, jobs were a struggle in gotham. life was a struggle. you remarked upon how you made it this far.

then, someone broke through your window.

the first thought - for fuck's sake, who was gonna pay for it?

second - oh it's red hood, he will pay for it.

this is not the first time a vigilante crashed through your window. being a gothamite sucks.

you brushed the pieces of glass away from his leather jacket and surveyed him for damage. he did not seem hurt. only mildly annoyed. the red helmet wouldn't be enough to conceal his reaction from her.

"coffee as per usual? along with the window repairs and cleanup?"

you swear he is frowning under that helmet. not at you, but at the person who threw him. you don't wait for his answer, already preparing his coffee.

"help me up?"

"what? are your legs broken?"

"they are if you will carry me."

"red, combining you and the rest of your little clique this is the tenth time my window has been broken. sixth time by you, alone."

the person you met on jason todd's death anniversary was red hood. he was an anti-batman vigilante and you couldn't have given two shits. except, red made you give two shits. after that first day at the diner, he kept coming back to pick up food during your shifts. when the diner inevitably burned down, he came to the other diner you started working at. then it was crashing through your apartment window. then it was crashing with robin through your apartment window.

you were overjoyed when he came, but it was best you push him away before he got too close, and up and disappeared like jason had. looking forward to things like this was a curse.

"hope i make it to a seventh. seventh times the charm."

"charm for what?" you say, slamming the mug in front of him, with a little more force than you wanted to.

"for my charm to work on you." he winked and took a sip from the cup. his other hand rested on top of yours and your heart wrenched in your chest. you really wanted to know red hood better. you wanted him to keep crashing through your window instead of entering through the front door. but then he would die during patrol and you would have nothing more to look forward to. again. you carefully free your hand from his, ignoring his puzzled expression and the dejection you feel separating from him.

you have to stop this. "listen, you shouldn't see me anymore."

"why?

"i don't...don't need you to disappear too. jason disappearing was horrible and he wasn't safe with the most powerful billionaire in gotham. you break in through people's windows. what if next time you break something? like your spine or..."

you expect red hood to laugh at you. you were a minuscule, microscopic part of jason's life. he shouldn't be this huge a part of your life. if he were alive, you knew the regret wouldn't eat you up inside. but he wasn't alive. you couldn't hold that moment as a happy memory of a stupid thing you did in high school.

"all i'm hearing is, breaking your window is fine but not my bones. i guess that's doable."

you smack him, knowing that it wouldn't even hurt. "i'm serious. besides, once i have enough money, i will be moving out of gotham. don't come here. please." you were miles away from moving out. you knew red hood knew that.

you did this to save yourself the hurt and regret, but as you saw him leave from the front door, you knew you caused yourself more hurt and regret than last time. jason was far away from the beginning. you had chances to get to know red hood better. used to have chances.

jason was dead. red hood was right in front of your eyes and interested to keep seeing you. you had messed up.

he would never come back.

the last time.

instead of wallowing in your heartbreak, it was time to give back to the community you grew up in. moving out was an impossible dream you gave up on. instead, you got more involved in elder homes and joined their knitting circles.

it had been a month since red hood was gone. you couldn't believe it had been an entire year since you saw him, on jason's death anniversary of all days. yes, you couldn't help but regret that you made another mistake. red hood knew about you and wanted to know you better, to the point where he broke into your house.

like clockwork, you went to go see jason's grave, finding out that the grave wasn't there anymore. it wouldn't be there anymore at the request of the wayne family.

you cried outside the gates of the cemetery, knowing that this wasn't where he was laid to rest. jason's real body was in wayne manor, not here. this was for the public.

with red hood gone, you had nothing left to look forward to. you were a dumbass.

"need a ride?" you thought you were hallucinating. you looked up with teary eyes and confirmed it was the red hood. except, his helmet was off. you stared at him, dumbfounded. he had dishevelled black hair and bright, blue eyes. you sniffled, letting him drag you to your feet. you shook your head.

"jason's grave isn't here."

you were clutching the flowers in your hands. the red hood took them from you and bowed, pink flushing his cheeks.

"yes, that's 'cause i'm here. thanks for the flowers."

you gaped at him. "you're jason? you mean your name is jason too?"

guess it checks out. red hood knew about your strange connection to jason todd so he didn't tell you his real name. he chuckled, pulling you close, pressing a gentle kiss on each of your glistening cheeks. if you weren't shocked, you probably would be ecstatic about this development.

"it's time you learnt more about jason todd rather than staring and let me learn about you, <y/n>. i have been looking forward to learning more about you."

//bonus//

jason had no idea about before the diner incident. he remembered the (y/n) from when he was robin, once they arrived at the cemetery. but, he didn’t remember anything from high school as he barely attended. then, his crush on (y/n) was born.

the batsiblings were tired of seeing jason delay his confession, so they threw him through the window. once jason took tim with him. this totalled the count - three times tim as casualty, one time jason and tim, six times jason. all the costs were billed to bruce wayne as 'civilian casualties' code for ‘of course we broke through the window. it’s the batmove to pick up chicks.'

#batman #batfam #jason todd #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #dc red hood #red hood #red hood x reader #jason todd fluff #jason todd angst #red hood fanfiction #jason todd fanfiction #red hood fluff #red hood angst

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elixrr · 1 year ago

Text

“Wait, Y/N—” He stops you in your tracks. He needs a rundown. He needs a repeat on why you're leaving him. “Why— why are you—”

“Why?” You stop yourself from crying out loud, “Because you're killing yourself over me.”

He stops in his tracks. Him? Killing himself over you? What are you saying? He's fine, he's perfectly fine, as long as he's with you!

“Wh– What makes you say that? Please, love, don't go away. Don't leave, tell me what's wrong, I can make it right!”

“You were making your way back up in life before we started dating.” You begin. Your voice became soft and sorrowful, holding in layers of guilt for this poor, poor man before you. “You were making money for yourself, and you were finally helping yourself become financially stable.”

“So it's the money?” He lets out an exasperated laugh, as if he were relieved at the circumstance. He smiles with slight relief in his eyes, and he reassures you, “Don't worry! I'll find more jobs, then I'll earn enough to buy you more things. Hell, the money you gave me when... when you told me you were leaving, I– I can use it!”

His smile stays for a bit, but it fades when he watches your expression sadden.

“It wasn't about getting me gifts. You need the money for yourself, not me. I'm fine with everything I have. I gave you the money because you need it to take care of yourself again.”

You can't bear to look at his confused face. He's such a sweetheart, and it hurts like hell to leave him, but it's for the best if it means he only has to support himself, and not two people.

“But... If you just need me to be financially stable, that's fine. I can do that, then afterward, I can buy—”

“Honey, that's not it. You need the money for yourself and yourself only, don't count material things for me.”

“But— I just... I don't want you to leave. We can work this out. We can work it out together.”

You pause, hesitating. The door stands tall behind you. You don't want to leave him; he's your darling, but guilt overrides your heart, and you take your stance.

“I wanted to work it out with you, so I've tried. We've discussed this so many times, remember? But when you did become financially stable again, you wasted it all away for me on Valentine's Day. I loved that gift— I love you, I love you so much, but I can't keep watching you destroy yourself.”

He finally feels the tear rolling, and yours begin to pour.

“And since you only begin to listen when I'm on the verge of leaving, I feel like it would help you more than it would hurt if I left.”

“But I can't do this without you!”

He runs up to you, trying to hug you, but you're out the door, and he falls to the ground, sobbing on his knees and watching you leave. It's terrible, it's horrible, but he can't bring himself to stand up and chase you. To his surprise, you kneel by him and hold his cheek.

“I don't want you to do this alone. But you have to, if it means you'll be able to live again.”

And there's a pause between you two. It's raining, drizzling raindrops coat your hair and lather across your clothes, as it does with his. The air is thick; bridges are burning. This was not something he could ever recover from, but you have a whole future ahead of you, away from him. Was he holding you back the whole time? Did any of this interfere with your work? With your mental stability?

Please, take him back. Keep him with you.

“I left a great sum of money with you.” You pull yourself together and stand. Your sudden stability towers over his— considering as he lacks it. “If you section it correctly, you'll have enough to pay the bills for almost two years, and you'll have money left over for about three months to buy yourself luxurious food and some nice clothes. If you don't look for luxury, that will last you a while, more than enough to look for a whole new job.”

“I don't care.” He finally manages to cry out, and he holds your waist in a final, desperate attempt to keep you with him. “I don't care. I– I don't want money,

I just want you.”

But he can't keep you. You glance at your driver and signal for her to wait. You lift your ex-boyfriend back up and take him back into the house, seating him on the couch. You take one final look around the shabby living room, and you sigh.

“I'd tell you to come back when you can handle everything better, but by then, I'm sure you'll have met someone new.”

“But what if I don't?”

“Then feel free to come back when you're comfortable. I'm glad you're so kind and loving, but I simply just couldn't stand watching you waste your future away for me.”

You stand up and kiss him one last time. He, like usual, doesn't process it in time to kiss you back, and before he could reciprocate, you bow and wave a goodbye, and you're out the door.

You grab the doorknob and— before you close the door, you turn around and mutter the quietest, soon meaningless ‘I love you,’ and you gently close the door,

and that was the end of it all.

You said that he should build a new future for himself, but with his tearful eyes glaring hot, burning laser beams at the door, it's very safe to say that this future is starting off terribly far from a good one.

He needs a restart; he's realized it before, but he never wanted to start over like this—

He never wanted to see a future without you in it. But you're gone. All that's left are the remaining photos you haven't taken, as well as the money you've left for him.

He hears the car drive off into the distant future.

He hears the car skid into your new future.

He knows why you left him now, but he doesn't know why you needed to.

If only he could get you to repeat it one last time. But there are no repeats.

All you've really left him with is a restart.

– LYNEY, FREMINET, HEIZOU, GAMING, xiao, EARLY KUNI(KUZISHI)

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watchmegetobsessed · 11 months ago

Text

WING IT

A/N: we are slowly getting more content, lets just hope something drops soon!

WORD COUNT: 3k

SUMMARY: It's your first day working in Selma's Home, you're nervous enough already, but when an emergency calls your boss away and you're left alone, the situation is topped when famous CEO Harry Styles casually strolls in.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

It doesn’t matter that this job is just an in-between. Something that earns you money until your dream position opens. A first day is always stressful, especially when you have no idea what to do.

You were applying to dozens of jobs at once, just shooting everywhere you could, hoping to get an answer back before your rent was due. Selma’s Home was the first one to invite you for an interview and somehow, miraculously you even got the job despite the fact that you have no experience in retail. You suspect that desperation was a big factor in your hiring, because Selma lost 2 of her employees at once when the young couple that was working for her moved across the country.

Now here you are, walking into the store, nervously fidgeting with your fingers as you head down the aisles where you see Selma behind the cash register already getting ready to open.

“Hi!” you greet her, her head snapping up at your weak voice. Selma is such a fierce, kind of intimidating woman, but you can see how it helped her to open this store and make it one of the most successful home decor stores in the city, offering tasteful stylish pieces along with practical utility items for one’s home.

“Oh, hi! Welcome to your first day, you ready?” She even cracks a smile, but somehow it just makes you gulp hard.

“Yeah, readier than ever!” you manage to squeeze out a nervous chuckle, hoping she doesn’t sense your jitters.

“Alright, then let’s get started.”

With an hour until opening Selma is eager to squeeze in as much information into it as possible. She walks you through the store, talking about the most important items, but also handing you a handbook about everything that’s currently selling in the store.

“Use your downtime to roam around and you’ll learn them by the end of the week without the handbook,” she says, eyes running over the shelves as she is talking, already moving to the storage room in the back.

She talks about the system, how to unload the new arrivals every two weeks and then you move on to the cash register, aka your biggest fear. It’s quite the stress factor to deal with money, making sure everything is neat and correct, you can only hope you won’t mess it all up.

Then the store opens and you follow around Selma to learn the ropes. What’s different here is that whenever a customer comes in you offer them help right away and if needed, you assist them throughout their whole time shopping. There are quite some designer products selling and you’ll need to know everything about them to be able to sell them to the customers just like Selma does.

She is so good at it. No matter who comes in, she so effortlessly talks them into leaving with not only what they came for, but some more as well. She is enchanting, nice, open and warm and you just keep taking notes mentally, though you don’t feel confident enough to be as charming as she can be the moment the bell rings above the door.

When lunch rolls around you allow yourself to feel relieved for a second that you survived half the day already. Selma sends you to the back to have your lunch and you just sit in silence, staring ahead of you, mustering up all your energy for the rest of the workday. You’ve just finished your sandwich when Selma barges into the breakroom.

“Y/N, there’s a bit of an emergency.”

You jump to your feet, scenarios already running through your mind. Is there a fire? Did the storefront just collapse? Someone stole those hella expensive Japanese tablecloths?

“What happened?”

“My daughter, she is ugh! Such a menace, she got into trouble at school, so I have to go there. I need you to cover for a bit, just an hour tops, I swear!”

She is already grabbing her purse, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head, car keys in hand while you just stand there dumbfounded. Is she actually gonna leave you alone in the store on your first day?

“Selma, I-I don’t…”

“You do, Honey. Just an hour. This is a dead time anyway, if anyone comes in, just try your best to help them and ring them up at the end. Easy, I know you can do it!”

She is storming out and you follow her like a lost puppy.

“B-But what if I mess something up?” you ask, panic setting in.

“As long as you don’t set the store on fire, you’ll be fine. I trust you, Y/N!”

And with that, she is already gone, the bell rings above the door as you stand there like a statue.

You watch the storefront in pure panic, your stomach dropping every time it seems like someone is approaching the shop, but no one comes in.

Until the bell rings above the door.

For a split second you hope it’s Selma, but looking up you see a tall, broad figure and your heart threatens to burst right out of your anxiety filled chest, at first because hello! It’s a customer! But then as he steps further into the shop and takes off his sunglasses, realization settles in.

This is not just a regular customer, this is Harry Fucking Styles, CEO of Pleasing Productions, the studio that’s given the world the absolute best romantic movies in the past decades and the man is famously known for being a ladies favorite, but appearing as a total mystery in the media.

You’ve read about him a lot before, it’s hard not to bump into his name online, thanks to his looks he is always somehow in talk for either having dinner with a model, appearing on the red carpet looking like a fucking snack, or, your personaly favorite, declining giving an answer to a question regarding his private life.

And now he is standing there, looking around the store.

It takes a couple of moments for you to push out of this frozen state and finally step forward.

“Hello!”

Wow. Did your voice actually sound like that?

Clearing your throat you keep moving towards him.

“Hi, can I help you with anything?”

You try to rake your mind to remember everything you’ve seen and heard from Selma to use now, but the moment he looks up, your mind goes blank. He is just as beautiful as he looks in pictures or maybe even more. Unlike on those red carpet photos where he is always dressed in designer suits, now he is wearing a pair of simple pants and a gray long sleeve, his hair is a bit tousled and it appears he is growing his beard out, a bit shaggy, but he makes it look very… hot. That’s all you can say looking at him.

“Oh, hey!” He is sporting a polite smile as he looks up, about to keep talking, but he stops for a moment upon looking at you and he stops.

Everything stops.

It’s as if he is taking you in, you can feel your cheeks heating up, the nervous fidgeting starts again, but you hide your hands behind your back so he doesn’t notice.

“I’m looking for some kitchen stuff,” he then says, hiding his hands in his pockets.

“Great!” you breathe out. “We do have… those.”

You flinch internally, but ignore just how awkward you are in his presence.

You ask him about what he needs specifically as the two of you start walking down the isles and for a moment you think of grabbing the handbook, but that would look awful, so you make a decision on the spot.

You’re gonna just wing it.

What could go wrong? You’ll just pretend like you’re Selma, confident and know everything about the items, you’re gonna say whatever comes to your mind and just… wing it.

All while ignoring how attractive this man is up close. And intimidating. And charming. And…

“I think I want to check out the coffee stuff first,” he suggests and nodding you walk him over to the kitchen items.

“Do you have a coffee machine and you’re looking for some accessories, or…”

“I just got one of those old fashioned moka coffee pots,” he says with a boyish smile. “But I want to get that to the next level, if you know what I mean.” You do not.

“Of course,” you smile, eyes scanning over the shelves.

Your grandmother has one of those old moka coffee makers, but you have absolutely no idea what else could be used for those, so you just start grabbing things and making up what they are used for.

One after the other, you just keep showing him stuff with no idea what you’re talking about, but the longer you’re talking the more confident you’re growing, especially when he just keeps nodding and humming along to anything you say.

“So… which one are you more interested in?” you ask at the end of your little speech. You look at him and find him already looking at you with a tiny smile curling up the corners of his mouth.

“What can you tell me about those?” he asks, ignoring your question and just moving to another shelf.

He keeps asking about items and you just make up everything as you go. Of course, you know some of the stuff, but you were never really a true chef in the kitchen, so there are way too many items you don’t know that much, but somehow, you’ve gathered enough confidence that even you believe what you say.

Slowly, Harry fills his basket as you move through the store and every time you look at him you catch him already looking at you with the same smile you can’t quite decipher.

“What about those?” he points up at a set of plates on the top shelf.

“Oh, those are so pretty! Let me show you them!” you enthuse and run to grab the ladder from the back.

It’s not the steadiest tool for sure, but you ignore the wobble you feel when you start climbing it.

“Are you sure it’s–”

“It’s fine, don’t worry,” you chuckle, reaching the top step, but your knees are definitely shaking. You focus on grabbing the plates and getting off as fast as possible, but right when you take them off the shelf you already feel yourself losing balance.

But Harry is quick to come to your rescue. One of his hands grabs the ladder to steady it and the other… the other one grabs the back of your thigh to help you hold yourself up. Until then you were shaking because of the ladder, but now it’s definitely because of his firm hold on you, the warmth of his touch and the thoughts that unrelease when you realize just how perfectly his fingers are digging into your flesh.

“You good?” he asks in a deep, husky voice.

“Yeah.” Your voice is barely more than just a whisper as you hold onto the plates as if they could hold you up.

You start moving down on the ladder, but Harry’s hand doesn’t leave your body, it works up on your hips and waist, grabbing onto your elbow as you finally step onto the ground and even then, he is still touching you, his eyes locked on yours as you’re still holding those damn plates. The image of dropping them and pushing up against him flashes through your mind and your knees wobble again when you catch his gaze flickering down to your lips for a second.

“The plates,” you blurt out then. He looks down and a smile stretches across his face.

“They really are pretty.”

“Right?” you let out a breathy laugh.

“Now that you risked your life for them, I guess it’s only fair if I actually buy them.”

Fuck, your heart is about to jump right out of your chest, how is he so smooth?

You gather a few more things and then move to the cash register to ring everything up.

“How long have you been working here?” he asks, patiently waiting for you to finish.

“Um… Do you want the truth?” you ask, with a cheeky smile.

“Yeah.”

“This is my first day,” you admit, just as you finish the scanning and when you look at the amount it all added up to, you almost choke on your own saliva. “Um, your total is 1630.”

For a moment you think he’ll question how it’s so much, but without hesitation he whips out his card and taps it on the terminal.

“First day, huh?”

“You wouldn’t have guessed?”

“Oh, I kind of did,” he chuckles and he starts to help you with putting everything away in bags. “You really should learn what the items are used for.”

Normally you’d be embarrassed that he noticed how much you just made up, but the smile he is gifting you with vanishes all negative feelings and you can actually find it funny.

“I will.”

“Thank you for your assistance,” he smirks, grabbing the bags from the counter. “And if I happen to leave a review about the excellent service, what name should I drop?”

“I’m Y/N,” you say with a sheepish smile. He then sticks his hand out and you take it.

“Harry. It was really nice meeting you.”

“You too.”

With a final wave he turns around, slides his sunglasses back to the bridge of his nose and then walks out of the store. You stand there completely overwhelmed by the experience and you have no idea how much time passes by before Selma barges through the door.

“Hi Darling! How did everything go?” she beams, walking up to the counter where you’re still standing.

“Great!”

“Did anyone come in?”

“Yeah. Harry Styles was just here.” Selma freezes for a moment before looking up at you.

“Harry Styles? As in…”

“Yeah. That Harry Styles.”

“How did it go? Did he buy anything?”

“He spent 1600 dollars on kitchen stuff.”

“Y/N, that’s great!” Selma claps her hands. “Was he satisfied? Could you help him?”

“I think I could,” you say with a knowing smile. “He seemed… satisfied, yeah.”

The first day jitters are luckily gone by the next day, especially because Selma looked at you with so much pride after you told her about your encounter with Harry that you feel like you can’t do anything wrong.

Before lunch Selma asks you to rearrange some stuff in the storage and you’re a bit relieved you don’t have to take any customers for now.

But because of that, you’re not out when one specific person walks into the shop. Again.

Harry enters the store confidently, a smile already on his lips as he looks in the direction of the cash register, but it fades when he only sees Selma, but no sight of you. Selma, on the other hand, becomes ecstatic when she sees and recognizes him.

“Welcome! How may I help you?” she chirps, walking towards Harry, who is still looking around, eyes searching for you.

“Hey, is the… Is the woman who worked yesterday here? Y/N?” Selma stops, surprised.

“Y/N? Uh, yes, but she is busy now, I’m sure I can help you–”

“I want her,” he states.

“She is still training, I’m sure I can–”

“Look,” Harry sighs. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Selma, the owner,” she states proudly.

“Selma, I’m more than happy to buy everything in this store if it means I get to talk to her. How does that sound?”

Selma stares back at him, finally understanding the situation. Her stance changes instantly.

“Let me go get her for you.”

You’re going over your list in the back when Selma appears, her spotless appearance feels odd in the storage room’s setting.

“Oh, hey! I just finished with–”

“I need you outside.”

“What? Why?” Panic washes over you, because you can’t read her face and what could she possibly need you for outside on your second day?

“Just come. Now!” She turns around and heads out, not even checking if you’re following her. Of course you do.

“Selma, what did I–” you start mumbling behind her, but just when you step out and spot Harry at the cash register.

His face lights up the moment he sees you and those damn butterflies start raging in your stomach.

“Harry, you’re here. Again,” you state the obvious.

“I am,” he chuckles and you see Selma walk away from the corner of your eyes.

“How, um–What can I… help you with?” you ask, clearing your throat. Why is he here? Could it be… because of you? Yesterday you definitely spent an awful lot of time daydreaming of the way he was touching you on that ladder and you’d be lying if you said you felt disappointed he just walked out, knowing you might never see him again.

Well, so much for that.

“I forgot to get something yesterday.”

“Oh,” is all you can say, the disappointment snaking back into your gut. He is not here because of you, how could you even think about that?

Harry’s smile widens as he watches your face drop and then he finally continues.

“Your number.”

Your eyes widen and you must look quite funny, because Harry chuckles at the sight of your expression.

“Was this too straight forward?”

“No!” you snap right away, maybe a bit too eagerly. “Not at all.”

“Great, then…”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hands it over, you type your number in quickly and hand it over. He taps on the screen and a second later your phone starts buzzing in your back pocket.

“Just checking you didn’t give me a pizzeria’s number,” he jokes, making you laugh. “And… now that I’m conveniently here, maybe you can show me some more stuff.”

“What do you need?” you ask as the two of you head down one of the aisles.

“Hmm, how long is your shift?”

“Um, another four hours,” you scoff.

“Then I guess I’m interested in everything. Whatever takes four hours to look at so I can take you out once you’re done.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb

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kteezy997 · 1 year ago

Text

The Candy Man- Part Four// W.W.

Warnings/Info: cursing, fluff, lots of Wonka whimsy, Willy liking pregnancy boobs

It worked. Everything went according to plan, and your husband has no reason to believe that he wasn’t the father of your baby.

With time, your belly started to grow more and more, and luckily, so did Willy’s chocolate sales.

You were about four months along in your pregnancy when Willy gave you the news that he had bought the chocolate shoppe. He was beaming with glee and you were overjoyed for him. You wanted to help him, so you said, “How about I come and work for you?”

“Oh, no no, no heavy lifting for you, or being on your feet for hours.” he said firmly as he caressed your belly.

“Not even just as the cashier, Willy? I haven’t had a job in years since I’ve been a wife. I’d love to get back out into the world again. And be with you, of course. I’ll keep a stool nearby to sit in if I get tired, if that would make you feel better.”

Willy sighed, then he grinned at you, “Okay, you can work the register. I know that I can count on you. You did promise to help run the business side of things.” He took your hands in his, “Things are happening, y/n. I’ve saved enough money to not only to but the shoppe, but also to rent an apartment nearby. I know it won’t be as spacious and comfortable as what you’re used to, but this is just the beginning. I want you to live with me. And if things keep going the way they have been, you’ll be living like a Queen, and our baby will be the prince or princess of the Wonka chocolate empire.” Willy had put his forehead on yours.

"Oh, Willy, you have already made me the happiest woman in the world. I just know that you-that we will have everything we dream of, I'm happy to work hard, and to be with you and our child."

You and Willy were so absorbed in one another and your daydreaming, that you didn't even hear the front door of your home open.

"What. The. Fuck?" it was your husband, home early and unexpectedly from work.

You and Willy looked over at Mr. Hudson, both in shock. You didn’t know what to say.

“John, how-"

“What a fine day this is, huh? I come home with a sniffle to find my wife with the fucking…chocolate salesman?”

“John, it’s, it’s not what you-well it is actually…”

“That’s it, y/n! Tell me what the hell is going on here.” he yelled, approaching you, towering over you with his height, and actively trying to intimidate you. This was the side of him only you saw.

“John,” you trembled, “this baby isn’t yours, it’s his. I’m in love with him.”

“Ha, well you can go ahead and be in love in the streets for all I care. Get your clothes and get the hell out of my house.”

You were scared, not necessarily of John, but to leave the only home you knew. You were glad that John didn’t say or do anything to Willy.

Willy was with you as you packed, and he held your hand on the way out of the house. You thought that maybe it was a good thing that this has happened now, rather than drag it out any further.

“Alright well, let’s go check out that apartment.” Willy said in his cheery voice to help make you feel better. You knew that you were going to be happy with this man, no matter what.

You were able to close on an apartment that day, well, Willy was, as you didn’t have an income yet. But that soon changed as you went to work together in the chocolate shoppe. Within days of opening, you were making good money.

You balanced the cash drawers, and the accounting books as Willy worked hard on his sweet creations. The candy he made was as tasty as ever, and the shoppe was an absolute dream. Hoverchocs, giraffe milk macaroons, edible flowers, and lollipops as far as the eye could see. It was a whimsical, colorful, joy to behold, with a giant winding cherry tree in the middle of the shoppe. There were pink cotton Candy clouds that you could climb upon, you and Willy would sit on them and have some chocolate milk, and then eat the tea cups.

It was the most fun you’d ever had in your life. It also felt amazing to help build something from essentially nothing, and to be creative with him.

Even at home, Willy would be inventing new flavors and trying new techniques and asking for your input of course.

...........

As you went into the later months of your pregnancy, you and Willy were able to buy a house. It was no mansion, but it was big enough to accommodate a young couple and their new baby, and maybe another child down the road.

You would be at the shoppe all day, resting adequately, of course. Willy eventually gave you an office in the back room to do your accounting work, which was good for you as you were heavily pregnant, but you started to miss being out front with customers. But you knew that once the baby arrived, things would be back to normal soon.

In the evenings, your tired Willy would rest his head on your big, basketball-sized belly and sing to our unborn baby. "Come with me, and you'll be in a woorrld of pure imagination." His voice was like that of an angel, soft and soothing. You could tell that your baby was relaxed by their father's voice, because he would lull you to sleep with his sweet lullabies after a long day in the office.

You started to set up the nursery together, and it was of course candy themed, much like your chocolate shoppe. Willy had lollipop raddles and candy cane-shaped teething rings made for the baby, among lots of other colorful accessories that resembled the sweet treats that were sold in the shoppe.

Above the baby's crib was a mobile made special by Willy, they were smaller versions of the pink cotton candy clouds that hung in the shoppe. Everything was absolutely adorable, and it made your heart swell with happiness.

After looking around the baby's room, you hugged your chocolatier, "Oh Willy, I'm so happy." you nuzzled against his shirt collar as he hugged you tightly. "I can't wait to meet our baby."

"Me either, my darling." he said, kissing you on the head, and then looked at you, "But I have to say that I'll miss your boobs being so big." He then eyed the large mounds on your chest.

You laughed, "You are a typical man, Willy Wonka. You can still use them as pillows after I have the baby."

"I know, but they're just so squishy right now-" he gently cupped your breasts through your shirt, "like marshmallows, or pudding."

"Okay, okay, you better stop before you get too excited, Willy." you giggled, kissing him.

Everything in your new home came together so beautifully, and your tried to enjoy it as much as possible, even though you were incredibly tired, and your body was swollen from head to toe. Your belly had grown much bigger than you ever would have expected.

Willy was wonderful during your whole pregnancy, but he was especially attentive to you in the last month. He would make you dinner after work, and no matter how tired he might have been, he never let on to his exhaustion. He would even massage your feet before bed. His sweetness and generosity never wavered.

.......

The day finally came: the day that you and Willy became parents. He was by your side throughout the entire birthing process, encouraging you and thanking you for giving him a child. He told you he loved you over and over, and wiped the sweat off of your forehead.

Your midwife was stunned after you had your baby, because she noticed another baby coming.

A/n: I hope you all are having a great Christmas season and have a safe and happy new year! The next chapter should be better than this one. lol

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @bitchyunknownuser @lixzey

#timothée chalamet #timmy chalamet #timothee x reader #timothée imagine #timothee chalamet smut #willy wonka x reader #wonka #willy wonka

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milkywaydrabbles · 2 years ago

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19/21 and 26 with........Haitani's!?!?!??! 🫣🫣🫣

I just can't stop thinking of them 😩😩

A/N: It was a little hard for me to start this one ngl, I was unsure how I'd be able to write the brothers sharing like THIS but I guess it's okay. I hope you enjoy it!! I brought the exhibitionsim out more with the enjoyment of being recorded instead of a public setting or someone else actively watching (the ending also kind of ties back into it) ANYWAYS MWUAH

Double penetration (one hole)/threesome/exhibitionism x Haitani Ran, Haitani Rindou

“Ran you fuck--didn’t you ever learn how to share?” The younger Haitani snarled, shoving the older brother away from you. “It’s my turn.”

You don’t know how you got in between them--two of the most dangerous men in the entire country. You’ve heard stories of the terrors they got into when they were younger in Roppongi, how they climbed the ranks through different gangs, how they ended up as executives for the nastiest crime syndicate on this side of the world. It should terrify you, really, how you’ve gotten yourself tied up with these men. They could throw you away in an instant, kill you if you looked at them wrong--make you disappear from the life you know and use you as a drug mule. A thousand things can go wrong.

And yet, you can’t help but smile whenever you’re with them.

You landed a job as a bartender in one of their clubs, normal job for the most part. You’d go in, do a bit of flirting, fight off a few way too drunk guys, and go home. You had no idea you’d been being watched for the better part of three weeks by the brothers themselves. You didn’t know what kind of place the club was until well after they formally introduced themselves as the co-owners, the Haitani brothers. Even then, you treated them the same way you’ve treated any other boss-with respect, but minimal interactions (as best you could, anyways.) They liked that, how you didn’t try to get money out of them, or sleep with them. They liked to keep it playful with their staff, but the women (and men!) would throw themselves immediately and it was such a turn off--Rindou would usually fire them the night after. They kept showing up at the clubs during your shifts, keeping a close eye on you. Ran started becoming bold and flirting with you on the job, which you brushed off as best you could.

It wasn’t until an unruly patron tried to grab you after your shift that the men really intervened with you, Ran pulling you close into his chest to shield you (kind of) as Rindou pulled the trigger between the pig’s eyes and called in a cleaning crew to get rid of the body. It was then that you understood who they were, who really owned the club. They steadied themselves to hear grating screaming come from you, girls were usually scared after seeing something like that. Instead, you wrapped your arms around Ran tight, gripping at the back of his shirt and letting out a shaky ‘thank you’ before steadying yourself and (attempting) to go home for the night.

They hadn’t left you alone since.

And now you find yourself caught in between them most nights after your shift, in one of their beds. Tonight was different, you’ve noticed, because Ran started pulling out his phone and setting it up on the dresser across from the bed. “Mind if we record it, pretty girl?” His voice always sent shivers down your spine. “Go ahead-” your voice came out shakier than you hoped, hearing the younger brother attached to your neck chuckle. “Already so worked up, baby, barely even started.” He teased, kissing and biting at the juncture of your shoulder, fingers dipping underneath the band of your underwear. You whimpered, fingers combing through his wild locks and tugging at the root, bringing him up from your neck enough to press your lips against his--all tongue and teeth as he bit down on your lower lip leaving you breathless. He took the opportunity of your parted lips to shove his tongue in your mouth, licking at your own. You tried to keep up with his overwhelming pace, suckling on the tip of his tongue making him groan. “Fuuck baby, got so lucky with you didn’t we?” Rindou’s voice was ragged, much different than the smoothness of Ran’s--his was nearly scratchy in the best way possible. It made your hair stand up on the back of your neck. His hands came up to your throat, one wrapping around the back while the other grasped at your lower jaw, keeping you attached to him. You felt two taps on your ass cheek, and hands prying your underwear lower until it hit your knees. “Come on pretty, help me out and take these off.” Ran joined in, and you lifted each knee one at a time off the bed to let him remove the clothing fully. Your hands clawed at Rindou’s chest, trying to keep yourself afloat as the elder Haitani pressed open mouth kisses on your shoulder blades, trailing to your back. “Don’t think we can ever let you go, sweet girl.” Ran mumbled against your skin, raking his nails over the fronts of your thighs towards your weeping cunt. You broke away from Rindou enough to gasp for breath, nose to nose when you let out a small cry at the feeling of Ran’s hand slapping at your clit.

Your lower half jolted away from the stimulation, but when Ran pressed himself against your back you had no choice but to take each smack he gave you. “Gotta take everything I give you, angel. Now be good for me, yeah?” Two fingers suddenly shoved themselves deep into your pussy, and Rindou had pressed his lips back to yours to muffle your cries. Even after all the times you’ve been in their beds, their fingers are a stretch to begin with. You’re dripping wet, but his fingers are so long they hit so deep. Ran starts off slow, sucking hickies into your shoulders and neck as he finger fucks you, smiling against your skin when he feels you fucking yourself back onto him. “There you go, beautiful~” He coos, scissoring his fingers inside of you rubbing at your walls so good. Your closed eyes open to look at Rindou in front of you, eyes already wild as he watches you meet each thrust of his brother’s fingers. A hand traveled lower from your jaw to grasp fully at your throat, fingers wrapping around and squeezing. “You can take some more, right baby?” Your eyes fluttered, barely able to nod while he was holding onto you like this, mouth dropping open.

Rindou pressed his thumb against your nub, unable to move you had no choice but to take the stimulation--spit pooling at the corners of your mouth the same way tears did in your eyes. “R-Rindou-aah, please” You begged, though your brain couldn’t conceptualize why. A harsh smack to your ass left you squealing. “I’m here too, pretty.” You could hear the jealousy in Ran’s voice, and you knew you were right when you saw Rindou smirking. “Do better and maybe she won’t forget.” A slew of curses left Ran’s mouth before smacking at your ass again. “S-sorry! I’m sorry, Ran, I didn’t forget--honest.” You whimpered, doing your best to turn away from Rindou and crane your neck to look at Ran over your shoulder. “Aw, I know sweetheart. Gimme a kiss.” You occupied yourself with kissing Ran, who kissed you much slower than his counterpart. While Rindou was a wildfire, Ran was like flowing water. He kissed you slow and steady, taking his time to lick at your mouth and taste you. While Rindou was overwhelming, Ran was dizzying. Regardless of who was on you at any moment, they made you feel just as good.

Ran kept you distracted enough for Rindou to push his ring and middle finger into your cunt alongside his brother’s fingers--filling you and stretching more than they had in the past. “Oh fuck” You breathed out, trying yout best to keep up with Ran but Rindou was shoving himself into you so harshly already it was difficult to breathe. Rindou’s fingers were thicker than the elder brother, filling you up as Ran’s fingers hit deep. Ran let you go, and you turned down to see Rindou’s fingers pumping in and out of you, juices oozing onto his fingers with each fuck. Your forehead hit his chest, a hand reaching back and grasping at Ran’s wrist for some sick form of grounding--spreading your legs more to give them easier access to your sloppy pussy. “S’this feel good, baby?” Rindou questioned, curling his fingers towards that gummy spot in your cunt. “A-ah, yeah, fuck, yeah” You whimpered, clenching around their sets of fingers. Ran laughed behind you, “Yeah? Like when we fuck you with our fingers, angel? You want more?” Nodding against Rindou’s chest, they removed their fingers from your cunt--creaminess covering their hands. “Look at that~” Ran whistled, making a show of spreading his fingers and letting your stickiness web between them. He turned your head towards the camera, and the brother’s chuckled seeing how fucked out you looked in the camera. “Lick ‘em clean, beautiful.” Ran spoke first, presenting his fingers in front of your face as you greedily sucked at them, taking them deep into your mouth to the knuckle and making sure you sucked them clean. You watched yourself in the front camera lapping at his digits, clenching your pussy around air. When Ran pulled his fingers out you immediately turned to Rindou and stuck your tongue out--expectantly. “What a good girl you are” He teased, shoving his fingers into your mouth until you gagged, and turned you to face the camera again. “Go ahead baby.” Stray tears fell down your cheeks as you licked around his spread fingers tasting yourself on him.

Ran moved off the bed to bring the phone closer, now on the night stand as he laid down, bringing you with him. You understood immediately what he wanted, and lined yourself up to his cock as he filmed you lowering yourself. He bit his tongue holding back a moan while your pretty sounds filled the air, steadying yourself on his chest before your arms are ripped back behind you. “Come on baby, you can do it right?” Rindou taunted, kissing at your shoulders while you kept a steady pace bouncing on Ran’s cock. The older brother had the camera right at your hole, watching the way your pussy swallowed him up and drooled around the corners with your juices. His free hand held onto your hip, Rindou pulling you back to lean more against him as Ran started meeting each bounce on his lap with a thrust of his own, a webbing of white covering his dick each time he pulled out. “Fuck baby, look so good taking my cock. You think you can take another one?” You weren’t sure you understood, and before you had time to think more about the question the phone was placed back down on the stand and Rindou pushed you towards the other, Ran grabbing at your face and making a scene of kissing you sloppy in view of the camera. “Look at yourself, pretty baby.” He whispered against your ear, holding you by the jaw towards the camera when you started feeling Rindou prodding at your already stretched out cunt with his own cock. Your eyes squeezed closed with your brows scrunched, mouth hanging open as he pushed himself into your hole alongside Ran. “Ooh my god, fuck! S’much, wait--wait it’s so much!” You cried out, Ran slapping you lightly on your cheek to get your attention.

“Open your eyes, pretty girl. Look at yourself while you get fucked by us.” Your eyes were fuzzy, unable to fully focus as you watched yourself drool, tongue lolling out and tears rolling down your cheeks as Rindou filled you inch by inch. You should be embarrassed, feel shame as they made you watch yourself like this--being used by two dangerous men. But you couldn’t feel anything except turned on, looking at your own reflection drooling and crying uncontrollably on their cocks filling you more than they ever have. You subconsciously tightened your walls around them, and their groans filled the air. “Fuck! So fucking horny watching yourself, huh baby?” Rindou snickered, leaning over and angling the camera to your lower bodies, pulling you up for a clear angle of both cocks pumping in and out of your pussy. Just like you did Ran’s, Rindou’s cock was covered in your creamy cunt, squelching and gushing with each pap, pap, pap of their cocks fucking up into you. You couldn’t do much but take it, sobbing with overwhelming pleasure as they used you like a sleeve. Rindou’s fingers came around your front to rub and pinch at your swollen nub, and in no time he had you crying out and creaming over them, each push in and pull out of their cocks leaving with a squish. Ran’s hands had a strong grip on your hips as he fucked up into you, and last minute pulling out to cum on your tummy, painting your front white with his cum.

With only Rindou now inside your cunt he quickened his pace and fucked you harder, tugging at your biceps and pulling your arms back as leverage. Ran moved the phone again, for full access to your body and face as the younger brother left you a mess. “Ready for me, baby?” He grunted behind you and you nodded with a sob, suddenly feeling him leave your pussy and make a mess on your ass, grabbing the phone from his brother and recording him slap his cock on your ass, smearing his mess around. Giving the phone back, Ran recorded up to your face now. “Smile at the camera, pretty girl.” Panting, you looked up at yourself again in the phone, lazy smile playing on your lips--fucked stupid. Ran scooped his cum on a finger while you were still watching yourself and lifted it to your mouth, watching you lick him clean and sticking your tongue out as proof.

He stopped the recording and Rindou lowered you onto the bed, mumbling to himself how ‘gross’ it was to share a hole like that with his brother. “Whatever dude--she felt good.” Ran called over to the younger Haitani as he left to grab something to wipe you down with. “You good, baby?” He whispered to you, smoothing down your hair as you nodded with a smile. He fiddled with his phone as Rindou wiped you clean, kissing your forehead and praising how good of a job you did for them. His phone pinged, before Ran spoke saying “Sent it to you.” When he finally took a look he saw it was in the group chat they had with Sanzu, snapping his head up to look at his brother who already had a grin like the devil and shrugged.

“Oops.”

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tinydefector · 8 months ago

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I do not know if you have ever thought about it, but listen! Last night I came up with a funny idea where Nadia and her friend decided to have fun and did a survey among bots. who do they think they would fuck that night and obviously almost all the bots have chosen our favorite ambassador. I would be interested to see the ambassador's reaction to this prank from Nadia😁良い一日を。💕

Pay back-Human affects

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: pin-up photoshoot, mentioned nudity, thirsting, unhinged behaviour.

Masterlist

Is it nearly 1am, yes, but I wanted to finish this piece because it was written with the last part, but I wanted it to split it for these requests.

Ask and request are open

________

The Ambassador sat with the three surfing what was essentially the cybertronian version of Twitter, Tumblr and Reddit all in one, laughing and reading the post.

"Ooo, this one's juicy!" Nadia crowed, shoving her datapad in the Ambassador's face, making them read through yet another raunchy post.

DockDawg66: "Primus, you guys, have you SEEN our Ambass? The way their hips sway when they walk...I just wanna toss 'em in my cab and take 'em for a spin, if you catch my drift! That soft little organic is begging for a spike the size of their torso. Bet I could make 'em sing."

The whole crew roared with laughter as the Ambassador snatched the pad, face heated in embarrassment, they were aware that some of the bots on ship had a thing for them but this, this was not what they had expected they literally had a full forum dedicated to them.

"Have you no shame, you pervs?" They huff out while pressing a hand to their forehead. Millian scanned down their notes with a smirk. " it seems you've got a bit of a fanclub, chief. Check out 'Ambass_Admirer' tag

'I just wanna rub my plating all over that smooth flesh...make 'em squeal.' They go on like that for paragraphs, it's a riot."

The Ambassador rolled their eyes good-naturedly as their motley human crew dissolved once more into giggles at the bots' oh-so-secret desires. Their jaw nearly drops as the crew scrolls through even more posts. "Fucking hell! How many of these are there!?!?"

"Seriously, it's like every other bot's got the hots for you!" Millian snorted, scrolling furiously. Nadia nudged them with a wicked smirk. "We should totally roast these pervs. Post looking for 'hot single bots' - bet their inboxes would explode!"

Millian cackled, adding fuel. "Ooh, or you could play hard to get! anyone feel like earning a private photoshoot?' Their circuits would short for sure!"

Ambassador's could feel the colour nearly draining from them with the continued bullying and jokes from the three. As for feeding such flames... Well, a little harmless teasing did feel justified, if they wanted to be fiends what was stopping the Liaison from being one back.

"Alright you hooligans, enough scheming for one night." They chuckled. That's when Taylor speaks up. " you know we could do a bit of a spicy photoshoot, kinda like only Fans make some money of horny bots," she hums while leaning over the Ambassador's shoulder. "Taylor!" The Ambassador sputtered with embarrassment and shock.

"Now there's an idea..." Millian mused, eyeing their boss. Money could go far in this ragtag outpost, and fleecing horny mechs of their shanix just felt poetic.

"Alright you lunatics, I will play along. But first-" They turned to Taylor with a stern look. "Ground rules. Nothing goes public without my say-so, got it? I don't need an invasion of metal pervs in my room!"

They three nearly squeal in delight over the go ahead. "So how far are we going to go with this boss, just some light stuff like you laying on a bed or what?" Millian asked. The three are already scheming ways to do decent photos.

"Oh, oh I have a camera somewhere"

"So... I may have been able to talk One First aid into giving me Ratchet's old servos from before we ended up on ship. Don't ask how" one of the others stated.

The Ambassador rubbed their temples, already regretting this scheme but far too amused to back out now.

"Alright, you loons - nothing explicit, got it? I'm not getting Naked for anyone, Classy pin-up style shots fine, some saucy photos sure but that only." They start laying out ground rules for the three,despite being their boss, they were also friends and they did want to enjoy some letting loose. "And I suppose props could...add a dash of naughty flair, but if we are doing this you guys act professional, don't make weird comments."

As the crew dove into planning, they shook their heads fondly. "We'll start simple - you lounging in 'sexy' clothes, maybe leaning on those servos. Gauge how you feel, then amp it up gradually if you feel comfortable."

"And I get 30% of all earnings!" The Liaison called after them as they scramble to grab what they can for the shoot.

Both Millian and Taylor carted in the servos on a trolley, the ambassador was almost impressed but decided to keep their questions to themself, not really wanting to know how they got ahold of severed cybertronian hands. The three are trying to figure out where to start and what the ambassador should wear.

"I swear if Kyle, David or Daniel find out about this I'm putting all three of you on cleaning duty for forever." The Ambassador threatens them, hands on hips, eyeing the bustling preparations with mingled amusement and trepidation. What had they unleashed upon this ship?

"Boss, take a look, scored this silky robe that's sure to drive 'em wild!" Nadia called, holding up the item in question with a smirk.

Millian hauled over a plush bed adorned with soft blankets and pillows from over in the corner Of their room. "Lay back here while Taylor and I do a test shoot, just want to try and set up lightly."

They move to lay on the bed, trying to get comfortable and move things until they feel right. Millian snaps a few pics before the Liaison stands back up looking at the box of clothing.

Nadia and Taylor begin moving the Servos trying to get them set up as close to the bed as possible. “I'm so glad these are holo on the inside, they are Heavy enough” Taylor huffs out and the move and curl the digits.

The Ambassador looks at the different clothing and fabrics with a raised eyebrow. "Do I want to know where you guys got all of this?" They ask. The three just give mischievous looks.

They let out a sigh. "We will start off with something like this, then you lot can play dress ups with me, Christ never knew you three were this much of a nightmare"

"Alright you troublemakers, out with you while I change," they chide their over-eager crew, shooing them from the room with a laugh. Once alone, they unfurl the silky robe reverently, resting it on the bed before peeling off their uniform. Neatly piling it together. They rummage through the other clothing grabbing out a rather nice looking set of underwear before dragging luxurious sheen robe over their shoulders.

They move over to Millian's set before calling out to them. "I'm changed, you can come back in" they call out. Millian's head popped in, eyes widening at the vision before them. "Boss, you clean up nice!" They let out a low whistle.

The liaison's eyes trace over the large Servos on the ground with a pile of pillows and blankets set between them. "So how are we doing this?" They ask. Nadia and Taylor piled in behind, stopping in their tracks at the enticing sight. The Ambassador lounged lazily amid plush bedding, silhouetted seductively against the soft lights. Those mighty metal servos loomed ominously close.

Taylor shook off her daze first. "Lay back and get comfy. We'll start with some innocent stuff - just look smouldering while you toy with the fabric." With that the three moved around getting lights set so they had the height for the photos. “I'm starting to get suspicious on why you guys have all of this equipment in here Millian.” They call out only for them to wave the accusation off. “Eh I do photos for Nadia on occasions”

"Alright, lay back against those pillows- yeah, just like that. Now arch your back a little and tilt your chin up," Nadia instructed eagerly, moving a few pillows into a good position, Ambassador's gaze up with eyes half lidded. “I feel so stupid doing this!” They call out which makes the others laugh. “Ahh don't worry, last time Nadia did a shoot she nearly lost the bikini top she was wearing because it got caught. Spend ten minutes trying to not have to cut it off” Taylor informed.

“Yea I didn't want to wreck one of my favourites!”

Millian gave a low whistle. "You're doing great, I promise the more you laugh the less awkward it is. Now trail one hand slowly down your chest while the other grips the robe's lapel." Taylor surveyed their work, making subtle adjustments here and there.

"You two- move that big metal hand like it's gently cupping their waist." The crew buzzed around their model putting touches in place. Each minute adjustment drew out as they chatted away about random stuff while doing the photos, it helped them not feel so awkward about doing the photos.

"Alright, I think we've got our money shot," Millian declared at last, snapping one final smouldering image. The shutter clicked rapidly as they tested angles, coaxing out new provocative poses little by little. They stand back up, wrapping the robe around themself as they walk over to Millian. " Can I see the photos? They were rather excited, this wasn't something they normally did, but the three were actually rather professional with it.

The group looked at the photos as Millian slowly flicked through the collection showing off the collection along with some of the more silly ones they took to help ease the tension. The silky robe clung to curves in all the right places, every inch of exposed flesh looked as if it glowed. Bedroom eyes beckoned from heavy lids, lips parted as if panting from passion's heights recently scaled. One hand grasped the large metal hand.

"Holy shit, you really got me good!" They breathed, awed by photos that the three had helped craft. Nadia gave a devilish grin. "Just wait till the boys get an eyeful. They won't know whether to rub one out or combust on the spot!"

Laughter spilled forth from them as Millian begins transferring them over to their data pad. “this was fun, I can see why you enjoy doing it Nadia, I haven't felt this..”

“Beautiful?”

“handsome?”

"Desirable?”

The three state one after another which gets a head shake from the Liaison. “Yes, “ They admit.

"Also how exactly are we going to be posting these photos?" Inquiry, the were feeling rather daring now and wanted to have input on the posting.

They ushered the others close, datapad in hand. "Here's what we'll do- I've got an anonymous account on one of those seedy Commlink forums the bots love. You know, the one where they all drool over flesh?"

Nadia snorted. "Oh yeah, the 'Human Fucker' board. Classy place."

Millian ignored her, pulling up the photos. "I'll post just one crop out whatever you want for your comfort - the money shot where your hand is gripping that servo. Caption will be 'Look who I've got...' nothing else."

“don't crop it post the full thing, I like it and well they want to play with fire this is what happens” the Ambassador hums which makes Taylor cackled, rubbing her hands together. "Mark my words, those mechs will be tripping over themselves trying to claim the 'lucky bot' title," Millian promised gleefully.

Commlink forum: human fucker.

Ambass_Admirer pin.

Tin_Bin25: 'Look who I've got.'

a photo of a bots servos cupped partly around a human in a Satin robe looking rather Ravished, smiling up while their robe is hanging off their shoulder showing off a rather scandalous amount of skin.

Overcharger69: Holy frag is that the Ambass? Lucky slagger, frag what a fine piece!!!

T-Wrexz: No way!. Someone Fragging did it. They got with a Fleshie!

Rev-Rid3: some lucky mech sampled fleshy friction and got the dream...

Flyboi69: : FRAG THIS WHO CARES WHO FRAGGED THEM I JUST WANNA KNOW IF THEY'RE AS SOFT AS THEY LOOK!!!!

ScienceSorcerer: My oh my, what scandalous treasures, do share more with the class! For historical and scientific purposes, of course.

Oiler69: No way, you can't just Post that! Do you have more, Post em up already, need more Proof!

_Heavyhaul: Hey, hey, keep it in your panel's mechs. That photo wasn't released with their consent, it's not cool.

Tin_Bin25: Here is another.

It's a new photo showing the Ambassador lying back against pillows in a low cut silk robe, one hand trailing lazily across their collar while the other grips a metal servo their face pressed against one of the digits as they kiss it, gazing at the camera with hooded eyes

How's that for proof, sceptic? I've got permission for their personal photoshoot, even let me post without hiding their face. Bet your spikes would glitch seeing them like this in person.

Scope_ridge: *venting noises* Frag me sideways, they look good enough to eat! This is officially the best solar cycle ever.

Bar-rizzla: Why, they positively glow with sensuality! One can only imagine the debauchery that inspired such provocative portraits.

StarFielder: Seriously, does anyone have any idea who the lucky mech was? Gotta be someone important...

WPHAS-violation: my Shanix is on it being an officer right? Bet it was Magnus!, rather tasteful compared to the stuff I make.

Con_Spiracy: got me wonderin' - think any other bots have been sampling alien delights?

SunRunner: Whoa, hold up- you've got a whole collection? Heater's firing up over here! *fans self jokingly*

Pimptheride: Hey mech, wanna pass those images over? How much you asking for?

Bar-rizzla: I've got enough engex to trade for a peek! C'mon Tin, help a bot out with his late night activities...

_________

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