#I don’t really like how that detail is inconsistent
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Checklist of character traits prone to inconsistency:
Heyo, quick one today. It’s great to give a lot of detail to character traits and personality quirks, but they aren’t real people, you’ve made them up, and thus, might not have a perfect memory for how you’ve described them, or drawn them in the past.
So before you post or publish, do yourself a favor and make sure the following are consistent throughout your story, if applicable:
If they’re left or right handed, or ambidextrous.
Which side their hair parts on.
Which side their scars are on (especially facial scars).
Which eye has the patch or is just missing, and how much or little the character fiddles with it.
Missing glasses and how prone a character is to forgetting them or anal about cleaning them. Glasses are always dirty (do they clean them with a proper cloth or the edge of their shirt?).
Which side broken, missing, or bandaged fingers are on.
If they’re wearing a cast, how it inhibits their mobility.
If they have a leg or foot injury, how severely they limp.
If their clothing takes damage, when/how they replace it or repair it, and whether or not they’re wandering around town accidentally covered in blood or grease or all-purpose flour.
Which injuries they sustain that should still be bothering them, like pulled shoulders, bruises, shin splints, paper cuts, sun burns, cramps, carpal tunnel, arthritis, tinnitus, road rash, and stubbed toes or pinched fingers.
Which side of their body buttons, rings, bracelets, pins, brooches, badges, or name tags are on.
If they’re wearing gloves or mittens, when they take them off or how their mobility is impacted by them.
How mobility changes if their fingernails are short and stubby or long, or artificial, like typing, eating, and grabbing objects.
If they have a wheelchair, how they transition out of it, into it, and move within it, like getting dressed or putting on shoes, or lifting themselves up into cars and back down—and how public spaces do and don’t accommodate them.
If they have prosthetics, how they maintain them, how they might sound different than someone else—prosthetic feet for runners won’t sound the same as sneakers.
If they need crutches, a walker, a scooter, or a cane, and how the world accommodates them.
If they're colorblind, how it impacts their day to day and descriptions compared to other narrators.
Jewelry often jingles. Pandora bracelets are loud af especially if they’re on your dominant hand when you try to write on a desk. Charm necklaces jingle if you bounce and some earrings can jingle when you shake your head.
Where tattoos are and if they take measures to hide them and how.
An aside about characters with tattoos (from experience):
If they’re new, they still hurt for at least a week depending on the level of detail.
Tattoos are basically mega sunburns and fresh ink should either be covered from the sun or, once it’s healed enough that the skin isn’t broken, heavily sun-screened to preserve coloration. Newer ink is very noticeable in sunlight, just like a healing sunburn.
Black ink tends to turn a bit green over time and sharp details blur. Tattoos are beholden to the skin they’re on, and how it stretches or sags.
Tattoos stink, as plasma and other fluids build up under the wrap (that can either be straight plastic wrap or a dermal cover akin to the stuff used for burn victims).
Tattoos can burn and ache if they’re on the legs when you stand, as blood and your body weight settles back into place.
Tattoos do very weird things to your body depending on the amount of ink and the time it took to design. Your skin peels kind of, but not exactly, like a sunburn, and every artist has their own tips for aftercare.
If the ink is over thin skin (I have one that ends over my ankle) the ink may have a texture left behind, a raised puffy bump, that fades over time.
A character receiving a tattoo might have this kind of bell curve effect, where it hurts really bad at the start, until adrenaline kicks in and dampens it, and then again once their adrenaline runs out. There is no pain quite like tattoo pain and everyone describes them differently. I like to think of them as itching a bug bite on a sunburn, dialed up to 11.
According to my past artists, women almost universally handle the pain better than men. I have definitely suffered other injuries worse than tattoo pain.
Fine linework hurts more than broad stroke coloring or shading, because the distribution of pressure is wider with more needles packed together. The larger the needle bundle, the less it hurts. All of mine are water color and the *splash* effect for the illusion of water drops uses a single needle and it’s always the most painful part.
Feel free to tag any that I missed!
#writing advice#writing resources#writing a book#writing tips#writing tools#writing#writeblr#character design#character development#character guide#tattoos
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Yknow how MB says that SecUnits are “cheaply produced, and we suck” yet kicks extreme amounts of ass? Well I think MB is comparing itself to Combat SecUnits, which could shrug off hits like it was nothing (from the one example we have at least)
#it at least sort of fixed the issue of secunits apparently being really bad but also the pinnacle of human engineering and security#I don’t really like how that detail is inconsistent#anyways do y’all have any ideas#murderbot#the murderbot diaries#all systems red#exit strategy#secunit#combat secunit
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hi!!! here for a request. can we have a imagine where reader has a wound from surgery or whatever on like in a rib and she hides to change the bandages but then spencer sees her and he’s like ‘lemme help you’ and…
you do you for the rest!
in which spencer helps BAU fem!reader change her bandages in the bathroom at work. it's intimate, and he's adorable and awkward, and it only fuels her terrible, terrible crush.
warnings/tags: fluff, talk/description of wound, brief talk of being stabbed (does not actually occur in this fic lol), reader wears a bra, spencer undoes said bra but not sexually, lots of suggestive humor and teasing, a TINY sprinkling of angst but not really, idiots in love
a/n: i'm picturing early seasons spencer and it is filling me with so much unbridled joy. I. LOVE. HIM. thank you for the request!! and lets not talk about how inconsistent my formatting for requests is pls and thanks!!
It’s not like you meant to bend down so quickly that your wound reopened—but here you are, suffering the consequences of your actions in the women’s bathroom at Quantico as you try to assess the injury before you re-bandage it. And your shoe is still untied.
Unfortunately, the fact that you had quite literally been stabbed in the back last week makes it hard to reach said injury—especially when you’re at work and so can’t take off your shirt like you normally would. And all this struggling means it’s taking longer than it should, so now you’re focused on the wound and its scabby, wet edges and all the things it’s secreting rather than hurrying to give another statement of the entire event to Hotch since the first one had apparently been too sparse on the details.
A knock sounds on the open door. Spencer calls your name.
“You in there?”
The angle of your neck has your voice slightly strained as you call back, “yeah, what’s up? Is it Hotch?” you pause to hiss as you accidentally scratch at the wound with a nail. You don’t even want to know how much bacteria you just introduced to it. “Tell him I didn’t forget our meeting, I’ll be there in—”
“It’s not Hotch. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with your back? I know you said you were going to check on it, but you’ve been in there a while.”
You sigh, dropping your sore arm as you continue to hold up your shirt with the other and regarding the reflection of your back in the mirror.
“Actually—could you come in here?”
There’s a pause.
“You want me to come into the women’s restroom?”
“Yes, Spencer. It’s fine. There’s nobody else in here. I just… I need some help, I think.”
The last part is admitted quietly, with an air of defeat. To admit to needing help, is, by your standards, the same as failure. Spencer knows this, which is probably the only reason he puts aside his hesitations and shuffles uncertainly into the tiled room. If you’re asking for help, it’s because you really need it.
“What do you need help with?” he asks, sweeping his gaze suspiciously around the lavatory as if you were lying about there not being any other women present and this whole thing might be a trap of some sort.
“It’s gross, and you can totally say no.”
He raises his brows expectantly, before spotting the weeping wound on your back. Unconsciously he steps closer, leaning forward. It’s not your fault, and the gore is not specific to you—anyone’s body would react this way to being stabbed. But you still feel embarrassed by the close attention to such an ugly marring, which nobody besides you and your doctors has actually seen up close.
“That doesn’t look good,” he mutters. The expression on his face is irritatingly familiar—the drawn brows, tightened eyes, barely parted lips—but it takes a moment before you realize what it is.
“Reid,” you complain. He’s still stooped over slightly to examine the wound, and looks up at you through dark lashes with those infuriatingly warm puppydog eyes.
“What?”
“You’re looking at me the way you look at a dead body on the slab.”
His nose scrunches.
Some might say it scrunches adorably.
“No, I’m not. That’s just my face.”
“Okay, well stop. It’s freaking me out.”
He pouts—actually pouts. Subtle, but bottom lip jutted out and all. It’s ridiculously endearing.
“My face freaks you out?”
“Wh—no! That’s not what I said! You have—you have a great face! I didn’t mean—”
You manage to claw yourself out of the hole you’re digging when you see the dopey smile growing on his face.
Oh. He was fucking with you.
He never used to do that. It’s unnerving to be the fucked with instead of the fucker for a change. Especially when it’s Spencer.
“What did you need me for?” Spencer asks by way of peace offering. You close your eyes and sigh, attempting to collect your thoughts without his presence re-scrambling them.
“Um—I just need you to put this bandage over it. I can’t reach without taking my shirt off.”
And now you’re forced to wonder if he’s thinking about you shirtless as much as you’re thinking about you shirtless.
“Yeah—don’t do that,” he says absentmindedly, stepping again closer to get a better look before turning to the nearest sink.
For some reason, this offends you.
“Why not?”
Spencer pulls another face as he washes his hands—you love the constant flow of expressions he always seems so unconscious of. Even when they’re not pleasant and directed at you.
“Are you asking me why shouldn’t you take your shirt off?” he clarifies.
“I know why I shouldn’t take my shirt off, but I want to know why you think I shouldn’t take my shirt off.”
“Because we’re at work?” he observes astutely. You frown deeply at his completely logical reply. Spencer chuckles as he dries his hands and approaches once more, taking the square of gauze pre-lined with medical tape from your hand. “I mean, I can’t stop you. But it would be kind of a weird choice.”
“Oh, so me shirtless is weird?”
Cool fingers meet the comparatively hot skin of your back—where everything is still sensitive because the wound wreaked havoc on your nerves there. You flinch slightly.
“Sorry,” he murmurs gently. Though his touch is so incredibly light it doesn’t really hurt—it hurts much less than when you’re tending to the wound, anyway. It’s almost soothing. After a moment he continues, a bit louder. “And that is not what I was saying. But I am completely comfortable asserting that it would be weird for you to be shirtless at work.”
The gentle touches contrast with his teasing words and serve to disorient you as you’re shaken back in to your usual dynamic. Which is markedly more sarcastic.
“Well—”
Before you have to think of something to say, Spencer interrupts you.
“Your, um—I think your… brassiere… is in the way.”
As soon as he says it you burst out laughing. It echoes through the room.
“My brassiere? Are you actually 70 years old?”
His brows knit even tighter and his face gets very pink very quickly. He can’t meet your eyes over your shoulder.
“That’s what it’s called.”
“Spencer, you may be the first person to use that word since 1952. Say bra.”
“I don’t want to,” he complains. Your laughter only grows as your head tips back.
“Why? How is brassiere better than bra?”
“It’s—it’s too colloquial! I’m trying to be professional!”
“Call it a bra or I’m going to rub my dirty hands all over my back,” you threaten, adopting a poker face so he knows you mean business. His eyes widen immediately.
“Oh my god! Bra! Do you want to introduce staph and meningitis and g—do not do that!”
“See? How hard was that?”
“I hate you,” he mumbles, face still flushed and adorable. “And you still have to take it off.”
“Excuse me?” you grin, pretending to be affronted because you know he didn’t mean it like that but it’s fun to pretend he did. Fun for you, of course. Not so much for him. He's utterly flustered by this point.
“Or at least undo it! It’s in the way.”
With a deeply bored sigh, you go to unclasp your bra—but as you go to do it your shirt drops down. You grimace, humor briefly forgotten as the fabric brushes the damaged skin.
“I can’t—”
“Okay, just—I’ll do it,” Spencer says. “Just move your shirt again.”
So you do, watching his reflection as he works.
And you have not one joke to break the heavy silence with as you feel his knuckles gently pressing into the middle of your back, as he unclasps the bra with his characteristic tenderness and a surprising amount of agility. It’s quiet except for your pulse in your own ears as he carefully pushes it out of his way, holding it down with a hand to your rib cage and fingertips slipping just under the fabric of your shirt—unintentionally and certainly non-sexual, no doubt, but skimming under your heart in a way that still feels so intimate you’re realizing how touch-starved you are.
“You do that often?” you find yourself asking, because you’re stupid, and you need to cool the tension before it chokes you, and you can’t help yourself even though you don’t actually want to know the answer.
“I,” he begins, voice quiet as rustling paper, tongue darting over his lip and eyes narrowed. The sentence stalls as he focuses on placing the patch just so. “Do not think that is an appropriate workplace question.”
Something aches in the pit of your stomach.
Something resembling jealousy.
It was not the timid evasive linguistic maneuver of someone who is insecure about the thing they’re discussing. It was not the awkward fumbling no but I don’t want to tell you that which you were expecting from Spencer Reid.
Nor is it an easy yes—an admission between friends. He doesn’t want to tell you.
You swallow and try to act like yourself.
“Yet here you are, in the woman’s restroom at our place of employment, undoing my bra. I think we’re past professionalism.”
“When you decontextualize it like that it sounds like something it’s not. This is professional, because I’m helping you with a wound you sustained on the job. I’m being a good colleague.”
Your lips twist into a smile he can’t see.
“A great colleague would kiss it better.”
“It's almost like you want me to file a sexual harassment complaint with HR," he says through a little smirk as he smooths the bandage over. Before you can snip back, he steamrolls over his own teasing—you’ve both been speaking in almost reverent tones since he started but his voice loses the sarcastic edge from a second before and reverts back to concerned and sweet. “Does that feel okay?”
You rotate your shoulders best you can without letting go of your shirt or flashing the good doctor to check if it feels secure.
“It’s good. And hey—if I were going to sexually harass you I would do a lot better than that. You think that’s my best material? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I keep so many inappropriate comments to myself. You’d be shocked by some of the things I have almost said to you.”
He laughs, secures the band of your bra and begins fitting it to the clasp you’d had it on—and at that precise moment Emily walks in.
“H—woah.”
“It’s—I’m—I was helping her!” Spencer panics, immediately removing his hands from you like his palms are burning and holding them up defensively.
“Oh, you helped me alright,” you tease, pulling your shirt back into place.
“Don’t say it like that!” And then, to Emily, “I was changing out her bandage!”
“Changing my bandage,” you emphasize, winking more than is advisable.
“That’s—this is a hostile work environment! I feel unsafe!” Spencer almost yells, half laughs, as he scampers towards the door. “I’m going to HR!”
“Shut up! You love it!”
His laughter audibly travels farther away for several moments as he presumably goes back down the hallway to do his actual job.
You have the stupidest grin on your face, but you wipe it off when you notice Emily staring.
“What?”
“Nothing,��� she says, shaking her head and looking away, moving toward a stall. “You’re just… you guys are funny.”
“What do you mean funny?” You demand, standing right outside her stall as she closes it.
“Wh—I mean funny! Are you going to listen to me pee, you weirdo?”
You frown.
She makes a good point.
Unfortunately, giving Hotch a more detailed statement is just as bad as you’d thought it’d be. Despite how cheery you’ve tried to remain about the whole situation, despite the way you insisted that the wound was so shallow you didn’t need more than a few days off work, despite the jokes you make about forgetting it’s even there because it’s on your back—it’s hard not to remember exactly how the glass felt twisting under your skin, how you’d felt suddenly so hot and lightheaded and sick to your stomach and the way Morgan hollered because he didn’t know how deep it had gone after you crumpled quick from shock, when you’re asked to describe it all in excruciating detail.
It only takes ten minutes, but they seem to drag on and on and by the time you’re leaving Hotch’s office you feel utterly drained. You hurry back to your desk, covertly wiping away moisture that you refuse to allow to become tears. Once seated, and having dodged sympathetic looks and avoided any do you want to talk about its, you allow yourself a few deep breaths with your eyes shut.
When you open them, you realize there’s a fresh cup of your favorite tea on your desk, in the Snoopy mug the team is always fighting over. Now his little black nose is covered by a square of yellow paper. You’re already smiling as you peel away the sticky note and hold it closer.
On it is an adorably odd smiley-face, and a note in familiar, messy looping scrawl.
I would never report you to HR beautiful
That would be a stab in the back!
You snort loudly and clap a hand to your mouth—but you’ve already drawn the attention of almost everyone in the bullpen.
When you turn to look at Spencer, he’s not looking back. Instead, his eyes are firmly trained on his computer screen. But he’s got his chin propped on his fist over the desk, and his knuckles are doing a poor job of concealing a giant self satisfied grin. He is the only person on the team who knows you well enough to make such a distasteful joke. And he also knows you well enough to know that it would make you feel so much better after your meeting with Hotch than all the well-meaning sincerity in the world ever could.
Funny.
Maybe that is the right word for what you two are.
#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fic#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x self insert#criminal minds#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid angst#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x you#dr spencer reid#criminal minds fandom#criminal minds fic#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds fanfic
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Finished reading Trigun/TriMax a couple days ago and have been feverishly trying to piece together a timeline, so here’s the result of that ✨
EDIT: as of 3/13/24 this has been UPDATED
For a more detailed timeline (with vol/ch marks): google sheet
Full res of the graphic (& other resources): bit.l/trigunresources
Notes & rest of the timeline under the cut!
Edits as of 3/13/24
The detailed spreadsheet is organized and color coded! If you'd like a more concise breakdown of events/see some of my reasoning behind certain time stamps feel free to skim through that
Changed where in the timeline the Maylene and Wolfwood events happened (originally where I had placed them would have made Maylene like 6 when she and Wolfwood reunited which is NOT correct)
moved where in the timeline Knives started collecting the GungHo Guns (at latest he started in 0090 (20 years before 0110) since it's noted that Monev has been training in a cellar for the past 20 years
Moved where Knives initially tracked down Conrad (felt like it needed to happen at least a decade before July)
Changed up some of the months (personally, I don't think the Ark launched in December, since that'd put Milly and Meryl's arrival to the colony in July, which wouldn't make sense. So I placed the ark launch in October which of course offset some of the other month stand ins)
Added an earth year for when Knives and Vash are born. The explanation is I think at minimum there was at least a 2 year period between them and Tesla (since Rem was around for that whole process). I do think it was more than that, but that’s the earliest possible year I think it could have happened. Personally I’m more in the camp of 5-10 years, but def not 50 like in tristamp
Old Notes:
If you see any typos or phrase inconsistencies: no you don’t 💕 (😭)
Blue text can be completely ignored, that’s just kinda my personal preference/wild guesstimating of when “exactly” those events happened
Blue lines can also be ignored, they’re also just rough guesstimates on where exactly in the timeline these could have happened
The distance of the lines from one another doesn’t really mean anything, I started trying to follow a system to notate when things happened really close together but it was//// not consistently done ngl
Fun fact: by the time Wolfwood leaves the orphanage Meryl is 18! And she was 14 at the time of July’s destruction
Additional fun fact: Brad is 17 when he and sensei meet up with Vash in the Factioned city (which I think is absolutely RIDICULOUS), and we know this because he was 4 the one/last time he had met Vash and it’s been 13 years since
It was noted by Karen, one of Meryl’s coworkers, that she and Milly had been on assignment with Vash for about 4 months. (Might be that they were out searching for him during that time as well, but I’m choosing to interpret it as they were actually with him for that amount of time)
I’m also working on a 98 timeline for comparison (but more like just sequence of events cause I don’t think I have the patience to sift through the lore quite as much… mainly making it just to clarify how the anime delineates from the manga)
I am//::: feeling v unhinged after this and feel like it could be improved/i need to do a more thorough read, but I’m calling it quits for now before I actually go insane (but hopefully some people will find it somewhat helpful!)
Also: if anybody has any notes to add or clarifications/corrections I would be more than happy to hear them 👂
#resources#Trigun maximum#Trigun#trigun manga#TriMax#used my last and only braincell on this I swear#also guess I’m expanding on my blog organizing tags —>#timelines#btw this is updated!
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heyyy hope ur well <3 i looooove ur writing so much it’s amazing! i had a request for bruce if that’s ok 24 & 2 + a book i was reading gave me an idea lol so could the reader be in an unhealthy abusive toxic relationship and falls for bruce who treats her soooo well and loves her soooo much unlike who she is currently with (she could have a reason why she can’t leave her partner maybe she’s so scared) and bruce is there for her always protecting her looking out for her worrying about her spoiling her he he genuinely is in love with her and you can add all ur magic to it and all ur awesome ideas. anyway if it’s not something u think fit ur writing or u don’t have enough time don’t worry it’s totally ok :))))) <3 <3 have a great day xx
For the Better
“You light up even the darkest of days” + “Please don’t leave me” + Kiss on the lips x Bale!Bruce Wayne
Pairing: Bale!Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader
Words: 22.1k words
Warnings: Abusive & toxic relationship, domestic violence, gaslighting, lying, manipulation, I'm talking really, really unhealthy relationship, angst, bruises and some blood, fluff, angst with happy ending, kissing, I literally don't know how else to tag this, but please read the warnings because this is a very fucked up relationship.
A/N: Hey everyone! This is the last entry for my 200 Followers Event. I want to thank everyone who participated and all those who showed their support. That means the world to me.
Now, oh my god. This is my magnum opus, I believe. It took me a whole week to write this. This fic is the apple of my eye, my baby, my sin, my soul, I would die for this. I think it's my best work so far. I have worked my ass off for this, I really have, and I have no words to convey just how special and dear this fic is to me.
I would also like to apologise if there are any inconsistencies - I started writing it last Monday and finished it Saturday, so it's been nearly a week and I might've forgotten small details as the days went on. I tried to proofread it!
I really hope you guys will enjoy it and cherish it as much as I did. <3
To Bruce, you were the most gorgeous woman in the entire world.
Your eyes could rival even the brightest star in the sky, the sun did not hold a candle to how radiant your smile was, and no flower could compare to your beautiful. You were simply gorgeous, inside, and out.
Unfortunately, you weren’t his.
Bruce had met you during a charity event. Some wealthy couple was raising funds for the Gotham Police Department (even though Bruce did not believe half of them deserved such charity), and he had of course been invited. The couple in question could not care less about philanthropy – they were merely trying to appear that way. That’s Gotham, for you.
You’d been waitressing during the event, carrying trays of hors-d'œuvre and champagne, smiling politely at guests and trying to do your job the best you could. You’d walked by him twice, and although you weren’t really paying attention to the guests (you were far more preoccupied with not tripping and making a scene), he couldn’t take his eyes off you.
He was so mesmerised, that he found himself searching for you whenever he wasn’t talking to anyone else. Sometimes when you returned to the kitchen, he saw you talking to your coworkers, smiling, and giggling about.
After a few hours of being bored to death by patrons with faux smiles and untrue compliments, he was ready to call it a night and return to the loneliness of his mansion – and that’s when you caught his attention.
Or rather, everyone’s attention.
You’d bumped into someone’s shoulder (it was actually someone’s shoulder who had bumped into you) and spilled the tray of appetisers on top of an old man who wasn’t pleased with the situation. The man, who he recognised as Charles Carnegie – a crooked businessman famous for his dabbles with illegal gambling and corruption – yelled at you, insulting you with every name in the book. The man was just about to raise his hand, no doubt to strike you across your face, when Bruce intervened, rushing between the two of you and gripping the man’s arm.
Charles looked up in confusion and his turbulent eyes widened in recognition.
“Mr. Wayne!” he exclaimed, voice dripping with anger, “Let go of me this instant. Did you not see what happen? This foolish girl was not paying attention and spilled her tray all over me. I do not know how such incompetent staff can be hired. Someone ought to teach this insubordinate brat a lesson!”
Bruce’s hold on the man’s arm only tightened. How dare he speak to you like that? You were standing behind him, head hung low and muttering a string of apologies that were barely audible.
“Mr. Carnegie, if anyone here deserves to be taught a lesson, it is you.” He said, eyes narrowing. “Your inebriation and inability to watch where you’re going is not this woman’s fault. If you cannot behave at a public function, perhaps you shouldn’t think of attending. This server is not at fault, and you will apologize to her.”
The older man scoffed and tried stepping away from Bruce’s grip but failing.
“How dare you! Mr. Wayne, this – this – this harlot bumped into me! My suit is ruined, and she has insulted my dignity. Let go of me this instant, Mr. Wayne, or else – “
“Or else what?” Bruce asked, his voice dropping to a whisper, audible only to the man standing in front of him. “We are currently surrounded by the police our hosts were so kind to fundraise for. The entire Gotham Police Department is here, and while I know that most of them are corrupt scum like you, I am also familiar with the ones who would be more than overjoyed to throw you into jail for illegal gambling, embezzlement of funds and propositioning. I can ruin you with nothing short of three sentences, and you can bet that should you not apologize to the young woman standing behind me, I will.”
The colour drained from Charles’s face, and he stuttered, trying to come up with a decent response. It was no secret that the Carnegies were a powerful family. But the Waynes were almost royalty, and everyone in Gotham would rather swallow their whole fist than get into their bad graces. Especially Bruce Wayne’s. Surely, a man who showed up to every social function with not only a new car but a gorgeous new woman on his arm, wasn’t afraid to pull a few strings to get what he wanted – even if that meant ruining someone’s life.
“I – I – Mr. Wayne, how dare you – “
“Apologize to the young lady, or I will personally make sure all your belongings are gone by the time this godforsaken party is over. You’ll be sleeping on the floor before you can threaten me or anyone else again.”
Charles stuttered a few more times, before gulping and nodding. Bruce released his arm, and the man was quick to hold his wrist, twisting it a few times. Who would’ve known the Wayne orphan had such a death grip?
He looked up and Bruce moved out of his way to partially reveal you, yet still close enough to protect you should Charles decide to hurt you further.
“I – I am…” he stumbled over his words, shaking his head. “My apologies, Miss. My behaviour was… It was unacceptable. I am sorry for my lack of attention, and for bumping into you. I hope you can accept my most sincere apologies.” The words sounded scared – not necessarily genuine but scared – and they almost made Bruce smirk.
“It’s alright,” you muttered, eyes still fixated on the floor. “Don’t worry about it.”
Bruce wrinkled his nose at how meek you sounded and looked around himself. The situation had turned rather awkward – people were staring in his direction and murmuring to themselves. So, he did the only thing plausible.
“Ladies and gentlemen, why are we standing here, when the caviar has just been served?” he exclaimed loudly, plastering on his most charming Bruce Wayne smile, which had the guests immediately react, answering with soft chuckles of their own. “Our lovely police force should be honoured the right way – but that doesn’t mean they should get all the good food for themselves!”
The crowd that had formed around you three quickly dissipated, and so did Bruce’s smile when he finally got a good look at you. You were down on your knees, picking up your tray and trying to pick up some of the appetisers to clean up your mess a bit.
“Hey,” he chided softly to get your attention. “Hey, please, look at me.”
When you didn’t, he kneeled down next to you.
That’s when he saw you. Truly saw you.
Your face was puffy, eyes red and wet with tears that you’d tried your best to wipe away. You looked nervous and miserable, and all Bruce wanted to do was bring you close and make you feel better.
“Sir, I – he was right,” you mumbled, shaking your head, trying your best to clean up the floor with nothing but your bare hands and the napkin you carried on your arm. “I bumped into him. You shouldn’t have gone through all that trouble.”
“I saw him,” Bruce replied softly. “He bumped into you. And even if he hadn’t, it did not mean he had the right to hit you. I was not going to let him do it.”
You nodded and sighed, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your arm.
“I caused you all that trouble. I’m really sorry. Shit, I feel terrible. I ruined that man’s suit and made such a mess… Nathan would mock me to hell and back if he saw me like this…” this caused the dam to break, and you wept loudly. Bruce did not really know what to do. What did one do whenever a woman was crying? He’d had a few one-night-stands in which the women cried once they realised he wanted nothing more to do with them, but they usually left by themselves, claiming he was a “heartless jerk”, and that was the rest of it.
He took the napkin from your hands and offered you a reassuring smile.
“If it makes you feel better that man deserved it. Charles Carnegie is a well-known corrupt and needed a reality check. If I could, I would’ve probably done that on purpose.”
This earned a soft chuckle from you, and you stood up, Bruce following right after.
“I’m going to call someone to take care of this.” You said, to which Bruce nodded.
“I’ll come with you.”
“There’s really no need for that, it’s okay – “
“Nonsense. That old jerk might try to follow you and threaten you again. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
You nodded, and quickly made your way towards the kitchen, where you asked for someone’s help. They were quick to reply, and within a few minutes, the whole place was spotless, and no one could tell anything had happened if they looked at the floor.
As soon as it was done, you turned to Bruce and offered him a small smile.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Wayne. What you did back there was very kind. I don’t even know how I could ever repay you.”
Bruce lifted a hand and shook his head.
“There’s no need to repay me. I’m just happy I could help.”
You nodded sheepishly, and extended your hand, telling him your name.
“It’s very nice to meet you.”
Bruce shook it and his hold may have lingered on yours for a tad longer than what would have been acceptable, before tasting your name on his lips.
“It’s a lovely name. I’m Bruce. Wayne.”
“Yes – I gathered. Everyone knows you,” you chuckled.
“Sometimes I wish they didn’t.” He confided.
“I’m not sure that’s for the best. Being invisible has its downsides, I’m afraid.”
You gave him his number, and the two began to talk rather quickly, even going as far as deciding to gather for ice-cream about two weeks after your initial meeting. He texted you, saying he knew of a fantastic ice-cream parlour next to his company’s building, and invited you. You’d agreed almost instantly, replying with a bunch of emojis – and that’s how you found yourself next to Bruce Wayne, eating ice-cream. You’d gotten a lemon flavoured scoop, while Bruce went for mint.
“I was surprised you wanted to meet up!” You said, beaming up at him once you had paid for your sweet treat. Or rather, after Bruce had paid for it. He insisted, telling you he couldn’t possibly let a lady pay. You made him promise he’d let you pay next time, to which he replied, “We’ll see”.
“Really?” He replied. “Why is that?”
“Well, you’re Bruce Wayne. Don’t you have like, I don’t know, a bazillion cars to drive, and a bunch of models to date, and lots of money to spend? Why’d you invite me to ice-cream?”
“I’m spending my money on ice-cream,” he gave you a cheeky smirk.
“That’s not what I meant.” You chuckled and ate a spoonful of the treat in your hand.
“To be honest, my day was going terribly. I needed some fresh air, and you seemed like good company.” He was being as honest as he could. His day at Wayne Enterprises was going terribly, with a bunch of investors trying to go behind his back and steal some of his money. It had been a hassle, but thankfully all had been taken care of. He needed something to distract him from the stress.
“Oh, tell me about it,” you groaned, rolling your eyes. “The restaurant today was hellish. It was as if Satan had spawned a hundred different little devil women to make my day worse.” You told him about all the “Karens” that had bothered you, insisting you’d gotten their order wrong, when they were simply too drunk to function (even though it was around midday), complaining about how weird their food tasted, or even going as far as telling you they did not like the decoration. It made your blood boil, but a girl needed to pay her bills, so you sucked it up.
Bruce chuckled at your descriptions of the acts you’d like to perform to those women – none of them very family friendly – and found it rather cute when you decided to deal with your frustrations by scooping a large spoonful of your lemon flavoured ice-cream. You moaned in delight once the soft food melted on your tongue and smiled.
“Nathan would just freak out if he tried these,” you said, “He’s a sucker for good ice-cream.”
Bruce’s brow quirked quizzically. Nathan? The name sounded oddly familiar coming from your lips, but he couldn’t quite tell why. You seemed to notice his expression because you were quick to continue.
“My boyfriend. I’ve mentioned him before, remember? I think I mentioned at the party too.” You hummed and ate another spoonful of ice-cream, groaning once again. “This is good. Really good. Wow.”
“Ah. Yes, your boyfriend.” Bruce nodded. He couldn’t say he wasn’t disappointed. Sure, he’d only known you for two weeks, and you had told him about Nathan early on (he simply decided to ignore that) but he’d be lying if he said the thought of more than just a friendship hadn’t crossed his mind. It was only natural, and he considered himself to be an efficient man, who went for what he wanted – well, almost. Batman had made that a tad impossible, but Bruce was still figuring it out.
“Mhm!” You exclaimed excitedly. “Nathan and I have been dating for a few years. We’re actually close to four!” You quickly told him how you and Nathan had met, something you surprisingly had not done before. You’d been accompanying a friend of yours to the ER after someone had spilled a pan of burning hot oil on top of her. The Emergency Room Doctor, Nathan Smith, had taken care of her very quickly, but it was on you he had his eyes during the entire appointment. After the both of you had thanked him, and your friend had a bandaged arm, he’d stopped you in your tracks and politely asked if you would give him your number. You couldn’t lie to yourself – he was handsome, with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes, and a kind smile, and you swore he could’ve been a model if he wanted to. So, you had said yes.
“And the rest was history,” you finished. “We’ve been together ever since.”
Bruce hummed and busied himself with taking another spoonful of mint ice cream to his lips. “I see,” he hummed. “Well, I hope everything goes well with your relationship. He sounds nice.”
“He really is. I love him.” There were stars in your eyes, and while part of Bruce scowled, unhappy with this man he had never met before, another wanted to smile, because you did seem like a lovely girl, and he did want to see you happy.
After that day, you and Bruce became close friends.
He got to know you. You worked a job at a two Michelin star restaurant, waiting tables. That’s how you’d heard of the charity gala gig – word spread around that a rich couple was looking to hire some servers, and you’d applied in the hopes of making a few extra bucks.
He learned that you were a very resilient person, not at all like the way you’d appeared that day at the gala. You’d told him you were simply having a terrible day, with a few costumers yelling in your face during your regular shift. Charles Carnegie doing the same thing at night was the straw that broke the camel’s back and seemed to break you.
He got to know all your hobbies, and the things you liked to do for fun. Learned all your favourite books, the movies you liked to watch when you were down, the snacks you liked to munch on whenever your day went sour. He learned what made you tick, and the things that inspired you. You told him about your family – the relatives you loved, those you were close with, and the ones that simply did not deserve to be in your life anymore.
Every time you disclosed some piece of information about your life, Bruce drank it all up. He wanted to know you, all of you. He listened whenever you complained to him about work, whenever you texted him with any sort of happy news, or when you called him late at night because you felt lonely. It had been so long since Bruce had someone to call his friend, and he loved every bit of it. He knew he wasn’t the first person you came to whenever you wanted to talk. Part of him wished he was your first choice, but he saw the look in your eyes whenever you mentioned Nathan.
And speaking of, he even got to meet said Nathan.
A few weeks after your second meeting, the one where you’d gone out for ice-cream, Bruce decided to surprise you by having a meal at the restaurant you worked at. He asked for a table, and specifically asked for you as his server. The owner was clearly surprised; not only did he not expect Bruce Wayne of all people to have dinner at his restaurant, but he also wasn't expecting him to ask for a specific server. Especially one that seemed as insignificant as you. Bruce assured him it was vital that he had you as his server, and the man quickly relented, happy to tend to the billionaire’s every need.
“Hi, welcome to La Lune d'Argent. My name is – “ Before you could continue, you looked up and a grin spread across your face. “Bruce! What are you doing here?”
“Having dinner. What does it look like?” He replied with a smile.
“You could've told me you were coming! I’d have gotten you the best table.”
“This one is just fine, I promise. And letting you know in advance would sort of ruin the purpose of a surprise, don't you think?”
“You wanted to surprise me?” Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you shook your head, trying to get rid of it. Not only did you have a boyfriend, but you were also at your workplace and needed to remain professional. “Thank you. That’s very nice.”
Bruce smiled once again, before opening the menu in front of him and eyeing it.
“What do you recommend?” He asked.
“Well, the Seared Scallops with Truffle Risotto are our specialty. The Lobster Thermidor is also really good, and so are the Stuffed Shrimp with Crabmeat. But if you’re not in the mood for fish, then I recommend the Chateaubriand and the Filet Mignon. The Tournedos Rossini is a costumer favourite, but I’ve tried it and don’t think it’s all that.”
Bruce nodded, before going over the wine section.
“And the wine?”
“It depends. If you pick any of the fish dishes, then you should go with the Chardonnay or the Prosecco. If you go for the meat, then you should most likely enjoy a glass of Cabernet or Merlot. There’s plenty more, but I’m I wouldn’t be of any help with those. I’m terrible when it comes to wine.” You recited, the words spilling naturally from your lips – you’d done this a thousand times.
“That’s okay. Well then, how about I have the Foie Gras Terrine and the Truffle Risotto Croquettes as appetisers, and for the main dish, I’d like the Chateaubriand if possible. I’d also like a side of salad. As for the wine, I trust the owner’s good judgment. Cabernet it is.” He waited until you were done writing everything down and handed you the menu.
“Anything else?” You asked, taking it, and tucking it under your arm.
“Is your company too much to ask for?” He offered you a smile.
“Some of us have to actually work, Mr. Wayne,” you joked and stuck your tongue out playfully, “I’ll have your appetisers here in a minute.”
Dinner went well. The food was stellar (there was after all a reason the restaurant had two Michelin stars), the wine lived up to the expectations, and your company – or rather, the small moments you managed to spare him – warmed his heart. You offered him small quips about your work, told him about the usual costumers that sat on their usual tables and had their usual meals, gossiped about those you didn't like. It felt nice, to have a good time at work. You didn't completely hate your job, no, and some days were definitely fun thanks to your coworkers or any sort of shenanigans that happened during your shifts, but it could get boring and lonely and upsetting. Bruce being there was a nice change, and a welcome one.
“When does your shift end?” He asked, after he’d eaten a nice slice of cheesecake for dessert.
“In about half an hour, I believe. I have an early night today.”
“I’ll wait for you then.”
“Oh, you really don’t have to, Bruce – “
“Nonsense. Do you have a ride home?”
“I’ll just take the train.”
“I'll give you a ride then.”
“Bruce, that’s seriously not necessary – “
You were interrupted by the voice of your boss, calling out your name in an accusatory tone. “Do I pay you to sit around and talk to costumers?”
You sighed and nodded towards Bruce.
“Thank you. A ride home would be nice.”
He waited until you were done, paid for his meal and left you a nice tip, and then waited outside. You took a few minutes, but soon enough you were walking towards him, wrapped around in a comfortable looking jacket.
“You ready to go?” you asked before a voice called out.
“Babe?”
You turned around, and your eyes widened before softening at the sight before them. “Nate!” You smiled, making your way to him, and hugging him tightly. Nate hugged you back just as tight, but his eyes did not leave the tall man that had been by your side.
“Who is this?” He asked, discontent clear in his voice.
“Oh!” You turned to face Bruce, arm linked with Nathan’s. “This is Bruce! I told you about him, remember? He’s my friend.”
“You did tell me about your friend. You did not mention your friend was the Bruce Wayne.”
“Well, that’s because he’s not the Bruce Wayne to me. He’s just Bruce.” You smiled, and Nathan didn't seem too pleased once Bruce extended his hand.
“Bruce Wayne.” He spoke. Nathan shook his hand, steel-like eyes taking the taller man in, his expensive clothes and pulled-together appearance.
“Nathan Smith. So, you’re my girl’s friend, is that right?” He asked, pulling you closer by the waist. It wasn't hard to miss the jealous look in his face, and Bruce decided to ease the guy’s mind a bit, not wanting to get into any trouble. And not wanting to get you into any trouble.
“Yes, that’s right. I’ve heard a lot about you, it’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Yeah? That’s funny because she’s barely said a word about you.” Nathan replied, offering Bruce a tight-lipped smile, and turning to you. “I came here to surprise you. Heard you were getting an early night, wanted to give you a lift home. Maybe we can make up for lost time? I miss you.” It did not take an idiot to see what the hell he was getting at, and it made your duck your head slightly, clearly embarrassed.
“That’s very kind of you, thank you. I loved the surprise.” You faced Bruce once again and offered him an apologetic smile. “Nate will take me home, if that’s fine by you.”
“Fine by him? What's this got to do with him?” Your boyfriend asked, chuckling dryly, and giving you a not so amused look.
“Bruce had offered to take me home. It was kind of him, so I said yes.”
“Yes, yes, very kind.” Nathan turned to Bruce too. “As you can see, your help is no longer needed. I’ll be taking my girlfriend home now.” He said the words with a sneer, happy to claim you as his.
“Yes, well. Thank you for taking care of her.”
“Oh, I do.”
You looked awkwardly in between both men and cleared your throat moving away from your boyfriend to envelop Bruce in a hug.
“Thank you for the surprise. It was really nice. And thanks for the offer too. The ride back home one. I’ll see you some other day?”
“Absolutely,” He replied and turned to leave.
As he walked away, he could hear Nathan’s voice and how accusatory it sounded.
“Surprise? What was that all about? Why was that guy visiting you at work?”
“He’s a friend, Nate. He just wanted to stop by.”
“Oh yeah? And what business does he have just stopping by? He’s not your boyfriend. I am.”
“He’s just a friend, Nate. I promise. Let's just go home, please? I miss you.”
Bruce was inside his car before he could properly make out whatever Nathan had replied to you, but he could tell it was nothing good.
The next time Bruce saw you, you were sitting by yourself at a coffee shop, having an iced drink and reading a book. He thought about approaching you but decided against it. You looked peaceful, and he didn't want to upset you should you not want to see him after the whole ordeal with your boyfriend went down.
But he was pleasantly surprised when he heard your voice call his name, and your hand beckoning him to come closer.
“Hey! I had no idea you came to this place. Wanna sit next to me?” You asked, moving your bag out of the chair in front of you, making space for him,
“Sometimes, on my lunch break. I take it today is your day off?”
“Mhm! Got today all to myself. I was supposed to spend it with Nathan, but we kind of fought so I decided to get some fresh air myself. You know, just to clear my head.” You said the words “kind of fought” as if they meant nothing, as if fighting with your boyfriend was a daily occurrence. He didn't like that.
“I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?” Bruce sat down in front of you, placing his own coffee on the table.
“Nah, not really. That’s just who Nate is. He gets upset sometimes, and I have to put some space in between us. No big deal. What about you? What are you up to?”
“Well, like I mentioned, this was supposed to be my lunch break, but I took the afternoon off. Alfred – my butler – is supposed to come pick me up later. It’s the anniversary of my parents’ marriage. I want to visit their graves.”
Your eyes softened and you placed a hand on top of his. Your palm felt warm on top of his, and Bruce immediately turned his hand so he could slot his fingers in between yours.
“I’m sorry.” Was all you said. After all, what more could you? Everyone knew Bruce Wayne’s story, but you did not want to seem presumptuous and assume you knew all about him. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”
“Me too,” Bruce replied quietly, his voice thick with emotion, the way it usually was whenever he mentioned his parents. He didn't speak about them to many people, but let his facade slip completely for those he did trust enough.
“Is it okay if I come with?” You asked, and immediately regretted it. Why would you ask such a thing? Why would he even allow you to attend such a private thing with him? It was dumb, really. Before you could take your words back though, he replied, eyebrow quirked.
“Really?”
You shrugged sheepishly.
“Sure. It sounds tough, and I don’t want you to suffer all by yourself. You tend to do that.”
It was true. Bruce often hid his feelings, his emotions, shielding them from everyone. It hadn’t been that long since you two had started talking – maybe one or two months – but you could already tell he was very selective with the people he trusted. And how could he not be? You wanted to be someone he could trust, though. Wanted to be someone he could rely on, help him shoulder all his burdens.
Bruce thought it over for a bit. It would be nice to have some company. Visiting his parents’ grave was a very personal and intimate thing, yes, but he considered you a friend, and he’d be lying if he said he didn't want your company. He was sure both his father and his mother would've liked you, would've enjoyed your sense of humour and appreciated his kindness. So why not?
“I would appreciate that,” he said, and you smiled. “Won't it be a problem with Nathan?”
“Don't worry about him. He’s not the boss of me, and I'm not doing anything wrong.”
That’s how you found yourself, standing in front of the graves of Thomas and Martha Wayne, the beautiful Wayne Manor just ahead.
“I’m sure they loved each other very much,” you said, eyes not leaving the carved stones in front of you.
“They did.” Bruce agreed with a nod. “My father would bring my mother flowers nearly every day. She used to joke about having her own private flower shop thanks to him. He never stopped though. He’d bring her different flowers according to her mood. That’s just how he was. Always looking out for her. He could tell whenever she was sad, or happy, or worried.”
“What an amazing husband,” you smiled, picturing the late Thomas Wayne reading his wife and choosing flowers accordingly.
“And my mother was just as amazing as him. She could tell when he had had a bad day at the hospital. I never could – she used to tell me she could sense it in the first few steps he took whenever he arrived home. Whenever he felt down, she’d help Alfred make his favourite meal. He didn't have to ask, she simply did it out of the goodness of her heart, and all her love for him.”
“It must've been incredible to be surrounded by such love. You were very lucky, Bruce. And I'm sure your parents loved you just as much as they loved each other, if not even more.”
You smiled up at him and he offered you a small smile in return. You were right. He had been lucky to have experienced such love and affection at a young age. It made him realise the kind of relationship he wanted to be with and taught him the kind of partner he should be.
He was just about to speak when your phone started chiming.
“Sorry – forgot to mute it,” you mumbled, turning the sound off. It didn't do anything to quiet it down though, since it just kept vibrating in your pocket. You huffed and turned it on, brows furrowing in confusion, and then relaxing.
“It’s Nate,” you said, not looking up from the screen, “He’s apologising for our fight. Says he was in a very bad emotional state. Poor thing… He’s very self-conscious, you know. Keeps telling me he’s too lucky to have me, that I could have anyone in the world, but I settled for him. He always thinks he’s not good enough for me, that I'll leave him for someone else” You chuckled dryly, before continuing, “He couldn't be farther from the truth, though. I’m the lucky one.” You looked up and Bruce and pointed to the phone in your hand. “I should probably go. Nate wants to apologise in person, and I should probably talk to him.”
Bruce nodded and pointed to the limo standing near the street.
“Alfred will take you home.”
“Thanks.” You smiled up and him and moved forward to hug him. Bruce softened immediately. You slotted perfectly against him, and he felt like a piece of a puzzle that had just found its matching half. Unfortunately, you pulled away, taking all the warmth with you.
“I’ll see you some other time,” you said, walking away.
Once you were out of his view, he turned to his parents.
Perhaps someday he’d be able to love you like they loved each other.
Bruce was working when he received a text from you. It had been a few days since you’d visited his parents’ grave with him, and you hadn't spoken face-to-face since. You’d been texting non-stop though, telling each other about your day, sending pictures of your respective meals, or just sharing funny anecdotes or pictures you saw online that reminded you of each other. Bruce clicked on the notification with your name.
Look at this!
[1 file attached]
Clicking on the picture, he could see your radiant face, partially hidden by a huge bouquet of roses. They did nothing to steal the shine from you though, and Bruce cringed at how they paled in comparison to your beauty. He was quick to shoot back a reply,
They look pretty. Secret admirer?
You were even quicker to reply.
They’re from Nate, as an apology! Isn't he the sweetest? He’s been spoiling me rotten. I don't think I deserve it.
Bruce’s stomach twisted at the mention of your boyfriend. His fingers flew across the screen as he typed.
You deserve that, and much more.
You replied with a smiley face, and that was the end of your conversation for the day.
It was hard to get back to work after that, his thoughts plagued with you. Your nice smile, your kind words, the way you fit perfectly against the shape of his body and how tightly you’d hugged him back on the Manor grounds. He knew it was wrong to want you - you were dating someone else, and it’s not like you knew each other for a long time, but he couldn't help it.
Bruce took a deep breath, and gulped down an entire glass of water, before chastising himself and focusing on whatever task he had left to complete.
It didn't work, and Lucius found him staring at the screen of his phone for a good five minutes, before deciding his boss probably deserved a break from his somewhat incessant teasing.
After that, you met up with Bruce a few more times.
You’d meet up sometimes for lunch or a late afternoon snack, and you’d even had breakfast together once. You chalk it up to friendly outings, and so does Bruce (although he’s sadder than you to admit that). Unfortunately, these meetings were not filled with chatter about your lives, motivations, and dreams for the future. Instead, you worried your pretty little head off thinking about Nathan, who didn’t text you for hours, seemingly pushing away from you, only to give you mixed signals the next day and apologising for his behaviour. Bruce could see how draining it was, could see how you always glanced at your phone whenever the two of you were together, and how you seemed to walk on eggshells whenever Nathan called you.
Things would get harder for the two of you at night – Bruce was out patrolling the city as Batman, something he had not and would never tell you – and you sometimes you got lonely. Bruce simply told you he was busy, and you in good faith, believed him. After all, he was a busy man, running a busy company, leading a busy life. You were lucky enough he managed to spend some time with you during the week.
Bruce had become your closest friend. You loved hanging out with him. It was like he got you. He was a great listener, always providing you with great insight whenever you asked for it, or simply being a shoulder to cry on if you wanted to. He would give you solid advice, support you on (nearly) every decision and all of your hobbies, encouraging you to seek out new experiences and the things you’ve always wanted to do but were never brave enough to.
One day, the two of you were meeting up for coffee. You had your legs tucked under yourself, grabbing a warm mug with both of your hands. You loved this café; loved the ambient, the fluffy pillows and couches, the vast choice of drinks. It was your own special little corner, and you were happy to bring Bruce along.
You two were in a middle of a conversation about your favourite books, before your phone buzzed. You decided to ignore it, but it just buzzed again. And again. And again. A bunch of texts messages started coming through, and as you picked up your phone, it started ringing.
“It’s Nate,” you mumbled, accepting the call, and mouthing a small “sorry” to Bruce, who nodded.
“Hey honey,” you said. Bruce could make out your boyfriend’s voice from the other side of the line, and he could tell he wasn’t pleased.
“Where the hell are you!?” he heard Nathan say, and you involuntarily flinched in your seat, frowning.
“I’m at a café. I told you this, didn’t I?” you asked.
“Yeah, well, Ricky just texted me saying he saw you sitting with some other guy. What the fuck is going on?”
“Another guy?” you mumbled, “Nate, I’m with Bruce. We’re out for coffee, that’s all.”
Bruce heard Nathan scoff, and his fists curled on his lap. He was just glad you couldn’t see it.
“Ah, of course. Fucking Bruce. It’s always him, isn’t it?”
This seemed to get you riled up.
“I asked you if you wanted to come with me, and you told me no. You said you had better things to do and hated this place,” you shook your head, brows furrowing in anger. “So, I invited a friend. I’m allowed to have other friends, you know.”
“Yeah, sure. And it had to be a guy? You had to invite a guy out for coffee? Just the two of you?”
You curled into yourself and away from Bruce, lowering your voice.
“Nate, if you cancel on me, I’m going to invite other people. It’s just Bruce.”
“That guy’s trying to get into your fucking pants, and you know it, and you keep encouraging him. How does that make me feel, huh? Knowing you’re out there with some other douche who wants to jump your bones?” Bruce wanted nothing more than to seek out the asshole you were dating and beating him to a pulp. How he even dared to speak to you like that was beyond him, but he decided to say nothing. At least not yet.
“Nate, I don’t like it when you talk to me like this. He’s just a friend, I told you, you have no reason to be jealous – “
“Yeah sure. Don’t bother coming home.”
And he hung up.
Bruce eyed you, the way your pretty eyes welled up with tears and how you quickly wiped them away, throwing your phone and belongings to the purse sitting next to you.
“I – I’m sorry, Bruce, I – I need to go. I have to sort this out with him.” You mumbled, standing up. Bruce, however, was quicker, and stood in front of you, blocking your path.
He furrowed his brows and spoke in a low voice as not to startle you.
“He shouldn’t talk to you like this.”
“He’s right. I know he is – I know he’s got low-self-esteem issues, he’s just worried is all. He’s afraid to lose me, I know he is.” You said these words like a mantra, and Bruce wondered just how long you’d been repeating them to yourself. It made his heart ache. He reached out to wipe your tears, but you took a step back, shaking your head.
“I’m sorry for cutting our meeting short, Bruce,” you mumbled. “I’ll see you later.”
And you were out of his sight.
“Hang out?” Bruce asked, balancing his phone between his ear and his shoulder as he shaved.
“Yeah!” he could hear your excited voice on the other side, and it made him smile. “It’ll be just me and Nate and some more friends. I know how you are with strangers, so you don’t have to come if you don’t want to, but I thought it’d be nice if you were out of your house for once. You spend all those nights working, you’ve gotta learn to have fun!”
It was partially true. He did spend all these nights working. Just not a very conventional job. In fact, he’d been spending the last few weeks looking into Nathan Smith. His past, his present, and making assumptions on his future. He had all eyes on this douche.
“Bruce? Are you there?” you called, “Look, I’m sorry. I know you’re not a fan of other people – “
“I’ll be there.” He said curtly, blade gliding against his smooth skin. “Just text me the details and I’ll meet you there.”
“Really?” you let out a squeal of excitement and Bruce nearly cut himself with the sound. He realised then just how much he wanted you to be like that all the time. Happy. Excited.
“Really.”
“Okay – okay! I’ll let you know where and when! I can’t wait to see you again! I have to go now though, my shift’s about to start. See you soon, yes?” You hung up and Bruce chuckled to himself. He couldn’t wait to see you either. He wasn’t, although, very eager to see Nathan. But for your sake, he’d be on his best behaviour.
You met a few days after the phone call, at a local bar.
It was bustling with people and energy. Loud music was being played on speakers, the whole place smelled of cheap beer, and the people’s noise was deafening. Still, he overlooked all of that just for the sheer pleasure of hanging out with you.
“Bruce!” You called out, getting up from your spot near the counter and hurrying to meet him halfway. You hugged him tightly and he once again felt like you were meant to be in his arms forever. When you pulled away, he smiled. “You made it!” You were wearing an off-the-shoulder top and a pair of shorts decorated with small lace at the bottom. But Bruce couldn’t care less about what you were wearing – you always looked radiant.
“Of course I did.”
“Here, come meet my friends!”
You dragged him to a small group of people and introduced him to everyone. He was expecting more and was glad to find it was only you plus 4 others. Nathan was still on his way, you told him.
All of you kept light conversation for a while. Bruce did not really try to keep up with your friends’ conversations. One of them kept rubbing herself all up against him, giggling and obviously trying to get herself into his good graces. She was clearly only interested in his money, and Bruce had to excuse himself a few times just to get away.
After a few minutes, your head turned and you smiled, standing up to greet someone.
Nate.
“Hey honey!” You smiled, lifting your head to kiss him on the lips. Nathan quickly scanned the table, and once his eyes fell on Bruce, he scowled, one hand coming down to grip your waist, and the other to give you a light squeeze on your ass cheek (which made Bruce cringe and want to punch this jerk to next Sunday).
“Hello. Didn’t know we’d be having so much company,” the doctor sneered, eyes lingering on the Wayne billionaire.
“Well, if you don’t like me meeting up with friends on my own, I thought we could all meet up. Isn’t it a nice solution?” you smiled, but Nate didn’t seem to care about it. How dare he, Bruce thought. If you were his, he would never overlook your smile. Never. But she’s not yours, a tiny voice whispered inside his head.
Nate then turned to you, eyeing you up and down. His eyes lingered on your exposed collarbone and shoulders, and on the shorts that adorned your pretty legs. He sneered.
“And what the fuck is this?” he asked with a scoff.
“Hm?”
“What the fuck are you wearing?”
“Oh! These are new!” you spun in your place, showing off your outfit. “Do you like them? I thought the lace details were super cute – “
“So you’re wearing this out?” Nate crossed his arms, visibly upset. “Seriously? Don’t you think it’s a bit too revealing?”
It wasn’t, really. The top, even if it was off-the-shoulder, did not expose your cleavage too shockingly. The shorts weren’t too short either, covering just the right amount of skin. And even if the clothes were too short (which they weren’t), Bruce thought Nathan should just mind his fucking business.
“You think so?” your smile was quickly replaced by a pout, and you looked down at your clothes self-consciously.
“Yes, I fucking think so. I don’t understand why you feel the need to dress like that, show that much skin. People might get the wrong idea.”
“What wrong idea? Nate, they’re just clothes. There’s nothing wrong with them.”
The atmosphere had become tense. Your friends were all giving each other knowing looks but kept to themselves. Bruce didn’t have the heart to simply stand there and watch though. He put an arm in between you and Nathan and spoke calmly.
“Look, I think she should be allowed to wear whatever she wants. It’s not like she’s naked – “
“Stay the hell out of this, rich guy. I couldn’t care less what you think, this is not your relationship, and she is my girlfriend.”
Bruce looked at you, but you seemed to be avoiding his gaze, eyes fixated on Nathan.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think they were that revealing when I tried them on. I just liked how they looked on me.”
“Yeah, well, I’m fucking embarrassed to be seen with you when you dress like that. Dressed like a common whore.”
That was enough for Bruce. He stepped forward, ready to send his fist flying across this jerk’s face, but your smaller hand wrapped itself around his arm.
“Bruce, please,” you pleaded, looking up at him with wide eyes. “It’s okay. He’s right. I am showing too much skin. I should dress more modestly.”
“He’s being a jerk,” Bruce muttered, eyes urging you to let him go. “I’m not letting him speak to you like that.”
“Please.” You sounded so meek, so small. It tugged at Bruce’s heartstrings, and he immediately lowered his arm. He’d do anything for you, really.
“Fine.”
“Yeah, that’s better.” Nathan scoffed, before grabbing you by the arm and pulling you close. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
Without sparing him a second glance, you were out of the bar.
“I’m telling you, Alfred, that guy is the worst. I don’t understand how she’s still with him, he treats her like shit,” Bruce muttered to himself as he paced back and forth in his bedroom.
“Master Wayne, although I admire your compassion, I cannot help but wonder if you are sticking your nose in someone else’s business.” Alfred replied. He’d been watching Bruce walk holes into the floor, and although he wanted to help, the older man knew there was really nothing he could do.
“I know. I know I am but – she deserves better. She does, she deserves someone who’ll treat her right, who won’t talk to her that way, who will respect her and adore her – “
“Someone like you, I presume.”
“Yes. Exactly.”
Bruce sighed and sat on his bed, defeated.
“Master Wayne, have you considered telling this girl the feelings you’re harbouring for her?” Alfred asked, moving closer to the bed.
“I can’t. She loves him Alfred, she… she loves him.” He muttered again.
The butler gave Bruce a sympathetic smile, before walking away.
You loved Nathan. You didn’t love him.
So why did it all feel so terribly wrong?
You walked inside Wayne Manor for the first time a few weeks later.
It was raining – pouring, even – and you’d desperately knocked on its big doors. Alfred opened them for you, and recognised you instantly, having stolen glances at Bruce’s phone whenever he looked at pictures of you.
“Hi – Hi, I’m sorry for the intrusion,” you quickly introduced yourself, tears running down your face. “Is – is Bruce here?”
Alfred gently guided you to the living room, where he told you to wait. You stood there awkwardly, picking at your fingers, and looking around, taking in the beauty of Bruce’s family home.
When Alfred returned, he brought with him a few towels, and Bruce Wayne himself. The latter was just about to leave for patrol, but upon hearing from Alfred that you were standing on his doorway, drenched from head to toe and crying, he decided to ditch his nightly duties.
“Hey,” he said, hurrying towards you. It was all it took – you collapsed in his arms, tears running down your face. Bruce held you tightly and you cried, burrowing your face in his chest. Alfred simply placed the towels on top of one of the couches, and took his leave, silently going upstairs to get a robe for you. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Once you managed to stop crying, you looked up at him and sniffled, shaking your head.
“I’m so sorry – you’re all wet because of me now,” you told him.
Bruce shook his head and moved to hand you a towel.
“It’s okay. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
You sighed and used the towel to dry your hair, wrapping the other one around your shoulders.
“It… it was Nathan.”
Bruce looked at you, eyes narrowing.
“What did he do?”
“Nothing! I mean – we just fought, that’s all. But it was a really nasty fight.” You said and burst into tears again. “He – he kept saying all I did was walk around and cheat on him! He said I didn’t truly love him, that I was selfish and only thought of myself. It – it’s not true! I love him Bruce, I really do!” You buried your face on your hands, and Bruce moved to sit by your side.
Bruce held you tightly in his arms, hand stroking your back and your head. You melted in his hold, breath evening out and tears eventually subsiding.
"I just... I don't know what to do, Bruce..." You mumbled against his chest. "I really do love him, but he said all of those mean things..."
Bruce's lips pressed into a thin line as he navigated the best way to go about this conversation.
"Nathan..." He mumbled, hands running through your hair. "Does he speak to you like this a lot?"
You sniffled, stilling in his arms.
"We fight... Lately we've been fighting a lot, but... I know he loves me... He doesn't mean it. He's been under so much stress, things at the hospital are getting chaotic and I've been stressing him out..."
Bruce shook his head, his hold unconsciously tightening around you. So he took his stress out on you? Jerk.
"That's not okay. He can't speak to you like this, he doesn't have the right to." Bruce pulled away to look you in the eyes and you sniffled as his big hands wiped your tears.
"He doesn't mean any harm, you know... He's under a lot of pressure from his superiors..."
He sighed once again, and then watched from the corner of his eyes as Alfred carried in his hand a tray of warm drinks and a fluffy robe.
"Look," he said, tilting your chin to meet his gaze. "How about you change into something more comfortable, and we'll talk about it over a drink?"
You smiled and nodded, getting up and thanking Alfred, grabbing the robe so you could go change.
Once you came back, you told Bruce you did not want to talk about such sad topics any further, and simply wanted to distract yourself. Bruce was happy to oblige.
You settled in the couch side by side with a blanket covering your laps. He let you pick a movie, and you sat side by side, poking fun at whatever it was that was playing on the TV, sipping on warm beverages, and talking.
“So you’re telling me you don’t know how to make a cup of tea?” You asked, leaning back to look at Bruce with a serious expression.
“Look, I was a failure and I decided it was better not to learn instead of having Alfred annoy me about it. He’s very serious about his tea. You should hear him yell at me.”
You chuckled and involuntarily placed your legs over Bruce’s lap under the blankets. He was quick to lay his hands on top of them, drawing patterns absentmindedly.
“You’re impossible,” you chuckled.
“Oh, so you’re all high and mighty and capable of cooking anything and everything?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Even if I wasn't very good, I'm sure I'd be able to cook more than you. I had to, you know. Living on my own and all,” you shrugged, “Some people don’t have butlers doing everything for them.”
Bruce hummed. You were right. It was one of the things he admired the most about you. How unafraid you were to tell him exactly what you think, and how resilient you were, how strong-willed and stubborn. Bruce was sure he’d never met a woman as strong as you in his entire life.
“Alright, pay up.” You extended your hand.
Now you were sitting a few inches apart, a Monopoly board on the couch in front of you.
“You’re cheating,” he huffed, counting his bills.
“No, you’re simply not very good. Aren't you like, supposed to be a god at this or something? This is your whole life.” You popped a popcorn inside your mouth and smiled.
“Usually, lives aren't dictated by the throw of a dice,” he said, handing you two bills. “You're ruining me here. I’m gonna go bankrupt.”
“Then learn how to play better.” You shrugged and rolled your dice again, moving your piece accordingly. Bruce smiled. He could get used to this, spending time with you, cuddled up in his couch. That's where you were meant to be, next to him, in his arms, in his blankets. You were meant to be in his home, brightening up the place with something as small as a smile, in his life, brightening his whole existence with just a tilt of your head. It was at this moment that Bruce realised that his feelings for you ran way deeper than just a simple friendship. After all, friends didn't wish to spend eternity together. Friends didn't want to lick the popcorn salt off each other’s lips, friends didn't want to hold each other close and whisper sweet nothings in their ear.
As the night went on, so did the activities. When you were done with board games, you switched to card games (getting your ass kicked by Bruce, who was far too good at Poker for your own liking). You changed movies about three times, simply not satisfied with the choices you’d picked earlier – not that Bruce minded. You’d made a game out of changing movies every time the characters gave you second hand embarrassment and had plenty of fun yelling at the protagonists who slipped and stuttered and acted like bozos.
“Oh, come on,” you cringed, body twitching involuntarily. “Why is she singing Fight Song on top of a table? Do directors think this is how people behave?”
“You stood on top of my couch and yelled. I think that’s close to what’s happening on the TV,” The man next to you eyed you with amusement as you scoffed and pointed an accusatory finger at him.
“That’s different, I won Monopoly,” you said nonchalantly, “Everyone knows you’re entitled to do whatever you want once you win Monopoly.” You grabbed a pillow and threw it in his direction, but you should've known better, because Bruce simply picked it mid-air and raised it in front of his head, to hit you back. However, at the sudden movement, your eyes widened, and you quickly flinched away from him, panic spreading all over your face.
Bruce let go of the pillow, heart breaking at the sight before him. What the fuck had just happened? Did you flinch away from him?
“I – “ You seemed to notice his worry and were quick to shake your head, laughing weakly. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you okay?” He asked, torn between reaching out and staying in place. He didn't want to scare you even more than he already had.
“Yes! Yes, I am. I’m sorry, I wasn't expecting you to do that. Was just trying to get away from the pillow.”
“You scrambled away from me.”
“Well, yes, you were going to hit me with a pillow, weren't you, Bruce?”
“I would never hurt you. You know that,” he whispered, and you looked away, still trying to pretend everything was fine.
“Well, I didn't want a pillow on my face. Alright? It’s nothing, I promise.”
He wasn't convinced in the least, and Bruce knew what it usually meant. His mind went back to Nathan, to the way he had treated you at the bar, to his behaviour towards you whenever you and Bruce were out for ice-cream or coffee. The gears were turning in his head, and you took notice of that, moving forward and holding his hands.
“Hey,” you smiled, although it didn't reach your eyes, “It’s fine. I promise. Everything is okay.”
He didn't believe it. Didn't buy it. But he had to earn your trust if he wanted to do something about it, and scaring you away wasn't an option.
He attempted to smile back, and nodded, muttering a small “Alright.”
You settled back next to him, and he could feel the way your body had tensed up as soon as your arms had brushed together. He needed to calm you down. So, he spoke.
About his life, about his childhood. He told you about all the times his father would let him tag along whenever he went to work at the hospital, how fascinated he was with his occupation. Saving lives. How great was that. He told you how much his father’s work had inspired him. He explained to you the intricate games he’d play in his gardens, pretending to be a detective who was investigating every sort of crimes. He wanted to save lives, just like his father did.
“You do, you know,” you mumbled, looking up from under his chin to get a good look at his beautiful face. “Even if you’re not a doctor, you still save lives. You make people’s lives better. All your philanthropy and charity are helping Gotham. You’re not doing this in vain.”
He smiled. If only you knew how much his charity and philanthropy extended.
You replied with stories of your own. The things you liked to do while growing up, the games you’d make up in your room, thinking of faraway lands with castles and elves and fantasies. You’d be a police officer one day, and a pirate the next. You told him about your childhood home, your high school, your college major. You showed him pictures of your roommates and the fun activities you did together.
It was an exchange. You’d tell him about yourself, and he would open up to you in return. The TV was still on, and both of you were looking at it, but none was paying attention. Your conversation was much more important.
Bruce told you about his childhood, how lonely he would feel sometimes. He told you sometimes he would isolate himself, the grief of having lost his parents far too much to bear. It made your heart ache and you found yourself leaning closer, wishing to take all of his pain away.
"You don't have to suffer all on your own now, though," you said, looking up to meet his chocolate brown eyes. "I'm here now. You can count on me to help you with whatever. You can trust me, Bruce." Your hand was suddenly on his cheek, palm hot and caring, and Bruce instantly leaned into it, sure that this was where he was meant to be – in your arms, staring into your eyes, baring his soul open. The air crackled in between you – it was as if the world had shifted and finally landed in place. It felt right. Everything felt right, and your eyes briefly drifted towards his lips.
He was just about to say something when a few loud knocks could be heard on the door. Your head whipped around in panic, the sound clearly startling you (something Bruce kept in mind).
"Alfred, could you please get that?" He asked, arm wrapping itself around you in an unconsciously protective move. You relaxed in his hold just as quickly as you’d stiffened, and his heart leaped. Did you feel safe with him?
The door slid open, revealing behind it a massive bouquet of red roses. The roses moved and Bruce quickly spotted the figure who was holding them.
"Nate?" You whispered, untangling yourself from Bruce's hold and taking tentative steps towards the door. Shit.
"Babe – hey," Nathan replied, sighing with relief once he spotted you. "I'm so sorry, I – I'm such an idiot. I'm the worst."
You eyed him sceptically, something like doubt shining in your eyes.
"I shouldn't have said any of those things. The hospital has been so busy, my bosses have been giving me shit every day, and I took it out on you. I'm so sorry, will you please forgive me?"
You hugged your arms, shielding yourself. You looked back at Bruce, who was watching the situation, lips a thin line and eyes cloudy.
"I didn't like the way you spoke to me... You really hurt, Nate, did you mean all of those things?"
"No! No – fuck no, I didn't. I was an idiot. I am an idiot. Please, let me make it up to you. I don't deserve you, but if you forgive me, I'll spend the rest of my days trying to prove to you I am worthy of your love. I'm so sorry. I'll be better. I promise. Babe, you make me better."
Bruce wasn't fazed by this speech. He didn't buy a single word of what Nathan had just told you, and once again, he would not keep it to himself. This man was manipulating you, preying on your emotions and your love for him, probably even going as far as laying his hands on you, and you deserved better.
"Perhaps you should've thought of those things before you treated her like shit." He said coldly, standing up and walking towards you. You turned away from him, which had Bruce's heart clench. Why were you turning from him?
But he didn't need to give it much more thought – you were already falling for Nathan's narrative.
"You – " Nathan's grip tightened. Bruce saw the way it tightened and saw your eyes land on his fist as well. This caused him to loosen it, and give a small, dry chuckle. "Bruce. Thank you so much for taking care of her. Truly. I'm so thankful you took care of my girl when she wasn't feeling well."
You raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Yes, babe, really. He's your friend, and I'm willing to get along with your friends. I'd do anything for you, you know it. Don't you?" He stuck out his hands, presenting to you the bouquet of roses in one hand, and a box of chocolates in the other. It was only now that Bruce (and apparently, you as well) realised that both items, as well as the person who was carrying them, were dripping wet.
"You came all the way out here in the rain to apologise?" You asked, stepping out towards the man standing outside the door.
"Yes. Of course. I would do this and more for you, baby. You know that, don't you? I'll do anything for you. You drive me nuts, that's it. That's all! It's only because I love you so much that I act like this. Please give me another chance. I won't waste it. I know you deserve better than me, you could literally get any guy out there, but fuck... Please, just let me prove to you that you make me a better man." He looked desperate, panicked, blue eyes widening with fear.
It was useless. You were completely entranced by the manipulative bullshit this guy was spewing.
“Do you promise not to yell at me again?” You asked, taking another step towards him, fingers softly touching the rose petals.
“Yes. I do. I’ll never do it again – I promise babe. I’ll be better. I am better whenever I am with you. I know I overreacted, but it’s only because I love you. You make me crazy – I am crazy, for you.”
You looked up at him, something unsure in your eyes. You glanced back at Bruce, who furrowed his eyebrows and softly shook his head “no”. It wasn't a command or an order, simply some advice. This jerk didn't deserve you. You turned back to look at Nathan and took the roses he was holding from him.
“These are really pretty,” you mumbled, inhaling their scent.
“Not as pretty as you. So, what do you say? Will you forgive me? Please? Just give me another chance.”
You seemed to ponder it, quietly analysing the roses before you. Then, a bigger smile spread across your face, and you nodded, moving towards Nathan to wrap your arms around his neck. He sighed in relief and hugged you back, burrowing his face in your hair. When his gaze caught Bruce’s, his eyes hardened. If looks could kill, Bruce would be dead and gone. Perhaps it’s a good thing he wasn't scared of this jerk.
You let go of your boyfriend and turned to Bruce, holding the bouquet tightly in your hands.
“Thank you for your kindness, Bruce.”
“Are you sure about this – “
“But this is my relationship. We’re friends, aren’t we? I need you to trust me here, okay? It’s fine. Nathan’s apologised. Everything is okay now,” you smiled, and Bruce swore he could see something breaking behind your eyes.
“He doesn’t deserve you, he yelled and – “
“Look, I said I was sorry, alright, rich boy?” Nate interrupted, spitting the words. “Mind your own business. This is my relationship, alright? I appreciate that you were here for my girl, but your help is no longer needed.”
Then, he turned, taking you away with him.
The last thing Bruce saw before Nathan’s car was out of you, was you leaning over the console to press a sweet kiss on his cheek.
He didn't like this one bit. And he was not going to rest until he was sure you were away from this guy.
He didn't see you for a while after that.
At least not directly.
During his patrols, he would stop by your apartment and watch for any signs of either you or him. But either you were extremely shy, or Nathan was very careful about not letting anyone peek into their lives, and usually closed the blinds. Bruce was sure it was the latter. He could no longer peek inside – Lucius had destroyed the system that had allowed him to spy on every citizen in Gotham, after all – and was stuck texting you and trying to pry information from you.
The only thing you told him was that everything was fine. Nathan was a gentleman, taking you out for dinner and showering you in gifts, telling you he loved you. According to you, things couldn't be better.
Your texting patterns would be sporadic. Some days, he’d spend all day chatting with you, sending pictures and things that had reminded him of you, making plans to meet up and grab a bite. Others, you’d ignore him all day, giving him one-worded replies once or twice.
“Alfred, I just don’t know what to do,” he confessed once. “I’m pretty sure the bastard might be hitting her or something. The way she acts, the way he acts? Yelling at her, fighting, and then showering her with gifts and affection? It doesn't sit right with me.”
“Have you thought about reporting it to the police, sir?”
“I don’t have enough evidence,” he grumbled. “She flinched once, and they fight. That doesn't necessarily mean he’s abusive towards her. Besides, what if anyone investigates it, does not notice anything wrong, and he gets angrier? What if he takes it out on her?” Bruce placed his hands on his face and laid his arms on his knees. It was a tricky situation. If he wasn't abusive but was still a scumbag, he doubted you’d ever leave him. If he did hurt you in any physical way, he might be risking your own safety in case he reported anything.
Suddenly, his phone chimed, and he was pulled from his thoughts as your ringtone played. He picked up on the first ring.
“Hello?”
You were breathing heavily but did not say anything. Bruce was starting to worry.
“Hello? Is everything okay?”
“Yes – yes, it is,” you quickly said, and your voice held a foreign emotion to it, something Bruce couldn't quite place. “I’m sorry, I know it’s short notice, but do you want to grab something to eat? I was supposed to meet a friend, but she cancelled on me.”
Bruce looked up towards Alfred, who nodded in acknowledgement.
“Yes, sure. Of course, I'll meet you. Did you have any place in mind?”
“There’s this sandwich place near Gotham Mall, perhaps we could go there? I’ve been meaning to try it out for a while, but… Well, it’s just never been a right time. I’ll text you the address if you want to.” Something was up with your voice. You didn't usually sound so unconfident, at least not with him.
“I’d appreciate that. I’ll meet you there in 20. That okay?”
“Yeah, that’s perfect. Thank you, Bruce.” There was a small tilt to your voice that Bruce paired up with a smile, and then you hung up.
20? He’d be there in 10.
Bruce was already sitting down by a window, wearing a casual dark blue polo when you walked in. It was impossible to miss him – you found him the most handsome man in the world, with his beautifully carved jawline and his kind eyes.
What were you even saying? You have a boyfriend. Control yourself. If he knew you were even having these thoughts…
Instinctively, you wrapped your jacket tighter around you.
Once Bruce spotted you, he stood up to meet you halfway. You hugged him briefly, tensing under his touch, which he simply chalked up to awkwardness after that night. Had you felt the same he had? Was that why you were acting so strange?
“Thank you for meeting me,” you sighed, sitting down. “My friend cancelled last minute; I didn’t know who else to call. I hope you don’t feel like a last resort or anything – you were actually the first person I thought about.”
Bruce nodded. A waitress came over and asked you both if you would like to see the menu. You looked over at the options and a small smile was pulled from your lips. Once Bruce had picked a Caprese sandwich, you asked for a Pesto Chicken one, and a lemonade. The waitress smiled at you both (well, she smiled at Bruce), grabbed your menus (making it a show of bending over to show off her cleavage) and walked away.
Bruce, however, didn’t seem to notice, seeing as his eyes were on you.
“Is everything okay?”
You looked away, before meeting his gaze. And you smiled. It was gentle, and soft, and fake. Bruce knew, because he plastered on the same smile whenever he had to attend galas full of people whose only interest were his last name and his bank account.
“Yeah! I’m just tired, I think. Haven’t been sleeping well.”
Bruce’s gaze landed on your figure. You were leaning on your right arm, staring absentmindedly at the counter. You were wearing a pretty denim jacket, and a simple purple shirt underneath, as well as a pair of jeans. It wasn’t a very flashy outfit, and yet he thought you looked gorgeous.
“Aren’t you going to take that off?” he asked, nodding towards the jacket you were wearing.
“Hm?” You turned to him and blinked repeatedly. “Oh – no. No need, I’m kind of chilly. How have you been?”
Rather good at deflecting attention, you were. He decided to play along for the time being.
“I’ve been good. Work has been hectic, but what else could you expect when you’re running a company,” he sighed. “I’ve been worried about you, though. You’ve been ignoring me for a few days – are you sure you’re doing okay?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Work has been hectic as well. The restaurant is going through a few renovations, and we know have more tables to wait. It’s been a hard adjustment, but I’m doing my best.”
“I’m sure you are,” he smiled.
After that, conversation flowed easily, as it usually did between you two. Your sandwiches arrived and you tried each other’s comparing tastes and flavours, trying to prove to each other that your choice was superior. You told him about your new patrons at your job, an old couple who left you extremely big tips and called you “darling” every time you walked by. In return, he told you about this big investor who was interested in a fundraising project to combat poverty in Gotham.
It was as nice as always, and when the bill came, he reached for it without batting an eye.
“Hey – Mr, let me. You can’t just pay for everything.” You chided, reaching out to grab the bill from his hands.
“No, that’s out of the question,” he replied, as casually as asking about the weather. “You don’t have to pay for anything when you’re with me.”
“Bruce,” you whined half-jokingly, still trying to fetch the piece of paper from him. He lifted it over his head, and you huffed, leaning back once again. “You can’t pay for everything every time we’re out.”
“Why not?” Bruce raised an eyebrow. “I’m allowed to spoil you. Aren’t I?”
The word spoil had you turn your head, heat creeping up to your cheeks.
“I don’t deserve to be spoiled.”
“Sure you do. If anyone deserves to be spoiled, it’s you.”
You looked into his eyes for a few moments, unable to form any words. Every time you were with him, you felt your heart warm. You felt like everything was right. It was easy to talk with Bruce. To Bruce. You felt like you could tell him just about anything.
Not anything.
“How about we go for a walk?” Bruce asked. You nodded and moved to get up.
But as you did so, the left sleeve of your jacket got stuck on your table. You pulled away, causing your whole arm to be exposed to him, a large bruise running along it. Your eyes widened and you panicked, forcefully pulling your jacket from the chair, and wrapping it around yourself again.
You heard Bruce call out your name, but you were far too focused on picking up your things and running out of the establishment, Bruce right behind you.
“Hey! Hey! Come black, please! Don’t go!” He wanted to scream, to yell, to reach out to you and hold you tight, but he knew doing any of those things could scare you off. He could lose you forever, and he was not going to let his anger at Nathan cloud his judgement.
You didn’t want to run, though. You crossed the street and stopped right in front of a park bench, tears streaming down your face. Once Bruce caught up with you, he maintained his distance, but remained close enough should you want to come closer. He called your name. Softly. As if it was some sort of prayer, a mantra. It felt nice coming from his lips. He sounded kind. Unlike…
“Who did that to you?” he asked, exasperation in his voice. There was no point dancing around the subject.
“No one. I tripped, and I fell, and I – “
“Please, don’t give me that crap.” His words were harsh, but his voice was soft, and everything was so confusing, all you could do was sit down on the bench in front of you and cry.
“I fell, Bruce. I’m so clumsy, I fell during one of my shifts at the restaurant and that’s all, I promise you.”
Bruce sat down next to you. A few inches, but still, next to you. His mind was running hot with anger. That bastard had done it, he’d actually touched you and hurt you, and Bruce was going to do everything in his power to make sure he never saw the light of the sun again. You raised your head and looked at Bruce. You thought he’d be looking at you with disgust, but there was none in his gaze. Only kindness, only softness.
“It was an accident…” you mumbled, and he had to move closer in order to make out the words you were saying. “It was my fault. I provoked him…”
There it was.
Not his fault. You’d provoked him.
Bruce did his best to school his features. He needed to be calm, he needed to look collected and cool. If he acted out and showed just how angry he was, he might scare you off, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn’t want you to associate him to Nathan, to the monster who’d hurt you.
“Can you tell me what happened?” he asked.
“It, it was my fault…” you sobbed. “He came home from work, and he was so tired… He’d had a really rough day, and all he wanted was to come home to a nice warm dinner, but, but… I was so tired, Bruce, I was so tired, so I didn’t cook – not even for myself! And when he came home, he started shouting and telling me I wasn’t good for anything, that he couldn’t even count on me to make him dinner.” You hid your face in your hands and sobbed louder. “So – so I told him to cook his own dinner, and I know I shouldn’t, because he was so tired! And – and he got mad, and… He... he...”
“Can I come any closer?” you furrowed your brows. Why was Bruce asking that? Why was he being so sweet with you? Especially after you’d just told him you were a terrible girlfriend, being as selfish as to not cook for your boyfriend after a tiring day. But the only thing in his eyes was gentleness. And he was being so sweet with you. Did you even deserve such a treatment?
You nodded your head yes, and he slowly moved closer, hand picking up yours.
“You need to report him to the police.”
Your eyes widened, and you began to shake your head while he spoke.
“He hurt you. This is domestic violence, it’s abuse. You need to report him – “
“No. No, no, no – “
“He can’t keep hurting you like this. All the yelling, all the fights, he’s taking advantage of you, and you don’t deserve any of that. Honey, he’s hurting you – “~
“No, no, no, no, no, no – “
“He’s abusing you.”
“He’s not – he loves me, it was an accident – “
“It wasn’t an accident; he’s hurt you before – “
“He hasn’t!” you exclaimed, shaking your head, “He has not hurt me!”
“Not physically, maybe, but he treats you like shit, which also counts as abuse. Listen to me, please,” he moved closer and slowly lifted his hands to cup your face. He did it slowly, giving you plenty of time to adjust, react, move away from him, do anything to show your discomfort. You did not, so he held your face in a way that showed just how afraid he was that you would break.
“You deserve better. This scumbag is hurting you. Let me help you.”
You looked into his eyes, and the whole thing felt foreign to you. Being held so gently, being talked to so calmly, being regarded as something close to precious, to dear. Wasn’t this how relationships were supposed to go? Wasn’t Nathan supposed to be just like this?
“I love him…” you whispered, attempting to look away. Bruce did not let you. He kept his gaze focused on you. “I can’t leave him Bruce, I… He was so sorry… You should’ve seen him; he was so broken… He regretted it so much.”
"He looked broken because he's trying to fool you." Bruce let go of your face and held your hands in his, hoping to convey everything he meant just by this touch. "I can't stand and watch as he hurts you like this. Please let me do something. Let me help. I'll get him fired. I'll get him arrested. This can't go on; he can't keep hurting you – "
"I love him!" You sobbed, shaking your head. "I do, and he loves me, and he did not mean it! It was an accident! You can't do anything; you can't take him from me! Please, if you care about me in any way, don't do anything. We'll sort it out. I promise you it won't happen again, honest."
Bruce was torn. Torn between storming out of there and beating that asshole boyfriend of yours into a pulp and staying there comforting you. He wanted to do both so badly. He couldn't just stand aside and do nothing, but he also did not want to lose you forever. He could still do it, of course. Hurt Nathan, the same way he'd hurt you. But then he was most definitely sure he'd lose you forever. And would that be worth it? It would. He'd lose you, but you'd be safe. And wasn't that what mattered the most in the end?
"Please, Bruce... Trust me..." You whispered, looking deep into his eyes, trying to find some sort of sign in there that would show you he was still on your side, by your side. Your friends were against you, so was your family. Nathan was right. They were all terrible, they hated you and did not want you to be happy.
With all those people gone, you needed to know you still had Bruce. That despite everyone leaving, he was still yours.
He's not yours though, a little voice said inside your head. You tried to drown it. Who Bruce belongs to is none of your business. And it’s not like he even belongs to someone, he is his own person. Not some property to be handed around carelessly.
You’d never handle him carelessly though. You’d love him. And he’d love you, the way you’re meant to be loved. No. This was wrong. You were not supposed to have these thoughts. You had Nathan. And you loved him.
Did you, though? What had Nathan done for you as of late? Hit you and berate you and fight you and yell at you. Was that even how relationships went?
Sure. That's how passionate relationships went. And you knew Nathan was passionate about you. That’s why he got angry so often, because your love drove him nuts. Loving you drove him nuts. He adored you so much, you made him lose rationality. And wasn't that romantic?
Bruises aren't romantic. Taking care of someone is romantic. Holding them while they cry. Cheering them up with ice-cream and Monopoly, and surprising them at work. What a wonderful boyfriend Bruce would be.
No. Stop it. Those thoughts are wrong.
You looked at Bruce, standing in front of you, regarding you with so much care and worry. How you wished you could just melt in his arms forever. Sometimes you liked to relive how nice it felt to rest in his hold. How natural. You wished you could hug him again and never let go.
It was frightening, really, the way your feelings for Bruce were growing. He’d been just a friend at first, someone you could trust, someone you could spend time with and have fun. But now, he was so much more than that, and you feared the lines between friendship, and something more had begun to blur.
“I’d treat you so much better,” he suddenly blurted, drawing circles on your hand with his thumbs. “You deserve better than him. Please let me do better. Let me show you how you deserve to be loved.”
Tears found their ways to your eyes, and you shook your head, slowly.
You couldn't. No, you couldn't, possibly.
“I’m sorry…” you started, trying to choke back a sob.
“Please. You deserve to be treated with respect. With kindness, with love. Nathan isn't doing any of these things, he’s disrespecting you by laying his hands on you and hurting you all the time.” His face was mere inches away from yours now. Why was he so close? You could smell his cologne, see every speck of light in his eyes, listen to the breath he let out as his lips parted.
It wouldn't hurt to get closer. His lips must taste nice.
It would be wrong. So wrong.
You like him, don't you? And he treats you nice and likes you so much.
You love Nathan. You’d been with him for years now and loved him. He was good for you. He loved you, he provided for you. He paid most of the rent every month and 1bought most of the groceries. Your salary as a waitress could not compare to his, the one of a prestigious doctor. You couldn't leave him. It would ruin you.
Bruce has way more money than him. He would help you get back on your feet.
Quickly, you scrambled to your feet, getting away from him. This was wrong. Extremely wrong. You were dating Nathan. And that was the end of it.
“I'm sorry, Bruce,” you said, sounding more confident than you felt. “I'm in love with Nathan. Please trust me on this. I know what I'm doing.”
“I can’t just stand by and watch as he hurts you.” Bruce's voice held something to it you couldn't quite place. It felt like sorrow, like grief. You hated it. It made your stomach churn.
“He won’t hurt me anymore! He loves me!”
“Are you saying that because you believe it, or because you're trying to?”
The question took you by surprise.
“I…” you stuttered, shaking your hand. “I… I believe it.”
Did you?
“If you care about me Bruce, please let me be. My relationship is none of your concern.”
“What? Please – “
“Please mind your business, Bruce.” You mumbled, pulling your jacket tighter around you, and sighing. “Thank you for the sandwich. I’ll see you around.”
You spun on your heel and walked away, leaving behind a very broken-hearted Bruce Wayne.
You were constantly on Bruce’s mind. You plagued his thoughts 24/7 – your face, your eyes, your smile, your laugh. Again and again, from the moment he woke up, to the second he closed his eyes and fell asleep. You haunted his dreams too. Cried, lovely face covered in black and purple bruises, blood dripping down your mouth. These nightmares usually ended with a blood-curdling scream from you, and Bruce waking up in cold sweats.
It wasn't pleasant. Not at all.
And the worst part was, he had no idea what to do.
“If I report him, he might hurt her even further.”
“Yes, but that was when you had no evidence. You’ve told me she told you he hit her, things are different now, she confessed he was acting abusive towards her.” Alfred said, preparing a cup of tea. Bruce had foregone coffee for a while. Ever since you made it so difficult for him to sleep, Alfred had been trying different methods of getting his boss to sleep.
“Maybe I should have a little run-in with him. Or rather, the Batman should.” Bruce muttered, running a hand through his already messy hair.
“And what good would that make, Master Wayne?”
“I’d tell him to stay away from her. Shake him up a bit. Beat him up. Teach him a lesson.”
“I thought this wasn't about revenge,” the old butler settled a cup of tea in front of Bruce and sat next to him with a sigh. “Master Wayne, may I speak freely?”
“Of course.”
“Gotham has just begun to see Batman as a symbol of hope. You don't want to scare its people by beating up a doctor. Granted, he’s a despicable man who dares hit his partner, but a doctor, nonetheless. It would be foolish to destroy everything you’ve worked so hard to build so far.”
“Then what am I supposed to do, Alfred? How am I supposed to save her if I'm not Batman?”
“That is curious, because I don’t remember hearing the Miss say she liked spending time with the Batman. She did not cling to his arms and cried and told him her darkest secrets. She did not invite him for lunches and afternoon snacks and walks because she liked his company.” He mused. “She did all of that with Bruce Wayne. Perhaps you don't need a mask this time, Master Wayne. Perhaps, this time, being you is enough.”
Bruce thought the words over in his head. Alfred was right – something that happened abnormally often. You had never needed him as Batman. Just Bruce was enough.
“There’s also the fact that your family has left you a rather comfortable fortune, and more prestige that you could ever ask for. I’m sure Bruce Wayne would suffice.”
Bruce chuckled humourlessly, sipping from his cup of tea.
“She won’t open up to me, though. I mean, she will. She told me he was hurting her, that he’d pushed her. But she refused to let me help and said that I couldn't tell a soul. How am I supposed to get her to trust me?”
Alfred hummed.
“Perhaps you should invite her over again. Tell her you would like to talk. Or, you know, go to the police like a regular person and end the nightmare she is undoubtedly living.”
“I’ve done some research, Alfred,” Bruce sighed, “Dr. Nathan Smith is well liked in his community. Volunteers, donates to charity, the whole ordeal. If she tells the police, it was an accident and she fell, they’re likely to believe her. We need something more concrete.”
Alfred hummed once more. He could see where Bruce was coming from. On one hand, it was endearing. He’d never cared so much about someone and was clearly smitten by you. On the other, he was afraid the man would make a move far too late.
“And your plan, Master Wayne, is?”
Bruce dropped his head on the kitchen table. The white marble felt cold against his skin, and he relished in the comfort it provided.
“I don’t know, Alfred. I don’t know.”
“I thought I told you to stop hanging out with her?”
Bruce would recognise that voice anywhere.
As soon as it reached his ears, his fists clenched involuntarily. It seemed to him it was second nature to be angry around that piece of shit.
“Nate, she’s my oldest friend… I miss her terribly; it’s been ages since we've hung out.”
You were walking a few steps ahead of him, arm linked with Nathan’s. Well, rather, Nathan was gripping your arm, and you were simply being pulled along. Harshly.
“Ah, I see. So you’d rather hang out with her than me.” Nathan scoffed and shook his head, and you turned to face him. Bruce could see the heartbreak in your eyes.
“No! That’s not true!”
“She hates me. She doesn’t think we’re good together and wants to break us apart. And you want to hang out with her. Just tell me you want to break up and leave me the fuck alone!”
Nathan shoved you away from him, before shaking his head and walking faster down the road. Your teared up and ran after him. “Nate!” you yelled. “Nate! Please!” Once you reached him, you held onto his hands tightly, trying to get him to stop. He did not. “Please, Nate, I’m sorry! I won’t bring her up again, I promise!”
Nathan kept walking, not even sparing you a glance.
“I promise Nate, I’m so sorry! I’m sorry, please, forgive me!”
No one seemed to give two damns about the two of you. After all, people were selfish and did not care enough about the world around them. Only Bruce’s gaze was on you.
Nathan finally stopped, and sighed, looking at the floor.
“If you want to be her friend, and don’t love me anymore, I get it. That’s okay. You can move out, get your stuff – “
“No! No, I don’t want to be her friend, Nate, I don’t,” you pleaded, holding both his hands and shaking your head vigorously. Bruce felt like a creep, staring at you like that, staring into your private life like that, but what else could he do? “I’m sorry. I won’t bring it up again. I promise. I love you. Okay?” You placed yourself on the tip of your toes to reach his face and kissed his lips gently. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, please, I love you, please forgive me…”
Bruce swore he could see the glint of victory in Nathan’s eyes, and it made his insides churn.
“You promise?”
“I do! I promise! I love you so much, Nate, I won’t talk about her ever again. I love you and only you. You’re the love of my life!” You reached up to kiss him again, and Nathan responded, albeit unexcitedly. It was enough for you though, and you linked your hand with his. “I love you, Nate. So much. You’re the only person I need.”
The blonde man hummed, and you pulled him along. You tried your best to keep him close to you, but he wasn’t responding. That’s when Bruce decided he needed to intervene.
It was only when Bruce said your name a second time, louder, that you turned around, eyes widening with surprise.
“Bruce!” He could tell you weren’t expecting to see him here. He could also tell you were scared. Not of him, of course, but of the man at your side, by the way your whole body tensed, and your eyes drifted from him to Bruce.
“Ah. Bruce.” Nathan spit, looking at him with a fake expression of politeness. Bruce could tell his smile wasn’t real and noticed how his hold tightened on you. “What a coincidence. Have you perhaps been following us?” He laughed dryly. It was a poor attempt at a joke, and an even poorer attempt of figuring out if you’d listened to his whole conversation with you.
“Ah, no. I was just on my way home.”
“What were you up to?” you asked, voice relaxed as it often was when you were around him.
“Well, I'm celebrating the establishment of a new children's school in my family's name. It's a very important cause, and I’m throwing a party later this week. Alfred and I were shopping together.” Bruce replied.
“You? Shopping?” There was a happy tilt to your voice. Bruce only wished you would always sound like that.
“Well, I wasn’t alone. Baby steps.” He chuckled.
“And who is this Alfred?” Nathan interjected. “Some servant of yours?”
Bruce frowned. He did not like the way your boyfriend referred to the man who was the closest thing he had to a family. Still, he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of anger.
“Alfred is my butler. He has been with my family for many years, and I consider him part of it. He is not a servant, and it shocks me that someone surely so well-read as you would refer to someone with such a degrading term.” Bruce raised his eyebrow, and he could swear he saw Nathan shrink a bit. It made you smile. It made Bruce feel good.
“My apologies, Bruce.” Nathan responded, offering a tight-lipped smile. He did not like losing, and that’s all he felt himself doing when he was around Bruce Wayne. Losing his temper, losing his control, losing his upper hand. It was something he detested greatly. He needed to get away from there. And quick.
“Honey, we need to go. Don’t want to steal too much of Bruce’s time, do we?”
“It’s not a problem, really,” Bruce retorted, ignoring your boyfriend, and turning to you instead. That’s when he noticed what you were wearing. Another jacket – a big one, oversized, a turtleneck and a pair of jeans. Gone were your shorts and flowy tops, you were now covered from head to toe. Why? To conceal what, exactly? And now that he got a good look at your face, was the hell was going on with your lip? It seemed split. “There’s nothing else in my list. Say, do you have any plans for next Friday? I would love if you two stopped by. It’s for a good cause, and perhaps you’ll have fun?”
He had to get you there. He had to get you alone with him, safe, away from Nathan.
“A party? At Wayne Manor?” Nathan asked.
“Yes. Will you be there?”
You looked up at your boyfriend, hope in your eyes.
Nathan noticed your excitement and blew air through his nose – the closest you’d get to a chuckle.
“Of course. We would love to go.”
“Really?” You beamed. That was not the answer you were expecting from him. Nathan hated Bruce – you knew this. Did this mean he was trying? Trying to befriend your friends? For your sake?
“Of course.” Nathan bent down to kiss your forehead, earning a genuine smile from you. “If you’d like to.”
“I would!”
It was small, the notion of a happy relationship, the notion that you were happy. But Bruce saw right through it. None of it was real. He was just playing a part.
“We should get going. It was nice seeing you, Bruce.”
“Oh – okay!” you yelped when Nathan turned you around and pulled you along with him. “It was nice seeing you, Bruce! I’ll see you Friday!”
And just like that, you were gone.
But Bruce wasn’t one to give up. Something felt off. Something smelled fishy. Nathan had been too kind, too nice, too allowing. Was it all a façade? He knew Nathan would never allow you to go to a party, especially one hosted by him. Something was definitely up. His feet moved, and before he could realise it, he was following the two figures in front of him to a dark alley. He heard voices and walked deeper.
That’s how he found you, pressed up against the wall, Nathan’s hand cruelly pressed against the hollow of your throat.
“Why the fuck are you still talking to him?” Nathan grumbled, tightening the hold he had on your throat. His knuckles turned white. “Huh!? You say you love me and then go around and fuck that rich motherfucker? Is that it, yeah?”
“N-No!” you sobbed, struggling to breath. Tears streamed down your face, hands clutching his. “Nate, please. You’re hurting me.” Your words were interrupted by coughs, and just before your vision could go completely black, you saw Nathan get dragged around and thrown on the floor. As soon as your vision (and your air) returned, you saw Bruce do to Nathan what he’d done to you.
“How dare you lay your disgusting hands on her,” he bellowed, and you somehow recognised that voice. It felt familiar. Bruce turned to you, and shook his head, arm still against Nathan’s neck. “Are you okay?” You nodded silently, wiping your tears, and taking a few steps back.
Bruce was surprised no one else had interrupted the two of you, but then again, this was Gotham. It didn’t matter if Batman was ridding crime for good, people would still look the other way, far too accustomed to violence to even bother.
“Are you seriously going to let him do this?” Nathan scowled, fighting against Bruce’s iron grip – it was no use. Somehow, this rich dumb playboy was stronger than he looked.
“I… I…” You looked in between the two men, still wiping your tears away. Part of you wanted Bruce to teach him a lesson. The other wanted him to let go of your boyfriend.
“Fuck – do something! Are you going to let this brute hurt me like this!?”
“Keep your filthy mouth shut,” Bruce whispered, before turning to face you completely. “What do you want me to do?”
This surprised you. You had a choice? You could decide?
“If you want to, I’ll beat him to a pulp myself. We’ll take him to the police. I’ll protect you. I promise I will. I can take care of you. You will never have to look him in the eye again.” Bruce’s eyes were filled with longing, and you found yourself walking towards him.
Wouldn’t that be nice? Nathan could go to jail. He’d leave you alone forever. No more fighting, no more hitting you, no more hurting you. You’d be free.
“Tell him to let go!” Now, Nathan’s face was turning a nasty shade of purple, and his lovely blue eyes were wide with fear. “Tell him! Are you going to let him do this to me? I love you!”
Bruce said your name softly. “Don’t listen to him. He’s done nothing but lie to you over and over again. You can end this nightmare right now.”
“Please! I’ll be better! I promise” Nathan coughed, the lack of air getting to him. “I was just jealous! You know me, I – I get like this! I thought you were going to leave me for him! I can’t compete with Bruce Wayne.”
“Shut up.” Bruce shook his head. “All you’ve been doing is hurting her. Abusing her. Do you seriously think I’m letting you go unscathed?”
It was scary, to be honest, seeing Bruce like this. You’d never seen him this angry, and he somehow reminded you of Nathan. Granted, the anger wasn’t directed towards you, but it still made you feel uneasy and unsafe, and all you wanted him was to go back to the sweet and kind Bruce who stole spoonfulls of your ice-cream and cheated at Monopoly when you weren’t looking.
“Bruce?” you whispered, frozen in place.
“Yeah?”
“Let go.”
“What?”
“Please let go.”
He looked at you and noticed the fear in your eyes. Something inside him broke and he wanted to punish himself for making you feel like that. Were you afraid of him? His hold on Nathan’s neck loosened, and the latter took this as an opportunity to get away and walk towards you. Nathan embraced you tightly, burrowing his face in your hair and crying loudly.
“I’m so sorry… I hate myself for the way I’ve been treating you… You deserve so much better than me, and I don’t deserve your forgiveness… I’m just a mess who seems to ruin everything… Please forgive me for being so possessive, I just – I just never feel like I’m worthy of you.” Nathan’s lies spilled from his lips, and the very same lips found their way to yours, kissing you softly as he held your face in his hands.
You seemed unresponsive, though, eyes fixed on Bruce. Was this how he always behaved? Had you simply not seen it before? Would he act this way towards you?
“I’m sorry…” his voice somehow got through to you. “I just… I couldn’t just stand by and watch as he hurt you…”
It was true, you gathered. He’d said it before. He’d always put himself between you and Nathan whenever you two fought. He’d never allowed Nathan to mistreat you in front of him, always protecting you – or trying to – no matter what.
Still, it had been horrifying to see those eyes who regarded you with such kindness, look at someone else with nothing but rage. To hear that lovely voice that always cheered you up sound so hateful. It wasn’t your Bruce. It simply wasn’t.
Your arms wrapped themselves around Nathan’s torso, almost as if mechanically. You had to do it. It’s what you did. Nathan yelled and fought and hurt. And then he’d apologize and take you back. It made you feel sick and nauseous and empty inside. But you knew no one else you love you like he did. No one would love you as passionately as Nathan did. And you didn’t want to be all alone.
“Let’s go home, okay, baby?” he asked, one hand caressing your cheek, the other rubbing circles on your hip affectionately. “We can cuddle and watch a movie. Anything you like. How does that sound?”
“Don’t,” Bruce pleaded, eyebrows furrowing. Were you seriously still going home with him? After all that had happened?
You did not break eye contact. You knew you shouldn’t go back home with Nate. At least a part of you did. A part of you knew this was wrong. Knew that you deserved better, knew that Nate was abusive and did not deserve you. But that part had long been defeated, and all that was left were small voices in your head that yelled “No one else is going to love you like this” repeatedly.
And you always let them win.
“Let’s go,” you mumbled.
Nathan wrapped his arm around your waist, kissed your forehead, and Bruce watched as you two left the alley.
You did not text him anymore.
And on Friday, none of you appeared at the Manor for the party.
It was close to 2 in the morning when Bruce was stirred awake by the sounds of knocking on his front door.
He’d fallen asleep on the couch, exhausted from exploring a few new gadgets and functions Lucius had implemented on his suit. Patrol had been rough on him, the new holographic projection system taking a while to get used to, but well worth it in the end. It would spare him a handful of bruises and stress.
Alfred had retired for the night long ago, so it was just Bruce, a copy of a book you’d mentioned in passing once and he decided to read, and a fire cackling in the fireplace.
He got up, groggily rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and made his way towards the door. Far too tired to be careful (really, who the hell would be knocking at his door at 2 in the morning? And it’s not like he could blink the sleep away in a matter of seconds. He had enough training for that) Bruce opened the door, coming face to face with a hunched figure.
“This better be good for you to be knocking on my god damned door at 2 in the morning –“
That’s when the figure in front of him shifted. It was no longer a mere figure. It was you.
You were hunched over, looking down, head covering your whole face, and Bruce could make out faint sobbing. He called your name once, twice, three times, softly. All you could do was shake your head. hands tightly clutched in front of you.
“Come on, let’s go inside.”
Bruce stepped aside so you could walk in. He would not touch you without your permission, without not knowing what had happened. You stepped inside, shaking all over. The clothes on your body were comprised of a flimsy pyjama set, a long-sleeved shirt, and a pair of pants. Your feet were bare save for the fluffy bunny slippers on them. You looked cold – had you left in a hurry?
“Hey, can we sit on the couch?” Bruce asked, fluffing up some pillows. You nodded and followed him, sitting down, head still hung low. Would you even look at him?
“Do you want something to drink?” He kneeled next to you but did not try to look into your eyes. He wanted to be on the same level as you, make you feel safe, but also give you the space and freedom to move away from him should you want that. He’d never want to smother you. You nodded your head softly, and Bruce was quick to move to the kitchen. He knew your favourite by heart, and within a few minutes, had it prepared and on top of the coffee table in front of you. “There it is,” he mumbled, sitting back again. He'd wait for you to take the first step.
And when you did, all the air left his lungs.
You looked up, hair clinging to your sweaty forehead, silent tears streaming down your face. Most of the lights were off, the fire being the only thing illuminating your features. Your delicate lips, your nose, your beautiful eyes, and the black and purple bruise surrounding one of them. The look Bruce gave you, whatever it was, just made you sob uncontrollably once again. He didn’t know if whether to touch you, come closer or back off, but you answered that question yourself when you wrapped your arms around him, sobbing loudly.
“I’m sorry…” you sobbed, holding onto him tightly. Bruce reciprocated the hug, spreading his legs so you could move comfortably in between them. He adjusted you in his lap and kissed your forehead, just holding you tightly.
“No, none of that,” he shushed you, rocking both your bodies back and forth. “You don’t have to apologize. Never.”
“It wasn’t my fault… it wasn’t Bruce, you have to believe me…”
“I do. I believe you. It’s not your fault.”
He wanted to know what the hell that jerk had done to you. But he knew he couldn’t – you might close yourself off even more and refuse to talk if he pressed further.
So, he made sure you were comfortable. Bruce picked you up and moved to the couch, covering both of your bodies with a blanket, and pulling you closer. You took the hint immediately, snuggling up as close as possible to him, face pressed against his neck. You were hiding from him, but it felt nice to be in his arms.
The two of you stayed like that for a while. Bruce turned on the TV and allowed you to pick a channel (“Mhm” for yes and “Hm-hm” for no) until you were watching some silly rom-com that got you chuckling occasionally. Bruce was stroking your arms gently, bending down to press kisses against your forehead whenever he felt you might need them. He wasn’t paying any attention to the movie in front of him, instead coming up with a plan to throw that idiot in jail.
After you’d finished your drink, you gathered the courage to shift in his lap and completely face him. The bruise covering your eye was on full display, and Bruce could now make out the dried blood on your lip.
“He… he hurt me, Bruce…” you mumbled, reaching for his hand. Bruce squeezed yours tightly, a silent reminder that he was there and listening, and that you weren’t alone. “I’m so scared… He pushed me and kept hitting me, and I was begging him to stop but he wouldn’t… I didn’t know what else to do, so I just waited for him to fall asleep and ran… I had to – I had to wait. He wanted to sleep next to me. He kept apologizing and promising he’d be better, so I told him it was okay, and I went to bed with him…” Bruce wiped away your tears, nodding along. Outside, he was the picture of compassion and sympathy. Inside, a fire was burning, and he had to control every bone in his body not to get into his car and drive to your (hopefully ex by now) boyfriend’s house.
“You’re so brave,” he muttered, running his hand through your hair to soothe you. “I can’t believe how hard that must’ve been. But you’re so brave, and I’m so proud of you.”
“I thought he could change,” you started to sob, shaking your head. “He – he said he would. He said that he loved me a lot and he’d only hit me because he was jealous and afraid I would leave him. All because I told him I regretted not going to your party that Friday… I’m so sorry, Bruce.”
“No apologies needed. You’re not the one to blame here, okay? It’s him, and him alone.” His hands reached up to wipe your tears, and you flinched, the pressure of his fingers on your bruise sending painful memories through your head. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Let’s take care of this, shall we?”
And he did.
Bruce took you to the master bathroom and sat you on top of the counter while he fetched his first-aid kit and a few ointments and creams. Your hands never left him as he worked – on his shirt, on his shoulders, on his hands. He cleaned the bruise with some water and pressed an ice pack against it to reduce the swelling. He told you a few anecdotes that had happened at Wayne Enterprises – angry costumers who tried to scam him, spilled coffees, and other amusing situations – to keep you grounded. His voice was like a lifeline to you.
After the swelling was taken care of, he softly applied ointment around your eye, being careful as to not put too much pressure on the pads of his fingers. He smeared some of it on the tip of your nose, earning a smile from you, before moving on to your lip and taking care of it too. Once all was done, he took a step back.
“Don’t look at me like that…” you mumbled, looking away.
“How?”
“Like that. Like I’m pitiable.”
“Hm.” Bruce tilted his head, pretending to think your statement over, “No. Not pitiable – that’s not who I’m looking at.”
You met his gaze again.
“I’m looking at the bravest woman I have probably ever known.” He crouched in front of you to stay at your eye level. Your hands did not leave his. “I’m looking at a remarkable woman, one with a big heart and a courageous spirit. You’ve endured all of this, and you’re still standing.”
“I’m a coward, Bruce,” you shook your head. “I let him to this to me. I let him break me. He’s right – who would ever love me after him? Who will ever love me like him? Maybe this was a mistake – I shouldn’t have left me. He’s the only one who will love me as I am.”
Bruce was quick to refute you.
“He’s wrong. I hope you know just how wrong he is. Nathan has spent all this time hurting you, lying to you.”
“He hasn’t – I’m broken, I’m damaged goods – who will ever want me?”
“You’re not damaged goods. You hear me? You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. You’re so kind and brave. What you endured is beyond me, and I know I will never understand it, but please believe me when I say that you’re not broken. You’re not damaged. And Nathan is not right. He’s lied to you.”
You looked at him and searched his eyes for any sign of falsehood, of deceit. All you found was kindness. And a warmer emotion you couldn’t pinpoint yet but wanted to figure out.
“You light up even the darkest of days,” Bruce mumbled, moving closer to you. His hand moved to cup your face and you instinctively pressed against it. You’d never felt safer than whenever you were in Bruce’s arms. “And I will do everything in my power to protect you. To keep you safe. The truth is…” He looked at the floor for a few seconds, before meeting your eyes again. “I love you.” You sucked in a breath. “I have, for a while. And I know that’s not what you want to hear right now, nor what you need to hear. And I’m not saying this to force you to be with me, especially after I took care of you. What I’m trying to say is, I don’t expect compensation. I don’t. I’m just saying this because – because I want you to know Nathan is wrong. You’re not damaged goods. And I love you. So much. Ever since I met you, my life has been happier, brighter. For years I’ve had a hole inside of me. Something empty, something that would eat me up from the inside. But then you came along. And you filled that void. And Nathan is so, so wrong, because how could someone not love you? How could someone not love you? How could he try and make you believe you’re not worthy of love, when that’s all you deserve?”
Tears were now streaming down both of your faces. Bruce had never been this vulnerable before, and to his surprise, it didn’t hurt nor scare him. It felt right, to trust you like this, to open up.
“You don’t need to say it back. Please don’t feel forced to say it back. I just wanted you to know that you’re worthy of love, and that I’ll be here to help you. Always. Even if all you feel towards me is friendship. I’ll protect you forever, I promise. He will never touch you again. No one will.”
When you did not reply, Bruce’s stomach fell. Had he screwed up? Had this been a terrible occasion to let you know of his feelings? It wasn’t ideal, no, but he had to tell you. Fuck. He had screwed up, didn’t he? And now he would lose you forever –
You interrupted his thoughts, hands on his jaw, pulling him closer. You blinked slowly – once, twice.
“I love you too,” you whispered, afraid that should you say it any louder, the fantasy might break. “I think I have for a while too. But I was so scared, Bruce… I have nothing to offer – I work a shitty job, and Nathan was paying for everything. My bills, my groceries, my clothes. I was so afraid of leaving. And then whenever I was with you, all I felt… Was happiness.” You chuckled through the tears. “You made me feel so happy, Bruce. And so safe. I always feel safe with you. But I was so scared… I’m so sorry…”
“No – shh. You don’t have to say you’re sorry,” Bruce shook his head, turning to place a kiss on your palm. “You’re so brave. Have I said this already? You’re so brave. I’m so sorry for everything you had to endure. I’m so sorry I didn’t do anything earlier. Shit, I’m an idiot. I should’ve reported him to the police as soon as I realised he was hurting you, but I was too scared he’d turn their heads and you’d get the short end of the stick.”
You smiled, something warm blooming in your chest. Bruce really did care for you, didn’t he?
“My plan was to report him, but I didn’t know if you’d lie to the police in order to cover everything up. I was afraid you would, and he would hurt you further. I’m sorry.”
You repeated his words back to him.
“You don’t have to be sorry. You always stood up for me whenever Nathan was around. You never let him talk to me the way he did whenever you were there. I just wish I hadn’t been so blind… I wish I’d trusted you the first time you told me he was no good… It’s just – we’d been together for so long, and I was so afraid to leave him. Nathan was all I knew. I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t want to be unloved.”
“You’re not.” Bruce shook his head again. “Not unloved. I love you. You’re worthy of love, and happiness, and kindness, and good things.”
You nodded at him, a single tear running down your cheek. This one, however, was a tear of happiness. Your eyes flickered to his lips, and Bruce whispered.
“Can I kiss you?”
You chuckled.
Bruce raised an eyebrow.
“Is this funny?” he asked with a smile.
“You’re always asking for my permission. If you can touch me, if you can hold me.”
“I would never do anything you were uncomfortable with. Anything you didn’t want.”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Please kiss me,” you mumbled, and no other words were needed, as Bruce closed the space between the two of you and kissed you on the lips.
It was the softest kiss you’d ever had in your entire life. There was no roughness, no edge, no anger, or rage – all the things Nathan kissed you with. Bruce, however, kissed you with love. His lips moved in tandem with yours, brushing and caressing and telling a story of tenderness and warmth. It felt nice. It felt perfect. It felt like you had been made to kiss him. You pulled him up by his shirt, and he did so, placing his hands on either side of the marble to trap you. Your legs spread instinctively to accommodate him, and his hands brushed against your cheeks and hair, fingers shyly exploring, afraid to break the moment he’d been waiting for for so long. It was only a shame it had to be in these circumstances.
When breathing became more important than kissing, you pulled away and Bruce pulled you against his chest. You breathed him in, the smell of cologne and bodywash and something so inherently Bruce calming you down almost instantly.
“Please don’t leave me,” You whispered, gripping his shirt as if it was the only thing keeping you alive right now. And maybe it was. You needed him.
“I wouldn’t even dream of it,” he whispered back, kissing your forehead. “And I’ll fix this. We will fix this.”
“What if he comes after me? He’s a very respected doctor, Bruce, I – I don’t want him to hurt you or anything.”
This caused Bruce to chuckle and pull you back to look at your face. Even with a terrible bruise covering your features, you were the most beautiful women he’d ever laid eyes on. Your courage and kindness only added to that charm. What a lucky guy he was.
“I don’t usually brag about my status, but I happen to be Bruce Wayne. I’ll take care of him. I promise. You won’t have to worry about anything.”
“Promise?”
“I promise. He won’t be able to hurt you anymore.”
You smiled. Bruce loved your smile.
“Do you want to get some sleep?” he asked, caressing the side of your cheek that wasn’t bruised. “I can sleep in one of the guest rooms. My bed is quite comfortable, you can stay there. Unless you want to stay somewhere else? I won’t force you to stay here.”
You shook your head.
“Here is fine. Although…”
“Yes? I’ll do anything.”
A blush crept up on your features.
“I… I don’t want to be alone tonight. I can’t.”
Bruce nodded.
“Do you want me to stay with you?”
“Please.”
Bruce gave you a soft look, a quiet question, asking for your permission. You answered it by lifting your arms and allowing him to pick you up and carry you to his bedroom. He laid you down on his bed, and you sighed at how comfortable it was. He smiled. You looked content as you adjusted, getting under the covers.
“Are you going to join me or just stare at me like that?”
“I’m just happy you’re here. Safe, with me,” he said. “I’m sorry the circumstances were… not the best.”
“I’m here now, though, aren’t I? And so are you.”
“I am. I’m not going anywhere.”
Bruce moved and laid down next to you, pulling the covers over himself. “Can I?” he asked. You nodded, and he wrapped an arm around you, bringing you close to his chest. Your bodies fit perfectly together, like two pieces of a puzzle that had come together at last. You entwined your legs with his and rested your head on his chest while his arms snaked around you, protecting you even in your sleep. The beat of his heart soothed you and lulled you to slumber in an instant.
Before you lost conscience, you felt Bruce’s lips move against your head, and made out a soft “I love you”.
It was the best you’d ever slept.
It was hard adjusting to live after that, but Bruce was there for you every step of the way.
You finally filed a report against Nathan. It was tough, and you cried and doubted yourself when you gave your statement, but with Bruce by your side, you felt like you could do it. He reminded you of how brave you really were, and how much you could accomplish – with him or without him. But you liked his company anyway.
Thanks to Bruce’s resources, an investigation was conducted. You’d kept records of nearly every time the two of you fought in your diary, and even photographed every bruise he’d given you. He did not know of this, of course. You did it whenever he was asleep, a small voice in your head telling you it’d be useful to bring him down.
Apparently that little voice had been right, and your pictures were essential for the investigation.
Your friends testified in your favour, and you had cried when they’d hugged you after, congratulating you on your bravery, and lamenting what you’d gone through. You’d missed them so much.
All seemed like it was going in the right direction.
Your old apartment had been cleared, and although you’d gotten a place of your own (Bruce told you he did not want you to feel like you had to move in with him simply because he was helping you out and you two were in the beginning of a relationship), you found yourself spending more time at Bruce’s manor than your own house, and you quickly sold it in order to move in with him.
Everything was going perfectly.
You felt happy – more than ever – going about your daily job, meeting with friends for coffee and lunch and walks on the park without being berated or yelled at. Bruce supported you on every endeavour you went on, encouraging you to spend time with your friends and go out with them, instead of keeping you home all to himself like Nathan did.
In fact, Bruce was the perfect boyfriend. He’d bring you breakfast in bed sometimes, offer you rides to your job, bring you flowers when he could tell you’d had a hard day, and even when he had to cancel date nights or other plans you two had made because of some last minute emergency at Wayne Enterprises, he made it up to you later, with lots of love and reassurance, perhaps a bouquet of flowers and a ticket to whatever event you’d been interested in.
Bruce reminded you of what love felt like. True love. He never raised his voice at you, opting to voice out his concerns in a calming manner. He never made you feel like you weren’t worthy of him – quite the contrary. Every single day, he thanked you for choosing him, letting you know just how lucky he was to have you in his life.
Alfred liked you too – very much. He adopted you as his family rather quickly, teaching you how to make your favourite drinks (even better than you used to do them), and spending time with you whenever Bruce wasn’t home, and you felt particularly lonely. He liked having you around. In his opinion, “Master Wayne was in need of a woman’s touch in his house and his life”. You couldn’t agree more and loved him immensely.
There was only one time you crossed paths with Nathan after you’d left him that night.
The Gotham Police had gathered enough information and evidence to build a case against him, and you’d been called to testify. You weren’t sure you wanted to do it – you were still scared of whatever he could do to you.
That day, Bruce sat you down on his lap, kissed your forehead and promised Nathan wouldn’t even be able to touch you, and that he and your friends would be there.
It was all the reassurance you needed, and although you choked back a sob once or twice once your gaze met his, your testimony was clear and strong, and it was enough for the trial to be wrapped up in around two days (and perhaps Bruce had pulled a few strings to get it over it so quickly, but you didn’t need to know that, now did you?)
As he was being handcuffed, Nathan turned to you, face twisted in agony.
“Babe – “ he yelled, doing his best to free himself from the police officers’ grips. “I’m so sorry – tell them this is just a misunderstanding! Tell them! I love you so much, fuck, don’t let them do this to me!”
When it was obvious you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of an answer, he furrowed his eyebrows.
“You slut! You stupid bitch! I bet you’re fucking him, aren’t you? You’re fucking the rich bastard, aren’t you? I knew it! You’re a slut – you’re disgusting! No one will ever love you as I loved you, you’re a slut now, and you’ll be a slut fore – “
Bruce’s fist collided with Nathan’s face, promptly shutting him the fuck up. He adjusted his cuffs and his blazer and offered you a doe-eyed look.
“I didn’t do anything. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Officers, I’ll be sure to guarantee you all a very nice Christmas bonus if you keep this little incident in between us.”
The excited nods from the officers around him were enough of an answer for him to walk away unscathed. That, and your giggles.
“Couldn’t stand hearing him go on and on about you like that,” he’d muttered to you lately as you cuddled up together on the couch and watched a movie.
That was the last you saw and heard of Nathan. You’d heard Bruce tell Alfred that he was going to be locked up for eternity one day, and while it was suspicious (surely it wouldn’t warrant him a life sentence, would it?), the thought of Bruce using his influence to put your abusive ex-boyfriend behind bars forever made you smile.
Right now, you were sitting on top of a plaid picnic blanket in the gardens of Wayne Manor. On your right hand was a book, on your left hand the chocolate brown curls of your boyfriend, whose head was resting on top of your lap.
You had never felt so at peace with yourself.
Your physical scars had faded, bruises had healed, leaving your soft skin as it once was, but you were sure the emotional ones would remain. Luckily, you had the best boyfriend in the world to aid you in every step of the way.
His voice pulled you from your thoughts.
“You’re beautiful,” he mumbled, eyes closed. This was one of his favourite things to do – lay on your lap after a hard week and relax under the sun. It was one of your favourites as well. You got to spend time with the person you loved the most and remind yourself that even though your life was so dark once, it could get better. It was getting better.
“You’re not so bad yourself, handsome.”
“Not so bad?”
“Fine. You’re the most handsome man I have ever seen in my entire life.”
“Hmm. That’s a lot of responsibility.” He raised an eyebrow.
“I think you’ll manage.”
Bruce chuckled and lifted his head up ever so slightly. You rolled your eyes with a smile. How needy. Bending down, you met him halfway, kissing him tenderly. His tongue swept over your lower lip, and you sighed contentedly before he pulled away and closed his eyes.
“I love you.”
“I love you too, Bruce. So much.”
Yes.
Everything was going to be better.
A/N: And that's it! Oh my god what a rollercoaster hahaha! I hope you guys enjoyed this! I understand all abusive relationships are different - a lot of this came from my own experience.
I also hope the ending, the little epilogue wasn't too rushed! I wanted it to be a nice conclusion, not dwelling too much on the past, but rather focusing on the hope of the future.
Alright, this is all! I think I'll take a break from Bruce fics for a while, hahaha. Once again, I really do hope you all enjoyed this.
Have a wonderful day ahead! <3
#bruce wayne x reader#bruce wayne x y/n#bruce wayne x you#bale!bruce wayne#bale!batman x reader#bale!batman#bale!bruce wayne x reader#the dark knight#the dark knight trilogy#nolanverse#the dark knight fanfiction#the dark knight fanfic#bruce wayne fanfiction#bruce wayne x fem!reader
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MHA random guys x Y/N
I am so sorry to the person who requested this over a year ago, I suddenly disappeared and forgot requests were a thing when I got back. This one’s a little rushed because I’m having exams these days but I’ve made you wait over a year so I had to get it done.
The random guys include Deku, Bakugou, Monoma, Shinso and Amajiki.
word count : 987
Warning : IF YOU SO MUCH AS LOOK AT AMAJIKI 🤬 I’ve got my eye on you.
as usual can’t take any credit for the pictures.
Deku
Let’s be honest you probably don’t deserve him. No matter how much you do for him he’s going to somehow be doing more for you. It’s not that he treats love as a competition, it’s just that it’s in his nature to put his two hundred percent to everything and that includes his relationship. And if he chose you as the one that’s really something. He loves just staring at you and absorbing every single detail. He notices the smallest change in your appearance and can always tell when you’re feeling down. He hates it when you don’t communicate and share your pain and eventually manages to get it out of you by playing the victim. Try to give back at least 50% of what he’s doing for you because that would be a normal person’s 100%. He’s very possessive although he doesn’t tell you directly. He’s going to be super grumpy if you hang out with other people more than you spend time with him. Also here’s a secret. He loves it when you ruffle his hair and give him forehead kisses so keep doing what you’re doing :)
Bakugou
I don’t know how you did it. HOW DO YOU PUT UP WITH THE GUY? He appreciates you for it more than you know. He knows about his anger issues and how his inconsistency can make him a difficult person to love, but when he saw you loving him unconditionally and always being there, he realized what a difference that made in his life. It hurts his pride to tell you his problems and he finds it far easier to just burn the furniture but he really tries. He hasn’t been burning much furniture lately right? He’s opening up to you more and more every day and wants to become the same cushion for you. He wants you to be able to trust him as much as he trusts you. If another person looks at you for a second too long or makes you laugh, he is going to be jealous as hell. Trust me the moment he drops you home after a date or is out of your sight, he is going to track them down and give them the scariest warning in their life. It’ll be so scary they’ll refuse to see anyone in a romantic way anymore incase there are more bastards like Bakugou. He loves it when you try to be rough with him and that one time you pinned him against the wall..yeah I think he wants you to do it again.
Monoma
If you’re with Monoma that speaks a lot about you too. Because from a surface level I don’t think anyone can stand Monoma. He looks like he’s arrogant and obnoxious and gloats thinking he’s above everyone. His slicked hair and the way he sneers like he knows he’s good looking. There’s a lot of things to dislike. But you chose to stay and dug deeper. You were able to see the insecurities he tries to mask with his persona and the internal bruises he covers beneath his tuxedo. He adores you for knowing him so well and relies on you a lot. It’s sometimes hard for him because he hates depending on someone but you always comfort him and tell him that you’ve found your calling. He kisses you then, multiple times all around your face finally ending at your lips. Verbal affirmations aren’t really his thing because somehow stuff he says still comes out as self absorbed and arrogant. But with you by his side he’s improving every day. He gets really irritated when people hang around you but he tries to convince himself that you’ll be loyal and he doesn’t have to worry. He’s not stupid he hears what everyone says about how you could do better. But you chose him in the end and that’s what’s important.
Shinso
You like the silent mysterious type don’t you? Absolutely nothing wrong with that because he is a total green flag. To be honest I don’t think he knows exactly how to be romantic and sometimes his gestures of love can be a little weird. Like sometimes when he sees you in a crowd even if you smile and wave he’s just gonna stand there looking at you with no expression. He forgets he has a mouth and eyes that can be used to express one’s emotions. He also has no understanding of social cues so please bear with him. Also I’m sorry that your pickup lines hit a blank wall. Except that one time you made a star-wars pickup line and said yoda only one for me. You fell even harder for him when you realized he was a geek too and he fell harder because he finally understood all the nonsense you were yapping about and meant them romantically. Bear with him, I know he sucks at showing it but he really likes you. Have you seen the way he grits his teeth and glares if someone so much as looks at you. You like him being possessive don’t you? He loves it when you have deep conversations with him and he’ll listen to you talking endlessly.
Amajiki
LOOK AT MY POOKIE MWAH
I’m sorry but Amajiki is mine. Go find your own cinnamon roll. I’m gate keeping all his character traits and love languages. I’ll just word drop so that you get jealous.
He’s super depressed and moody if I leave him and talk to someone else.
The moment he sees me in a crowded room, he walks up to me and attaches himself to me and eventually convinces me to leave so that we can hang out together.
He’s biggest fear is actually losing me, he doesn’t mean that as a joke.
He loves it when I cuddle him and tell him how much I love him.
Which I do on a regular basis so back off. :3
#Mha#my hero academia#boku no hero academia#bnha#mha boys x y/n#deku x reader#mha deku#deku x you#deku x y/n#bakugou x reader#bakugou katsuki#izuku midoriya#mha shinsou#shinso x reader#monoma x reader#tamaki amajiki#bnha x reader#amajiki x me#Ok back to studying#Sorry again anon
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A secret observer?
PLEASE DO NOT ASK NEIL ABOUT FAN THEORY.
This idea first came to me when I was going through the fantastic ‘filters as POV markers’ meta by @somehow-a-human
The inconsistencies in the way the filters are used made me think that some parts of the narrative may be shown from a yet unknown POV. Let’s be honest, someone spying on our ineffable boyfriends is not a novel idea. It has been done before:
And there is an episode which finally started to make some sense to me when I applied this idea.
There is nothing I find as frustrating in s2 as Aziraphale’s trip to Edinburgh. The point is, I really really don’t think this angel is an idiot. And neither does Crowley, whose POV is supposedly what we see here. Yet the way Aziraphale behaves in the pub appears to be terribly stupid or at least devoid of logic.
Just think, mere hours ago, when Muriel arrived to his bookshop, Aziraphale smirked and exchanged glances with Crowley about all the constable and cuppertea silliness. And then here he is, our Nefertiti-fooling fellow, who has been living on Earth for 6000 years - acting as if he’s just stepped out of the elevator from Heaven.
These two conversations really start in a similar way:
Even their excitement to be considered convincing in their roles looks the same.
And further on in the pub Aziraphale just gives us a vivid demonstration on how to NOT convey an investigation.
He came, made an IMPRESSION, refused a drink (which could’ve helped to chat up the pub owner), asked some questions, interrupted the speaker, found out ONE small detail, grabbed the booklet and left. After all the detective novels he ever read, seriously?
For me this looks like a performance, a show, just like the one with the bullet catch. Or the one with Job, when even the most awkward lies were swallowed by a perceptive audience. I think Aziraphale knows there is a similar audience in the Resurrectionist (and possibly elsewhere in Edinburgh). He is playing a part for an observer we have no idea about.
What he actually found out, what happened to the briefcase, why the trip was necessary, why Aziraphale went to the graveyard - maybe we would know it all, if we saw this trip from Aziraphale’s actual POV.
#good omens#good omens 2#good omens meta#good omens theories#good omens analysis#good omens edinburgh
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Insert Your Name (12)
Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader
Link to series masterlist!
Notes and TW: Last chapter! Side stories will follow. Thank you for sticking with this series for so long! This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!
Tags: @guava-enjoyer @itszzmoon @twstsandturns @myteacupisempty @rou-luxe @chikitasmol @night-shadowblood-writes2 @haveneulalie @owodi
7:30 P.M. DD/MM/YYYY
I thought I knew the truth for a while—that this world existed inside a story. That this was a world which revolved around a nameless, faceless, flawless main character. This entire world around me existed to serve one purpose: to present trials to the main character until she eventually finds a happy ending with her one and only. This world was created for “(Y/N).”
I was Friend A. Friend A was never mentioned again after page two of that story.
It turns out that I was sort of wrong. This world is made for stories, from stories, and (Y/N) happened to be the main character at the time. Now that I’m the author, I made myself the main character.
You wrote “story” and “world” so much that they hardly look like real words anymore. The tip of your pen hovers over the first page of your journal. It’s your first time keeping one, and you aren’t certain how to proceed. What tone do you use? Should it be informal or professional? How long should each entry be? How detailed should you make it?
The trapdoor to the attic flips open. Floyd’s head pokes through it like a garden eel in the sand.
“Whatcha doin’ over there? Still lookin’ for that manuscript?”
You shake your head. The manuscript for (Y/N)’s story disappeared without a trace after your meeting with Hans. No matter how hard you searched, nothing turned up, so you could only assume he retrieved it.
“No use in looking for it. I’m starting on my journal.” The pen twirls in your hand. “I’m not really sure how I want to write it.”
He hoists himself up and saunters over to where you’re curled up at the window. He peers at your handwriting. Flippantly, he flops on the floor next to you and yawns.
“Who caaares. Write whatever ya feel like writin’. It’s not like the one before was any good.”
The previous author’s manuscript was riddled with inconsistencies, plot holes, and grammar mistakes. It wouldn’t be a massive problem. Hans would simply have to work harder to fill in the gaps.
“The previous one failed, though.”
“Then just don’t fail.” He grins up at you. “Easy, right?”
You pinch his nose, laughing when he swats at your hand.
“Easier said than done.” Despite that, his words ease the burden on your shoulders just a bit. You don’t need to overthink this. It’s your story, yours to tell however you’d like. “Thanks for the advice, though.”
“Sure, sure.” Your name rolls off his tongue dismissively. “You worry too much.”
You glance at him. “You’ve been calling me ‘Red Handfish’ recently, why’d you switch back to my name?”
The lamplight glints in Floyd’s eyes briefly, then he closes them. A lazy grin spreads on his lips.
“I was calling ya ‘Red Handfish’ ’cuz I was hopin’ you’d get your hands all red and bloody again.” A huff of air escapes him. “Shoulda been there when you beat up the security.”
“Typically, you’re supposed to not hope I’m beating up your men.”
“It’s fine. Not like Jade and I need much protectin’.” His voice quiets down to a mumble. “You’re enough for security or whatever.”
His voice trails off at the end. Soon, quiet snores fill the attic. Seeing that he isn’t planning on disrupting your writing, your attention returns to your journal. Following his advice might not be a bad idea.
My main priority was to break the curse on Mr. and Mrs. Leech. I thought I’d have to ask (Y/N) to reach out to Vil Schoenheit or write something in this journal, but it turns out I didn’t have to do anything. Hans went ahead and nudged the odds in my favour already. At least, I suspect he had a hand in it. But I’m never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I’ll happily accept that Walrus’s team and our own people have found a way to break the curse.
Azul was slightly disappointed that he didn’t manage to find a method on his own. He really wanted to put the twins in his debt, but I guess he’ll have to sulk. His specialty is potions, after all. Not curses. He’s also a little salty because this implies Vil Schoenheit is still more skilled than him on the subject of curses. His competitive nature never dies down when it comes to other competent people, even after all these years.
Anyway, the curse was undone three days ago. They’ve woken up perfectly stable and healthy, if a little tired. The twins have spent nearly every waking hour in their room. I’m glad they’re all looking much more lively.
Their parents wanted to go right back to work, but Jade and Floyd have been very insistent on making sure they rest. Right now, Jade and his parents have decided to split up the work equally, but Jade plans on eventually relinquishing his position as the temporary head of the Leech Mafia. He doesn’t want it back anytime soon. His parents might want him to keep observing their work, but I think he’ll take a long breather after the Carpenter Mafia dissolves. He says he wants to join a research lab on fungi. I’m sure he’ll enjoy himself there.
Speaking of Jade’s interests, Floyd owes him quite a bit for breaking his terrariums. You cast a glance at the twin dozing off on the floor. Jade’s been working him hard. Just as you’re about to pull a knitted blanket off the window seat and drape it over his torso, Jade climbs up to the attic.
“Ah, I thought I might find you two here.” He ignores your shushing motion, speaking nearly louder than his usual conversational volume. “Have you made any progress on that journal?”
“Keep it down, Floyd’s sleeping.”
“Oh? I suppose he is.” He smiles as though he’s entirely innocent. “Even though he should be running an errand on the west side of the city right now. Isn’t that so, my dear brother?”
Floyd stirs, brows furrowing as he grumbles. “Fuck off, man.”
“I’m afraid you’re late. Why don’t you head out? It wouldn’t do for you to procrastinate.” Jade leans over him, his shadow eclipsing Floyd’s face. The latter gripes some more before rolling away and hopping right through the trapdoor. His footsteps echo through the halls, eventually leading to the sound of the front door.
“He’s tired. You should let him rest.” You close your journal and set it beside you.
He kneels by your seat and rests his head on your knee. Gingerly, you reach out and comb your fingers through his hair. His entire body melts against the wall and your knee.
“I am also tired.” His eyelids drop halfway, a pitiable pout on his lips. “Much more so than he is, I’m sure.”
“And what? You want a gold medal for the Fatigue Olympics?” Despite your words, your other hand holds his jaw, thumb brushing over his cheek. “Come on, get off the floor. It can’t be comfortable.”
He sighs in contentment. “With the way you’re touching me, I have half a mind to stay where I am.”
You’ve come to realize that Jade acts this way when he’s looking for attention, and he only actively looks for attention from you. With a sigh escaping the smile on your lips, you ease his head off your knee and move your legs so that your feet touch the floor. He has the gall to look like a kicked puppy.
“You’re so dramatic.” You pat the cushioned space next to you. “Sit up here.”
It’s like his fatigue disappears as soon as you extend the invitation. He wastes no time in sitting next to you, his thigh pressing against yours. One of his hands reaches behind you. You feel it causing the cushions to shift under you as he uses it to support his weight. Strangely, it feels more intimate than if he had touched you directly. The knowledge that his arm is there creates a sense of security. Sturdy, safe, like the face of a cliff that has your back. He’ll never be a threat to you. You think back to what you once thought of people who trust Jade, and you wonder if you’re a fool, desperate, or if you have something on him.
It might not be so bad to be a fool once in a while.
You lean into his side and rest your head on his shoulder. A pause, followed by the light pressure of his cheek against your hair. His body is cool to the touch like always, and you find comfort in it.
“I’ll help you make new terrariums to replace the ones Floyd broke.”
“How kind of you.” The hand behind you lifts, only to find its place on your waist, securing you to his side. “In that case, I should consider what I’d like to grow in them. Lichen would decorate some surfaces well, but I doubt it would be possible.”
“Lichen?” You often see it back home near the shore. “Why not?”
“It cannot survive in a closed system like my terrariums.” His voice lowers to a soft, almost sweet tone. “It requires clean, fresh air, outside the confines of a box that I control. The charm of keeping a terrarium is that I control every factor within it, down to what lives or dies. But despite the fact that it eludes my grasp, I adore observing its beauty in the environment where it thrives.”
Somehow, you don’t think he’s talking about lichen anymore.
“Lichen grows on trees and rocks, right?” You think about the cliffside. Patches of pale green life covered the rocks where you met Jade. It brought a sort of earthy, rustic quality to the area. “It’s pretty. I think I’ve seen a few of your photos focusing on it.”
“Yes, it needs to be anchored to a sturdy surface.” He adjusts his grip on your waist. “Unassuming, allowing other elements of the scenery to shine, but charming and effective in its own right.”
You don’t want to ask if he’s referring to you. He’ll surely tease you for being self-absorbed. However, you are not so prideful as to not acknowledge what he’s trying to say.
“I sort of understand wanting to be anchored to something.” You place one hand over his. “It’s easier to let my guard down when there’s something that can protect my back.”
“Allow me to assist you with that.” He intertwines your fingers. “If you must be anchored to something, I’ll be more than happy to provide you with support forever, until you ask me to stop.”
“All this talk about ‘forever.’” A grin pulls at your lips. There’s no harm in teasing him once in a while. “It’s like you’re trying to marry me. What’s with that, huh?”
His entire body freezes. You lift your head from his shoulder, trying to look at his face.
“Jade? I was joking—”
He gently presses against your temple, his wrist blocking your eyes as he guides your head back down to his shoulder. What a letdown. This time, you really wanted to see his expression.
“Incidentally,” he says, “would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow?”
“You changed the topic way too abruptly.” Laughter bubbles in your throat. “I thought you were better at making conversation than that.”
“I’m inclined to disagree.” He doesn’t elaborate. “Are you free tomorrow evening? We can book a reservation for that restaurant you wanted to try.”
Usually, you wouldn’t turn it down. But . . .
“Sorry, I’ll be out with (Y/N) all day.” You’ve missed her. And after she called you in distress over losing the polaroids you took together, you promised to replace them with new ones. There’s so much you have yet to do with her. “Maybe the day after?”
Jade sighs loudly, as though he’s the most pitiful being in the world. Amidst teasing laughter, you close your journal and focus your attention on him. It’s alright to take your time writing it. Your story is a process that does not need to be rushed. It may only be a page at the moment, but one day, you’re sure this journal will fill with your experiences, plans, and thoughts. You will continue on living as your own person—not a side character or a main character in a grander scheme, but as yourself. To live as a human being with your unique experiences—that is your story.
#twisted wonderland#disney twst#jade leech#twst jade#twst x reader#jade leech x reader#twst fanfic#mafia au#floyd leech#multi chap fic#slow burn has burned#thanks for reading so far!
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Secret Identity!Homelander x Reader Headcanons
Note: Gender neutral but mildly fem-coded reader, and no descriptors are used. This is inspired by the throwaway line from season 1 where Homelander mentions having a secret identity, but not keeping it for long, so I imagine it’d have been in the 2000s when he was in his 20s. My brain really latched onto the idea, and this is the result. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.
Warnings: Voyeurism, relationship under false pretenses, obsessive and disturbing behavior. Do not interact if you're under 18.
• Your new neighbor moves into the apartment next door seemingly overnight, but luckily you have a box of brownie mix and some powdered sugar tucked away in your cupboard and decide to make some as a ‘welcome to the building’ gesture
• His name is John, and he apologizes in advance if he wakes you up with his coming and going since he works odd, inconsistent hours as a crime reporter for a small, independent newspaper
• You notice the Indiana University logo embroidered on his sweatshirt and cheerfully say, “Hey, you’re a Hoosier! I’m sure you’re already working on your March Madness bracket.” He nods along as if he understands what the fuck you’re talking about. The two of you continue small talk until you make your leave back to your place. He goes to his computer, groaning at his choice of Indiana as his home state when he doesn’t know anything about basketball, let alone March Madness and brackets
• Over the next week or so, he realizes just how unprepared he is for living on his own, but luck’s on his side, because he hardly has to worry about doing much cooking or cleaning himself when you’re constantly inviting him over for dinner and offering to bring his clothes over to the laundromat with yours since you “know he’s so busy with work”
• Sometimes he has trouble keeping his backstory straight, though he is at least able to bullshit his way through your questions about college and basketball. That doesn’t faze you at first, as he keeps you enraptured with his inside scoop on crime in the city. You’re none the wiser as to how he knows the intimate details of some of the cases, under the impression that he’s just a great reporter
• He keeps tabs on you from afar, Homelander doing quick fly-bys of the area where you work just to make sure everything’s okay. He was raised to be a hero, after all. When you’re alone in your apartment, however, he has no shame in looking through your walls and listening in on what you’re up to. He knows everything about you, the type of music you listen to, the TV shows you watch, the food you go for when you wake up for a midnight snack, that you call your best friend every Thursday night at nine, no detail is too minute for him
• One evening, he decides to take a closer look at your place while you’re in the shower, until he looks through the bathroom wall and feels his mouth go dry at the sight of you. He slips his hand down his pants, and, well, what you don’t know won’t hurt you. It becomes a habit, his guilty pleasure of getting himself off whenever you’re naked in your apartment
• To you, though, he’s still your hot neighbor-friend John, who your coworkers have been pestering you to make a move on, telling you that it sounds like he’s straight from a Hallmark movie. You’re reluctant, but you start to consider something with John when you mention wanting to get rid of some of your older, worn-out furniture and buy new stuff and lament having to pay a company to move. He volunteers to help you during the weekend
• It’s almost funny how he pretends to struggle to move the furniture when he could rearrange your entire apartment without breaking a sweat. He seems to be a good actor, though, because he notices your forehead creased with worry as you watch him move a couch himself. He likes your eyes on him for a change, and though he flexes his muscles every chance he gets, the concern awakens something in him. It’s nothing less than calculated when he “accidentally” drops the couch, pretending to hurt his arm in the process
• You’re frantic as you rush to his side to inspect the damage. Of course there’s no bruising, a truck would have to land on him for that to happen. Still, you gingerly touch his arm and he pretends to hiss in pain. You disappear into the kitchen, only to return with a bag of frozen vegetables in your hand and guilt etched across your features
• “John, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” you ask, brushing his hair from his face, and it takes everything in him not to lean into your touch as he assures you he’ll be fine. The furniture moving project is over for the night, and you order a pizza and let him pick a movie to watch. Your movie collection is almost foreign to him, having been raised on a carefully curated selection of propaganda and clean American classics. He picks Dirty Dancing on a whim, and it proves to be a good choice as you gush over how much you love the movie
• For the first time in his life, he indulges in greasy junk food and cheesy movies, feeling that pang in his heart again as he watches the romance unfold on screen, the one weakness he could never quite get over, loneliness. He notices how as the movie progresses, you end up curled up against him. He furrows his eyebrows, wondering to himself if it’s actually a date all along, and from the way you keep glancing at his lips, only to bashfully look away when he catches you staring confirms that
• He can hear your erratic heartbeat and decides to just go for it, stealing a kiss from you in the middle of the movie. From then on, you’re dating, and suddenly this persona of his becomes far more complicated than he anticipated. You make him happier than he’s ever been in his life. He wants to keep you incredibly close, both of your respective free time consumed by each other, even while he’s Homelander, unbeknownst to you
• John may as well be your dream boyfriend in the beginning of your relationship, attentive and romantic, bringing you to a nearby park on your first official date for a picnic and to try the famous Dirty Dancing lift scene. “Let’s at least try!” he insists. “I’ll catch you.” Despite your hesitations since he’d hurt his arm moving your furniture just a few days ago, he catches you with an almost unbelievable ease on the first try, to your delight. “I’ve always wanted to do that!” you laugh as he sets you down, pulling him in for a kiss
• He buys you elaborate floral bouquets and increasingly expensive gifts, to the point where you wonder how the hell he has that kind of money as a reporter unless he gets paid off by the same criminals he’s supposed to be reporting on. Sometimes he’s troublingly jealous or says things that unsettle you, but you assume it’s because of the line of work he’s in, being exposed to the worst of people. Besides, whenever you get even the slightest bit nervous by his words or actions, he seems to know just when to swoop in and calm you down
• Definitely has no concept of personal space or normal sleep schedules. You’re the first non-Vought affiliated person he’s ever had any kind of relationship with. It’s intense and things move pretty fast, like "I love you on the third date" fast. He idealizes you a lot. Emotionally you’re stretched thin by having to fill the role of lover, parent, best friend, confidant silly rabbit
• Date nights at your place are comforting and domestic, but going out is always an adventure with him. His lack of knowledge of generally getting around New York is downright strange since he reports on crimes all over the city. Not to mention, people do double-takes when they see him, as if they recognize him from somewhere but then figure otherwise. It happens way too often to be a coincidence, though
• Sex with John can also be unpredictable, passionate and loving to intense and almost painful. He’s into some weird stuff and doesn’t have the best etiquette when it comes to his kinks. Not to mention his stamina is almost inhuman, and when you comment as much after he fucks you the fourth time in under two hours, his response is strange, to say the least. You chalk it up to years of sexual repression that he maybe didn't get out during his college years
• Still, he supports and adores you, so you can deal with the frustration and emotional exhaustion when he knocks on your door at eleven at night, letting out a dramatic sigh as he flops on your couch and you take the cue to ask him how his day was. You know there’s something he’s keeping from you, but you decide not to push it. He’s just as interested in your everyday life, hell, he wants you to bother him with the mundane stuff. That’s what boyfriends are for, anyway. You have no idea of what his true identity is, yet you still love him
• It can’t last forever, though, because you work late one evening, so he decides to check up on you, just to be safe. The scene he descends on is almost too perfect, the type of scenario he’d seen played out in the Vought-branded Payback cartoons he watched growing up. Still, seeing the man so much as pointing the knife in your direction as he demands you hand over your money and valuables almost makes Homelander lose control
• He lands in between you and the man, who takes a nervous step back. “Not so brave now, huh, buddy?” Homelander scoffs, grabbing the man’s wrist and snapping it, the knife falling to the ground as he screams in pain, clutching his broken wrist
• The situation becomes even more nightmarish as you watch America’s fresh-faced hero push your attempted assailant onto his knees, a cruel gleam in his eyes and sneer on his lips as he grabs the man’s head and twists. You can’t bare to watch, gagging when you hear a distinct snap followed by the crunching of bones
• Homelander turns to you, taking you into his arms for what’s supposed to be a comforting embrace, “It’s alright now. You’re safe with me, babe”
• Your brain pretty much short circuits as you realize your boyfriend John is actually the most powerful superhero who ever lived, and you just witnessed him break a man’s neck like it was a toothpick
• Naturally, you pass out, right into his blood-covered hands. He presses a kiss to your forehead and takes off for Vought Tower. No need to pretend anymore, right?
#homelander x reader#homelander x you#homelander headcanons#homelander imagine#the boys x reader#the boys headcanons#the boys tv#the boys amazon#'headcanons' this is long enough to be a fic but fuck it we ball
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carmy telling sydney that she loves taking care of people is SO specific and exacting coming from him bc carmy hasn’t really experienced or allowed himself care... yet he recognizes that ability and characteristic so astutely in sydney.
that line is a callback to what nat says to him last season about chef’s liking to take care of people through their creativity, their gifts, their food. which is one of the reasons carmy gravitates toward food.
that’s one of the ONLY times he felt connected to and cared for within his highly dysfunctional and fractured family. THRU their likeness with and for food.
every other time he cared within his family, it was thrown in his face, he didn’t do it right or he was punished for trying.
part of him recognizing sydney’s brilliance and capability is absolutely about her skill and the food but it’s also about her ability to CARE about all of these things above and beyond the food as well.
something carmy really struggles with. like the accolades, the stars, certain details of the business. he can’t care bc care is such a tenuous and foreign concept to him on so many levels.
some people took noticeable (and justifiable) issue with all that he saddles sydney with both last season, and moreso, this season.
but without delving too much into the unjust and imbalanced distribution of labor on a black woman, which has valid and necessary critique, part of the reason carmy feels so comfortable and trusting in allowing sydney to do so many things is because he feels secure in her care and the expressions of it.
not for him specifically or directly, but for all the things that are required in their business. and even all that is required as a human as well.
he knows that her care extends beyond the food and the nourishment and the fulfillment of a meal.
and i think he does this almost unconsciously because he still wanted final say and approval on things. that’s his limited need for control and to know the working facets of a thing in order to feel certain it won’t implode.
but the CARE. that is something he sees in her. it’s something he’s lacked in a broader sense for most of his life. that care from another, directed back.
carmy desperately wants to feel and experience care. but he can’t. he keeps it at arm’s length, he self sabotages from it.
this also speaks to how we don’t ever even see HIM experience this basic care via a meal. like this guy is a chef, he’s surrounded by chefs and owns a restaurant yet he eats pb&js and poptarts?? cannot experience or allow himself care.
i think his simple acknowledgement and vocal proclamation of sydney’s care and heart is so special and impacting bc that’s what he needs. that’s what he desperately craves. but he has no real concept of it. he’s tried to display it so much throughout his life in his family but the remnants and byproducts have wounded him so severely.
so even in the way he expresses care there is an inconsistency or a haphazardness.
which is also why him telling her earlier in this season: “you’re gonna have to care about everything, more than anything” is actually just a projection. because sydney doesn’t have a lack of perception and understanding and dynamic with care. HE does!
sydney has experienced care on additional levels he hasn’t had access to. sydney has been loved. even if primarily in a familial, parental way. that is a foundation for so MUCH when it comes to the capacity of care and nurture. both giving and receiving it.
this is also why he seems so visually fixated on her sometimes. he’s trying to gauge and learn her but also figure out how he can care for and about her (while also keeping her at an arm’s length and protecting himself) because someone like her is literally BRAND new to him.
this is why he can’t handle her being upset or peeved at him.
this why he called in the favor he did for something he KNEW she would care about wearing.
WHY HE LITERALLY TRIES TO GIVE HER WHAT SHE WANTS NEARLY ALWAYS.
he witnesses her capacity for care continuously displayed and feels his own opening up toward and for her.
#sydcarmy#carmy x sydney#the bear#the bear fx#the bear meta#sydcarmy meta#the way i'm ENTRANCED with this dynamic#i need to be able to focus on other things PLSSSS
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Hey, same anon that talked about the school magic barrier. So you think the magical barrier sucks? Because in the comments someone mentioned that, for example, Chenya broke in multiple times
[Referencing this post!]
I wouldn’t say so? The students talk about the magical barrier as though it is strong and reliable (here’s an example from the beginning of book 6; Vil is surprised that there has been a breach):
It wouldn’t make sense for the barrier to be weak or sucky when NRC is such a prestigious school that houses many important people. (Why bother erecting a barrier at all if it can’t protect the people it’s supposed to??) I think there must be some alternate explanation, either with Chenya or with how the barrier operates 🤔 (since we don’t have a lot of canon on either).
For the Chenya thing, it could really be a case of us not fully understanding his UM or his strength. Maybe he just knows a weak spot in the barrier he uses to sneak in (he isn’t exactly a stranger to this kind of thing; he also took advantage of Mrs. Rosehearts’ blind spot and snuck Riddle out of his lessons). If we want to run with the “Crowley is orchestrating everything” theory, then those hypothetical weak spots could be intentionally created by him to let Chenya in to trigger Riddle’s OB? Or Maybe Chenya is way more powerful of a mage than we think he is. It could also be that his UM works in such a way that it allows him to bypass barriers. (Like, if his UM makes him intangible and the barrier somehow doesn’t keep out intangible things.) We don’t have anything to prove that’s how his UM works, but we also don’t have anything to disprove it. This could also be the case for the ghosts that show up at NRC for Ghost Marriage, who also lack physical bodies and could breach the barrier just fine.
I saw a comment on the original post suggesting that the barrier was ineffective because it couldn’t even keep out trespassers on Halloween. I think the barrier works slightly differently in that case?? Like, if there are already people allowed in (for the Halloween festivities on-campus) the barrier isn’t capable of booting them out—ie a door can keep a wild animal out, but once the wild animal is already inside your home, the door is useless at protecting you. It’s also possible that whoever regulates the barrier magic (probably Crowley?) didn’t bother to recast the barrier after lowering it for Halloween guests because “it’s too much trouble” and the activities will be lasting a few days anyway; they might be waiting until post-Halloween to slap up the barrier again. (I’d imagine this takes a lot of effort, and they’d probably be worn out just from overseeing the Halloween events anyway.) This may also be the case for the Tsums, who drop out of a hole over the sky of Ramshackle. The portal is immediately bypassing the barrier and opening up overhead, inside of the barrier already.
… Ooooor it could just be as simple as “the lore is inconsistent, please suspend your disbelief for these details” since some of these stories would not play out at all if the barrier actually worked as intended all the time. We wouldn’t have Ghost Marriage, Chenya visiting, the Tsums (which Crowley confirms were able to bypass the barrier despite him reinforcing it) or Halloween shenanigans if the barrier didn’t conveniently not work 😂 You could call the magical barrier a plot device, honestly.
#twisted wonderland#twst#Vil Schoenheit#disney twisted wonderland#disney twst#twst theory#twst theories#twisted wonderland theories#twisted wonderland theory#Chenya#Che'nya#notes from the writing raven#question#Riddle Rosehearts#Dire Crowley
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parenthood blurb: february plans (pt. 1)
a/n: happy sunday! this blurb is very ambivalence-detail heavy, but i hope you enjoy it!! as always, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 have a great week, besties!
i also wrote it in rafe's perspective bc you guys always ask for that so lmk if you like it!
warnings: swearing, consumption of alcohol, kissing
ambivalence masterlist , parenthood masterlist
Rafe’s not sure exactly what it is about tonight that has him desperate for your touch.
Thursday night dinners with your parents — although more inconsistent because of kids’ activities and life — still happen on occasion, and Rafe still sits beside you. Josie takes over Sarah’s seat and Connor takes over Wheezie’s. Scott’s has been sitting empty for a while, but nobody acknowledges that.
Tonight, Topper and Ellie accepted their invite to join, and Rafe couldn’t be happier. It means everyone’s focus is less on him, and his focus can be more on you.
He starts with a simple arm around the back of your chair once everyone gets their plates in order; stroking your shoulder with his fingertips. When you lean into his touch, he doesn’t even try to hide his smirk, and he wonders if you feel as needy as he does.
After a few minutes, he removes his arm. He watches subtly as you frown but try not to let it show, then take a few more bites of your dinner. Just as you reach for your wine — which you can now drink freely at the table — he reaches over and sets his large, warm palm on your thigh.
“Rafe,” you hiss quietly, and just the sound of his name on your lips is enough to drive him crazy.
“Hmm?” he hums innocently, watching as you glance over at the kids and check on them before looking back at him.
“What are you doing?”
Numerous responses run through his mind. He could tell you the truth — that you drive him insane everyday, but especially when you’re wearing a cute little dress that looks so familiar and he can smell your perfume because you’re so close. He could tell you that he has no idea what you’re talking about — he’s just subconsciously putting his hands on you. Instead, he grins.
“You look beautiful,” he whispers, “I’ve seen this dress before.”
He notices the way you bite down on the inside of your bottom lip. Your eyes turn softer, and the way you look at him through your lashes has something deep inside him stirring around. Gently, you reach over and wrap your hand around his forearm, making him smile.
“Yes, you have.”
A smirk teases Rafe’s lips, “Remind me.”
Immediately, you grow shy. Rafe loves when it happens because it’s not often anymore that he can make you like this, but when he does, his chest swells. He watches as you squeeze his forearm slightly, signaling that you don’t want to talk about it here.
To retaliate, he slides his palm just a little further up your thigh, where he pushes back the fabric of your dress slightly. Your eyes widen and you try halfheartedly to push his hand back down, but he doesn’t budge.
He smirks at the way you don’t really try to push him off, because you secretly love the way he touches you. He’s prideful, and he doesn’t care about getting caught.
“I’ll think about it,” he says smugly, leaning in closer, “Because, baby, you look absolutely gorgeous.”
You squirm under the praise, “Thank you.”
“Mhm,” he hums, leaving a kiss on your temple before he pulls back, still staring proudly at you.
“Rafe, did you hear what I said?”
Rafe’s eyes shift over to Topper, who is eating his meal on breaks between feeding Ellie. His eyes narrow at his best friend, and Rafe’s grip tightens around your thigh when he feels you tense.
“No, Top, I was talking to my wife,” Rafe says, as if it’s obvious, “Sorry. Tell me again.”
Topper, Rafe, and your father all enter into football talk while your mother gushes over Connor and asks him how he likes his school, leaving you to try and eat your food with Rafe’s hands on you.
Rafe, on the other hand, knows he’s so much better than you when it comes to having a poker face. You wear every emotion right on your face, whereas he could be sliding his fingers inside your panties right now and nobody would ever know.
When his hand slides higher, you squeeze your thighs together. Rafe lets out a chuckle at that, earning a furrow of the brows from Topper. He feels you squeeze his forearm again in warning, but he ignores it, so you do your best to cover his hand with your dress. He grins, not caring about Topper’s rant about the NFL being rigged.
While expertly nodding along, Rafe racks his brain to try and figure out when and where he’s seen this dress before. It’s too casual for Midsummers. Your anniversary was a blue dress. Your birthday was black pants and that very sexy red top—
“Don’t you think, Rafe?”
Rafe’s eyes dart to your father, who is lifting a fork full of food up to his mouth. He knows he has no choice but to bluff, so he does.
“Absolutely,” Rafe nods, “They’ve got a horrible defense.”
Your father tosses his hands up, chewing before he looks at Topper, “That’s what I keep telling him!”
You can’t help but laugh, and Rafe knows why. He knows that you know he was bluffing. In another bit of retaliation, Rafe slides his hand further, then skims his fingertips across your skin.
“Stop it,” you whisper, pushing his arm back down.
“No,” he whispers back, “I’m trying to figure out about this dress. I know I’ve seen it bef—”
He stops in the middle of the word; hand freezing on your thigh and eyes locking on yours. He realizes right then exactly where he’s seen this dress before, and he feels himself grow warmer at the recollection.
He takes his sweet time looking over you — savoring you in a different way than he had been before. You’re wrapped up like a present for him. The best one he will ever receive, and he knows it, too. His heart aches as he recalls the memory associated with this dress, the dreams he had, and the desire he had that night to innocently slip his hand underneath — the same way he is right now.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, “This is the dress you were wearing when we had our first kiss.”
He watches you nod sweetly, biting down hard on your bottom lip so as to not give away too much of your smile.
“Yeah,” you murmur, “It’s a little more snug than it was back then, but—”
“It’s perfect,” he stops you, wanting to add a thousand more adjectives to the end of that, “You couldn’t look more beautiful in it.”
“Thank you,” you say with a smile.
He beams and lets your warm skin against his palm draw him back to where exactly he wants to be. His index finger slides up past your hip bone, and he listens as you inhale sharply as he loops it through the band of your thong.
Smirking widely, Rafe leans closer, “Finish your dinner, baby. Your food’s gonna get cold.”
“Your fault,” you mumble.
Rafe laughs, then playfully squeezes your leg once more. Quickly, he scans the room to ensure that nobody is watching, because he knows that would embarrass you if anyone knew. Thankfully, everyone is too wrapped up in their own plates to notice a thing.
“What made you wear that tonight?” he asks.
You shrug, “Found it in my closet.”
“Oh, and you just felt like teasing me, huh?” he grins, “Whatever you want, you can have it.”
He watches the smile break out across your face, and suddenly, everything else melts away from him. It’s just you, it always has been, and the rest of it is simply noise to him.
“Well, there is one thing,” you tease.
His heart lurches at the sight of you pursing your lips before you ask for it, and Rafe is desperate to tell you that it’s already yours.
“Yes,” he says in a deep voice, clearing his throat as you lean closer.
“Will you have a glass of wine with me out by the pool after dinner?”
He swallows and keeps his lips pressed tight, not wanting to let out the whimper that threatens to leave him at the sight of you wanting, needing, begging for his company.
The thought of reliving that experience — of sitting outside with his knee grazing yours as he sips wine and tries to think of something equally clever and cool to say, makes him feel dizzy. In the best way possible.
“Sweetheart, I would love that,” he replies, “You grab glasses and a bottle while I clean up.”
“Okay,” you smile.
He takes a deep breath, then runs his index finger over the loop he’d created with your panties. Casually, he tucks the one finger inside, through your folds, feeling how much his teasing has truly gotten to you.
He laughs to himself, looking smug and prideful as ever. You nudge him with your shoulder, then playfully swat at his hand. Reluctantly, Rafe extracts his hand and drags it back down to the middle of your thigh, then kisses your temple once more.
“Daddy, look!” Josie exclaims, earning both of your attention, “I’ve been tryin’ to show you how I ate all my vegetables.”
“Yeah, Rafe,” Topper smirks, “She’s been trying to show you.”
Rafe narrows his eyes at Topper, ignoring the way you exhale out a laugh.
“Sorry, princess. I’m so proud of you for eating your vegetables. Want more?”
“No,” she says immediately, “Connor needs to eat his.”
Connor looks over at Rafe and gives him a wide smile before stabbing a green bean with his fork and popping it into his mouth.
“He will, Jo,” Rafe assures her, “So will Mommy.”
You nudge his shoulder again, “Mind your business, Cameron.”
“You are my business, Cameron.”
Rafe rushes through cleaning, only half-listening to your father’s rambles about referees and how they can make or break the game. As soon as they finish, he dries his hands and quickly asks your mom to watch the kids for a bit, then hurries out onto the patio.
He freezes in his tracks when he gets to the screen door. You’re sitting the way you always did; legs dangling in the water with a wine bottle beside you. Wearing the same dress you had on when you kissed him.
And now, he realizes, you’re waiting on him. Everything hits him all over again — the way it does on occasion when he catches you doing something for him. The first time you left a note in the lunch you packed for him, he got no work done for the rest of the day. When Kelce borrowed his truck and returned it looking less than pristine on the outside, you took it and got it washed and vacuumed before he even saw it, then added a picture of the two of you on his dash. The first time he saw the picture, he came back inside, and was subsequently late to work.
Now, it hits him as he sees you waiting on him in the same spot that he’d managed to put himself on your radar. He remembers just how much he wanted you to look his way, how he wanted you to be happy, and how he vowed to himself when you agreed to marry him that he would make sure that was the case.
He waited on you for years, and the sight of you waiting on him, now, makes his heart beat a little faster.
“You gonna stare all night, or come join?”
You don’t even look back. He grins so hard that he swears his muscles start to ache, and without even a moment’s worth of hesitation, he hurries out of the patio and over to you.
“Can’t help myself,” he admits, “What did you expect, anyway? Putting this dress on and teasing the shit out of me at the table.”
You laugh and hand him a glass, then pick up your own. Rafe makes sure to brush his fingers against your own, then tucks his arm around you. His legs drop into the pool beside yours, and you place your head on his shoulder.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about us,” you say shyly.
Rafe’s heart plummets in his chest. What does that mean? Why is she saying that?
He starts to grip the wine glass too tight, and uses his one arm around you to center himself. He swallows, then takes a long sip of wine to ease whatever blow you’re about to administer.
“And?” he asks roughly.
You snicker, then turn and place your chin on his shoulder. He relaxes slightly, sure that if you were about to tell him something major, you wouldn’t be behaving this way.
“Relax,” you whisper, leaning forward and pressing a long kiss to his jaw, “It’s nothing bad. I mean, nothing bad to me, I guess, I just… I’ve been thinking about what Kelce said to me a few weeks ago. How everyone thinks we’re perfect together.”
Rafe’s brows furrow, “You don’t think we are?”
His heart beats faster in his chest, but he tries to calm himself. Not react too quickly. You need time to articulate your thoughts, and he knows it. He watches as you shake your head, looking annoyed at yourself for not expressing yourself the right way.
“I don’t think we’re perfect,” you say, “But, nobody is. We work at our relationship and, yeah, we’re probably better at that than most, but still.”
Rafe nods, “Yeah, you’re right. Did it bother you? What Kelce said?”
“I mean, yeah,” you shrug it off, “For a little while. Then, I started telling myself that we’ve been through so much together, and the only people our relationship has to make sense to is us.”
Rafe’s lips tip up, and he subtly scoots his leg closer to yours. He’s sure you’ll think it was an accident, but it wasn’t. It never is.
“Makes perfect sense to me,” he teases.
When you laugh, Rafe feels everything settle in his chest. He no longer feels that sense of anxiety or fear, and instead, he reaches for your hand. Your fingers lace together the same way they have a million times, and it dawns on Rafe that this is the first place he ever held your hand, too. So many of your firsts have been out here, and the memory brings a warm feeling to his stomach.
“Do you remember our first kiss?” you ask quietly.
Rafe fights back a groan, “How could I forget it?”
To him, the question seems silly. He could probably tell you every detail of that night if he wanted to, because it was the first night of many that he got exactly what he’d been dreaming of.
You laugh, “Rafe, Wheezie caught us.”
Your tone elicits a chuckle from his lips before he can stop himself.
“Yeah, she did, huh?” he laughs, “Do you remember our second kiss?”
“Hmm?”
He grins, “You wore the sexiest outfit to Matt McCall’s party, and—”
“Shut up!” you exclaim, bumping your shoulder with his.
He can’t help but laugh when you grow embarrassed, recalling the memory yourself. He squeezes your hand as he laughs, not allowing his eyes to leave you.
“No,” he jokes, “I couldn’t keep my hands off of you. Especially because you told me that you wore it just for me, do you remember?”
“I remember,” you reply sheepishly, “I think that went to your head.”
“Oh, it definitely did,” he laughs.
You settle back in, inching closer to Rafe as you do it. He bites down on his cheek to contain his smile, then drains the rest of his wine.
“Did you know Matt’s married now?”
“No,” he shrugs, “Poor girl.”
“Ha ha,” you roll your eyes, listening to him chuckle as he squeezes your hand, then releases to pour you more wine, then himself, “Seriously. He got married to some girl he met at UNC. They’re big into traveling. I see it all the time on Instagram.”
Rafe snickers, “You follow Matt McCall on Instagram?”
He looks up from his pour to find you with pursed lips, staring into the pool like you don’t want to confess the truth to him. He smiles widely, then hands your wine glass back.
“I’m guilty of the occasional social media stalking,” you mumble, “But everyone does it! I’m sure you do, too.”
Rafe’s brain works fast, too fast, and he knows his response will be equal parts amusing and embarrassing.
“Oh, yeah. I just went through Brady’s Instagram for the fourth time this week. You know, your childhood crush. Your first love—”
“Stop it,” you groan, letting a laugh escape.
Rafe just chuckles to himself, then takes your hand again once his glass is full. It’s almost as if he feels your emotions change from happy and playful to something different — something deeper. He feels it in the way you grip his hand, in the way you lay your head on his shoulder. He knows you want to be as close to him as he wants to be with you, and he’s perfectly okay with that.
“Do you ever wish we got the chance to travel? Like Matt?” Rafe asks softly.
“I don’t know,” you reply.
He knows what this means. He knows that when you say you don’t know, it’s code for the fact that you know exactly what your answer is, but you’re too afraid to try and articulate your thoughts out of fear that it will be done incorrectly. So, knowing this, Rafe changes up his strategy.
“Where would you want us to go? If we could go anywhere in the world.”
He feels you grin on his shoulder, and the grip on his hand grows just a little bit tighter. Bingo.
“Well,” you say, sounding shy, “I know I should say something cool like Paris or Amsterdam, or whatever. But, I kind of have this vision of us in the mountains when it’s snowing. We’d rent a cabin and cook and drink a lot of wine. And, maybe we have a hot tub, and we could watch movies, and wear sweatpants the whole time, and just, you know, be together.”
Rafe nods, not wanting to give away how much that vision makes him happy. He can see it clear as day, and he can’t think of anything else that would even come close to heaven. He swallows down his own visions, his own plans, and keeps laying his groundwork.
“That sounds nice,” he says evenly, “Where would you want this cabin to be?”
“They have nice ones in Colorado, I think. I’ve always heard about people going there.”
Rafe nods, remaining quiet as he works out a plan in his head. The occasion. The finances. The plane tickets. The requirements for the house — a hot tub, and he has to get you a balcony, because he knows you’ll want to look out at the snow while you drink coffee in the mornings. It would have to have a full kitchen so he could cook for you every night, and he needs time to plan out the meals and the grocery list.
“That would be fun,” he chooses to say, then shifts and kisses the top of your head.
“Yeah. It’s nice to think about,” you say, shrugging it off, “But, whatever. I love our life. Even if we don’t live like Matt McCall.”
“I love our life, too,” Rafe says quietly.
You shift from your position and lean up to plant a small kiss on his neck, which leaves Rafe preening for more. He’s not sure he could ever get enough.
All at once, he notes how your mood seems to change. You smile playfully, like a thought has just popped into your head, and you scoot closer while you try — and fail — to keep your smirk at bay.
“You know who else I Instagram stalk?” you grin as Rafe’s head races with possibilities.
“Who?”
“Sydney McCall.”
Rafe rolls his eyes and shakes his head, then pulls your entwined hands into his lap. You giggle and scoot closer, then take a large sip from your wine glass.
“You’re hilarious,” he mutters sarcastically.
“What?” you gasp, mocking him with your innocence, “You don’t check in on her from time to time?”
“Absolutely not,” Rafe snorts.
“Mhm, okay,” you hum, finishing off your glass, before you look up at him with hazy eyes, “I’m sure you’re pining after her.”
He knows you’re just teasing, but his chest contracts at the thought. At the mere idea of ever pining after anyone else besides you. It just doesn’t seem possible to him. When he sees the way you bite down on your lip, clearly just wanting a reaction from him, he relaxes and pulls you closer to him.
“Next time you say something like that, I’m gonna bite that lip for you,” he mutters.
You laugh, which brings a smile to his face, too. Silently, he raises a brow to see if you want more wine, which you answer in a nod. He pours it into your glass and you settle right back into him without hesitation — a far cry from all those years ago when every touch was meticulously planned and Rafe went home desperate to get his hands on you again.
“Rafe?”
He’ll never get used to hearing his name come from you, he swears.
“Yeah?”
You hum contently, “I love hanging out with you.”
His chest swells with pride and he replays the words a few times to himself before he smiles and turns, kissing your forehead gently.
“I love hanging out with you, too, sweetheart,” he whispers.
He notes the level of your wine glass and the fact that you’ve already had one out here and one at the table. You’re tipsy, and he bites his tongue when he almost says something about it.
“Can we make more time?” you ask, your eyes only half open and your words slightly slurred, “For us, I mean. Like, I know we hang out together after the kids go to bed, but we’re both so tired, and — this is what I want. Me and you, just talking and kissing. Do you want to kiss me?”
Rafe snorts. What kind of question is that?
“Of course I want to kiss you, baby,” he practically groans.
He turns, expecting you to lean up and give him a quick peck before you start rambling again. Which is why, when you release his hand and pull your feet from the water, his eyes grow wide and he scoots back.
He remembers this with you. He remembers how you would shyly hint that you wanted to make out with him, and he’d always give in because it was you, and he wasn’t willing to push his luck. He remembers the first time he ever let himself fully believe that he got you was in this exact position, with your lips on his neck, and your soft little gasps in his ear every time he touched your skin.
You get settled on his lap, knees on either side of him, and wrap your arms around his neck. He grins the same way he did at eighteen, and he lets his hands rest on your thighs as he takes you in.
“Hi,” you whisper, your drunken shyness doing something to his heart.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he says back, “Come here.”
One of his hands travels up to your back, where he guides you into him. His other hand slips up your thigh, bunching your dress at your hip. He already predicts your moves, and he’s correct, when your right hand travels up into his hair, and your left starts to rub his back.
The way you always run your fingers through his hair drives him crazy, but initially, the back rubbing had been discovered by you when Rafe was the intoxicated one. You had been picking him up from boys' night, and he kept stealing kisses from you as you stood in Kelce’s driveway, trying to get him into the car while talking to Maddie. Rafe kept trying to get back out to talk to Kelce, and to coax him into relaxing, you started rubbing his back. He relaxed instantly, and when you continued to do it as he kissed you, he wasn’t shy about letting you know that he enjoyed it.
Knowing you want him to, Rafe takes control of the kiss and lets his tongue skim across your bottom lip. You grant him entry and giggle into his mouth when you feel his tongue against yours. His hand escapes under your dress and loops through your panties again, and you tug lightly on his hair in response. He groans at the feeling, wanting you to do it again, when you start moving your hips against his.
“Baby,” he pants, breaking the kiss and steadying you in his lap, “Oh, God, please don’t do that to me right now.”
“Sorry,” you murmur, and the pout on your lips makes it even harder for Rafe to concentrate in this moment, “Just feels good.”
“I know,” he nods. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and smiles up at you, then leans up and pecks you again, “About what you said, though—”
“No,” you immediately stop him, scooting closer and cuddling into his chest, “I was being stupid. I’m busy. You’re busy. We don’t have time to be—”
“Every Wednesday, we should go out. Just me and you. We can talk gossip, and politics, and bore the shit out of each other. Sundays will be family days again. I know I’ve been playing golf a lot, but I’d rather be with you and the kids. And, every two or three months, I want us to plan a little trip. Just for the weekend. Be together in a hotel and find little coffee places you’ll love, and catch up on all the sex that gets interrupted by our crazy life. How does that sound?”
The pout on your lip grows as he speaks, and he knows he’s done something absolutely right. Without warning, you lean forward and start peppering little kisses all over his cheeks, lips, chin, and nose, which makes him laugh.
When you pull back, you’re grinning widely, and he squeezes your hip playfully just to watch you giggle.
“I fall more and more in love with you as the years go by, Rafe Cameron,” you say, laughing at your own cheesiness.
He couldn’t be more honest in this moment, “I fall in love with you every single goddamn day.”
You grin and kiss him again, as if you just can’t help yourself. The wine glasses sit beside the two of you, completely forgotten. Just as Rafe ducks his head for another kiss from you, he hears the familiar sound of a baby cooing and his best friend’s voice.
“I’m taking Ellie home, so the two of you have five seconds to get dressed if you want to say goodbye!”
*i no longer have a tag list. follow @mackupdates to see when i post new content!
#rafe cameron#rafe fic#rafe cameron imagine#rafe obx#rafe x reader#rafe imagine#outerbanks rafe#rafe#rafe fanfiction#rafe smut#rafe outer banks#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron blurb#rafe cameron smut#rafe x you#rafe x y/n#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x reader#outer banks netflix#outerbanks#outerbanks netflix#outer banks
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Writing Realistic Characters - part 2
- Journal from their perspective. It can be hard to write compelling, realistic motivation for characters if you don’t understand them yourself. By journalling from their perspective, even if the content of the journal isn’t included in your story, you’ll essentially be thinking as the character. This should help you understand who they are and how they make choices and react to things, like a real person would.
- Answer “character questions”, but be careful when using lists found online. The internet is full of lists of questions for writers to answer when building characters, but not all of them are actually that important or useful. The fact is, it really doesn’t matter what a character’s favourite colour, animal or day of the week is (unless it’s relevant to your story... but it usually isn’t). When looking for question lists online, or making your own, focus on questions that have to do with your character’s personality, such as how they’d react to a situation or which values matter more to them.
- Make character charts! I can’t stress this enough — character charts are incredibly useful tools for writers and I don’t know what I’d do without them. They’re a great way to keep track of important information about your characters in an organized way that’s easy to access when you need to quickly check a detail. I’d also strongly recommend making your own charts, not using templates online (I find it a lot easier to stay organized when I’m using my own organizational system). If you need a place to start, though, I normally create charts with 4 categories: role (protagonist, antagonist, etc.), name, identities (gender, ethnicity, sexual orientation, etc.), and description (just a brief few sentences about them). You can also make personality charts with things like their greatest flaw, greatest strength, story goals, etc.
- Come up with a few detailed memories/anecdotes from their past. Think of them as mini-stories you can drop into your main story to build a more realistic life around the character. These don’t have to be crucial to the plot, and should be brought up in a natural way, such as in conversation with another character or in the main character’s thoughts. For example, your MC’s best friend might compliment her necklace, and she tells them how her sister gave it to her as a birthday present before moving away. You can also use these anecdotes to drop in important information in a non-obvious way. Continuing the example above, the MC could mention that her sister has the same design necklace, but in green. Later, this becomes a clue, when she finds the green necklace outside the villain’s lair.
- Keep a record of their backstory. This one doesn’t really need much explaining... Just keep notes of your character’s backstory as you come up with it so you don’t risk inconsistencies, which tend to break down realism.
- Remember that the reader can’t see what’s in your head. Your characters may be fully developed, realistic people in your head, but that makes it easy to forget that your readers don’t automatically understand them the way you do — they only know what’s on the page. Asking other people to read your work can help you understand how your characters come through to an audience, but if you don’t want to do that, just re-reading it yourself is also helpful. If you do the latter, though, go through an entire chapter at a time, the way a reader would, not small sections.
#writing advice#creative writing#fiction writing#writing#writeblr#writing tips#advice#writing characters#write#writer#fiction#writer problems#writer's block#character creation#realistic writing#realistic characters#writing realistic characters#character chart#overcoming writer's block
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i don’t even go here but the hbomberguy/todd in the shadows videos on James Somerton are both enlightening and, for me, not wholly unexpected. I didn’t watch many videos by Somerton, although I know people who did! And I can’t say I wouldn’t be taken in by a different video essayist in the future. but there were a number of things in Somerton’s videos that turned me off of watching more—and for the one or two I saw, I don’t know if I even finished the whole video.
First, Somerton’s work seemed inconsistent. some of what he said was eloquent and persuasive, and sometimes he was jumping to conclusions and expecting you to follow without outlining his reasoning or how he reached that conclusion. A lot of that makes sense in retrospect—he was plagiarizing better writers and thinkers than himself, and his own contributions were all over the place.
Second, a lot of Somerton’s opinions appeared to be very cynical/angry/dismissive. He seemed to have a cherry-picked view of the world that demonized people who weren’t like him or didn’t agree with him. To claim to be representative of an othered group and then use that position to alienate and other groups not like you left a really bad taste in my mouth that I couldn’t get past. Likewise, he had a very clear superiority complex over “the bad guys”—conservatives, homophobes, queer people he didn’t like. It’s really easy for a lot of us to deny the humanity of groups that hate us, which is why his constant putting down of conservatives and homophobes was easy to support. For me, though, I didn’t like how flippant he was in what was supposed to be an informative essay—it reeks of arguing in bad faith.
Thirdly, I know Somerton’s “intellectual” style really appealed to a lot of people who wanted a smart, academic authority figure to help educate them on queer history and queer media. Again, for me personally, Somerton’s persona as an intellectual struck me as false. Man was trying way too hard and it came across as pretentious and untrue to himself. I know a guy like that in real life—he’s my classmate in university—and I know for a fact the guy I know is one of the worst students in our class, to the extent that he’s failed multiple classes. I don’t think everyone has to be an academic or an intellectual, but that if that’s not an area in which you should excel, you should find an area in which you do excel and feel fulfilled. Somerton’s intellectual persona was phony, and I recognized it as such because I have seen other people do the same thing in real life. Likewise, the smartest people you know don’t always look or act like their the smartest people you know. Think about hbomberguy’s video: he meticulously and thoughtfully exposed all of this plagiarism and had really important thoughts about plagiarism on the internet and youtube, all while being a little ridiculous and also wearing a lab coat that was burned all over and falling apart. Genius is not James Somerton’s carefully paced reading and his black turtlenecks. Genius is much more similar to the passionate and thorough work hbomberguy did.
These are things that personally turned me off his videos, but I wasn’t about to tell other people they couldn’t watch. Some of what he said was really good—now, knowing what we know, the good stuff was probably all plagiarized, but it was good material! I do think now, in retrospect, I do think some of this might be helpful in evaluating other video essayists. Usually, if they’re as egregiously unethical as Somerton was, there are other warning signs. I do think the most insidious was the villainization of the other, because it is so easy for our confirmation bias to get in the way, or our tendency towards generalization. Somerton’s videos really took advantage of that—a trustworthy essayist is going to steer clear of generalizations and villainizing an entire group of people, unless it’s about like, the nazi. which apparently Somerton went into a lot of detail about how gay they were (false information), which is horrific. so.
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OK obsessed with the swap idea
- Does Jackson still get bullied?
- How is Holt's life in the monster world?
- How does the trigger work?
- What is their personality like in this world?
- How out of touch is Holt?
- Do they know about each other?
I would love a first days fanfic?
yo glad you like the au! I don’t have all the details set in place so sorry if things are a tad bit inconsistent but here we go!
(Also sorry for the late reply I didn’t see the ask rip)
Bullying
-I feel that both of the boys would get bullied but in different ways and for different reasons, Jackson would be pushed around since he’s quite nerdy, so I feel manny still wouldn’t like him. However holt would probably just be excluded from things, or have rumours spread about him, but due to him being prone to fighting back it wouldn’t be direct bullying like it is for Jackson.
Holts life in the monster world
-Holt would still Dj however he’d most likely do it whilst in a disguise of some form, (even if it’s just a mask or some make up) as many monsters don’t trust him. He doesn’t like the fact he has to Hyde his identity but the extra money comes in handy.
Triggers
-This may change in the future but my current plan is to have Jackson be triggered by extreme silence. So there has to be near to no sounds for him to appear. As such the headphones double as extra noise if necessary or as music. I also thought about him being triggered by piano specifically alongside the silence trigger.
Personalities
-Holt: He’s a bit of a joker and pretty immature, he likes to just chill and have fun in life. However he is quite hot headed and can have a short temper. This pairs to mean people don’t trust him too well and don’t want to mess with him (well not directly at least, no one minds the anonymous pranks or rumours just as long as it doesn’t tie back to them).
-Jackson: He’s more reserved than his counterpart, preferring to follow rules and structure, unlike holt’s ‘rules were made to be broken’ mentality, he prefers to stay out of the public eye, whether it be due to not wanting people to find out his identity or avoiding the bullying (since I haven’t decided if people know about him and holt yet). His quiet nature means he can be quite the push over at times making him prime for taunts and attacks from his peers.
(Man I really gotta draw some art of Jackson interacting with people)
Out of touch?
-I’m not too sure what you mean by this, whether it be out of touch with monster culture, or out of touch in the sense of being isolated from his classmates. Either way due to his DJ-ing and being a student at MH he’s picked up a lot of monster slang and culture. And as for friends, he’s known Draculaura since before MH and managed to meet Frankie on his first day, so he isn’t alone there. In the au I’ll still have him be friends with a lot of the usual characters (e.g deuce heath frankie etc with some exceptions)
Do they know?
-As of joining MH definitely yes, but as kids their mother tired to keep it secret, as she doesn’t get along with her Hyde, as such it was a shock when during quiet time at school he burst into flames. Holt was quickly pulled from the school, switching between a mix of homeschooling, monster schools and normie schools. Usually not lasting long at any of them, due to his temper and monster side.
A fic?
-Maybe??????? I’m not too great of a writer, but I might work on a one shot or really short fic about it….someday? If I have the chance and people are interested in it I might take a crack at writing lmao
I hope that covers everything! I’m happy to answer any more questions people have on the au and I really appreciate all the support it’s got! (I really wasn’t expecting it lmao)
#normie au#holt monster high#normie holt#holt hyde#jackson jekyll monster high#monster jackson#jackson jekyll#lore#au lore#long post#monster high#monster high au
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I’ve seen quite a few people discuss TSATS specifically in the manner that it’s supposed to be a middle-grade book, and I’d like to throw my two cents into the hat.
Particularly, I don’t think it’s reasonable to excuse the failings of TSATS just because it’s supposed a middle-grade book. The failings of the book are primarily structural, both narratively and just in basic writing structure, neither of which are excusable of a middle-grade novel - Especially given this is Mark Oshiro’s first major foray into middle-grade, as they typically write YA. It also seems that TSATS’ rating is actually upper middle-grade, so there’s even less excuse for the quality of the book. The problem isn’t that the book is bad to a non-middle-grade reader, or even bad as a middle-grade book, the problem is that the book is bad in general. So much of the book’s quality and execution feels just so poor in ways that you would typically expect to get caught very early on by the editorial team. Being middle-grade doesn’t excuse it being structurally bad for any reading level. It feels like the editorial team didn’t care about the quality of the book at all. There’s an unreasonable amount of places where the sentence and paragraph structures are poor, the writing is unclear, there’s basic continuity errors within the same sentence, the pacing is bad, and an overall lack of grammatical consistency (you can actually tell which portions of the book are written by Rick Riordan versus Mark Oshiro based purely on the use of s’ or s’s - if you see something like “Hades’s palace“ then it’s Riordan, and if it’s something like “Hades’ palace” then it’s Oshiro - this type of inconsistency should have been made consistent by the editing team).
The book also completely fumbles its attempts at handling its intended themes with any kind of grace or respect to the reader. TSATS being middle-grade (particularly upper middle-grade) doesn’t mean it can’t feature heavy themes, or that it has to dumb them down for a younger audience! I speak as someone who is extremely familiar with the Animorphs series - which is actually lower middle-grade. It’s basically like the poster-child for presenting complex themes and ideas appropriately in a middle-grade series. The way middle-grade is formatted is it’s about the writing structure (how simplified vs complex it is and so how easy is it for a middle-grade reader to understand) and how the concepts are presented, not about the actual concepts themselves. Animorphs is a really good example of this in that most of the books are less than 300 pages and the language is very simple. However, it doesn’t shy away from strong topics or dumb concepts down for the audience. It balances heavy topics with jokes in stride (see: The entire book about psychochemical warfare and the ethics of that, but the psychochemical warfare in question is dumping instant maple and ginger oatmeal on space slugs). And a lot of Animorphs books are actually ghostwritten! I would also argue the Warrior Cats books are another good example, particularly the novellas. They’re a similar length to TSATS, again written by a team of authors, are middle-grade rated, and don’t shy away from some pretty graphic stuff. They’re not the best books in the world, I mean, they’re rapidly churned out cat books for middle-schoolers. And they also tend to be full of errors. But at the very least most of the errors in the Warrior cat novellas aren’t basic structural stuff that you’d expect an editor to comb out within the first couple of passes or major basic details for a very prominent character or worldbuilding. Something equivalent to the types of errors in TSATS would be like a warrior cats novella about Brightheart not remembering how she got her scars or who Swiftpaw was or what Shadowclan is called, and every three chapters you read the jankiest sentence you’ve ever seen.
There are absolutely ways for the types of themes they were trying to handle in TSATS to be presented to a middle-grade audience appropriately, effectively, and with respect. TSATS was not even close to that. Again, I point to Animorphs! You wanna talk about writing PTSD for a middle-grade audience? Animorphs is your series. Animorphs gets into some heavy shit. But the way it’s presented is always appropriate for a middle-grade audience. Middle schoolers can handle more than people give them credit for (have you ever read middle-schoolers roleplaying warrior cats? I have. they do not hold back.) - they’re at the exact age where that type of stuff is not only interesting to them and they want to read about it, but that it’s important for them to begin to be introduced to those types of concepts in a way that’s appropriate for their age so that they’re prepared for when they encounter those topics or themes when they’re older.
The first Percy Jackson series actually does this really well! Percy has PTSD in the first book from Gabe! This is very clearly acknowledged and referenced throughout the first series (and even into Son of Neptune!) - and it’s specifically from Gabe, not being a demigod. We see characters grapple with grief and witnessing death and being in shock from that (the “dam” scene post-Bianca’s death, and the explicit acknowledgement that all the characters are so emotionally exhausted and harrowed from witnessing Bianca sacrifice herself for them that they get all giggly over stupid “dam” jokes). TSATS refuses to allow any emotional pay-off from the scenes. The Gorgyra interludes are the only thing keeping the pacing from being absolutely abhorred for half the book. There’s tons of narrative set-up that goes nowhere. There’s sentences that are so disjointed you wonder how they got written in the first place. This book shouldn’t have gotten past the editors, honestly.
#pjo#riordanverse#tsats#the sun and the star#analysis#long post //#i should really make a tag for my tsats posts like these#well. minus the fact that's been [checks notes] all of them for the past 2 years#deep sigh. i should stop complaining so frequently about tsats#but there's JUST SO MUCH#eh yall feel free to ask me questions about unrelated stuff to maybe break this up or smth
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