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redrose10 · 3 months

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Chapter 15!

This one has a lot of ups and downs. I really hope you guys like this chapter. We are getting closer to the end. As always I appreciate all the comments and messages.

Yoongi X Female Reader. CEO/Arranged Marriage AU

Summary: You were selected to marry the wayward CEO/Billionaire/Heir, Min Yoongi. You went into it with an open mind and heart determined to try and make it work. Yoongi on the other hand had no intention of ever letting you in let alone allowing himself to fall in love with you. Slowly you start to associate the smell of cinnamon and vanilla with the feelings of hurt and sorrow.

Word count: 4, 806

Warnings: (May get updated as chapters progress): Arranged marriage, cheating/infidelity, hints of smut (Probably won’t get very explicit but we’ll see how it goes), Sexual Assault, Brief mentions of death, Reader grew up an orphan, General Angst, Swearing

Tag list: @gimeow @kam9404 @viankiss @baechugff @gaby-93 @kayleefriedchicken @igot7fairlyoddparents @jalexad @drrookie

Entering the passcode into Jimins door lock was harder than you expected in your current state. You weren’t sure what was worse, the pounding headache from the hangover, the pain in your chest from having Yoongi break your heart again, or the nausea in your stomach from the guilt of sleeping with Woo-Sung.

It seemed like a great idea last night. You were upset and hurt and you knew Yoongi really didn’t like him so it seemed like the perfect way to get back at him. But when you woke up in his bed with your dress still half off of your body you felt an immediate sense of regret. You felt like you stooped down to Yoongi’s level. You knew you were better than that.

Dropping your bag by the front door all you wanted to do was take a hot shower and sleep off all of the feelings you were having. To make it worse you were supposed to go over to Yoongi’s later with Woo-Sung, neither men you wanted to see right now.

You felt like the universe was out to get you when you turned the corner finding Jimin and Yoongi sitting at the table talking and sipping on some coffee. Yoongi noticed you first eyeing you up and down with a smirk clearly liking your outfit.

Jimin noticed you next but he didn’t have the same reaction. Instead he snorted at your appearance.

“Rough night?”, he asked.

“Don’t want to talk about it.”, you mumbled beginning to walk away.

“And here I thought I had a terrible time being stuck at the office with your husband for eighteen hours straight, but seems you got me beat.”, he continued.

You stopped suddenly turning to face the two men.

“Wait you both were at the office all day yesterday?”

“Yeah we got there yesterday morning and found out we were about to lose the JYP deal so we spent all day and night in negotiations trying to save it. This tyrant over here wouldn’t even let me leave to go eat. Y/N, I had to starve.”, Jimin dramatically pointed over at Yoongi.

“I really hope you get an Oscar for that performance. I told you that you couldn’t go get lunch because Han from JYP was supposed to contact us back at any minute for a conference call. Did you forget that afterwards I ordered you a very nice steak dinner AND then got you late night pizza when you were still hungry?”, Yoongi rolled his eyes.

He then turned his attention over to you, “I’m sorry I didn’t call Y/N. I was just so stressed about this whole thing. That would’ve been a multimillion dollar loss so I had to stay really focused until we were able to save it.”

You nodded which only made your headache and nausea even worse. Suddenly you weren’t in the sleeping mood.

“Jimin can I talk to you about something please. Like right now. In private.”

The two men gave you a questioning look before Jimin pushed himself away from the table and followed you to your current room.

“What’s going on? You seem really off.”, he asked while you shut the door.

“Jimin I need you to be 100% completely honest with me. Did Yoongi leave the office at any point yesterday?”

You checked your phone to see what time Mrs. Chan had called as she said she’d seen Yoongi ten minutes beforehand.

“Were you with him at around three in the afternoon?”

He looked at you with a confused look.

“Yoongi got there at his normal time in the morning and that’s when he got the message that the JYP deal was falling apart. We spent the entire day in his office. Luckily he has that in suite bathroom or he probably would’ve just handed me an empty bottle. We were on a call with someone from JYP around 3. We finally left at about 2am and he wanted to come here and see you and then you weren’t here so we just stayed awake to wait for you. I was with him the entire time and he never left the room.”

You sat on the edge of the bed and pulled your knees up to your chest. “Oh no oh no oh no. I can’t believe this. Jimin what did I do? Why did I believe that crazy old woman?”

“Y/N what’s going on? What did you do?”

You shook your head, “I fucked up. I just ruined everything.”

“Hey hey just calm down. What happened?”

“Our neighbor called me yesterday to complain about Yoongi and Suri making out in the hallway of the apartment building. I asked her if she was sure it was Yoongi and she said yes. She could even smell his cologne. So I got really upset and did something so stupid. I went over to Woo-Sungs and got pretty drunk and ended up sleeping with him. I’m so awful. I’m not that kind of person. And Yoongi has been trying so hard to fix everything and change and I just went and blew it in one night.”

You expected your best friend to hug you, maybe wipe your tears, and offer some comforting words. You didn’t expect him to double over in laugher right in front of you though.

“What the hell Jimin? It’s not funny.”

“Yes it is Y/N. It really is. You really don’t remember anything do you?”

You shook your head. He took a seat next to you and continued, “Woo-Sung called Yoongi last night while we were at the office. He said you showed up to his place already pretty tipsy complaining about how your neighbor told you about Yoongi and Suri making out in the hallway. Before he could stop you, you grabbed a bottle of whiskey off the counter and took a few big swigs. You got pretty drunk off of it and then moments later you tried removing your dress, but only got the straps off when you tripped because your shoes were too big and then you started crying. Woo-Sung said he was waiting for his mom to stop by to drop off some stuff so he couldn’t leave and was just gonna let you sleep it off in his bed and then bring you home in the morning, but he wanted Yoongi to know about it. He even sent Yoongi a text later saying he owed him for having to sleep on the couch in his own home.”

“What?! So I didn’t actually sleep with him? And you guys knew about all of this? Then how did Mrs. Chan smell his cologne in the hallway?”

He continued to laugh at your expense, “Do you really think Yoongi would be so calmly sitting at the table if he came home at 2am to find you missing and he didn’t know where you were? Remember that one time you took too much cold medicine and were completely passed out? Well when you didn’t answer Yoongi’s call in the middle of the night he sent Jungkook to check on you.”

“What?! I knew I saw someone in my room that night, but I kept telling myself it was just the fever making me see things. I am gonna kill them both.”

Jimin laughed even harder, “He was just really worried because he knew how sick you were and then you weren’t answering him which was unlike you. In his defense Jungkook was only supposed to knock on the door to see if you answered. Jungkook’s the one that went rouge and broke in like he was James Bond or something.”

“Okay whatever. I’ll take that up with Jungkook another day.”, you huffed.

“So Yoongi knows everything and is okay with it?”, you asked.

“I mean sure he was kind of pissed off you ran to Woo-Sung right away, but I think he gets it. Yoongi is well aware of his past with you. And as far as Mrs. Chan is concerned, Suri wears the feminine version of Yoongi’s cologne. Some bullshit about it reminding her of him. I told Taehyung to discontinue it, but it’s a best seller and I think he’s a little scared of Suri to be honest. That old bat Mrs. Chan just probably didn’t notice the difference and assumed it was Yoongi. Suri also has a type so there’s a high probability that this guy she was with did look like Yoongi especially from behind.”

You stared at the ground somehow feeling better, but worse at the same time.

You definitely owe Woo-Sung an apology for your behavior. You wondered if your famous cookies would be enough.

A knock at the door interrupted Jimins giggle fit and when he opened it Yoongi appeared holding a hot cup of coffee and a bagel sandwich. Jimin got the hint and left to finally get some sleep while Yoongi took his place sitting down next to you on the bed offering the coffee.

“Here drink this. I’m sure you feel even worse than you look right now.”

Taking the cup you took a sip of the hot liquid. The caffeine instantly taking the edge off of your headache.

“I’m sorry Yoongi. I shouldn’t have acted out like that especially without talking to you first. I was just so upset and hurt and not thinking straight.”

He smiled, “No need to be sorry. I understand why you did it. Honestly, I’m mostly upset that he got to see you in this dress before I did.”

Playfully you shoved his shoulder.

“I feel a little hurt honestly. I went over there looking like this and he just put me to sleep without even touching me.”

“Well I mean I’m like one of the biggest assholes on the planet and even I wouldn’t take advantage of a drunk woman no matter what she was wearing.”

You nodded, “True, true. I guess that is a good thing. There should be more people like that.”

“Yeah there really should AND it might also have a little something to do with the fact that when he agreed to go along with this whole plan, I might have, kind of, told him that if he ever touched you I’d take his guitar and shove it down his throat.”

“Yoongi that wasn’t very nice.”, you scolded somewhat playfully somewhat seriously.

Feeling a sudden rush of dizziness you rested your head on his shoulder taking in the smell of his cologne which had pretty much all worn off at that point besides a faint touch of cinnamon.

“We really need to get you a new cologne by the way. You’re like a billionaire, but you only have one bottle. It doesn’t make sense.”

“You should pick one out for me. Something that you like.”

“Really? Can I?”

“Yeah, but maybe don’t get this one customized.”

He chuckled while you cringed at the memory.

“If you weren’t with Suri then who was she making out with in the hallway?”, you asked taking a bite of the bagel he was offering you.

He shrugged his shoulders, “Don’t know and don’t care. Hopefully she found some other poor soul to suck the life out of. But it does worry me that she might have something up her sleeve and this was all part of a bigger plan of hers. So we should definitely be on the watch for that.”

You finished off the bagel with some help from Yoongi before deciding that it was time for a shower and to get some sleep before Woo-Sung would pick you up to head over and put the rest of the plan in motion.

As you stood up you glanced over at the dresser where you had placed your ring the day before noticing an empty spot.

“Oh no! Where did it go?”, you said in between tears that instantly started falling. You dropped down on the ground feeling around hoping to find it.

“Y/N what’s wrong?”

“I lost it Yoongi.”

“Lost what? Your mind?”, he chuckled.

“Not funny. I lost my ring. I put it right here on the dresser before I left last night. I have no idea how it could be lost.”

Still crawling around on the floor you didn’t even notice that Yoongi had walked over and was now crouching down next to you. When he finally cleared his throat you turned around so fast almost knocking him over. He was holding up the ring you were currently crying over.

“I saw it when I came to look for you in here after getting back from the office. I didn’t want it to get lost so I put it in my pocket.”

“Oh thank goodness.”, you said trying to grab the ring, but he took it just out of your reach.

“Yoongi can I please have my ring back?”

“I think you should go ringless for now. It’ll be more believable to Suri if you’re not wearing it. Every little detail counts.”

You couldn’t stop the pout that formed on your lips and Yoongi couldn’t stop himself from finding it to be the cutest thing ever.

“Plus I thought maybe when this whole thing is over I’d propose to you again. You know like actually propose, like you deserve.”, he said helping you off the floor.

“Alright, but it better include a song you wrote for me or I might just say no this time.”, you chuckled which Yoongi met with a gummy smile and blushed cheeks.

“I wish you could stay here with me.”, you said watching him put on his jacket.

“I know. Me too, but I don’t want the she demon to get suspicious.”

You laughed at the new nickname for Suri before wrapping your arms around him.

“Just a little more time and then we can put this all behind us.”, he gave you a kiss and you watched him walk out the door.

When you woke up a few hours later your headache had disappeared and you were feeling much better. After getting ready you walked out to find the living room already packed. Yoongi and Jin were sat at the table arguing over what restaurant they should order chicken from. Jimin was at the stove making a large pot of coffee knowing it’ll be needed. You heard someone clear their throat and then you saw Woo-Sung sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room. Your cheeks instantly heated up with embarrassment.

Slowly you walked over to stand next to him.

“Listen Woo-Sung I am so sorry about last night. I was just upset and not thinking straight. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable and I’m sorry that you had to sleep on the couch.”

He chuckled before shaking his head, “It’s okay Y/N. I’m just glad you came to me instead of going some place where you could’ve been taken advantage of. Cause I mean you did look really really good last night. If your husband wasn’t so scary I’d definitely say we should try that again, but sober.”

Before you could reply someone grabbed your hand and started pulling you away. Without looking you already knew it was Yoongi.

He glared at Woo-Sung before mouthing at him to watch it.

“How are you feeling?”, he asked once you were comfortably sitting at the table next to him.

“Better I guess. How about you?”

“Exhausted. I think I only got like two hours of sleep.”

“Was Suri there when you got back?”

He chuckled, “Yeah unfortunately. I found out who her hallway friend was.”

“Seriously? How? Who was it?”, you gasped with wide eyes.

“Suri left her phone out on the table while she was showering and luckily I guessed her passcode in only two tries. I saw these text messages between her and some guy that goes by Woozi. There was a photo of him as the contact and he looks a lot like me. I could see how Mrs. Chan would get confused. They went back and forth about planning a meet up and making out in the hall as the neighbors were walking around. It seems she knew that one of the neighbors would end up calling you to tell you what they saw. I have a feeling that she’s still not 100% satisfied with the situation and wants to make sure that there’s absolutely no chance that you and I reconcile.”

“She’s crazy Yoongi. There’s no nice way to put it. What did you ever see in her?”

“She was an easy hookup. I thought she felt the same way that I did. I swear I never thought she’d get like this.”

Before you could speak Jin cleared his throat indicating it was time to get things started.

Jimin and Jin helped attach the hidden recording device to Woo-Sungs chest using some tape. His shirt hid it nicely and they ran some quick tests to make sure everything was in order. Yoongi texted Suri to let her know that he was stuck at the office again, but that you would be stopping by to grab more of your things. Yoongi was going to stay there with Jimin and Jin so that Suri would feel more comfortable talking to Woo-Sung.

Yoongi met you at the dork to help you with your coat and Jin met you not long after.

“So everyone has their story straight? Remember Woo-Sung, just try and get her to do most of the talking. Try and guide her into revealing that Namjoon is the father and that she’s been blackmailing Yoongi with it.”, Jin spoke as Woo-Sung nodded in understanding.

You gave Yoongi a quick kiss goodbye before heading out the door.

Standing outside the penthouse door you were confused whether you should knock or just go in or maybe have Yoongi call her. Woo-Sung gave your hand a light squeeze, “We got this.”Opting for option number two you entered in the passcode which thankfully still worked. Just as you were taking off your shoes you could hear a loud sigh come from the entrance way.

“Don’t you know how to knock? You don’t live here any more remember? Or is that too much for your little brain to handle.”

“Fuck off Suri. Yoongi said he told you I was coming over. I just have to grab a few things and then we’ll leave.”

“Well hello to you too you little bitc-. Kim Woo-Sung? What are you doing here?”

Turning around you saw that Woo-Sung had made an appearance which quickly got the attention of Suri.

He smiled and outstretched his hand, “Nice to meet you. I’m just here with Y/N.”

“With Y/N? What is someone like you doing with a poor waste of space like her?”

He awkwardly cleared his throat, “She’s actually quite lovely.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at the compliment as you walked back towards your old room. You really didn’t need anything so you grabbed a small bag and started filling it with random articles of clothing to make it seem like you took something.

“Come sit with me. Would you like any bring to drink?”, Suri asked flirtatiously.

He shook his head taking the seat next to her on the couch.

Back at Jimins apartment him, Jin, and Yoongi were all listening to the conversation in real time.

“This is so cool. I feel like a secret agent.”, Jimin quipped.

The two older men quickly gave him a look to silence him.

“I really hope this works.”, Yoongi replied. “It’ll be fine. We just have to get what we need.”, Jin said trying to calm his friend.

“So how did the two of you meet?”, Suri asked twirling a strand of hair around her pointer finger.

“Ummm we met a while ago at a party. You know, friend of a friend type stuff. ”

“Oh and are you two just now getting to know each other?”

“Yeah Y/N has been pretty upset lately. She has been going through a lot of stuff so we’ve really connected.”

“Mmhm I see.”

“Yeah so what about you? I heard from Y/N you’re pregnant with Yoongi’s baby?”

She giggled,”Yes I sure am. See the little bump? We are so excited. Yoongi’s been picking out names already and we’re going to start on the nursery once Y/N gets the rest of her crap out of there.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes so hard he gave himself a headache while Jimin and Jin couldn’t contain their laughter next to him.

“Congratulations. I’m sure Yoongi is super excited. He’ll have a little farmhand to give him some help.”

“I’m sorry what?”, she asked coughing on her sip of water.

“Yeah Yoongi told me a while ago that if he ever had children he wouldn’t want them to grow up in an apartment in the city with a dad who was never around because all he did was work. So he said he’d leave the company and move out to the countryside and buy a sheep farm for his family to live on.”

“Oh my God, Yoongi and these fucking sheep.”, you whispered to yourself after eavesdropping on the conversation the best you could from your room.

“No I don’t think Yoongi would do that. I mean why would he give all this up?”, she asked gesturing around the very large penthouse.

He shrugged, “Dont know. I just heard Jin complaining that he was going to have to drive his Mercedes in the mud to go visit Yoongi since he was was looking at farmland for sale the other day.”

“Well we are not going to live like that so I’ll have to say something to him.”

“Yeah probably should bring that up to him. Especially before he wastes the time and money to order the DNA test.”, he chuckled.

“What DNA test?”

“Oh well I just assumed that someone with as much power and money as Yoongi would require a DNA test for any kid being claimed as his. You know, just to protect his assets and stuff.”

“No Yoongi wouldn’t do that. He knows this baby is his. There’s no way he’d put me or the baby through that. And even if he did for some reason I’d never agree to it.”, she nervously chuckled.

“I mean I’m pretty sure he could get it court ordered if he really wanted to.”

“Wow, she went through all this scheming and conniving and never even thought about what would happen if Yoongi asked for a DNA test. What an idiot.”, Jimin chuckled.

“I mean we never thought about that either. We could’ve just requested that she get a DNA test and when it showed Yoongi wasn’t the father we could’ve just used that. We didn’t even have to go through this whole extravagant thing.”, Jin responded. The three men sat staring at each other in realization.

Yoongi cleared his throat, “This is a good thing though. Now we will have this recording as well to make sure she can’t twist it around.”

Suri was beginning to panic. She hadn’t even thought about the possibility of Yoongi requesting his own DNA test because she honestly believed Yoongi would just bow down and give in to her.

“Why do you care so much about a DNA test? It doesn’t matter to you anyway.”, she spat.

Woo-Sung put his hands up in defense, “I really don’t care. I was just asking since Yoongi is an acquaintance of mine and I care about his well-being. You’re the one that’s getting so defensive about it.”

“Sorry, it’s just the hormones or something.”, she said trying to calm herself down.

You had quietly moved to the hallway just out of sight of the two of them in the living room. This was taking a lot longer than you had thought it would and you weren’t sure that Suri was going to break. You weren’t sure where he was going with this, but you were done leaving it up to the men and decided to take matters into your own hands. You made your presence known by greeting the two of them.

Yoongi, Jin, and Jimin looked at each other in panic as they heard your voice through the speaker. They hadn’t gotten what they needed so you weren’t supposed to be there yet.

As you sat down on the chair opposite Suri and Woo-Sung she scoffed at your audacity to make yourself comfortable.

“What are you doing? You don’t live here any more remember. Don’t be rude.”, she glared at you.

“Yes Suri, I am aware of that. I left on my own. I just wanted to talk things out with you. Like adults.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. Things were great between Yoongi and I and then you showed up. But now we finally get to be a happy family. Me, him, and our baby.”

You fought back an eye roll, “I am happy for you and I hope you guys have a long happy life together. If you ever need anything just let me know. I am always here.”

Suri looked at you with suspicion, “Why would I ever need anything from you?”

“I don’t know. I mean one day when Yoongi decides he’s had enough and leaves and you’re left all alone you might need some help.”, you shrugged.

“That will never happen. Especially now that I’m pregnant.”

“Mmhm. I mean he already hardly comes home now that you’re living here. Who knows how many women he’s hooking up with just to get away from you.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re mad he left you.”

“Am I? Do you really think I care? I still get the benefits of being his wife without the emotional baggage that comes with it. You on the other hand? You’re just the other woman that he accidentally got pregnant. If that baby really is his.”

Suri scoffed, “Of course this baby is his. Who else’s would it be?”

“I don’t know. Could be the guy you were making out with in the hallway the other day. Woozi I think his name is? Could be any other guy in this country. I mean I was having a few drinks with Namjoon the other day and he said some interesting stuff that makes me think the baby could even be his.”

You could see Suri’s body tense up at the mention of Namjoon.

You continued, “He mentioned something about the two of you hooking up and now you’re suddenly pregnant. Seems a little suspicious to me.”

“So what? I hooked up with him. I’m an adult and can sleep with whoever I want.”, she crossed her arms.

“No no you’re right. You can sleep with anyone you want. Just like Namjoon can take you to court over the custody of this baby if he wants to and it sounds like he does.”

“He doesn’t have the guts to do that. He’s way too passive.“

“I don’t know. He seemed pretty set on it the other day. Said he was already contacting lawyers and everything.”

Suri was visibly upset. You were starting to feel kind of bad because you didn’t want the innocent baby getting stressed out. You just needed that final push to send her overboard.

“Namjoon showed me all the proof he has while we were drinking. It all looked pretty believable to me, but then again I’m not a lawyer.”

“What proof?! I destroyed the DNA test that verified him as the father. I deleted every conversation we had about it. Namjoon has nothing confirming he is the father other than word of mouth and that means nothing! Yoongi is going to be seen as the father of this baby no matter what and that’s that.”

“You’re right Suri. Guess you have nothing to worry about then. Come on Woo-Sung, let’s go. I want to get out of here before Yoongi gets home.”

Suri jumped up to follow the two of you,

“I know what you’re up to Y/N. You think you just got dirt on me, but no one will believe you. It’s your word against mine. And if you try anything I will make your life miserable. I’ve blackmailed Yoongi for years and I won’t even think twice about doing the same to you.”

“Okay Suri. Have a good night.”, you smirked as you walked to the door with Woo-Sung following closely behind.

“Well that didn’t go exactly to plan.”, he chuckled awkwardly once safely in the elevator.

You heard your phone go off from your pocket. Taking it out the screen illuminated with a message from Yoongi.

“Good job baby. We got exactly what we needed. Now hurry up and get back here. I have a special reward waiting for you.”

#bts #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #cinnamon&vanilla #yoongi fic #min yoongi #yoongi angst #yoongi x y/n #bts fanfic #bts x reader #yoongi au #bts fic #yoongi fluff #jimin #kim seokjin #kim namjoon #jungkook

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y3ager · 6 months

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MATERIAL GIRL.

— and what do you give the girl who has everything? two rich boyfriends!

jean k. x eren y. x black!fem!reader

tags: modern au, fluff, polyamorous relationship. socialite!reader. lovergirldeepdown!reader. 4k word count. inspired by this blurb.

HAILING FROM OLD money— your father the CEO of a century old automobile brand and your mother the third generation runway model—you have seen all there is to see, worn what there is to wear, had every priceless stone dangle from your neck and fingers, and tasted the most decadent of foods. the belief that just superficial things would be enough to sway you offends you greatly. if you don’t have it, you will have it as if it’s your right at this point. it takes much more than dinner and a yacht ride to make you squeal.

and that’s what’s so tiring about the whole dating scene. the pool is filled to the brim with arrogant nepotism babies in khaki shorts and sweaters around their shoulders. they’ll never worry about a thing because daddy kisses the ass of this man and mommy grins in the face of that woman, and by god, do they make it known. if another man brags about owning original modigliani pieces over dinner, he’ll be met with an oyster shell to the eye. who are you supposed to be, some bright-eyed influencer? please. check the pedigree.

things changed when you met them, however. one in the summer, and one in the winter.

you were on the jet back home from italy when hitch, a girl you’ve known since you were a tyke, bombarded your phone with messages about christening her new penthouse with a pool party you just had to come to, lest she’d drag you there. after confirming your attendance, you rolled back over in the white leather reclining seat and pulled your silk eye mask back down, making a mental note to get your braids refreshed and place an order for a new bikini.

you’re reborn as a literal doll, the braids on the left side of your head coaxed into an intricate butterfly while the others lay flat against your scalp in faultless rows and hang low to your hipbones. white, white, white everywhere, from the nails, the strappy swimsuit, the miu miu sandals; a beautiful contrasts against your glistening ebon skin dusted with body shimmer for good measure. perfect, as usual.

hitch’s new high rise penthouse is something out of a multimillion dollar budget drama, with its dozens of crystal clear windows and modern interior. sitting far away enough from the city to avoid the hustle and bustle, but close enough to gaze at the twinkling lights, it’s practically a palace for the dreyse corporation heir.

champagne flute filled with 1820 juglar cuvée, you mingle amongst the next generation of the one percent. hitch’s friends, and your friends by proxy you assume, are a breath of fresh air. human.

but there’s one person amongst the gaggle you don’t recognize. from your spot next to the slightly tispy miss dreyse, your dark eyes glance over the rim of your ivory framed sunnies, glass rim tapping absentmindedly against lined, glossed lips. light brown mullet, slightly tanned skin, dark brown eyes...

“hitchie...” your elbow gently bumps into the blonde’s sides, snatching her out of her mild stupor. “who’s that?” you ask innocently, gesturing with your half full flute. it’s casual, inquisitive.

hitch squints a little bit, pure concentration written all over her features as she tries to put a name to the face. “oh!” when the name comes to her, her hand meets the back of your shoulder in a kinda hard slap, totally unintentional, of course. “jean, kirschtein! you know, from-” a hiccup interrupts her introduction, making her burst into a quick giggle. “-the oil company.”

the pieces begin to come together, you know the names all of the elite; the braun’s, the leonhart’s, the ackerman’s, names listed amongst yours and names you close deals with. clans with power, influence, wealth, distinction.

he, jean, is walking over now; casual with an easy stride that shows he’s in no rush, he’s confident. he pays his respects to the girl of the hour, congratulating her on her new playhouse before her attention is diverted by another guest calling her name to get her to come over there. hitch slips off, but not before discreetly tapping your lower back in excitement; an unspoken ‘get him.’

“jean,” he introduces himself, extending his hand in a polite greeting. “i wanted to speak to hitch, but i wanted to talk to you, too. you are breathtaking.” his eyes drink you in, from head to toe, even though they’ve been roaming your frame since you first caught his attention. the heir simply cannot get enough. “but you get told that a lot, yes?”

“thank you.” your lips spread into a small smile, one hand slipping into his larger one as the other pulls off your sunnies, sticking one of the arms down into your top. “i’m ___” jean bore a lean swimmer’s build, dark navy beach shorts hung low on his hips, and his tanned skin decorated with a dusting of faint, brown freckles over his body. years of private villas and yachts, no doubt. he was impossibly tall, too, you find yourself having to gently tilt your head back to see his face fully. it was cute from afar, maturely handsome up close. was that a faint hint of a mustache? it was hot.

jean repeats your name slowly, enjoying the feeling of that line of syllables rolling off his tongue. “i’d love to get to know you more. ___, you’re so beautiful. i have to impress you somehow. name it,” his other hand comes up to rest of top of yours, successfully encasing it in a gentle hold. an excuse to touch you just a little bit more. “i’ll make it happen.”

your smile becomes a grin, and your dark eyes glint mischievously under your delicate lashes. one quick test, because where’s the fun in not initiating one? you just want to see what he’d say, pick at his brain. what sweet words will he spin from his golden cords now? “but jean,” you begin softly, “what if i was the type of girl that liked a man that took control? told me we were doing this, at this time, on this day, and in my prettiest red dress?”

“it’d be rude, ___, at least in my eyes, to so quickly assume i had a right to your time, and drag you around this way and that. allow me the privilege of occupying your time, and space.”

before you can catch it, one of your expertly threaded and sculpted eyebrows quirks up in mild surprise. you beckon him a bit closer to your face with a wave of your acrylics. “good answer,” you tease, honeyed voice playful and whispery. “phone? i can put my number in, and we can talk about how you can try to romance me when i have my schedules laid out in front of me.” you watch as he fishes the device out of his shorts pocket.

you were captivating afar, but up close with your tawny skin soft, glittery, and emanating an intoxicating vanilla scent, your dark eyes glistening with mirth and playfulness… it makes jean’s body go into some type of shock, his heart plummeting to his feet and his blood running cold but racing through his veins at the same time.

“well then,” you chime as you save your digits into the millionaire’s phone, the contact simply your name with no bells or whistles to adorn it. “i hope we can get to know each soon, mr. kirschtein.”

jean thinks that pearly white smile will be the death of him.

…

every year, no matter what, your father throws his annual christmas party. you long assumed that it brings him a special type of happiness because your normally humble father goes all out for them, each year being better than the last. he flies out the best chefs in the world to cook for hours, orders the tallest, greenest tree for the foyer, and has the house cleaned til someone could check their reflection in the perfect marble floors. when it comes to this, the man skimps on nothing.

you take it upon yourself to make the most of it, requesting custom design dresses from the most exclusive sewing tables over in Europe, shoes fresh from the runway. only the very best for you, the heiress, the crème de la crème, the girl who has never known the word no.

“dance with me?”

you had been absentmindedly swirling your wine glass by its delicate stem, attempting to place its origin (red, tart-like with its cranberry flavor and a strange orange bite near the end), when you’re approached. once you turn your head, you’re meet with striking green eyes and a sharp little smile.

“you looked bored, and that’s what these parties are for, right?”

eren yeager, the german-american son of grisha and carla yeager, 2nd generation genius neurosurgeon with a net worth in the 7 figures, and the just-as-talented, third generation wedding gown designer. according to the rumor mill, after graduating in the top of class in one of those ivy’s upstate, he gallivanted across the country (no, the world) as the not-so-favorable yeager son. of course, there are entirely too many eyes on the yeager clan for grisha to do too much of anything and a son can do no wrong in a doting mother’s eyes; so eren is left free to his disagreeable desires. everyone wonders how long that will last.

steely dark eyes and your naturally neutral face does nothing to deter him. you decide to indulge him, slipping your hand into his and raising up, allowing him the luxury of whisking you to the dance floor. “i guess i don’t see why not.”

“great.” his hand is soft and a little cool against your own, the woody, cedar notes of penhaligon the inimitable gently wafting off his skin and pressed shirt. unbeknownst to you, a few pairs of eyes bore into yeager’s back. the arrogance he has to whisk you away so early into the party, especially with it being his first one. if eren was the wiser, he’d revel in their envy.

there’s a handful of other couples waltzing across the floor when you two arrive. your fingers thread through his as his free hand finds a respectful place on your waist, blessed with the feeling of the smooth skin exposed by the opening in your dress.

no matter how much money your father makes, he’s an old black man at heart. old r&b plays from the expensive sound system he had installed, tevin campbell’s can we talk playing through the speakers. the irony of the situation isn’t lost on you. nonetheless, you hum nonchalantly to the tune and glide around the floor with your partner.

“i gotta ask, do you enjoy these things? or does your dad put you up to it?” your arm is held above your head and you’re spun around in a quick circle before being guided back to eren’s chest. face still impartial, you nod your head towards your five o clock, the wavy blonde strands dangling from your delicate updo tickling your face. a table teems with gifts for you and you only, bachelors from afar vying for a wisp of your attention with shiny, expensive gifts. they fail to realize that a girl like yourself isn’t so easily bought. but, it’s their money not yours, and few things in life bring you greater joy than pulling ribbon and wrapping paper from luxury brand boxes.

“of course i do. i’m not ‘put up’ to anything. i dress up, i get my presents. what isn’t there to love?” manicured hand splayed across the man’s back, you’re dipped towards the floor. you’re one to give credit where credit is due, yeager is a good dancer; the confidence in his movements isn’t a lame front and he maintains the delicate balance between taking the lead and dragging his poor partner around. since this is suddenly an interview, you have questions of your own. “when i have time to go through them, will i find your name on anything?”

“of course you will. be pretty damn rude to show up to a party empty handed. especially when it might be my only chance to get a gift for the princess.” a name your normally cringe and scrunch your nose at sounds surprisingly nice passing by his lips. he grinned boyishly. “no hints.”

“i can wait. for your sake, i hope it’s no ring. it’s going straight into the garbage.” just the thought of such a “present” makes your blood want to boil. who raised these “men”? i mean honestly, what brain dead fool buys a ring for a girl who didn’t even know his face? and expected her to wear it? you would sooner die and go to hell first.

“no way someone is that dumb. you’re fucking with me.”

“what do i have to lie for?”

"well, taking a look at these guests, i take it back. some of these bastards look dumb enough to pull a stunt like that." eren scans the array of guests over your shoulder, and you can't even feign offense for your father's sake. scanning over a guestlist for former flames and explaining why you didn't want them in attendance would take too much time, and you really didn't feel like explaining "relationship troubles" to your dad of all people. loved him as much as you did that really wasn't his business. besides, watching them shiver and skulk away from your disinterested and annoyed glance made up for everything. "are you a betting woman?"

"did you waste grisha's money on a degree in journalism?" your eyebrows furrow and eren laughs again.

"you're funny, ___. most of our peers aren't so witty. and if it so pleases her majesty, i want to bet on the odds of one of these dumbasses putting a ring under your tree." eren's green eyes stare down into yours, gleaming with playfulness, mirth, and confidence. "what do you say? someone does, and we can go on a date, just us two, and you can smile and laugh a little bit."

"and if there's no ring?"

"i'll leave you alone and fall in place in your long string of broken hearts."

luck has always been on your side. look at the family you were in born in, the riches that are your birthright! the universe has never dealt you a bad hand and surely wouldn’t start now. and worse case scenario, you hang out with one of the few men that can mark your plump lips twitch in the shadow of a giggle. “fine.” your brown eyes meet his green, and neither of the waver. “deal.”

several days later, gifts from around the globe surround you. handbags, shoes, dresses, envelopes bursting with cash; you’ll have to tell your dad you need some walls knocked down in your already spacious closet to make room for more. amidst all this, though, a godforsaken ring is gripped between your fingers. if looks could kill, it would melting and dripping from your grasp. holding it like it’s contaminated, you snap a picture to send to yeager:

‘i’m free the 3rd weekend and tuesdays.’

…

as temperatures rise again, you spend the next few months allowing jean kirstein and eren yeager the luxury of whisking you away when your schedule permits.

the former is a bit... old fashioned, in a good way! you're led off to slow paced, cozy dates; the two of you roaming italian streets, attending shows in their original opera houses, he never strayed you out of the bubble you two were born in. it was casual, soft, predictable in a good way.

eren on the other hand, spent money like it would burn through his pocket if it sat there too long. he spent money like a man who just felt its crispness in his palms and was addicted to the feeling, knowing deep down it'd never stop flowing for him. you're frequenting the night scene in your tight, revealing dress, his firm hands on your hips as you two grind to the pounding beats. shopping spree dates that lasted all day, if your hand so much as brushed it, it was bought, packaged up, and in the car. spontaneous flights abroad, stealing you away for weekends. it was exhilarating.

they both provide the things you're looking for. jean is the type of man you imagine yourself settling down with one day, when the whole young and turnt shtick melts away into something more domestic and slow paced. he has gentle hands and treats you so delicately, softly. his reliability will be something you can learn to lean on and need.

eren could possibly be that type of man too, but for now he has a fire, impulses that keep you oh so entertained. having everything in the world gets boring, and eren brings that spark that you crave.

you ruminate at your vanity. hair tied down and tucked away under a silky soft bonnet, you run your gua sha across your moisturized face, long sweeping strokes that end with a gentle tug. eye masks rest on your face, your feet clothed by a exfoliating mask, and a fluffy robe envelopes your body. you stare at your reflection, you're the only one who gets you.

you're really at a crossroads. you choosing between something is unheard of. you're ___, you get everything you deserve and want tenfold. you like jean, you like eren. the way they look at you with such adoration, how their hands and lips caress your body, the sweets words they declare, and how every promise they've made to you remains unbroken, oh how they must certainly feel the same for you.

as greedy as it may make you sound, you want both. your cake and to eat it too. two of your richest peers fawning over you day in and day out, them caring for you and you caring for them. them loving you, and you loving them. it’s a dream that will be your reality.

…

after a long day at sea on one of many jean’s yachts, the sun beaming down on not only the beautiful blue water but the two of you, entangled in each other’s arms, docks at the private harbor.

you’re running your fingers through your french curl braids as jean talks to one of the dock’s attendees, slightly sleepy from your sunbathing session. the gentle breeze of the day brings the smell of saltwater up to your nostrils and you hear seagulls squawking from spots on the wooden posts. obviously, a day at the water leaves you craving seafood, juicy lobster tails with a decadent pasta on the side. your daydreams of the soon to be dinner are interrupted by an extremely familiar “yo!”

heads turn, and it’s none other than eren striding across the dock’s walkway towards where you and jean are standing. his green eyes shine at the sight of you, the hot pink of your two piece bikini a perfect contrast to your skin and showing curves and bends he’d worship for the rest of his life. oh, and jean’s here too.

another woman might falter, her heart catching in her throat and sweat beading up on her flesh as her suitors stand before her, but you’re the epitome of calm, brown eyes smoothly meeting eren’s. there’s no ring on your finger, and besides, you know what you’re after right now.

“haven’t seen you in a while, yeager.” knowing it’d be cliche, jean fights against the urge to wrap a protective arm around your waist. “done gallivanting the world?”

“seen all there is to see kirschtein, and you say that like it’s insult. what use is money if it just sits in accounts collecting dust.” eren looks at you again, god you’re a sight for sore eyes. “especially when there’s a woman like her to spend it on.”

jean’s eyes can’t help but to roll. what a cornball. “well, good chat, but ___ and i are on a little time crunch. i’m taking her to niccolo’s, especially after being on the water.” his hand slips into yours, taking charge but not tugging you along. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like this side of him.

“well, now that you mention it, i could go for some niccolo’s too.” eren’s grin is shit-eating. what a cute dynamic these too have, one you know has a bit more bite to it when a lady isn’t in their presence. “how about i join? matter of fact, my treat.”

“that won’t be necessary.”

“i insist.”

“you two would argue all day if i let you,” you interrupt this small tussle, and now their attention is back on you. a manicured hand raises up to cover your small yawn. “like an old married couple.”

“it’s all in good fun,” eren’s shoulder nudges jean, and if jean had lasers for eyes, the youngest heir to yeager fortune would be a pile of dust before your feet. “we go way back.”

jean ignores him entirely, but eren finds it hilarious. “what he’s suggesting is insane, ___.”

you give a gentle shrug of your shoulder, coyness at the ready. “it’s nothing serious, it’s a lunch date between friends, and i bet you’d like to catch up.”

jean’s jaw tenses. he turns to you completely as eren looks on curiously. “i think it’s a sign that you say that, ___. i’ve been meaning to have this conversation with you for a while. yes, we are friends, but i want to be more with you.”

this moment, with the waves crashing across the dock, the sun illuminating the two of you, jean clasping your hands tight, would’ve been a soft, tender, picturesque one had it not been for eren’s booming laughter.

“oh, so now this is a pissing contest, huh, jean? well, since we’re confessing feelings, i have my own to speak for you.” his outburst breaks your gaze, and you and jean both turn in unison. “___, i want you to be my girlfriend, and i’ve felt this way for a while. i’ve been waiting for just the perfect moment, but i can’t let this jack-off take this one for himself right?” comically, you’re put between them, each of your hands in theirs.

“i…” this takes tact, a delicate way of stringing together words and honestly, with their eyes boring into yours, you find yourself falling just a touch short.

“i respect any decision you make,” jean assures.

“___, i will do anything for you,” eren promises.

any decision. anything.

you bit your bottom lip, hands minutely twitching in their clasp. you lean in neither direction, at the center of them. “any?”

and then there’s a beat of silence. and everyone’s looking at each other. this feels like a scene in a sitcom, something that should be accompanied with a laugh-track, but there’s no closed mouth that’s been fed.

“because in the time i’ve gotten to know both of you, i’ve begin to care for both of you. and i’ve made great memories with the two of you. i know i could make even more. i don’t value any time spent with you over each other’s.” your voice shakes just a tiny, tiny bit, vulnerability creeping in. “you too make me… so happy.”

eren cuts the silence first, ever the impulsive one. “i’ll do it.”

“you cut me off,” jean quickly interjects. eren really puts him on his toes, ignites an aggressive fire deep within, steps on just the right nerves. “i’m doing it too.”

“i said i’d do anything.”

“and i said i’d respect any decision.”

“okay!” you voice crashes down like a gavel. “okay. i’m glad that you two are hearing me out,” a smile tugs at your glossed lips, this feels so easy and lighthearted, a stark contrast from the seriousness you impose upon yourself. already, you feel yourself loosening up, because the two of them bring out the true, relaxed you like nothing else can. “but for our sanity the bickering needs to come down a notch before we all kill each other, yeah?”

two strong pairs of arms envelop you. it takes some effort, but you wrap your own around the two of them. three heads together, you find yourselves laughing. a weight eases of your shoulders, but not because you got your way, but because you know this is the death of a mask created by the circle you were born in. a mask that hides the love you can feel in an attempt to guard it.

“well, we won’t kill you.”

nov 13. 2021. nov 9. 2023. i nearly gave up. i almost threw in the towel. but goddammit she’s done. praise god.

#eren jaeger x black reader #eren x black reader #eren yeager x you #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x black reader #jean kirschstein x black reader #jean kirschtein x reader #jean x reader #jean x black reader #🏙.aotmodern #🧸.aotfluff

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cherrycola27 · 1 year

Text

Red, White, and Rooster

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption. Frenemies to lovers, relationship of convenience. Political situations. Allegations of affairs, military and political inaccuracies. Eventual smut. 18+ Minors DNI. Banner Credit: @thedroneranger

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Chapter 3: State of the Union

Sweat dripped from your brows as your fists made contact with the punching bag. You twisted and landed a kick to the left flank of it.

"I just don't get it Jay, how can someone who used to fly multimillion dollar aircrafts be so stupid sometimes?" You huffed out. You took a step back from the bag and took a long sip of water.

"Maybe all those years of inhaling jet fuel killed a few brain cells." Jaycee joked back with you.

"I mean, one minute he's doing good, everything is sunshine and rainbows, and then the next, he is a giant bone head and taking shirtless jogs around the grounds for fun. Do you know how long it took me to get all those paparazzi photos tracked down?" You sigh as you lean forward to stretch.

"You're lucky I love you and was able to stop Amber from publishing that thirst trap online." Jaycee laughs.

"I know. I owe you one." You grin at her. "You owe me several. But I am cashing in on one tonight. I can't believe I get to cover the State of the Union in person!" She squeals. You laugh at her. "Remember, you're their to work, not to oogle the vice president the whole time." You joke with her.

With Jaycee being your best friend and a member of the media, she'd been able to come to the White House several times. After a few visits, you couldn't help but notice the crush she had developed on Jake.

"You're no better than me!" She tells you as you grab your things to hit the showers.

"I do no oogle Jake." You shoot back. "No, but I've seen the way you look at Bradley." She accuses you. "I'm his Chief of Staff. It's literally my job to look at him." You defend yourself.

"I've also seen the way he looks at you. That man is constantly giving you puppy dog eyes. He's got it bad for you." Jay continues.

"He does—" You pause before lowering your voice. "The president does not give me puppy dog eyes or have it bad for me," you whisper to her.

"Sure, Jan." Jaycee mocks you in her best Marsha Brady impression.

You roll your eyes at her before hitting the showers. You let the hot water ease your sore muscles. You relaxed as it flowed over you. Kickboxing with Jaycee had become your form of stress relief when dealings at the White House got to be too much or when you needed escape. This shower was going to be your last moment of peace until tomorrow.

Tonight, Bradley was giving his first State of the Union address, and you were nervous, to say the least.

He'd been getting on your nerves lately. Choosing not to listen to you like he once did or brushing you off. But the moment he needed something that only you could handle, he'd come crawling back to you. He'd apologize for being an ass, He'd beg for your forgiveness, you'd fix the problem, and the cycle would start again.

You stepped out the shower and got dressed. You said goodbye to Jay and made sure she had her credentials for tonight. You then hopped in your car and drove back to the belly of the beast.

............................

You looked at yourself in the floor-length mirror of your room. Tonight, you were wearing a strapless cocktail gown. It was black with white geometric blocking on the sides. The bodice had a tasteful plunge with a small black mesh insert to keep it classy. The top of the dress swooped into two white peaks that accentuated your neck.

It was a beautiful dress, but try as you might, you couldn't get it zipped up all the way. You would worry about that after you put on the finishing touches of your outfit.

You took a deep breath and looked at your reflection.

You had your hair in its signature low bun. Your makeup was soft, but red lipstick added a touch of glam. You fastened your tennis bracket and reacted for the oval cut earrings Bradley had gifted you.

You had just fastened the back on the second one when you caught sight of him in your mirror.

"You used to knock. What if I had been changing?" You teased him as he stepped in with his tie in his hand.

"Your door would have been locked if you were." He shrugged. You opened your mouth to say something smart back, but he wasn't wrong.

"Well, I'm glad you're here. Can you zip me?" You ask, turning towards him. Bradley paused for a moment. He looked over the expance of your back that was visible to him. Your dress was almost zipped, save for the last few inches. He glanced at the exposed skin. His breath caught when he saw the tiniest bit of your lacy bra that was barely visible to him.

He cleared his throat before quickly zipping you up and stepping away.

"Thank you—sir." You teased him.

Son of a bitch, he thought. If only you knew what you were doing to him right now. That dress had his mind racing, especially because he wanted to know what the rest of what you had on under it looked like. Or what it would look like on the floor of his bedroom. Or what you would look like laid out in his sheets with your hair a mess and your makeup smeared. He could feel himself getting hard at the thought.

Shit! He needed to think about foreign policy or the frumpy old senators he was about to address. He could not go out there with a semi.

"Hello? Mr. President? What are you thinking about?" You break him out of his thoughts by snapping your fingers.

"Just running over my speech in my head again." He lied.

"Don't worry, you're going to be fine. Can you get my necklace, then I will fix your tie?" You gesture to the jewelry box.

Bradley quickly grabs it. His calloused fingertips brush over your soft skin as he hooks the clasp of the necklace he'd given you months ago. You thank him again before turning to knot his tie.

You have it secured in no time flat. You move to step away, but neither of you had noticed that Bradley's foot was on your dress. When you move, you lose your balance. His hands reach out and land on your hips, pulling you up right to steady you. You latch onto his forearms for balance. Your face is close to his as you catch your breath. His so close that if he leaned down a few more inches, he could kiss your perfect red pout. Both of you are frozen.

"Knock kno— am I interrupting something?" Jake trails off as he opens the door to your room. You and Bradley quickly shoot apart.

"No, nothing, everything is fine. See you down there." You brush by him as you quickly exit your room.

........................

From what you heard, Bradley's address went amazingly well. You didn't get to hear the end of it because you were whisked away to handle an emergency. Apparently, there was some unrest in the Pacific, and a foreign government was demanding American support to deal with a rouge group of pirates that had been terrorizing shipping lanes, but months ago, when the nation had tried to offer them assistance, they'd refused it. Now, they were demanding it and threatening to attack a Naval aircraft carrier that was stationed near their coast. Their government said they would have no issue with trying to overthrow the crew of the ship if the US didn't help them.

You sighed. You knew the Navy held a special place in Bradley and Jake's heart, and they would overreact to any threat against the Navy. You knew you would have to speak to Bradley and talk him off the edge when he heard the news. Even though he was the president, he couldn't just order the military to obliterate someone.

You left the conference room, and you could hear Bradley coming down the hall just as you went to find him. The rage in his voice carried down the hall. You needed to talk to him privately away from advisors and people with their own agendas.

"Bradley!" You yell as you chase after him. You need to talk to him. If he gets into that room before you, the testosterone of all of the men in there will take over, and he'll doing something that you know he will regret.

"Mr. President! Sir!" Damn him and his long legs. You kick off your heels and take after him. You poor Louboutins are left haphazardly in the hall as you sprint after him, still calling his name, but his tunnel vision has taken over. You sigh.

"ROOSTER!" You shout. He pauses and turns around slowly. In the entire time he's known you, you've never used his call sign.

"What, Y/N?" He sighs. "You need to calm down. You can't go in there like a bull in a china shop." You tell him breathlessly once you finally face him. You look up. He's a lot taller than you without your heels on.

"I don't need you to tell me what to do. I'm perfectly capable of handling this on my own." He warns you in a low voice before turning away.

"That's where you're wrong. In situations like this, you do need me to tell you what to do. If I left you to your own devices, you'd be getting in an F-18 yourself right now. You're the president, the leader of the free world. I understand that you love the Navy, but you can't just go in there with guns blazing." You reason with him.

"You don't understand Y/N, I have friends on that carrier. They are more like family to me. I can't let anything bad happen to them." He pleads.

"I get that, Bradley. I do, but you need to take a breath and think." You remind him.

"No," he begins with a fire in his voice. "What I need to do, is get into that briefing room and talk to some people who actually know what they are doing. I don't need a woman who has never severed a day—" you cut off Bradley's rant with a harsh smack across his face. He catches your wrist before you can pull back all the way.

Anger thrums through your veins. "I don't need you to remind me of my gender. You hired me to help you and to keep you from making stupid decisions. I may not know as much as you about the military, but I know my politics." You grit out. His eye are wide as they bore into yours. You maintaine eye contact with him, not backing down.

"Next time you say speak to me, remember who you're talking to." You warn him before jerking your arm out of his grasp.

You both soften a bit. Bradley opens his mouth to speak, but doesn't get the chance to.

You can hear voices approaching. You finally had Bradley's attention. You couldn't risk losing it now.

In a moment of annoyance or stupidity, you're not sure which, you grab him by his arm and drag him with you into a nearby storage closet.

"What the fuck Y/N?" He scolds you as you lock the door and block him in.

"I'm not letting you go anywhere until you calm down and listen to me. You've been ignoring me until you really fuck something up lately, and I'm not letting you send us into the next World War!" You scream at him.

Bradley looks at you and can tell that you mean business. The sting in his cheek serves as a reminder. He swallows thickly before nodding his head and letting you speak.

Now, no one quite knows what was said in that closet. The only thing anyone is talking about right now, is what happened when some poor unsuspecting media internet who got lost looking for the bathroom found.

You had just unlocked the closet door when it flew open. The intern eyes went wide as he took in the scene before him. You were sweaty from chasing down Bradley and arguing with him. Your hair was askew, your makeup was smudged, and your feet were bare. Bradley's suit was wrinkled, and his face was flush. You knew exactly what the kid was thinking before he could say it.

Before you could defend yourself, you heard someone yell at the intern. His head snapped to the side at the same time yours did. It was more members of the media.

The first one caught sight of you and Bradley as you emerged from the closet. They pulled up their cameras and started taking pictures just as the questions started flying.

"Mr. President, are you having an affair with your Chief of Staff?"

"Ms. Wiseman, did you seduce the president to obtain your position?"

"Mr. President, does this mean previous allegations against you were true?"

In the flurry of questions and camera flashes, you see Jaycee, who was desperately trying to help you.

You panicked as you looked from her to Bradley. You couldn't let the media spin this narrative. You couldn't let them ruin your career over something that wasn't there. You knew no matter how hard you tried, you'd never be able to convince them that you weren't having an affair with Bradley. So, you said the first thing you could think of that you knew would save both of your asses.

You held your hand up to silence the press. You looped your arm through Bradley's. He looked at you confused, but you shot him a reassuring glance as if to say, 'Trust me.' He nodded.

"The president and I are not having an affair. We can't be. " You began with a steady voice that oozed confidence.

You paused as you watched the facea in front of you. Their eyes were trained on you, waiting for you to spin your tale.

"The president and I are not having an affair—because we are engaged." You drop the bomb. You feel Bradley tense up beside you, but he doesn't react. He knows he can't right now.

No matter how crazy the words that have just come out of your mouth are, he knows that they are going to save both of your jobs. His presidency would never survive a scandal like this, and you would never be able to work in Washington again.

Your words seem to satisfy the media because their questions shift.

"Ms. Wiseman, how long have you and the president been together?"

"Is this why we haven't seen him dating?"

"When do you plan on getting married?"

"Why did you feel the need to hide your relationship?"

They all continue to shout at you. Suddenly, Jaycee pushes her way to the front and whistles to silence them.

"Ms. Wiseman and President Bradshaw will be more than happy to answer any questions people might have. In fact, they are going to sit down with me tomorrow afternoon in an exclusive broadcast that will be live stream on the official Washington Post website at five pm." She tells the crowd.

That pacifies them as they dispurse to break the news, talking amongst themselves.

Jaycee turns to look at both of you. You open your mouth to speak, but she puts her hand up.

"I don't know, I don't care." She beings. "All I'm saying is that I bought the two of you sometime to get your stories straight before tomorrow."

You both thank her before she leaves. As she turns to walk away, she pauses. "Bradley." She calls to him. He looks at her. "One more thing, before we meet tomorrow, you'd better have a ring on her hand." She warns before exiting.

After Jaycee leaves, you don't give Bradley a chance to talk to you before you are bolting for the bathroom. You sling the door open and vomit into the toilet. The anxietyfunally catching up with you. You stand up and wash your hands and face. You step out, and he's waiting for you.

"What the fuck was that?" Bradley demands. "That was me, saving your ass yet again. Because in case you didn't know, if you go down, I go down with you, and I'd rather not lose everything I've worked for because you wouldn't listen to me!" You scream him as you poke his chest before walking away.

"Where are you going?" He chases after you. "Home to fabricate our love story!" You scream back. "And my ring size is an eight!" You yell before rounding the corner.

Bradley takes a deep breath before pulling out his phone. He quickly pulls up the contact he needs and types out a message. He has a favor he needs to cash in.

Well, shit really hit the fan in this chapter! Thanks for the love on this series.

Taglist: @daggerspare-standingby @thedroneranger @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @hecate-steps-on-me @roosterscock @roosterbruiser @roosterforme @seresinsbabe @startrekfangirl2233 @soulmates8 @xoxabs88xox @avengersfan25 @blackwidownat2814 @loveforaugust @mak-32 @cottagecori @amysteryspot @heyimmadisonn @princess76179 @bradshawseresinbabe @sunlightmurdock @lt-bradshaw @cassiemitchell @die-cunt @mj-l4 @shipinabluebottle @malindacath @violyn20 @imawkwardlysoc @books-for-summer @blackroseboulevard @recordblues @desert-fern @luckyladycreator2 @katieshook02 @samhapner6 @sebsxphia @roosters-girl @diorrfairy @je-suis-prest-rachel @chicomonks @mizzzpink @a-linabean @amklibrary @gretagerwigsmuse @jstarr86 @actuallyazriel @krismdavis

As always, likes are great, but comments and reblogs are golden!

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yesiknowimshort · 1 year

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this is how i imagine… TIM DRAKE

the bitch is back…. i mean me not tim, but tim is also a bitch.

thank you so much to my followers (i love each and everyone of you <3) for waiting so patiently for me to get myself together (still shaky, so again, posts might be scattered but i will be posting!!).

i wanna start a series where i do these long form character headcanons for the batboys (and maybe girls one day, i’ve just not thought about it aha) and so i obviously had to start with my favourite character of all tjme; tim drake.

obvisouly i’ve already done a suuuuper long analysis of his actual character which you can read here, but i want to do a more theoretical one that’s not necessarily wholly “canonical” but still in character.

a lot of this is also canon/inspired by canon - however, these are still my headcanons.

- to start off with: fuck the uwu-fication of tim drake. he’s a badass who happens to also appear soft sometimes but that does not equal wimp. you can have anxiety and depression and not be a an uwu baby.

- absolutely obsessed with star wars.

- has forced everyone to individually binge the series with him at least once.

- but also love island (he won’t watch the winter season tho) and the real housewives are definitely his guilty pleasures.

- overworks himself on such little sleep that his body giving up and him fainting is a scarily regular occurrence.

- but it’s not for want of trying. oh no. forgot to eat because he was distracted so his limbs are barley holding him up when he runs? ignores it. keeps going.

- he stands up too quickly, collapses, and gets right up and walks it off like he wasn’t just on the floor (p.e teachers would love him).

- absolutely insane martial artist -which people (like most things he can do/does) completely overlook or just don’t care about. this is also canon btw.

- my boy’s only scraping average height -he’s gotta have something to back him up that’s doesn’t rely on being massive n buff.

- he can easily knock anyone to the ground in a second, yet because of his small build and mmmm relatively unhealthy state, it goes unnoticed and sometimes unused -depending on the situation’s needs.

- people always overlook him because of his public persona (and in real life online it’s usually because of uwu tim), but he would be so cruel sometimes.

- seriously -please remember and use his pettiness!

- like he’d punch jason out cold for picking up his stuff and holding it over his head… put itching powder in dick’s boxers and bed for hiding the cases he was working on… roofy damian’s nightly hot chocolate so he’d miss family movie night because damian was pissing him off… true slytherin.

- but just like a lot of the things he does, it goes unnoticed/un-delt-with most of the time so he gets away with it. middle child tings.

- not to mention he literally stalked batman and would run around solving murders and dropping off the evidence to gordon before even being a robin.

- he was on the CIA’s watch list for crying out loud!

- doesn’t break the unassuming facade often, but if he went off the deep end, he’d be gone, and wouldn’t stop until he’s satisfied -or restrained (but that would be near impossible).

- scarily persuasive -some would say manipulative, i would say ambitious. i mean he did wiggle his way into the position of robin with sheer willpower.

- i think one of the reasons i love tim so much and am so fascinated by him is because of his capacity to be a villain so easily if he wanted.

- the guy has considered murder way too often.

- clint barton’s “i could do it!... no one would know!... but i won’t” quip about quicksilver is literally tim’s relationship with villiany.

- like if he decided one day to turn on everyone… in an instant he has control of a multimillion dollar company, can easily gain control the police, has dirt on every single person, and access to anything he decides he wants: and yet he chooses to do good.

- remember -he chose to be a hero. and he repeats this fact a lot.

- he could easily have the world on their knees, and yet people still decide to fuck with him because of their naivety.

- villain tim would be terrifying.

- his childhood and a openly loving and attentive family setting was stolen from him. he was always made out to be “mature for his age” and “quiet and sensible” when in reality he was just neglected and bored.

- being a gifted child always comes with its downfalls. like being so unstimulated by his schooling and classmates that he acts out a little bit out of boredom and a craving for attention from his parents; not to mention the social rejection because he’s too far past his peer's antics.

- he’d be super socially unaware for his age group as a child (kind of like damian i guess). being an only child surrounded by adults (yet forever alone and isolated) would’ve prevented him from ever connecting with fellow kids and their interests.

- (anyone else relate to not ever finding kiddy humour funny in primary school?)

- so now he likes doing a lot of random “childish” things like skating down the halls in the manor, having a gamer chair as his office chair, playing his nintendo switch in his wayne ent. office with his feet rested on the desk when he’s bored, having bento box lunches filled with sugary cereal and roll-ups, having a mini fridge in his office exclusively filled with yakults, iced coffee cartons and redbull, being fully versed in gen z lingo (which he uses correctly don’t worry) that he uses to talk to people he works with and interacts with at galas etc etc.

- likes to leave little notes in library books for the next person to find; often mildly threatening like “i know what you did”, for no other reason other than to have a little gremlin cackle to himself when he thinks about it.

- definitely has nearsightedness, though he hardly ever wears his glasses “because they’re impractical and contacts are torture devices” (bruce practically has to strap him down to get the camera contacts in for patrol).

- when he’s not drinking coffee, he’s chewing gum or mints to counteract the coffee.

- ambidextrous, but favours his left hand meaning his already inconceivably messy quick notes are also smudged by his hand.

- hands are always cold and numb (leading everyone to believe he probably has rayynaud’s syndrome).

- he gets really nervous and tries to avoid people being able to touch his hands, like when they’re handing something to him, or makes sure handshakes are firm and quick -but still respectful- etc (but he loves hand holding, he just worries no one would want to).

- really good at taking in information and his surroundings quickly.

- often points things out to people that would otherwise go unnoticed like “your eyes look really pretty today” or “your freckles have darkened from the sun” or “they ordered two sugars with their coffee… they always order three” etc.

- he doesn’t constantly say the things he’s thinking, but they come out a lot more when he’s losing his filter from fatigue.

- he’s always apologising offhandedly for pointing out things (more annoyed at himself than anything) bc he thinks they’ll think he’s weird or become uncomfortable.

- tim is allergic to almost all nuts except for almonds (wog runs through my veins, i refuse to believe he can’t eat almonds).

- he’s not like epipen allergic, all he needs is some cetirizine.

- bc of this “relatively low risk” (as he would say), if he accidentally eats a nut he’ll usually just not tell anyone while his throat is closing over and his mouth feels like it’s been attacked by mosquitoes.

- he’ll just silently slip away to buy some cetirizine or get some from his pocket/bag.

- this sweet old lady at a charity bake sale once offered tim to try a free slice of her baklava, which of course, has walnuts in it.

- and he was too anxious to refuse so he took it and finished the whole thing in front of her.

- it took him about 20 minutes and to the point where he was crying and his lips looked like they had fillers that he whispered to bruce he was having a reaction.

- bruce was hysterical.

- like- national news “funny internet clip report” hysterical.

- he always carries cetirizine on him now just in case tim does that again.

#dc comics #incorrect dc comics #incorrect batfam #tim drake #batfam #batfamily #batboys #red robin #dc headcanon #headcanon #tim drake x reader #headcanons

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dalia1784 · 3 months

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I feel as though enough time has passed that I can be open about Ducktales and the fandom at large. Though in all seriousness the fandom can be a bit uptight when it comes to anyone leaving anything but praise.

Ever since Ducktales (2017) ended, I've had a lot to think about in regards to how I feel about the show as a whole.

Throughout the run of the show and as of recently I found that I lean in favor of the comics that inspired the franchise as a whole. By the time the series was coming to an end my feelings overall were inherently mixed.

On one hand there were moments, characters, and lines that worked and even made me laugh; but on the other it felt at times I was watching what essentially felt like a multimillion dollar fanfiction that tried to alter characters (the results varied from character to character), make some changes that were questionable, and left lots of character development and major plot points unresolved in favor of cramming in references to other Disney Afternoon shows as well a Millennial and Gen Z humor that was extremely hit or miss.

You can't even blame solely the cancellation for any of the unresolved stories and unanswered questions, because in all honesty it's complicated as to who is to blame. But these tend to come to mind: Writers/Showrunners, Disney's Standards and Practices, out of touch focus groups, and of course Disney themselves.

Other than the show itself, the fandom experience was just as mixed, I love all the friends and fans I made over the years and am forever grateful for them. What I found to be abhorrent was how many fans were chased away for the most petty and nonsensical reasons.

Didn't like a popular ship? You were chased off and called a terrible person.

Didn't support popular a headcanon (especially ones in regards to neurodiversity, sexuality, and gender)? You were instantly labeled as (fill in the blank)-phobic.

Liked a villain that wasn't Magica, The Beagle Family, Bradford, or Glomgold? You were instantly shamed and falsely accused of a laundry list of things.

Had concerns or criticisms about certain popular characters and plot points? You were called every name in the book and labeled as not a real fan.

I know this has always been a common thing in all fandoms but with Ducktales it got out of hand quite a lot.

Remember when Moonvasion first aired and how everyone reacted to Launchpad asking Penumbra out, it unleashed the most rabid and vile fans who managed to chase away a sizable portion of the fandom.

Remember when some fans were critical of the fact that Della was never told how much her disappearance had caused turmoil for her friends and family or how she didn't face any serious confrontation about her actions from her family? You still have fans to this day labeling anyone who brings this up as misogynistic haters because god forbid anyone has some problems with a character story wise.

Bottom line I still enjoy Ducktales for what it's worth, but the fandom can sometimes be hypocritically obnoxious.

Sorry I needed to vent this out completely and with that, I shall return to minding my own business and drawing.

#disney #ducktales #ducktales critical

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the-garbanzo-annex-jr · 10 days

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Joe Marino , Chris Harris , Isabel Vincent, Chris Nesi and Emily Crane

It takes privilege to protest at Columbia.

The 114 anti-Israel protesters who were busted at Columbia on Thursday include members of the upper crust: an intern for New York State Attorney General Letitia James — and the daughter of a prominent UPS executive who killed an elderly couple with her truck as a teenager and got off with a slap on the wrist.

A Post deep-dive into the backgrounds of the protesters shows many list multimillion-dollar mansions as their home addresses, according to sources, and come from wealthy and powerful families.

5The 114 anti-Israel protesters who were busted at Columbia on Thursday include an intern for New York state AG Letitia James — and the daughter of a prominent UPS executive who killed an elderly couple with her truck as a teenager.

In 2020, at the age of 16, Isabel veered her Toyota Tacoma pickup truck across a double yellow line on US Route 7 in Charlotte, Vermont, killing Chet and Connie Hawkins, a married couple in their 70s, according to a report by the Barre Montpelier Times Argus.

She pleaded no contest to a civil traffic ticket for “driving on roadways laned for traffic” and was issued a $220 fine — which her mother paid, according to the Rutland Herald.

Many are students at Barnard College, Columbia University’s liberal arts sister school.

Others are career activists with multiple arrests under their belts.

Minnesota congresswoman and “Squad” member Ilhan Omar’s daughter, Isra Hirsi, a Barnard student with a long history of civil disobedience, was among those cited for trespassing and taken into custody.

She was released a few hours later and declined to speak to The Post.

Also cuffed and removed from the Columbia campus was Isabel Jennifer Seward, daughter of high-ranking UPS executive William J. Seward.

5Then there’s Avery Reed, a former summer intern for Letitia James who also worked part-time on “gender equality” for the Biden-Harris campaign in 2021 in Florida.Linkedin

#columbia #anti-israel protesters #privilege #wealth

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scenetherapy · 2 years

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#home library #snug #luxury homes #luxury property #beverly hills #multimillion dollar listing

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gamer2002 · 10 days

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A Post deep-dive into the backgrounds of the protesters shows many list multimillion-dollar mansions as their home addresses, according to sources, and come from wealthy and powerful families.

#columbia #israel #palestine #gaza #israel hamas war #hamas #anti zionisim

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wandafiction · 2 months

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It's Real To Me - Just Us Chapter 29

Warnings: Angst

Word Count: 2211

Series List | Chapter 28 | Chapter 30

================================

"Hello ladies, and Yelena." I join them at the table sitting myself next to Wanda, Natasha sitting next to her sister.

"I am a lady too Y/n!" Yelena holds her hand to her chest feigning hurt as the other three women laugh and I shake my head pointing my finger at her as I speak.

"How old are you Yelena?" She mumbles something under her breath, I catch her swearing in Russian but not much else.

"Yelena!" I gasp as I look at the children. "Watch your language there are children about."

"Blyad!" (Fuck)

"You just swore again. Surely you're too young to be cussing." Natasha is laughing at her sister now, her hand resting on Yelena's shoulder. Wanda pinches my leg under the table telling me to behave, while Sharon joins in on mocking Yelena.

"Yeah Yelena! I'm sure your mother would love to hear that you're cussing someone new out and in front of her younger brother."

"Oh shut up will you." She folds her arms and pouts, but can't hide the smirk that grows underneath as she looks up at me. Oh this is going to be good. I rest my arms on the table rubbing my hands together, curling an eyebrow as I wait for a response.

"Well at least I didn't have to climb down a beanstalk to get here today." The three women look at Yelena confused as I give her a smirk. "You know, because she is so tall. Jack and the beanstalk, the giants live, oh never mind." She waves her hands dismissively.

"It's okay Yelena I got it, maybe I could take you to my kingdom one day. I heard there was a goose that lays giant golden eggs or something." She gives me the middle finger as she scoffs. "Hey I'm just saying."

"Well I bet someone like you does have a goose that lays golden eggs. For all we know you have one of those fabergé eggs."

"Not worth the money." I shrug dismissively. Wanda places her hand on my thigh trying to take my attention away from Yelena as Natasha gives her sister a pointed look telling her to stop. Unfortunately she doesn't see, Sharon is just enjoying the show which I can't blame her for.

"Not worth the money, oh Miss self righteous I give money to poor people because I can." I take in a breath, placing my hand on Wanda's taking control of my emotions so I don't react. She isn't the first person to say something like this, she isn't going to be the last but if it's going to create tension between her and me then I might say something. I don't want to ruin what I have with Wanda because Yelena is butt hurt I have money.

"Yelena stop." I hear Natasha hiss in her sister's ear, so I know Yelena heard it. Luckily the boys are too preoccupied with chasing one another to notice what's going on.

"No, I want to know how some 22 year old has a fu...has a business and all this money. We don't even know who she works for!" Yelena throws her hands in the air aggressively as she gets more wound up, at least she stopped herself from swearing so she has some control. "I mean she turned up in a brand new G-wagon, she lives in a penthouse according to Wanda, has a few expensive cars and a house. Now you tell me, how someone who is my age can have all of that! I bet it's not even hers. She is probably just another trust fund kid who shows off mommy and daddy's money."

"My mom and dad own an ice cream parlor, how on earth would you expect them to have enough to have a trust fund let alone a multimillion dollar trust fund."

"That's not real though is it?!" Her eyes widen and she says it, the other three women's jaws drop as their heads whip around all of them glaring at Yelena. She seems to shrink under their gazes, her sister hits the back of her head seemingly the most angry with her.

"Yelena that's enough." Wanda's voice is scarily calm and even, but her head tilt and eyes tell a different story: I would hate to be on the receiving end of this Wanda.

"I'm sorry Y/n. I didn't mean, I shouldn't have said that. It just came out before I could stop myself." Well fuck!

"It's okay Yelena." My eyes meet hers as I give her a smile, one that I know doesn't meet my eyes, but my voice is soft and calm.

"It's not though. For what it's worth I am so sorry, I really didn't mean to say it."

"But you did."

"I did." She drops her head, disappointed with her own actions which already lets me know she is truly sorry but I just need a minute.

"I'm just going to the toilet." I stand gently from my chair, giving Wanda a peck on the forehead as I make my way inside.

I hear Natasha's hand make contact with the back of her sister's head as she chews her out once again. I close the decking doors behind me, taking a deep breath to compose myself before making my way to what I assume is the bathroom so I can splash some water on my face. I assume correctly as I walk into the rather large bathroom immediately locking the door behind me so no one can interrupt me. I place my hands either side of the sink as I look up into the mirror.

Like I said before, I have heard those words before and so much worse so I am not angry or upset that I heard them. It just stings a little to hear them come from one of Wanda's friends. I get she said it in the heat of the moment, but she still said it.

It isn't real? Of course it isn't fucking real, they are my adoptive parents so no it ain't fucking real. But it's a real as it is going to fucking get when both your blood parents who were meant to love and cherish you don't, well maybe my mom still does but I can't be sure I haven't visited her in a while. And my dad, well he is not my fucking dad. Clint is my dad. Clint is my real dad. I chose Clint to be my dad so surely that makes it real, it makes it all real. Right?

I'm brought out of my thoughts by a quiet knock on the bathroom door, I almost don't hear it.

"Y/n it's Yelena. Can I please come in?"

I let out a small sigh as I unlock the door, only to be knocked back when it swings open and Yelena jumps at me, wrapping her arms around me, squeezing me tightly. I turn my body to kick the door closed, and lock it because no doubt the other three women are going to want to eavesdrop, so I lock the door just so they can't watch it. I feel Yelena's shoulders shaking against my torso, a wet patch leaking through my shirt. She's crying.

I move backwards so I am leaning against the counter top, allowing my feet to slide along the floor a little so I am at an angle where Yelena's head is resting on my chest and not on my stomach. She is tiny too, just like her sister, cute.

"It's okay Yelena." I feel her shake her head against my chest.

"It's not okay. I hurt you." I hate the way her voice croaks with emotion.

"You didn't hurt me that bad. I've heard worse."

"Well you should have never heard it in the first place. You didn't deserve it. Not one bit." I let out a small sigh, moving my body to stand up detaching Yelena from me.

She lets out a surprised squeak when I pick her up, putting her on the counter top so our eyes are almost level, I take a few steps back to make sure there is space between us. I know I locked the door, but I do not want to have to deal with another angry Russian let alone an angry Sokovian if they were to catch us in that sort of position. Sharon's like Switzerland, very neutral, knows when to speak and when to let things just happen: she is a peacekeeper.

"Can I ask you something?" Yelena furrows her brows in confusion, but nods her head nonetheless. "Why did you get worked up so quickly? We were joking around and then it's like a switch flipped and you completely lost it."

"I don't know, not really. You just sort of said that fabergé eggs are not worth the money, and something just flipped. I think that's the way I interpreted it."

"How did you interpret it?"

"That you were saying they were such throwaway things. Like you were just able to spend all that money, which is not even a big spend for you, and then you were like 'no I don't like it'." She shrugs. "I don't know, it's hard to explain."

"Well try." She huffs out a laugh looking up at me unamused.

"I think maybe it's because I'm living with my sister."

"Well it can't be that bad that you lose your shit at a practical stranger. A stranger that's dating a Sokovian woman by the way."

"Yeah I know. She did the head tilt thing and I swear I nearly shit myself there and then."

"It was pretty scary." I laugh along with Yelena's giggles.

"I know right?"

"So why do you think living here caused the outburst?"

"What are you my therapist now?"

"Amuse me."

"Okay Dr Y/n." She smirks at me as I giggle a little, but nod for her to continue. "It's not just living here, it's not having a job here either. I mean I am relying on my older sister for pretty much everything and I am struggling to get to the interview faze of so many places. No one wants me."

"So that's it." I speak softly as I look at Yelean who lets out a defeated sigh as I take all the information in. "You think your not needed, not wanted and that you are going to have to rely on people all your life and yet here I am at the same age as you living some people's wildest dreams."

"No offence but I hate how you can have everything in the palm of your hand yet here I am living with my sister with no job." I perk up when I get an idea.

"What sort of jobs are you applying for?"

"Uhm, anything and everything. But something that pays more than $10 just because I need to start putting money behind me. Why?"

"What does your CV look like? I could maybe help you put something together if you would like help. I've read so many, and done so many interviews that I sort of know what to look for and what not to look for. And if they are going to read the first two lines and chuck your CV or phone you up." Yelena's jaw drops at the idea.

"You would do that? For me?" Her bottom lip quivers a little. "After what I said out there."

"All is forgiven Yelena. You need to stop beating yourself up about it. It was in the heat of the moment, and we all say things we don't mean."

"That would be like so fucking amazing if you could help me. Like you don't even know what this means. So yes, please could you help me with my CV?"

"Of course I will. I will give you my number and email and we can start on it tomorrow or something, but for today let's just relax and have fun. Oh by the way you are going to be on mine and Nats team for a water fight, but don't let the others know I brought water guns. I wanted to surprise the children."

"Thank you so so so much Y/n. You don't even know what this means to me! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She jumps off the counter to give me another hug, wrapping her arms tightly around my waist as I wrap mine around her shoulders draping them over her back lazily. "Me, you and Natasha are going to win the battle by the way."

"Of course we are. Now let's head back out there, maybe have a drink and then we can have a good afternoon."

Yelena let's go of me heading straight to the door, but as she grabs the handle with her hand ready to unlock it she turns back around to me: keeping her hand on the handle.

"Me and Natasha are adopted too, so I know it's real because it's real to me too." I smile softly and nod in understanding at what she is saying, as she turns to unlock the door so we can leave the bathroom.

She is right.

It's real.

================================

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wanda x reader #wanda x you #just us series

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alpaca-clouds · 8 months

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Understanding Class Solidarity

Prewriting this and putting it in a queue. Is Hollywood still striking?

Well, does not matter. Because I gotta talk about another important thing when it comes to leftist thought. Another thing that the capitalist system has kinda managed to very successfully distort. The concept of class solidarity.

See, no matter whether SAG AFTRA and WGA are still on strike when this is going up, the entire issue has shown this - though of course it also has kinda helped some more people to understand this, too.

Because the first reaction of many people upon those folks going on strike, was: "What are they complaining about? They are Hollywood! Hollywood is where the money is!" This was especially true for when the actors went on strike, because we kinda associate actors with being rich. Because we usually think of the likes of a Chris Hemthworth or a Scarlet Johanson, who get like millions per movie where they show up. But people obviously forget that most actors are in fact some random background faces, who barely scrape by. The big actors going on strike, too, is in fact a form of class solidarity.

See, capitalism has told us that the classes are like the middle class, the upper class and the lower classes. And, sure, yeah, those are kinda classes as well - and classism is very much based on this. On the economic standing of people and the marginalization of poor people is very much real.

BUUUUUUUT...

You know what the entire marxist theory says about the classes?

Yeah, there are only two. There is the owning class and there is the working class. And it turns out, that even quite a few of those multimillion dollar actors are in fact still working class, as they do not own the companies in which they make their money. And yes, note, some do. There are a couple of big wing actors who do in fact own the production studios they work under. But this is not true for all or even for most.

And here is the thing: The difference between the owning class and the working class is, that the working class works and actually produces value, while the owning class profits off that generated value.

That is also why the saying goes: "Every profit is stolen wages." And this is true, no matter whether the worker makes 25k a year, 100k, 500k or 3m. If they are the worker, they are almost by necessity exploited. Just that some get exploited a ton more.

To keep it with the film studios, because it is a nice example to have.

Who really made it possible for like Avengers Endgame to bring in 2 billion bucks. Was it Bob Iger (or Bob Chapek)? Or was it like the directors, actors, costume makers, set makers, camera people, technicians, CGI creators and what not? Who really did generate that value?

And understanding that is the core to understanding class solidarity.

The system right now is very interested in people not realizing it. That we actually all do have more in common with other workers, than we have with the owning class. That if we just all went on strike, that the owning class would loose everything.

The average person with their 40k/year office job does have more in common both with the B-List actor, who might make a couple hundred thousand per movie, AND with the black trans 20 something homeless kid working at Starbucks while living on their frined's sofa.

Because all three of them do not own the fruits of their labor. All three of them have their life dictated by people who own whatever they are working for.

Class solidarity is to understand this and to stand side by side with everyone who is striking and fighting for their right to get treated fairly.

#anarchism #communism #anti capitalism #class solidarity #strike #striking #unionize #labor rights #labor unions #working class #eat the rich

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fuckyeahworldoftaika · 5 months

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Taika Waititi: “I just want to spend my money and enjoy it”

As he talks about what a fabulous thing it is to be Taika Waititi, he occasionally glances out the window of the hotel to the gin palaces moored in Auckland’s Viaduct Harbour. So, which one is his?

“They’re all mine. I’m actually trying to get rid of some of these to make room for my QE3.” Everyone in the room laughs – there’s a Disney PR team with camera crew present for a small conveyor belt of local interviews with journalists under instruction not to ask our most prominent global celebrity anything unrelated to his new movie. But Waititi does present as a man who has done quite well for himself. That’s assuming the jewellery that is adorning his fingers, neck and ear is as expensive as it looks. Of course it is. The man’s been on the cover of Vogue, after all, albeit as half of a “power couple” with wife of a year-plus, UK pop star Rita Ora.

It’s not the Listener that has brought up the fruits of his success. Just before the boat quips, Waititi had been pondering the difference between being the young Taika following his creative whims and the 48-year-old one, who now doesn’t have the option of starting things – like multimillion-dollar superhero films – and not finishing them because he can’t be bothered. Add to that, he has so many irons in the fire, there is a risk of a stable overflowing with shoeless horses. That’s whether it’s writing that Star Wars film (“four pages,” he deadpans on how far he’s got), acting in pirate comedy series Our Flag Means Death, making videos for the All Blacks, among other corporate gigs, or supposedly doing remakes of seemingly everything he ever liked growing up. Yes, there is a New Zealand film on his to-do list. More of which later.

To that work-in-progress pile (“I’ve got a few irons underneath the other irons”) you can also add a redo of Mel Brooks’ classic comedy Young Frankenstein. The Jewish-American comedy great liked Waititi’s Hitler-spoofing Oscar-winning Jojo Rabbit very much – it reminded him of his own Hitler-spoofing good old days. He asked Waititi if he’d like to remake Young Frankenstein, the 1974 film starring Gene Wilder that was arguably his greatest big-screen comedy. You don’t say no to Mel Brooks. He is 97, after all. That said, Waititi says he could do with a break from the blacksmith shop. Right now, he says, “I just want to spend my money and enjoy it”. Well, reportedly, he has splashed out on that unobtainable thing for many Kiwi artists of his generation – a nice house in Auckland. The NZ Herald last month reported he’d bought a $10.5 million waterfront property in Point Chevalier, supposedly as a base for his joint custody of his two daughters with his former wife, producer Chelsea Winstanley.

We would be discussing his purchase – after all, who doesn’t like a natter about Auckland real estate? – but this interview is taking place back in April. Disney stipulated it couldn’t run until the local release of his new film Next Goal Wins, which it eventually bumped until the end of the year, having made its New Zealand staff redundant in the interim. Next Goal Wins is based on the true story – there was an earlier doco of the same name – about the American Samoan football team, the biggest losers of any Fifa World Cup qualifying round, having gone down 31-0 to Australia. It stars many familiar faces including Oscar Kightley, Beulah Koale, Dave Fane (“all of my mates – I think Robbie Magasiva is the only one not in this”). And, as the Palagi saviour coach, is Michael Fassbender, an actor not exactly known for his comedy. He plays Dutch-American Thomas Rongen, who became the team’s coach and lifted them from the bottom of the Fifa rankings, a little.

It’s a film that seems to have been stuck in extra time. It was shot in Hawai’i in 2019. Then came the pandemic, which paused production for a year. Along the way, Armie Hammer, who played a minor role as an American Fifa official, became persona non grata due to a storm of sexual abuse allegations, which required reshoots with comic actor Will Arnett subbing in. “I was actually already changing that character in the edit and Will came in and played a different version of it,” says Waititi, who isn’t the first director caught with a cast member who’s acquired a toxic reputation. But all his films, even his modest budget New Zealand ones at the start of his career, have taken years. “This is just the normal Taika schedule … I started working on Star Wars three years ago. By the time I finish, it will probably be another four years from now.” Next Goal Wins debuted at the Toronto International Film Festival in September and opened in North America last week. The reviews have been decidedly mixed. That’s possibly because, like his parody-risking Thor films, it’s trying to be two things at the same time – a feel-good underdog sports film with the coach trying to redeem himself, and a send-up of feel-good sports films.

The American-Samoan team featured Jaiyah Saelua, a fa’afafine who was the first transgender international footballer. Played by fa’afafine actor Kaimana in the film, the character is a big chunk of the story. Some reviews have wondered why the film’s whole focus wasn’t Saelua. Why wasn’t it? “Jaiyah’s story is really interesting, but I was not tempted, because I really wanted it … to be about that relationship between the team and Thomas. But also him and the team, because there are a lot of other interesting characters there … [Jaiyah’s story] wasn’t something that I was massively drawn to as the main thing.” Waititi wanted to keep things light and bright in what he has said is his least cynical film yet. By which he means? “It’s more just that in this film nothing bad happens to anyone. In all of the other films there’s some darkness there. Jojo Rabbit is probably the most cynical, but in a satirical way. But with this film, the message is on the poster: “Be happy.” I think one of the most important parts of the film is when Thomas says, ‘I can’t win’, and Oscar says, ‘Well, then lose, but don’t do it alone, come lose with us.’ That’s a really important thing. If it was in an American’s hands, it would be all about winning … I think it’s good to embrace losing but doing it together.” Waititi isn’t much of a football fan. He played as a kid for a while before switching to rugby. “I played it from, like, eight to 10. I just felt like it was a real white sport, so I was a bit turned off because all of my mates were playing rugby. I just enjoyed playing touch a lot more than waiting for that round ball to come my way … ‘Can someone, like, kick it to me?’ “Notoriously, soccer is one of the worst things to try to film, because it just always comes across as super boring … It’s bad enough watching it when you’re waiting for something to happen in a big game. But it’s just a hard sport to make look interesting on film. And I think we did a really good job.” Whatever Next Goal Wins does at the box office – and it’s unlikely to be troubling Oscar voters – you suspect Waititi’s life and career will continue on its seemingly charmed way. According to the man living it, it has always been thus.

“It’s like The Truman Show – everything has just been put in front of me, for me. Like, you’ve just been sent in here to entertain me for 15-20 minutes, then you’ll go and these people [the PR team] will do something for me. My mother says this to me all the time … I used to write stories about how the world was on fire and everyone was dying. My parents died and I was the only one who survived. I’m always, like, the star of my own show … This is basically my whole story, just for me.” There are words for that. “It’s called being a Leo. Oh, narcissism? It’s true.” But with that, he says, is the self-doubt of being a fêted figure but feeling a bit of a fake. “It all comes from a deep place of insecurity and imposter syndrome – all the things that everyone else in this industry has – the deep sense of not feeling like you belong here, or that you’ve gotten away with something, and no one’s found out yet. “Most people in this industry have that fear or that sense that it’s either all going to be taken away – the window is going to close – you’re going to be irrelevant soon, or that you’ve somehow stumbled into this undeservedly – that there’s been some sort of glitch or mistake, and no one has noticed that you don’t know what you’re doing. “If anyone asks me, ‘So, how do you make films?’ I don’t know. I don’t know any of the names of the equipment on set. All I know is what I’d like to see as an audience member in a rectangle on a big screen, and I’ll try my hardest to get that. “I think directing in general is just you making decisions fast and confidently, and then people will believe you and follow you.” Does he have anything left to prove? “Nah, I’m good. Film wasn’t even my dream. I didn’t have a dream of doing this, and I’ve already achieved it. I don’t care about anything other than just my happiness and my family.” His marriage to Ora has made him both tabloid-famous and a glossy magazine fixture. He also appears to have met everybody. Yes, he has been starstruck on occasions. Such as when Ora introduced him to Mick Jagger at a party. He gulped, excused himself and departed.

“It was, ‘I’m not going to sit down and talk to you because I’m going to fuck this up, so I’m just going to walk away.’ ‘Have a good night.’ That was enough for me.” He will be busy for the foreseeable future with whatever is next on his Hollywood to-do list. But he does have the makings of a New Zealand film in a drawer somewhere. One of his early short films, Tama Tū, was about six Māori Battalion soldiers in World War II Italy. He’s been tinkering with an idea about a battalion feature. It is the “Don Quixote of all films that every Māori film-maker has been trying to make,” says Waititi. He’s not the only one – Muru director Tearepa Kahi also has one in the works. Waititi feels his is a good 10 years away. “I think the problem is we shouldn’t be making a Saving Private Ryan version of the Māori Battalion film because we’ve already got Saving Private Ryan, right? So, it has to be something that celebrates being Māori – the stories, the cool, amazing stories of the battalion. It’s got to be in our style, which means it has to be entertaining and fun.”

By Russell Baillie, 24 Nov, 2023 And thanks to @sassy1121 for the article

#taika waititi #next goal wins #nz herald

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