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tarjapearce · 28 days

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Chapter 8: As it Lies Severed All Ties With It's Kin

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Violence, physical aggression, mentions of blood, character background, depictions of therapy, emotional distress, mentions of cheating, Strained family dynamics. Character study and introspection, no proofread.

Summary: The last blow is delivered. A new step is given.

AN: So nervous for this chapter. And Ahhh, finally hehe 🤭. Hope you like!

—Hey

The seen icon had remained there, unchanged within Peter's chat log. It had been a month and a half since that unexpected confrontation happened back at Peter's home.

And a month and a half since silence kept stretching between them.

It was clear he was ignoring him, and even more obvious his now ex best friend didn't want anything to do with him. Not after he disrespected his wife. His beloved MJ.

After that night, Miguel left the house with a powerful slam that could only rival his heart's frenetic beats.

He had been ambushed, attacked and mauled by a woman that not only was his friend's wife, but also your best friend.

How fucking good was that?

Life was surely proving him a point, yet he refused to believe in such nonsense.

Karma wasn't ruining his life. His bad decisions were, he acknowledged much.

Trusting the wrong people, saying the wrong things at the wrongest of times, had only earned him to be in the black book of everyone around him.

No longer being perceived as that reliable man that focused on his work and loved his fiancée, but a cheater, a liar and abusive man that had been causing so much pain it was hard to believe.

Consequences were hardly a thing on Miguel's life, since he always behaved, hubristic as he was, but he behaved. Until that fateful night at that damned Alchemax party.

His temper had been teased enough by Dana, and it all took a one night stand with a gorgeous stranger to have life setting it's eyes on him and finding the perfect chance to charge him for every bad thing he had done.

All his life was sent spiralling into the void of chaos cause of you. If he hadn't met you, he'd still have his annoying fiancée with him, he'd still have his routine and home; his friend and possibly an even better position at his job. He'd be hurrying Delgado on his project advances, not backwards.

Ever since you showed up, things had gone incredibly sour for him. He didn't know what kind of bad luck charm nested and irradiated from you, cause things worsened.

With a heavy and irked sigh he downed the glass of whiskey in a go, letting the liquid burn his throat deliciously before serving himself another.

He didn't turn to alcohol often, in fact, he barely indulged the habit, unless stress and anxiety were making him their personal toy.

And he hated this never ending play date with them. He didn't want them anymore. He wanted everything to go back to normal and keep his routine. Sudden changes alarmed and made him severely uncomfortable, even though he always ended up adapting.

Cause every time he thought something was going back to normal, life made sure to surprise him with something new that only added more weight to his falling facade of a good man.

At first he thought nothing but a little stress coming his way as Aaron Delgado was elected as his new boss. And the man surely enjoyed putting everyone's nerves on edge, his specially.

Delgado didn't take him in count with the new projects, including one Miguel had prepared himself.

How dared him to cast him aside from his own creations and things? How dared Delgado to call him subordinate to then assign him into another group of tyros that had no idea on what to do?

Miguel downed the whiskey in a gulp and served yet another shot. His resented eyes darted to Peter's log once more.

Nothing had changed. And by the looks of it, it'd remain like that.

A clear 'Fuck off.' from that goof he had for a friend.

He had to admit, that Peter's bravado had surprised and caught him off guard.

The years he had known the man, truly couldn't prepare him for that display of sudden and righteous anger.

Miguel had underestimated Peter and his life choices so far, even going at such extent as to call him a clown when drunk, that couldn't truly swot on whatever thing the family man spoke. His brain turned stupid the moment his friend punched him with his words.

Every single one of them, hitting and berating with unforgiving and brazen truth, turning them harder to accept and swallow.

Part of him was too proud to acknowledge that disrespecting MJ was a bit too much, but the woman had come for him, straight for his jugular and her kill, that left him no chance to prepare his ammo against her and Peter.

But they were too set into marring and scarring him like predators, waiting for him to weaken down so they could finish what they started. Defending their territory and their own like a matter of death and life. You included.

The thought of MJ going for him to slap him or cause any sort of physical damage, amused him to no end. It was like everyone that night had taken a double shot of bravery.

But she didn't waver, he had to admit it. The way she executed his own public hanging, was flawlessly achieved on her end.

And it all resumed into one person. You.

The one that ignited the spark of that roaring and blazing fire within the Parker-Watson realm.

He growled while his nostrils flared angrily, his hand grope the glass tighter. God, you infuriated him to no end.

You and your stupid righteousness to accept whatever shit life threw at you, were the main culprit of his current state. Disregarded by his peers at work, friendless, fiancée-less, living in a bare and big apartment that needed to be cleaned up and refurnished as soon as possible, wallowing into his poor choices and actually consider them for a minute.

But of course, to Miguel O'Hara is was rather easy to put half the blame on others. The weight of being an asshole sometimes hurted his back and he was generous to share that burden with the rest.

To his surprise, the main door of his apartment rattled softly as Gabriel pushed the keys in and opened the door.

And to the young O'Hara's surprise his brother was there, sitting in the breakfast island, sulking and drinking his problems away.

"Migue! ¿Qué haces acá, cabezón?" (What are you doing here, big head?)

Miguel chuckled at his brother's puppy- like excitement. At least he could feel a bit of that tension disappearing before downing his third whiskey shot.

"I live here, cabrón." he grunted while Gabriel laughed and pulled him for en embrace, before Miguel shrugged him off. "What are you doing here?"

"Was picking up some stuff before going to Kasey's. Have a date night tomorrow." His younger brother fetched some small boxes from one room, and closed it's door.

"Why don't you tell Dana to join us? We could make it a double date."

Miguel's frame went rigid and he exhaled deeply.

"We broke up."

The words came out off him, rehearsed and terse, as if pronouncing them alone was more than enough to scrape his tongue.

Gabriel went silent for a moment and rubbed his neck awkwardly.

"Shit, I forgot about that..."

Miguel's head snapped his head softly to him, fiery eyes pinning Gabri on the spot, suspicion and mistrust rising.

"What do you mean? You've talked to her?"

"She called me."

Another wave of uncomfortableness washed over Miguel. Anxiety rose heavenwards in matters of seconds. Both O'Hara's remained there, looking at each other. And by the sudden cold stare from his baby brother, his mind intuited Gabriel was already acquainted with the situation.

Gabri's face fell and looked away, his cheerful demeanor long gone. He was good a pretention, and wanted to see how much the nothing is going on here facade lasted on Miguel. Gabriel wanted to see if Miguel took initiative to tell him the truth.

But his brother failed in such a simple task. He didn't have the intention of sharing his secret either. Although the situation wasn't that much of a secret anymore. At this rate the only people left knowing were his coworkers and the city.

"Do I know the woman?"

Miguel shook his head and served himself another drink. His suspicions confirmed in that phrase alone.

Gabriel's body shook ever softly with an underlying sort of anger.

"You know... even though I'm happy she's gotten a taste of her own medicine for cheating on me with you a while back, this... is different."

Miguel refused to talk or face him, and just heard him.

"Why'd you do it?" Gabriel asked

The question often popped in his mind, and in everyone's mouth that found out about his doings and the answer still remained the same. He didn't know.

But Gabriel's question was different, his overall demeanor was discomfitting at best. Eerily calm and collected. Like him.

"I don't know. I was pissed and-"

"So... you just cheated on Dana cause the hell of it." He crossed his arms and quirked a brow.

It was more a statement than a question. Yet Miguel just nodded. Tired of repeating the same answer to the same question over and over.

"Pretty much." he shrugged and slicked his hair back. Tired of trying and defend himself.

"Hmm..." Gabriel put the boxes down and rubbed his face, "You know, I could give absolute zero fucks on what you do with your life. But being a complete dick about it isn't the solution."

"I'm not denying shit, am I?" Miguel's brows furrowed, completely peeved.

"True, you're not. But you're not being responsible either." Gabriel's hands gestured

Miguel groaned annoyed.

"Ya estoy harto de la misma cantaleta. Contigo, con Dana, con Peter, con todo el pinche mundo que se entera de lo que hice." (I'm so sick of the same shit. With you, Dana, Peter and everyone that knows what I've done)

And Gabriel's mocking laugh didn't help to wane his rising anger. The neighbor's aggressive and upbeat music, filtered through the walls, seeping ominously through the genius' apartment. Polluting the air with its own chaotic beats.

"Bueno, Migue, ¿Qué esperabas, cabrón? For everyone to pat your back and feel sorry for you? Don't be stupid, man." (Well, what did you expected?)

"Can you leave now? Not in the fucking mood. And I'm not stupid."

"You are." Gabriel nodded knowingly, while tossing some of hid belongings in the box he put aside, "Pretty stupid actually. But it's even more moronic to believe that people won't give you shit for the things you've done," he shrugged, " And for you to act like a boy when you're soon to be a father."

Miguel's whiskey glass couldn't stand the match against the wall. Obliterating itself within seconds as the reluctant daddy hurled it against it. Shards flew to the floor and part of the kitchen Island Miguel was sitting. Some pieces rested a few inches away from his trembling and rabid frame.

"Kinda reminds me to someone." Gabriel murmured with derision. Unable to hold back the anger caused by his stupid brother's poor decisions.

Miguel's eyes screamed murder when gazing at his brother, as if daring him to say the words he could sense forming in his mouth and mind.

"But of course! Like father, like son." Gabri squared his shoulders, as if readying himself for the upcoming blow, and tilting his chin up defiantly.

The chair fell to the ground, as Miguel was already pouncing on him, the latter didn't hesitate nor wavered in keeping himself grounded with his stance. It was the younger O'Hara's turn to get everything he carried within, out of him.

As soon as Miguel's hands grabbed him by the collar, Gabriel wasted no time into connecting the perfect punch on Miguel's livid face, breaking his plump lip in the go. It stunted his brother for a minute.

Miguel remained nonplussed, brown eyes widening in shock. It wasn't a you punched me, but rather a how dare you fight back sort of shock

Who was him to put him in his place?

None of his intimidation worked on Gabriel, none of his mean and scary dog privilege served against his brother.

"You're just like him!" the latter hissed the accusation, "Didn't you learn shit about what Ma told us about him?!"

Miguel butt headed Gabriel and both landed on the floor with a loud thud. Miguel's fists didn't fear to collide against Gabriel's torso, knocking and forcing the air out of his ribcage.

But if there was something Gabriel could outmatch him, was his temper. Irish blood ran through his veins after all. And it was rare when it soared alive.

Gabriel connected another punch on Miguel's nose as he pulled his luscious hair, earning an enraged groan, but the older O'Hara didn't quiver, if anything the punches had sparked that fury within and returned the punch on Gabriel's cheekbone. Marring him as well.

This wasn't like the usual quarrel they used to fight as children, where Conchata would separate them and spank them afterwards. This was pure anger manifesting itself through their fists, hair pulling and cursing words.

Finally unleashed to tear each other apart, and making up for every single fight left without an apology or unfinished; for every urge to punch each other by the naughty things they got blamed for as youngsters.

But also, revenge for an innocent life that would bare the burden of having Miguel as a father.

Gabriel achieved what neither Peter or you wanted to do but were unable to do.

"Cállate!" Miguel roared and he punched again, earning a whimper from Gabriel.

"You're exactly..." Gabriel panted, "like Tyler." to then seethe and Miguel's chest constricted painfully. And he hated the feeling.

His enormous fists tightened their grip on his beaten brother's shirt collar, but refused to keep punching, instead, Miguel's hips weighted Gabri's torso down. Keeping him still.

It took Conchata a while to come clean to both their children regarding their parents. To Miguel it remained an open gash, and this situation did nothing but add salt to it, even worse when Gabriel now held that piece of information against him. Gabriel's words kept flowing, like the coppery taste in his mouth.

"You've already abandoned your child." Miguel couldn't help but punch again, furious for the comparison he was being subjected to, but Gabriel didn't have intentions to stop.

"And got mom's cheating side!" Miguel punched harder, tired and peeved that he had to shut his brother like this, but again, how dared he compare him to those that had hurt him the most?

"Congrats, cabrón, you're the worst of both worlds."

Miguel held his fist in mid air, trembling, panting the rage and need to beat his brother to bloody pulp, off his body. Just cause he told him the truth.

The guitar riffs died down, like the strife between them. It had served as an angry metronome for their beating.

Gabriel pushed him off his body, staggering away from him, panting like he had run a marathon. He spat the accumulated blood on the floor and stood with a pained groan.

"A fucking Tyler wannabe"

Miguel's lip twitched as he also spat blood.

"Leave."

"From all the things you could've learned from that piece of shit and mom... you picked the worst."

Gabriel shook his head, disappointed as he mumbled, and Miguel looked at his brother from his spot.

He was no longer that little boy that hid in the sheets with him after a thunderstorm, or cried whenever George threatened to beat him if he failed at school again.

His little brother had grown, beat him with his bare fists even, only to prove him he wouldn't tolerate his shitty attitudes. Gabriel was no longer afraid of him.

"And you know what, Miggy?" Gabriel panted before wiping his mouth and touching the throbbing and swollen cheekbone, "I hope that child never finds out who you are, and that woman makes her life away from you. Cause you're not worth the trouble."

"You done? Fucking leave." Miguel nearly roared again through raged breaths.

"You're not worth anything good they have to offer. Nor their time, nothing." Gabriel sniffed and wiped his nose.

Miguel growled as he rose, shaking with the remnants of his misdirected anger, supporting himself in the nearby chair.

"Hope you get to see how other man takes your place and raise your kid."

Shut up

"Cause I wouldn't want to be associated with a coward like you neither. I'd be too embarrassed to say you're my father."

Cállate

"Why the fuck you're still here then?!"

"Just came to pick up my stuff, genius. Don't want you to dirty them with your shitty ass attit-."

"Te me largas a chingar a tu-"

"Oh, shut the fuck up and man up." Gabri growled before standing up. Bloodied and beaten, but it didn't matter. He had given Miguel a lesson.

With pained steps, Gabriel left him with a loud slam on the door.

Not only Miguel O'Hara was now minimized at his job, friendless, fiancée-less, but now, with one of his favorite shirts stained in blood and a busted lip and brotherless.

The latter however had wounded him enough to drown a shaky exhale as he blinked away the bloodshot tinge within his eyes. But as he rose completely on his feet, so did his wounded pride.

He didn't need Gabriel, neither Peter or anyone that was on his side first. He didn't need anyone. They'd come to him eventually, like they always did.

They always do.

With bruised knuckles, he took another glass from the shelf and served it full this time.

They fucking always do

Your hands clutched tightly at your tote bag's handles, letting the rough material to soak up in the faint sweat of your hands and constant rubbing.

Here we go

The first appointment had arrived and certainly that ever familiar tingling sensation upon facing the soon not-so-stranger's door, buzzed through your body. The protocols were something you were well versed in.

Introducing yourself, sharing pleasantries and exposing your deepest traumas to a total stranger that at the end of the session, would take a cut of your already reduced paycheck.

But doctor's and MJ's orders, were orders.

Your thighs spreaded a bit more and your hands went immediately to your abdomen, letting a soft exhale to leave your lungs. The belly's weight was starting to slowly but surely sink in your body. A hand rested ontop of it, caressing in tinny circles those pressure points that caused mild discomfort.

Your fingers relished in the warmth of your skin for a minute, and your stomach fluttered. The anxiety crawling back on the surface had your knee bouncing, eyes darting to the crisp white door, that matched on your baby blue two piece comfortable outfit. zthe soft smell of jazmine flooded that zone of the clinic.

And now I need to pee, great.

Your throat dried as minutes kept on ticking and ticking. Dragging the imminent vis-a-vis meeting with the professional.

Although your medical records showed a couple of psychiatrists and therapists listed, meeting one since... well, forever, always made your nerves to juggle in a deathtrap.

Nevermind. Just focus.

Some had been good, others bad an unprofessional. Imposing their beliefs and going ti the extent of condemning you for such thing as focusing on yourself rather than your mother's forgiveness. Some people were weird like that.

But they all mattered little to nothing, not when the new addition to the list was about to introduce themselves and sojourn into your life for a bit of time, enough to give you the right tools to set your life back in track.

Or so you hoped.

Your breath hitched as the receptionist called your name a couple of minutes after, and opened the door for you. Your brief grip on the tote bag's handles grew impossibly tight.

Everything will be fine.

In a few strides, you entered Dr. Graham's office. Her polite smile immediately met you and coaxed you to take a seat before her.

A silent sigh escaped your mouth and soon, you accommodated in the seat, the main door clicked as it closed, leaving you, your simmering anxiety with the doctor alone.

"Nice you meet you, Miss Primrose."

The surname still sent uncomfortable jolts through your body. As pretty as it was, it was the only tie that kept you tied to Mother's memory. Sadly, you couldn't turn into an Aster or a Jameson since none of your progenitors were nowhere to be found to relinquish them your rights. So a Primrose you stayed.

"How are you doing today, Miss?"

A nervous smile crept on your lips as you acknowledged the question with a nod.

"I'm alright."

"I can see your belly is causing a bit of discomfort. Would you like an extra cushion?"

You blinked a couple of times and nodded faintly. The doctor passed the cushion and you placed it right in your lumbar area, relishing the much needed support. Your eyes darted through her desk and the several papers scribbled with yout name on them. It was your medical record. All of it.

"Thanks."

"So, What can I help you with?"

Dr. Graham spoke as she pulled the most recent papers from the unwilling visit to the hospital and your new meds prescription.

"In all honesty, I haven't visited a therapist in years. But I know how this will go." The health professional raised a brow at your words, "You'll ask me questions I'll have to answer if I wanna have at least some sort of... control on my life back."

"So you feel you're not in control?"

"At all..."

"What about the pregnancy?. Would you say it helps to keep you grounded?"

You sighed, a prick of upset rising through

"It's the reason why I'm here, doctor." You murmured almost bitterly, and the doctor just watched for a moment in silence, pondering and thinking her next words to thread carefully.

She gave you a bit of space and pulled a box of tissues out and write some notes afterwards

"I know you might know this questions, but it's unavoidable for me to ask, how does that makes you feel?"

If it wasn't for the routine interrogation you would've already broken down. Instead, your hands clasped before you, resting some inches away from your belly.

"Scared to no end. Terrified of a shit ton of things. Sorry for my language."

"It's alright." She wrote some more and sighed, "What would you say it's your biggest fear at the moment?"

"Not having enough to keep up with all these future demands this baby girl will do, even after adopted I know that it'll be a bit crazy."

"I see. You're worried that you're unable to provide for your child in the meantime and afterwards birth."

You nodded, looking at your little belly poking out.

"That and... that I might hurt her."

"Hurt her?"

Your fingertips tapped nervously on the flat of your thighs, a tad uncomfortable with the first share of true personal details.

"I'm afraid to... hurt the baby once she's born. My eh... Mother had this thing. Postpartum Psychosis. It wasn't even depression, just... her and her need to hurt me."

"And you believe you might have it? or would suffer from it in a future?"

"I hope not." a nervous chuckle flew out of your mouth to then clear it softly, "I really hope not."

"Although your fears are completely valid, Postpartum Psychosis is a rare condition, Miss Primrose. It's not hereditary."

"It's not?"

Dr. Graham shook her head with a small smile at your confused face.

"No, dear. Sadly we haven't found a true reason why it shows up. It simply does."

You gulped and bit the inner flesh of your lip.

"But rest assured, you're in good hands. I promise."

So far you weren't a potential candidate for it, but it's prevention turned into a priority, specially with a medical record like yours. Meds were just the tip of the iceberg.

Again, you nodded

"May I know about the baby's father?"

"I'm on my own." Your borderline snappy remark made Dr. Graham to scribble some more on her notes.

"I see. May I know how was your relationship with him?"

"I... don't feel comfortable speaking about him."

More goddamned notes.

"Alright. Tell me about the baby. Is everything going good?"

"A little underweight, but healthy."

"I see. You must be proud of it, doing it all on your own."

A weak smile donned your lips as she spoke through her praise.

"Thanks, though... I... I initially wanted her gone. And... I tried to get rid of her." Your fingers fiddled against each other, upset and impatient. Unable to look at the professional in the face. Too ashamed to withstand her piercing yet non-judgemental gaze.

"But I couldn't. And here I am."

"You coming here to try and get the help you need for you and your baby, is one of the most selfless acts a future mother can do."

"Even if I'm giving her up for adoption?"

"Even that, yes. You're doing it for her best of interests. You're loving her by seeking that baby's wellbeing as your main priority."

"I don't know if love actually is the right word for it."

"It is love, even though it does not looks or feels like it to you. Love can manifest itself through so many ways, not precisely only on the platonic and romantical aspect of it." Dr. Graham nodded with a patient yet caring smile.

"However, perpetuating guilt over initial choices is just another trauma response, Miss Primrose. I understand that your initial choice couldn't be achieved. May I know why?"

Your throat turned drier than the desert. Too arid and scrapped to rebut. But with a deep inhale, you finally gathered the courage to muster

"I didnt... I don't want to be like my mother." A pause, and then you spoke again, "She was always complaining about how much she wished to... abort me when she had the chance. Selfish... I know."

The annoying sound of her scribbling pen was chipping at your patience. But you also understood it was protocol.

"I see. And is why you've decided to giving up the baby for adoption?"

"Mainly. But it's a money wise sort of thing for me. Sure, I did... want kids but much much more ahead. Not right now, not when my paycheck keeps growing shorter and shorter each month. But the baby is here so..."

"If the circumstances of having the baby would be different for you to keep her, would you?"

"I guess so? I don't want to have kids in an unsafe or stressful environment or a place that is prone to be one."

"Why?" Dr. Graham secured her notes and looked at you, expecting your answer. She had nailed one of the many roots of your problems.

"Because... It-." You voice trailed off, and the doctor pushed the box of tissues before you as your throat swallowed the thick lump with difficulty, "It reminds me too much of my messed up upbringing."

"And if you could resume it, how would you do it?"

"Social services were my friends, Different foster homes, not all of them loving, failed adoptions, that sort of thing." You chuckled nervously, trying to sound as calm as possible, but your heart was beating like a rabbit's.

The doctor nodded and took a look at your med prescription. Dr. Graham asked about the meds and how it made you feel. But also noted that no matter how personal the question, you refused to break down. Too used to violence and harmful situations. Something to not be proud of.

Questions kept coming, mostly regarding your pregnancy since you rejected talking about Miguel. What would you have to say about him anyways? It was about you and the baby. There was no space in here for him to also pollute it with his poisonous violence.

The therapy kept stretching until time was up.

"I'll recommend some mood stabilisers once you reach your twenty weeks, the Zoloft is a must. So keep taking it. And if possible, I'd encourage you to talk to the baby."

She chuckled at your confusion for a moment and nodded.

"I know you don't wish to grow attached, since adoption is on the way. But creating a bond, even if temporary, is vital for your and the baby's health. Same as sleeping properly."

"Oh... Alright."

"If there's nothing else to discuss, then I'll see you within two weeks."

Supermarket shopping was one of the things you'd never expected to require assistance with.

The clerks were kind to fetch you things you couldn't reach from the top shelves, and gave you tissues after a wave of sudden nausea and retching at the bathroom.

Once at home you'd finish the paperwork for government aid, and looking into the adoption programs MJ suggested.

In the meantime, you got into the line and waited your turn. A couple of groceries and vegetables nested in a side as snacks and other little indulgences rested on the other along some new slippers.

The beeping machine echoed constantly, marking your products, and when the woman stopped and dictated a total, your chest felt a bit constricting.

"I'll return the snacks and will keep the slippers."

Shame didn't do your face justice, as you avoided seeing everyone directly in the eyes. Maybe it was a miscalculation on your budget or prices had gone up, but not having enough to pay for some simple snack bags, added yet another toll on your already loaded brain.

You quickly paid for whatever you could and left the super, face and mind awash with embarrassment. With a sigh you looked at the curve of your belly.

"Nothing personal, but you're not exactly cheap to feed." You mumbled while rubbing your tingling belly, at the fluttering sensation blooming from within.

"But can't really blame you" You patted the curve softly, "I like eating good stuff too."

Once the groceries were secured, you drove home.

Taglist:

@death-moth-art @miss-taura @xylianasblog @serpentstarr @randomnobody187 @xylianasblog @aockskcw @lauraolar14 @what-is-your-wish @oharasfilipinawife @jellyboob @aockskcw @innyxp @smartyren @creepyronix

@serpentstarr @randomnobody187 @8xbygirl @del-ightfulling @iytatsworld @moonzuzuu @huehuehuehuehehe @ryk-mt @deputy-videogamer @sizeablysized @kate-ohara @stealyourblorbos @beingdeluluisthesolulu @death-moth-art @obsessedwithromance @crybabiixo @spiderpapi2099 @tremendouswolfsaladranch @cherrycosmos392 @sbrn0905 @xylianasblog @elgatofx @eepiebeepie @vonev @tatatida @freehentai @scaryplanetdestroyer @minalovesyoubabes @emeloyy @migueloharastruelove @jdbxws @m4dyy @nyxzoldyck6 @fruitychae @francesca-the-1st @siidmm @ana-paulinathe-arts @artyanimi @frompeach @innyxp

#t writes✨#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #of flowers and hummingbirds 🌼🐦#miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara angst

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superblysubpar · 2 months

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🎵 " She's Seen All the Classics, She Knows Every Line" 🎵

Just once, I want my life to be like the movies. Preferably one from the list below. But no, no, John Hughes and The Duffer Brothers did not direct my life.* - Stranger Things stories inspired by some of my favorite movies of various decades.

Most of these are not straight "AU's" of the films, but more my love letter to them. I'm excited to share these, and I hope you enjoy** // My blog is 18+

🖤 no tag lists for this, as I don't really have a schedule or way to organize that

Oh, Loverboy!

A Steve Harrington story inspired by the films Dirty Dancing and Footloose

Hey Girl, Don’t You Realize

A Robin Buckley story inspired by the films Some Kind of Wonderful and Say Anything

You’ve Got To Love Her

An Eddie Munson story inspired by the films Pretty In Pink and The Breakfast Club

I Fell So Ceaselessly

A Nancy Wheeler story inspired by the films Heathers & Clue

So, Kiss Me

A Steve Harrington story inspired by the film She’s All That

Oh, But You’re Lovely

A Robin Buckley story inspired by the film My Best Friend’s Wedding

This Will Be, The One I’ve Waited For

An Eddie Munson story inspired by the film While You Were Sleeping

When You Call My Name, It’s Like A Little Prayer

A Nancy Wheeler story inspired by the film Never Been Kissed

Bonus:

Impossible To Ignore

A Steve Harrington story inspired by the film You’ve Got Mail

Don’t Have To Be Rich, To Be My Girl

A Steve Harrington story inspired by the film Pretty Woman

But Wouldn’t It Be Beautiful?

A Steve Harrington story inspired by the films 13 Going On 30 and Burlesque

It Takes Two To Make A Thing Go Right

A Robin Buckley story inspired by the film The Proposal

I’ll Be Waiting

An Eddie Munson ( and a touch of Steve Harrington) story inspired by the films John Tucker Must Die & A Cinderella Story

Forever, As I Am

A Nancy Wheeler story inspired by the films 27 Dresses and Legally Blonde

Bonus:

I'm Your Hell, I'm Your Dream

A Steve Harrington story inspired by the film How to Lose A Guy in Ten Days

I’ll Be Seeing You

A Steve Harrington story inspired by the film The Notebook

Holds You Captivated

An Eddie Munson story (with quite a bit of Steve Harrington too) inspired by the film The Devil Wears Prada

I'll Take You There

A Steve Harrington story inspired by the films Mr. & Mrs. Smith and Miss Congeniality

Baby, I'm A Wreck

A Steve Harrington story in a Spiderman AU

So Baby, Take My Hand

A Steve Harrington story in a Jurassic Park AU

I'll Seek You Out // Well, I Think I Know

Two stories heavily inspired and in a semi-Twilight AU | Vampire Eddie, Werewolf Steve Harrington

🖤Each individual story will have their playlist linked with masterlist

*paraphrased from the iconic speech Olive gives in the film Easy A.

**Because I am working on writing in my personal career, outside of Tumblr life, I need something not only for research and practice, but also for FUN. So, these are projects I will be working on slowly - I don't really have set deadlines yet or know if I ever will. They won't update by decade or character, just whatever I'm working on is the order they'll go in. However, each story will upload at once - not chapters spread over time, but as long "oneshots" typically split into two to three parts.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #She's Seen All The Classics #SSATC #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader #robin buckley x reader #nancy wheeler x reader #steve harrington x you #eddie munson x you #robin buckley x you #nancy wheeler x you #Spotify

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shamrockqueen · 3 months

Text

Omega retreat : Chapter 2

Pairing: Alpha Bucky × Omega Reader

Warnings: R18, Eventual Smut, Not what it seems, talk of medical issues/illness, dating site, ABO dynamics

Word count: 2477

Chapter 1

Bucky masterlist

Summary: As an unmarked and lonely omega you find a flyer for a service called The Omega Retreat.

You are paired with a compatible alpha to spend your heat or just a week at a luxurious cabin at a forest resort. Amenities and Utilities included. Enjoy the beautiful scenery, fresh air, as well as the company of an alpha of your choosing. What could possibly go wrong?

The blue screen of your laptop lit up the dark and gloomy room as you booted it up and set your sights on the internet explorer icon.

Your eyes shift back and forth from the slightly crunched flier to the keyboard as you type up the website in the search bar.

Upon clicking enter, there is a cascade of red and pink hearts across the screen before the main page comes into view.

From the photos, it seems kind of like a glamping thing, with each couple or pairing having their own semi-remote cabin.

Singles retreats weren’t a new concept—not that you’ve ever been to one, but this would be a whole week alone with a stranger, a man, an alpha.

That familiar twang of anxiety twisted in your chest at the thought, only for it to be snuffed out by another.

‘We all have to grow up at some point’.

You eyed the two packages listed on the screen, one labeled as Silver and the other Gold. The silver package went by, Forget me knot.” and you felt yourself chuckle a little at how cheesy it sounded. It was a 4-day stay at one of the cabins with an alpha provided by the website's dating algorithm.

The Gold package had another cheesy line listed as “Heat of the Night." It listed a full-week stay for the duration of the omega’s heat with your new Alpha.

The prospect was, of course, very tantalizing, but it still didn’t fail to make you nervous. You had never spent a heat with someone before, and it seemed a little scary. Was a week with a stranger worth seeing what you were missing out on?

You clicked the icon for the Gold package without thinking further, blinking at the screen as it shifted to the sign-up page. You’d only wanted further info but it looked like only members could access it. It was, however, free to sign up, a claim made by many websites and apps before it. Yet, even at the free level, it seemed you could at least get to look at the Alpha bachelors they had in their database. Just another step to pull you in closer to spending the big bucks.

It asked for a photo at first, making you hesitate before finally deciding on one simple photo of yourself. It had been your birthday, and your mother was by your side, hugging your shoulder. You had to crop out most of your mom, but your big smile still beamed just as brightly across the screen. You typed in a shortened version of your name for your little profile, along with your age, before clicking the next button.

The page flipped to a quick questionnaire, asking about your likes and dislikes—everything from your bedtime routine to your bedroom habits. It barely toed the line of TMI, but you supposed it had to be thorough to find you a match. You clicked through each question, making sure every answer felt right. Before you could tell, it had been half an hour and you were only almost finished. You snuggled yourself into your plush couch as you finally clicked the submit button.

A little spinning heart pops up on the scream alongside ‘finding your perfect match’ underneath it. The heart spun around on the screen until the loading bar hit 100 and the page shifted over to show your results.

Your eyes widen at the selection of handsome men flooding the screen. There are more Alphas flashing over your computer than you’ve ever seen in one small space, and already there are too many to choose from.

Part of you figured that to a seasoned romantic, it would seem like small potatoes, but to you, it was more men than you knew what to do with. The only distraction that could tear your eyes away was a heart-shaped character at the corner of the screen babbling away in a little text box. His happy little demeanor reminds you of a certain talking paperclip from old office software. Only you found this little guy less irritating.

‘We have selected 20 of your most suitable partners. Please choose from the profiles below to chat and find your match.’

You clicked the speech bubble away, only for another to pop up.

‘Don’t forget to check out our selection of getaways for your official meetup’ popped up across the page.

You clicked again, and another bubble came after.

‘If for any reason you are unsatisfied with your matches, please take the quiz again.’

You take the little heart man’s words into consideration before clicking back towards the alpha profiles.

The first was a rough-looking man named Brock. Too macho for your type, and you shied away from his profile immediately.

The next one was a sweet, gentle-looking man named Steve. He seemed really interested in a lifetime mate, but as romantic as it seemed, you just weren’t too sure that was what you wanted just yet.

It was a little overwhelming. All these men were stunning, and yet the scared little omega inside of you kept turning tail at the gleam of each of their smiles, leading you to click at the next button again and again.

You’d gone through 12 profiles until you stopped on his picture. His brown hair sat at the base of his neck, looking soft and supple enough to tangle your fingers through, and his smile was immediately infectious.

The name James ‘Bucky’ Barnes sat below the photo in bold, but you barely noticed as your gaze locked on his light, smiling blue eyes.

You feel both your heart and your core flutter, leading to a wave of warmth and a bit of unearned embarrassment. You didn’t think any further before clicking his profile, showing you more about this ‘Bucky’.

It gave a broad list of hobbies, his likes and dislikes, as well as so many more dreamy photos.

His profiles stated he was interested in a mate but “wanted to test the waters first." Not interested in being too serious, but not scared of a commitment.

Even though this man seemed like an absolute dream, you couldn’t help but second-guess yourself. Yet, the butterflies in your stomach overpowered the worries in the back of your mind. You let your cursor hover over the match button on his profile before slowly clicking down on the mouse and watching with bated breath as the screen changed again.

That little heart man, now less animated, was the last sight you saw after you clicked. He was accompanied by a few speech bubbles saying, “The alpha you have chosen will be notified; please feel free to browse our events as you wait.”

The word ‘events’ was lit up in another color separate from the text and clearly a link to the rest of the website. At the end of the day, they WERE trying to sell you something, but curiosity got the better of you, and you clicked the link without another thought.

You looked over the two packages they offered and let your cursor hover over the gold package. You stared at its short description, comparing it with the smaller vacation bundle that sat beside it on the screen. You think it over and cautiously click on the icon.

The prices were the first thing that struck you, as none of them were very expensive for what they were advertising. Saving a few bucks always seemed to sweeten the deal, but it really made it all seem too good to be true.

The resort has a full staff available in case of an emergency and are simply a call away. All meals would come in the form of meal kits or ready-made gourmet dinners, as well as a selection of wine and spirits for those 21 and over.

There was a little policy note at the bottom, in smaller letters.

“All reservations are refundable upon cancellation 7 days before the date of the reservation. If you cancel your stay after 7 days, you will be charged a cancellation fee. In the event that your desired partner declines your match, you will be prompted to choose another alpha from the list given to you.”

The idea of being rejected by a stranger online made some of the appeal wear thin. You x-ed out of the pop-up, only to notice a notification lighting up your screen.

He had matched with you immediately, causing another flutter of hearts to pulse over the computer for one moment. On the little message icon sat the number one to indicate somebody had reached out to you, and you clicked on it right away.

The chat room opens up on your screen to show a little chat box bubble saying, “Hi beautiful ;)". The old-style winky face gave his age away and made some of the insecurities in your belly melt.

This 'James' had matched you so soon, and to have him reach out to you on your screen still made you nervous.

The bouncing dots popped up below the first message to indicate he was still typing. You're frozen on the spot as the messages just keep popping up.

“Hello?”

It seemed a bit impatient, but you didn’t think to care; you were too thrilled by this new encounter.

“Hi, sorry, I was..” Oh god, what could you say? “…away from the phone.” Not true, but telling your possible new beau that you were frozen with fear upon seeing his message seemed, well, lame.

“That’s ok.”

“You new here? I haven’t seen your profile before.”

“Yeah. I just signed up.”

“Does that mean I was your first choice? ;)”

You felt you should be honest after your previous fib, and answered immediately.

“ I just saw your profile and clicked it right away. I didn’t expect you to get back to me so soon.”

“Leave a beautiful Omega like you waiting? Not a chance, doll.”

Every word made the air grow thinner, making your head just swim in the rising heat that started to subtly overtake your body. It was such a new feeling to have warmth in your body feel so good.

Those three dots danced across his next speech bubble, and you waited every second for his next word.

“Have you ever been with an alpha before? I’d hate to come on too strong and scare you away.”

Your breath felt shallow before you answered truthfully. “No, I haven’t.”

There have only ever been two people you’ve given yourself to like that. Two particularly nice betas who just couldn’t help you as you needed, but tried anyway. Being with an Alpha seemed like so much more of a big deal, but the idea of a big, horny monster sinking their teeth into your flesh makes you start to hyperventilate. It was permanent, and you didn’t want to just throw away your forever to someone who could be cruel to you.

But something about this felt different. He looked so soft and kind, you could nearly feel his finger gently caressing your cheek as each word popped up on your screen. Something about this encounter felt safe.

You typed without thinking, letting the question fill the screen as anxiety ate away at the warmth that once sat in your belly. “Does that bother you?”

You waited for a response, watching those little dots until they disappeared without a new message. A solid minute felt like an eternity, and your heart sank further as each one ticked by.

You typed out a quick “I’m sorry," hoping you weren’t the one scaring him off instead with your lack of experience.

You breathed a sigh of relief as his response popped up. “Do not be sorry. There is no problem with wanting to wait.” Followed by another “I feel like a lucky guy.”

“I guess I’m just a little embarrassed; I’m glad it doesn’t bother you.” You typed away, fully engrossed in his attention.

“Don’t be; that kind of thing means more than you’d think in this day in age.”

It popped across your screen, giving you much-needed relief, only for the next message to set your nerves ablaze all over again.

“What made you decide to join the site?”

It popped over your screen faster than you could shoo it away. The reason for you was obvious after dragging yourself through that doctor's office. You needed help, and somehow that simple red flier had shown out to you like a beacon on a stormy shore.

You wanted to be honest, but some things felt better kept close to yourself than within the reach of others. You answered with the shallow truth.

“Dating can be difficult. I found the advertisement today and decided to check things out.” You tapped the enter button and sent the message, but your fingers continued to type. Maybe it was an attempt to keep his questions from probing into your answer even further, as you sent him an inquiry of your own.

“What about you? What made you decide to join the website?”

The laptop sat silently, aside from the whirring of its little fan. No bouncing dots, no indication of his response. Maybe his reasons were somehow more personal than your own.

You began to lose a little faith as the chat room continued to sit empty until his chat bubble finally popped up. Each second it took for the words to show was a second too long.

“I’d say it’s about the same. I guess I just wanted to try something different.”

“And how’s it working out so far?”

“I’d say, far better since you popped up.”

It was such a cliche line, but you loved it. You even laughed a little as you typed back.

“That fast, huh? It’s been less than a day "

“But you’ve already made my whole week.”

It brought an immediate smile to your rosy face. It was so fun—almost a fantasy. No danger, no recourse, no fear. You looked back at his little picture on the screen, his smiling face; it was a far cry from any other alpha already, and you hadn’t even seen him in the very flesh.

But it had been less than a day, and it was an obvious blow to this little oasis that had built around you in the matter of minutes. You didn’t want this moment to end, not when reality was waiting for you afterward.

The hours passed as you did each playful word with this ‘James’.

“I can’t wait to meet you, Omega.”

Your heart fluttered to an unnatural rhythm the moment it popped onto your screen.

"Omego,” you repeated his use of your denomination.

For a whole week, you could be the omega to his Alpha. You thought about the glamorous getaways your matchmaker had advertised. So you thought that, just maybe, that could be you.

Chapter 3

Tag List : @bethyruth-deactivated20231124 @scott-loki-barnes @wintrsoldrluvr

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therealdogsinmymind · 2 months

Text

✩ SOLO PLAY - Chapter 2 ✩

(18+/Minors DNI)

CHAPTER ONE

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AO3 Link | Word Count: 4,337 | Status: Ongoing

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Synopsis: It's been years since high school, and also years since your fight, seeing Jinwoo after all this time is scary enough; but when you finally get to confront him you aren't sure who it is that's in front of you.

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Pairing: Sung Jin-Woo/Reader , Sung Jin-Woo/You

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Tags: Reader POV, Bickering, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, First Kisses, High School (Almost) Sweethearts, Secret Crushes, Requited Love, Jinwoo has a nickname for the reader, Nickname - "Star",

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Picture from @oo0mika0oo ‘s icon edits

There’s usually something to be said about a nice cool evening breeze, head clearing you hear. Not tonight, not for you at least. You’ve never felt more muddled. The soft wind does nothing for the state of your emotional turmoil or the fact that you feel like you’re going to sweat to death in this stupid fucking outfit. Jinwoo gave you a call out of the blue a week ago sounding vaguely breathless and almost nothing like himself; but the number was definitely his. You really should’ve deleted his number but you couldn’t bring yourself to, besides you still keep in contact with Jinah on the occasion to check in, it felt wrong to delete just his. Regardless, you agreed when he asked to meet up, a silent agreement passed between you that you would try to let go of your past disagreements; or maybe that’s you being hopeful.

Well, you’ve made the plan, the time has come, you’re wearing your stupid little outfit so you look like you have your life together; the stage is set. Now all you need to do is go into the café, easy. Jinwoo shouldn’t even be here yet. Really you just have to stop pacing back and forth right outside the door as if you’ve never been inside an establishment in your life. You know how to open a fucking door, yet here you are digging your nails into your palms so hard they’re leaving dents.

You’re on maybe your thirteenth pass in front of the door, or is your thirtieth? You’ve long since lost count. Suffice to say you’re on an unknown number of loops in front of the door when you run square into someone, it was bound to happen, you’ve barely been looking at where you’re going. You’re so mortified you can’t even bear to look up at the person who was undoubtedly just trying to get into this café.

That’s it, you can’t do this, you know it’s getting close to the time you’re supposed to meet up with Jinwoo but how are you supposed to go in now? Following in directly after this person is just simply not an option. You mumble profuse apologies and quickly make your escape. You’re side-stepping around the stranger with a ducked head, aiming to get the hell out of dodge as quickly as possible.

Something catches your wrist and yanks you back hard enough that you go toppling backwards, for a moment you think you’re going to land flat on your ass and make an even bigger embarrassment of yourself but you land firmly against something hard, a chest? Dazed for a moment, it takes you a second to realize you’re loosely encircled in a pair of arms, a hand wrapped around your wrist. Did the stranger from before grab you? What an asshole. You’re ready to swear up a storm, maybe even start swinging, when a familiar voice stops you dead in your tracks.

“Chickening out?” Jinwoo asks from entirely too close to you. His voice is almost unreadable, but you think you can detect a small hint of disappointment in his words.

The jarring movements and the fact that you’re suddenly in Jinwoo’s arms has you spinning. “Hwuh-?” Real fucking eloquent, nice. Did you crash into him earlier, then make a break for it? And you thought you couldn’t feel like any more of a loser today.

You crane your head up to catch a glimpse at him, or rather someone that feasibly could be Jinwoo in another world. The man barely looks anything like the boy you knew in high school. It sends you absolutely reeling. No fucking shot.

“Who the fuck are you?” The words slip from your lips before you have the chance to stop them. You slap a hand over your mouth and he gives an awkward chuckle.

“Aha… as blunt as ever…” If not for the way his eyes crinkle when he replies you’d never believe that it’s him. Pulling away and turning around you take note of the fact that he hasn’t let go of your wrist, only loosened his hold.

“You gonna let me go?” You ask, narrowing your eyes.

He’s quick to reply, “Are you going to run again?”

“Depends on if you’re really Sung Jinwoo or not-” You can’t be sure at this point.

“In our last year of high school you fell asleep in class and when I tried to wake you up, you-”

“Alright-!” You cut him off, you really don’t need to be reminded of the rest of that story. Your cheeks feel hotter than they have any right to be. You’ll swear on your dying breath that you were joking when he tried to wake you up and you sleepily asked him to kiss you awake. You know, like a princess or something. You know you weren’t kidding but you’ll never admit that, not to Jinwoo of all people. It feels like something within you is shriveling into a tiny ball at the realization that he even recalls that and for some reason you feel the need to say so.

“Why do you even remember that?” You practically whine, dragging a laugh from Jinwoo. Something warm lights in your chest at the sound, it’s a deeper laugh than before. His voice has dropped farther and he seems far more confident, but the familiarity is still there. You missed him. The sense of apprehension and hurt from the fight that caused your fractured friendship lingers in the back of your mind and you try not to pay it any attention.

He tilts his head towards the door, “Do you want to go inside? I won’t force you.”

You only hesitate for a second before answering, “Yeah… yeah I do.”

His hand falls away from your wrist and your skin feels tingly where it once was, you don’t have time to dwell on it. He holds the door open for you and you thank him quietly as you slip in, your nerves slamming back into you full force by this point. There should be nothing to worry about, just coffee with an old friend, but is it really? Jinwoo seems so different. Not just in his appearance but the way he speaks, the way he carries himself, it’s all different. Meanwhile you’re still the exact same; or at least that’s how it feels.

When you go to order he asks you if you still have the same tastes and you almost feel embarrassed to say yes, perhaps you’re a creature of habit. When he orders his drink it’s different from what you’re expecting and you have to bite your tongue. Commenting on every little thing he does would probably be annoying.

The two of you find a table in the back of the café with your drinks and silence stretches on for a while. As you play with your straw he watches out the window quietly, looking rather content just to be here. You try to find words but you’re too busy raking your eyes over every aspect of him. His fingers aimlessly draw circles on the table, even his hands look different. You’re staring, you know that, but your eyes are continuously drawn to him, everything he does feels wrong you don’t know who this man is. It’s rude to think that but it’s churning your insides, this isn’t the sweet boy you were so head over heels for in high school. How are you even supposed to talk to this man?

You say the first thing that comes to your mind, “What the hell happened to your hair?”

“That’s what you’re concerned about?” He looks absolutely thrown, apparently he’s been able to tell you’re uncomfortable with his changes.

“Yes!” You lean forward quickly, smacking your hand on the table, perhaps a bit too loudly for the setting. It doesn’t even phase him, another new thing. “Well- no. All of it is fucking with me, but you used to look like a sad wet cat and that was so charming what happened to that?” Might as well be honest.

“I don’t know- I got older?” He pauses and his eyes slide over to the side, “I also do some working out…”

“Shit- I guess…” you mumble and lean back in your seat. Sighing, you drag your hand over your face. “I hate the hair. You look stupid.”

“Thanks,” he deadpans before taking a sip of his coffee. “I don’t know why you think you’re one to talk…That hair color looks terrible on you.”

“Thanks for the input.” You take an angry sip of your coffee before you spit, “Hunting-?“

He cuts you off, “Still doing it.” Your face twists in disgust and you have to look away from him. You hate that he became a hunter, it’s too fucking dangerous. The fatality rate on that shit is insane. The idea of losing your best friend to a dungeon killed you inside, you couldn’t bear it. Hence your huge blow out, Jinwoo wasn’t particularly happy with your lack of support, you wouldn’t back down, the rest is nasty history.

“I’m doing fine now,” he says, as if you need to hear that. A part of you does, you’ve always worried, but another worse part of you wished that he would’ve missed you just a little.

Regardless of the back part of your brain cursing him, the logical part of your brain is stronger. Your face softens and while you still can’t look at him, you swirl your drink and say, ”Yeah? That’s good.” Your words are genuine and you hope he knows that.

”You?” He prompts, hopeful lilt to his voice. It seems he’s genuinely trying to keep the conversation going. You don’t want to talk about yourself though. You really don’t.

You drop your chin into your hand, suddenly the music playing from the teenager’s phone three tables away is crystal clear. You’d rather not be having this conversation. “Y’know.”

He tilts his head, “I really don't, that's why I asked.”

You’ll just keep it vague. “Not much to talk about, got a job. Dated a bit.”

Suddenly he gets stiff, voice tight, ”I didn’t realize you had a partner.”

Your neck hurts, it's so tense, why did he have to ping on that? ”…ah. I don’t.”

He seems to relax almost imperceptibly but you’ve known him for far too long to be unaware of his tells. He seems intent on not dropping the matter, “Bad breakup? I didn’t see any pictures of a partner on your socials.” That’s because all of your partners have looked something like him, be it his hair or his previous body type, you had a streak and you didn’t want evidence. They’ve also all unfortunately been utterly awful because you’ve picked them out on looks alone without getting to know them in the slightest before dating them. Maybe you’re shallow, or maybe you’re just desperate for something you can’t have, call it what you will.

You set your cup down with intent, you are not having this conversation. You’d rather have any other conversation, even a worse one. So, you pick a fight, you’re good at that. “Why’d you tell me to get out of your life when I asked you not to be a hunter?”

He reels back for a moment, before narrowing his eyes, the challenge accepted, “Why’d you tell me you wouldn’t come to my funeral if I died?”

”Why are you so ready to die!?” You hiss, voice intentionally low, you don’t want to make a scene. “You never fucking think about how the people around you worry! You just throw yourself into shit and sacrifice yourself, you think that people’ll be grateful because they didn’t have to do it themselves But newsflash! You have people who care about you! You don’t get to decide that your life doesn’t matter!”

His eyes grow dark, body language becoming more aggressive than you’d like. “Do you think I want to die? Do you think I don’t know what pain feels like?” He hisses right back, you’re both just spitting vitriol at each other at this point.

“I’m not saying that! I’m saying you’re a fucking idiot that can’t take advice! This is why we stopped talking!” You can’t bring yourself to back down, even though you know you want to.

“Have you ever thought that maybe you’re the problem!?” And that’s the end of that, you have no comeback. He looks like he regrets his words as soon as he says them but it doesn’t matter. It hits hard enough to shatter something in you. You have thought about that actually. You agonized over that for quite a while after you guys stopped talking, then over it again and again after each of your failed relationships, and you tormented yourself with it when you finally went no contact with your parents. You’ve always had it in the back of your mind. It never stops being there.

You don’t say anything and neither does he. A few times he opens his mouth like he’s going to say something but then proceeds to close it and look down at his drink. He turns the cup back and forth a few times as if that will give him the answers he needs. You know it won’t, neither of you have an answer to this whole fucking mess.

You sigh heavily, you don’t want to be here anymore. The noise draws Jinwoo’s eyes back to you, “Glad to know you’re still alive. Keep it that way.” The last thing you want is to be right about him dying in a dungeon but you don’t think that’ll happen anymore. He seems different now, more composed, stronger, dangerous even. You wonder what changed him. Was it hunting?

Your chair scrapes against the floor as you stand up. You wish it hadn’t been like this. You wish you two had never fought over him becoming a hunter. You wish everything had just stayed the same. More than anything you wish you hadn’t missed out on your chance to tell him how you felt years ago. Things could have been so different.

You turn your back on him for the second, and hopefully final time in your life. Yanking the café door open you’re hit with a blast of cool air and this time it does do something for you, it’s not calming but at least you feel less overheated. Maybe you should just take your sweater off, it’s doing more harm than good at this point.

You don’t get very far before a voice calls out for you from behind you. An old nickname resurfaces from the depths of hell just to stop you in your tracks and nearly make you trip over your own feet. “Star.” You haven’t heard that nickname in what feels like a lifetime, but more jarringly you know that tone. It’s the same soft, desperate voice as the time you were sick with a raging fever and Jinwoo took care of you for three days. He says it like he’s afraid he’ll lose you and he can’t bear the thought of that. Your steps falter and your fists clench. It hurts your heart for just a moment before something vicious takes over you.

You don’t turn around, you can’t, there’s hot, angry tears welling up in your eyes. You don’t want him to see, it might break you, and you will not cry here. Not today, not when you’ve already embarrassed yourself in front of this stupid café enough today.

“Don’t call me that,” you spit. Trembling, you pull in on yourself. You need desperately to hold it together. Emotions you barely know how to name swirl inside of you. You’re angry about a years old fight, about the fact that you don’t recognize the man that used to be your best friend. You’re hurting because you don’t know what you’re supposed to do in this situation. You’re confused, you’re anxious, you just want everything to make sense. Who the hell is Jinwoo anymore? Who are you?

He says your name in the same soft tone, before he tugs on your shoulder. You’re weak to him, he turns you around and you go willingly, as if he’s magnetic. When you finally look at him the sight of the apologetic look on your face forces the wetness in your eyes to spill over. A sob escapes your lips and he pulls you into his chest; you don’t have any desire to stop him.

“I’m sorry. Really…” The pain in Jinwoo’s voice is palpable.

“Does my hair look that bad?” It’s not what you want to ask but it’s all that comes out of your mouth. Asking the harder questions feels impossible right now.

“No, star… I’m sorry, I was just trying to be mean,” he mumbles into your hair. Maybe that’s what does it, the soft admission of guilt from Jinwoo has everything bubbling up your throat in an instant.

“I missed you!” You sob, “I missed you so much and now I don’t recognize you!” Balling up your fist you weakly thump his chest. “You don’t need me anymore…” you whisper. That’s the crux of it isn’t it. He got all big and cool and strong so what does he need you for? Maybe he called you just to rub it in your face. “You don’t need me! And you hate me! Why am I even here!? To fight more? I don’t want that!”

Jinwoo makes a pained noise, “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. I didn’t call you here to fight… I… wanted to apologize, I wanted to show you that I’ve gotten stronger so you wouldn’t be so worried about me hunting… I’ve missed you so much, you know?” You shake your head into his chest. You truly never could have guessed that he missed you, hoped certainly, but not guessed. “How could I not?” He asks with a hollow laugh, as if he’s been hurting for years.

You mumble quietly into his shirt, “Missed you more…” You can’t help your overwhelming need to compete with him on little shit like this. You two have always been trying to one-up each other. At least you’ve stopped crying.

He huffs a laugh, “Hmm I don’t know…” You have to prove him wrong, you have to. You pull back from the hug so you can narrow your eyes at him.

“I’ve been in love with you since I was fifteen so I think I win,” you say completely without thought, as if you haven’t been keeping that a secret for ten years.

His lips curl up, “I’ve been in love with you since you pushed me down the stairs on the first day of school.”

“That was an accident!” The words come out of you in a burst before you have time to fully process what all’s been said. When the ramifications of what you’ve said sink in your face goes red. What the hell have you done? Then when what he’s said sinks in you start stuttering wordless sounds. When you can finally get some coherent words out they sound something like, “You- wh- huh? In love? With me?”

“I guess that is what I said, huh?” He says slightly contemplatively; who is this man? His confidence is insane, nothing like the Jinwoo from school. You dive back into his shirt because it’s the only place you can go to hide your face. He laughs and wraps his arms around you tighter, rocking the two of you back and forth slightly.

You mutter into his shirt, “We’re so stupid.” After all this time, this is the straw?

“Mm, yeah,” he agrees; he sounds kind of happy about it though.

You pinch his side, forced to take note of the complete lack of softness there, bye-bye baby fat you guess. “I can hear you smiling, you dick, knock it off.”

“I can’t be happy my feelings aren’t one-sided?”

“Yeah- okay well…” You’re happy too, ecstatic even, but you’re also conflicted, you’re still not sure who this new person is.

“You don’t know if we’re compatible now,” he says quietly into your hair.

“Yeah…” You pull away and hesitate for a long moment before you ask a question you’ve always assumed you knew the answer to. But maybe you don’t know the answer like you thought. You can’t look at him as you whisper, “Do you think it’s too late?”

“Hmm I don’t know… It’s almost 7pm…” He hums with his hand on his chin. You peek at him and see his stupid pose, it saps the seriousness right out of the moment.

You kick him in the shin, hard.

“You’re such a jackass!” You’re fuming a little but you can’t help the laughter bubbling out of your lips. A stray tear spills over your cheek, clearly leftover from the previous wetness in your eyes. Despite the fact that you no longer feel the urge to cry it almost feels fitting, the catharsis of knowing you weren’t alone in your feelings for all this time deserves a single tear.

Jinwoo wipes it away slowly, gently, as if he’ll break you otherwise. “It might be too late-” His words plummet your stomach to the floor, however he continues, “But I don’t think we’ll ever know if we don’t try?” The uplift at the end of the sentence betrays how nervous he is. He seems to phrase it as a question so you know he’s anxious about your answer. You’re anxious too, so much so that you’ve started trembling again, but you think they might be the good kind of nerves.

“Trying… I would like that,” your voice is barely audible but the smile he gives seems to say he heard you loud and clear. You clear your throat, “We may need to work some things out first, I feel like we’ve got some unresolved issues.”

“I trust we’ll figure it out, older and wiser and all that.”

“Wiser my ass.” Oh well, you’ll either sort your shit out or not. Regardless of the risks, hope blossoms in your chest at the idea that something you’ve wanted for so long could be right within reach. It almost doesn’t feel real. You take two steps back and lean against one of the bollards at the edge of the street.

“I don’t know about you but I feel a little bit like I’m having the weirdest dream of my life right now,” you say with a wistful sigh. Jinwoo cocks his head to the side and looks contemplative for a second before he steps into your space and leans over you.

You crane your neck to look up at him as he says, “I could try to wake you up, see if you’re really asleep.”

“What? Like pinch me or something? No thanks.”

“Nah, I was thinking of finally making good on that request of yours.” He leans in until he’s mere inches from your face, lips so very close to your own.

“Req- oh… y-yeah. Yeah, okay.” Maybe it’s a little fast, or maybe it’s long overdue. Jinwoo takes your stuttering go-ahead happily, closing the gap with an utter lack of smoothness that speaks volumes of an absence of experience; it makes your heart soar. Are you his first kiss? You hope so, this inexperienced Jinwoo feels like the one you knew before, it’s sweet. You’re preparing yourself to learn to love the new version of Jinwoo but it’s at least nice to know that not everything has changed. The kiss is fumbling and unbelievably cute, Jinwoo isn’t diving for your tongue or anything but he is applying too much pressure and he’s very eager. It’s quite sweet.

Unfortunately you must be the one to pull away first, mostly because you really want to tell him something. “I think I’m awake, prince charming.”

He wrinkles his nose at the stupid nickname but it makes him even cuter. “Glad to hear it,” he says breathlessly, cheeks pinker than the sunset behind you.

“You’re so cute…” you coo, touching his cheek. He leans into it for just a moment before pulling away, face going even redder. “I’m not teasing, by the way.”

“Yeah okay,” he mutters, avoiding your eyes, “It’s getting late, I should take you home.”

“Shut up, it’s not even that late, you just want to go home and squeal into your pillow because you’re gonna get laid soon.”

“I’m going to push you into traffic,” he mutters before he seems to process the last part of your statement fully, then he echoes faintly, “Soon?”

“Not if you push me into traffic-” You tease and hold your hand out, he takes it, pulling you up even though you didn’t really need the help; you kind of just wanted to hold his hand. “Anyway, you wanna get dinner or something? Catch up?” He shrugs in reply but he still seems dazed about the idea of getting laid, which is enough of an answer. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Of course you would,” he says without any real bite, seeming to snap back to himself. “Next thing- you’re gonna to invite yourself over to see Jinah.”

“Ooh- can I? We could grab something on the way back to your place.”

“That wasn’t supposed to be a suggestion!” His voice is shrill and his cheeks still pink, you wonder if he’s embarrassed about the idea of you seeing his sister after all this time.

You pout, “I guess…”

He sighs, rubbing the back of his head. “Some other time… I promise, okay?” You light up, beaming at him. “Come on, I’ll buy you dinner,” he tugs on your hand; you didn’t realize you were still holding on like that. He didn’t seem to mind, seeing as he didn’t let go, instead he uses his grip on you to pull you forward. You follow him without hesitation, you wonder how far he’ll take you.

#solo leveling #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo x you #sung jin woo #sung jinwoo #jinwoo sung x reader #jinwoo x reader #solo leveling fanfic #solo leveling headcanons #solo leveling x reader #solo leveling jinwoo #only i level up #Zephyrs Stories #jinwoo sung x you #jinwoo sung headcanons

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coffeedepressionsoup · 10 days

Text

Somebody Does Love | MYG - She Thinks She Falls First

Pairing - Yoongi x F!reader

Summary - "What is grief, if not love persevering?" Two people are in love but that is not enough because sometimes loving requires courage.

This is the one where she explores her very mild crush on him. Part 5 of Somebody Does Love.

Series Masterlist

Genre - fluff, strangers to lovers, eventual smut and angst

Word count - 4k+

Warnings - lil swearing, drinking, Yoongi’s fluffy hair, Yoongi’s hands

Ratings - 13+

Taglist: @majiiisstuff @starlighttaek8 @yoongrace @proudnoona @7ndipity

A/N - I start working a 10-hour shift in less than two hours and I have not slept a wink. This has been sitting in drafts for way too long and I have no idea why I was resolute to finish it today. It might seem a bit all over the place, but hey, welcome to my head, I live like this.

The word count is definitely not my way of overcompensating for the prolonged absence. Partially proofread. The chapter naming has been lame. I know. But it is what it is. Also here is the closest thing I found on the internet to the Woolfie + Ash dynamic I am imagining. And the Yoongi in my mind as I was writing this, in case you are wondering.

I am using my last two brain cells to upload this. Please like, comment, and reblog to share your thoughts and feedback. DM me if you want to be added to/removed from the tag list. This delirious fever dream is now yours to deal with. Enjoy!

“I mean it’s the cutest smirk ever and I know “smirks a lot” does not paint an endearing picture, but like- what he has mostly is not a smile, but you know he is having a good time. Like he’s too lazy to have a full grin and the best he can do is pull up his lips slightly and-”

----------------------------------------------------------

“I still don’t understand what you mean by a memorable smirk. Why are you bothered at all by someone’s smirk?”

“This is borderline creepy now. Why-”

“Are you not listening? He’s just cute and I cannot forget about his smile.”

“Well, isn’t he too lazy to-”

“UGH!! You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, you have it bad.”

“I don’t have anything. And it’s not bad…”

“But?”

“He’s cute. Funny. Attentive. And nice hands.”

“Really?” In their almost half an hour conversation, it’s the first genuine curiosity Samairah has shown about your supposed crush.

You now had a triumphant smirk yourself and nodded, “Yes, very nice hands.”

“You do realise that you can yourself ask him out?” Samairah quirked her brows, her tone reminding you of a disappointed tutor.

“I know! But bro! He’s really good friends with Sammy and they work closely and it can get so messy.”

It has been 10 days since you walked in on Sammy and Yoongi in the middle of a songwriting session at almost midnight. 10 days since you knew for sure that Yoongi’s hair felt softer than it already looked. 10 days since your first -

“Sure it can. But it can go well too especially since he seems interested as well,” Samairah said after gulping down the rest of her banana oat smoothie.

You could not help but bark out a disbelieving laughter, “Yeah right..”

“What?”

“He seems interested, you said.”

“Yeah and?”

“That doesn’t seem likely.”

“Why?”

Because he is an international icon and probably the hottest rapper-producer on planet Earth and you were whoever you are. But you did not want to tell her that. In fact, all Samairah knew about your “crush” was that you met him at a house party and he is close with one of your best friends. Not that you wanted to lie or actively hide anything from her. She had not asked for a name when you had not given one. And she did not mind that. She knew you would have your reasons and will tell her if and when you want to. Your friendship was comfortable like that.

All you said out loud was, “Because he does not seem interested. You are just saying shit because you want me to ask him out.”

“And that would be a bad motivator why exactly?” Before you could fully roll your eyes at the rhetorical question, she started listing out in a matter-of-fact tone, overstating her points by holding up a finger with each of them, “You are clearly infatuated with him. Also, to be quite honest everything you told me up until now screams like the first few chapters of an idiot-to-lovers trope story.”

“Fucking hell! Hold your horses Mari. What lovers? We haven’t even gone on a single date yet.”

“He made japchae the exact way you like it, the very next day that you talked about it, which was apparently also the day you first met!” Samairah’s exasperated tone shut you up. It did strike you as odd when that happened. But you remember feeling more endeared and way too many butterflies in your gut at his presence to register and/or question the legitimacy of his “made too much” excuse at the time.

“And he’s dropping by willy-nilly wherever you are at.”

No, I mean, he had very valid reasons all of those times. Right?

Right.

Even at the vet’s appointment for Ash earlier that week.

He could not possibly have waited a couple more days till you were all supposed to meet at Aera’s place to return the portable charger he borrowed. You might need it on your daily commute and if anything, nobody should be trapped in Seoul traffic with a dead phone. What would you stare at? The people in the car window next to you? The ones hanging off the same supporting rail as you on the train? No, Yoongi had been considerate.

Sammy had turned up at Genius Lab aka Yoongi’s studio and they played around with the chorus of the song they were working on one afternoon. Once they were satisfied with a structure, Sammy politely turned down Namjoon’s offer for a drink (which caught Yoongi’s attention because when has any of his friends ever declined a drink) on his way out, saying he had to drive Y/N and Ash to the vet since you don’t feel comfortable driving on Seoul roads yet, despite carrying a valid International Driver's Permit.

The mention of your name drove Yoongi quieter and turned his ears and cheeks red at an alarming speed. Did the boys notice? Yes. Did Yoongi catch them exchanging a knowing smirk following that? No. Did he ask for details of the vet clinic and the time of appointment? Yes. Did he say out loud that he is free to drive Y/N, in fact, he would gladly volunteer? No. Did Sammy update an innocuous group chat with Yoongi’s ‘being in the neighbourhood and deciding impulsively to give the power bank back’ appearance later that evening? Yes. Did anyone buy that excuse? No.

Not even you. Not when he sputtered it out initially. Not when he took off his mask momentarily in an almost empty reception to shower Ash with a bunch of kisses. Not even when a pang of unspecified recognition hit you. You did not believe him.

Just Sunday night, that is tonight, Aera had invited all her close friends for a housewarming party. You first met her a couple of years ago through Dojoon. She was a doctor. And Dojoon’s friend. With some benefits. There are times when their friends swear they are dating. Then there are times when they know not to speak of each other in front of them. The fact that Aera’s new apartment is directly across from the hall from Dojoon’s is officially supposed to be coincidental. She apparently realised after she finalised with the agent that she was standing in a familiar hallway. And yeah, every one of you decided to believe it, of course.

So yeah, the charger return could have waited but you decided to believe it was because Yoongi did promise to return it ASAP and that particular Wednesday evening was it. He was a man of his word. He had flown away for a short work trip to Osaka for two days. His phone was almost out of charge. He had to drive directly to the airport. In fact, Soojin was waiting for him, with all his essentials on standby. You, however, figured he would not have time to get his charger. So you voluntarily offered your portable one to him.

He could just use the direct charger in his car. But you did not think of it at the moment. And Yoongi did not remind you of it. He took the one you offered. Used it on his way to the airport, through his stay in Osaka and charged it back up once he returned, carrying it around in his jacket with his wallet and keys.

Now, as to why would you be with him when his phone was almost dying and he was about to fly out of the country? It’s because Yoongi was at Sammy’s place, trying to write a song. Pleasantly buzzed on beer and completely engrossed in the task. And you were, as of the last discussion on the matter, Sammy’s housemate. Yes, plans changed since you first arrived in the city, and you would say for the better. Living with Sammy was not as chaotic as you anticipated and once you saw Ash and Woolfie bonding, you did not have the heart to separate them or yourself away from the duo. And the “people always coming over to Sammy’s and not having the bandwidth to deal with it” was not a particular problem at the moment.

You had grown quite fond of the most frequent visitor.

The first night you walked in to unexpectedly find Yoongi at Sammy’s place, you remember the knots building up in your stomach. You had not yet acknowledged your evident crush on him. You would think the older people got, the easier it was to deal with all this. Bullshit.

It did not help that soon after Sammy left to walk Woolfie. You tried to keep your tone and conversation as neutral as possible. And you would like to believe you succeeded. Once you managed to convince him to stay for dinner (to be honest, all you had to do was ask once), you excused yourself to go wash up. You squealed into your damp towel as you found yourself carefully styling your hair to appear as carelessly proper as possible.

Your squeal had not reached Yoongi several rooms away but it had managed to wake your fur baby up from her nap. She yawned, stretched, itched the back of her ears with her paws and marched out of your room alongside you to greet the man. The greeting she extended was calculated for the first couple of minutes, as she went around sniffing and staring at him from different angles around his feet. Soon she decided to lick her stamp of approval on his nose once she allowed him to pick her up. Since then she remained on his lap, by his feet or on his shoulder, till the time he left.

The conversation, guided by Ash’s heartwarming existence, revolved comfortably around pets. He asked about your childhood pets and told you about his. He also proudly spoke about the different personalities of Tony and Scar, his two rescue cats. Once you asked to see pictures, you were allowed to surf through two whole albums with hundreds of photos of the cats as well as Holly, the famed cockapoodle.

You caught yourself staring at him a few times that night, making you the second person to do so. You stared at his bright, warm eyes that had a certain glimmer that you could not define. Sometimes you stared at the way he threw back his head in laughter and the bobble of his Adam’s apple. Oh, his laughter! The sound of it! The look of it! You noticed it more than you did the previous night. The lines it created around his mouth and his eyes, you wanted to trace them lightly with your fingers and later intertwine them with his slender ones. Not just his fingers though, you noticed the way his forearm would subtly flex every time he pushed his hair back in the middle of conversation. And his fucking hair.

It is the softest head of hair you have ever seen, you could swear. You thought it was difficult not to actually reach out and feel it on the first night he came over. That was until the second time. You were sitting much closer together at that time. You were much more drunk than the two beers you had with dinner the last time. You also had much more daydreaming under your belt about the man sitting beside you. If you had not chickened out at the last minute, you wondered if you could thread your fingers in his hair to hold him closer in a kiss. You wondered the same at different times on different days till 10 days back.

You were pretty drunk from the departmental dinner with your colleagues. Samairah had been on driving duty that evening and pretty sober. She offered to walk you to the elevators of the building when she came to drop you off but you promised you could manage by yourself. And you did. But the walls along the way were integral to your vertical stability.

In half a mind to ring the bell instead of punching the code in, you leaned against the doorframe for a few moments. Composing yourself a bit, you let yourself in, steady enough to walk straight, away from walls.

As you walked towards the hall area, you heard guitar strumming and distinct humming voices. Voice-s. Multiple. Two, to be precise. And you need not be alarmed. The second voice could be anybody. Except it wasn’t. You recognised Yoongi’s deep, now slightly raspy voice over Sammy’s. Before you turned from the narrow entryway to the room, you could feel your heartbeat rise and your hands started feeling clammy.

The boys did not notice you come in.

As Sammy lightly hummed a melody and typed into the laptop in front of him, Yoongi kept playing a distinct hook on what you recognised as one of Sammy’s guitars.

“Do you see what I mean-” Yoongi asked and paused before changing to a different set of chords, this one more mellow than before. With the change, you noticed his tongue slightly poke out the side of his mouth, set in deep concentration.

Sammy took a sip out of an opened can of beer lying on the floor between them. Who knows which is whose anymore? He nodded looking down at his phone, and started singing some words out with the tune he was humming before.

Yoongi let out a non-verbal sound you could best define as a soft groan of approval as you saw him changing the chords to match the tune Sammy was singing.

You probably would have stood there till either of the two turned to see you. But your phone pinged with a notification alert and although it wasn’t too loud, it stood out enough for both Yoongi and Sammy to pivot from their places on the ground near the sofa.

Feeling conscious of the newly gained attention of the whole room, you tried to laugh off the cocktail of nervous surprise and drunken flush. “Hi,” you waved a little.

Sammy patted the spot next to him, sipping on one of the open beers again, “Come listen to this,” and started humming again.

You walked over as steadily and casually as possible and when you sat down, you could hear a soft “hi” escape Yoongi’s slightly parted lips. You smiled at him and could see a smile threatening to break out on his face as well, which appeared when you said, “You’re red,” and immediately bit your lips because ‘Wow were you drunk.’

Yoongi tried his best to explain that it was just the alcohol and that it was uncharacteristically hot tonight. You nodded and decided to honour his failing defence once your eyes met. But you also felt like you could see through him at the time. You could seemingly read a similar pining and nervousness within him that you felt. But you tried convincing yourself that half of it was spirit-induced delusions.

“Is this a new song?” you leant over to see the laptop screen which Sammy turned slightly for your ease and nodded.

“Genius here wrote this under 10 minutes,” he gestured towards the accused.

Yoongi felt “redder” but it physically was not possible. His sense of embarrassment, however, was graver than before. “Fuck no, I just came up with some beats. Sammy filled these in,” he protested and leaned over to trace over the mixer timeline on the laptop.

To do that though, he had to lean over you. Partly. And when he did, there was a pregnant pause in the room.

Yoongi stilled the moment he could feel your breath fanning his ear. You froze when you caught a whiff of his… shampoo? Cologne? Aftershave? All of it? You were not a perfumer by any means, but if your olfactory senses served you right, you are pretty sure that is the best smell any human being has ever exuded. Contrarians could argue with the wall.

Sammy was not unmoving but he chose to remain quiet with a wide grin on his face.

Yoongi withdrew after a millenium-long two-second pause and cleared his throat.

You followed suit and said, “It sounds good regardless. Fresh,” to neither of the boys in particular. All your drunken slur had vanished in a whiff of what you decided your favourite smell was going to be henceforth.

Later in the night, once you freshened up and made coffee for everyone, and the guitar and laptop were put away, you all ended up talking about life, love and well, love life.

Sammy believed in the possibility of love at first sight, as did Yoongi. “Yeah, I think it is quite romantic. I don’t think it happens to many people or as often as people claim. But I believe it is a reality for some people.”

After taking in the silent nods across the room, he tipped his slightly towards you, and asked, “What about you?”

“Oh I don’t believe it exists,” you said after a small sip of your flat white.

“Love at first sight?”

“Yeah”

“Doesn’t exist?”

“I cannot imagine it does, no,” you chuckled out this time at Yoongi’s apparent disbelief.

Yoongi nodded slowly, with a smile of his own accompanied by a slight scowl.

Sammy, having chugged his hazelnut cold coffee, was now lying on the couch, half asleep. He nudged Yoongi’s back lightly with his knee, and said, “Ask her why.”

“Go the fuck off to slee-”

“Why?”

You cursed out and Yoongi asked sincerely at the same moment. Your eyes met.

You swore you could get lost in them, stare at them forever. Memorise every line and freckle.

“I don’t think it’s practical.”

“Love is wild, subjective. It does not need to be practical or rational.”

“There’s a semblance of cause for the effect that we experience as love. They are adorable,” you pointed to Wooflie and Ash locked in a defensive face-off mid-zoomies on the other side of the room. You then moved to point at the guitar and the laptop, “This brings you joy.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows pulled together in a scowl. You had concluded by now that was indicative of his increased attention level. You continued, “We know they are likely to leave us behind one day and you know making music and putting it out there is tough, challenging but you love these anyway. I think we choose to love something or someone despite a lot of shortcomings or adversities. Not because they behave in a manner or look a certain way. And I believe you need more than a sight for that to happen.”

You drew in a deep breath and looked away. You had held his gaze for too long than is comfortable for him, you thought. And then you rambled on about love. It sounded so annoying and pretentious when you thought back. You were certain that you had sabotaged any budding chance for romance you had by dissing on something as romantic as love at first sight.

All that was conjecture, of course, but you would not find out about that until much later.

Yoongi’s scowl remained as it was when he said, “That is so romantic.”

Before you could reply, Sammy quipped in. “That she is.”

It made Yoongi smile and you huff lightly in mock disbelief. The conversation was then interrupted by you being tackled down by Woolfie. Unbeknownst to you, the zoomies area of dispatch had shifted to where you were sitting.

You laughed as you pet the husky back when he licked your face and play-growled at Ash to join in. The cat, however, refused to get on the floor as if it was lava. She marched promptly from one of the armrests on the sofa, to a cushion near Sammy’s head. She then gently kneaded into the cushion, occasionally sniffing and biting into it.

One moment of bliss but soon chaos erupted.

The cushion burst open in the room, spilling the contents within the room and onto Sammy and Yoongi, who were closer to the scene of the crime.

Either spooked by the loud noise or to escape admonishment, the kitten responsible for the mishap had darted back to the other end of the room. Woolfy followed suit.

You looked at Sammy, who had miraculously fallen asleep in the few seconds since his cocky quip, evident from the soft snores, and then locked eyes with Yoongi once more.

By his episodic blinking and alert posture, you could tell he was startled. Once he met your eyes though, both of you fell into a giggle as you took in the situation and saw the cotton all over, especially on him.

He managed to dust off most of it, collecting it all and intentionally dropping and arranging it over Sammy’s unfazed body. You laughed louder seeing the juvenile prank unfold, but quickly covered your face to muffle it lest you wake your friend up.

Once you managed to gather your composure, you saw a cotton ‘snowman’ over Sammy’s torso and the likeness of a Santa beard over his face. As all true friends should, the two of you were quick to pull out your phone and click a respectable couple of images before turning to look at each other again.

With every time your eyes met, you felt like you could understand more of what they said. This time around, it was something like, “I am glad I have this moment with you.” You fiercely agreed with the thought, internally, of course. It was not all conjecture. But you did not know yet.

You looked around and realised the mess once again. Sooner or later you had to clean it up. The easiest place to begin was the cups. You picked up two and on cue, Yoongi grabbed the third as you filed towards the kitchen.

He caught up to you in two strides and at the sink, grabbed for the washpad first. At your silent protests of a frown and attempt to grab the item back, “Please, I got this.”

It was soft. Short. Sure. Sweet?!

You were about to sigh and step back when your eyes went to his hair. Well, you didn’t mean to ogle at him up close but a couple of balls of lint caught in his dark locks disrupted your plans.

Almost instinctively, you reached out and murmured, “Oh, you have-”

Words got stuck in your throat. You could almost feel the air being kicked out of your system when you felt his soft hair under your fingers. You did not move your hands for a beat. And two.

And on the third, as you pulled the lint out, you could not help, but lightly comb through the side of his head.

Once, for good measure. Twice, for good luck. Cannot have lints clumped wildly on THE Min Yoongi’s hair now of course.

At the second glide of your nails against his head, Yoongi choked in a bubbling moan but shut his eyes to feel it better, to relieve the tingle and just take it all in.

However, the tingle also caused his arms to jerk in a manner that knocked off the cup he was meant to be washing off his hands.

As both of you scrambled to prevent another household item from being destroyed that night, you were caught in another unblinking stare-off with Yoongi. You managed to grab the cup from hitting the floor and Yoongi ended up ‘cupping’ your hands.

The touch. Electrifying. Not just figuratively. You could sense this all over. And it was just his palms over the back of your hands.

Despite them being wet, his hands were quite warm. Immediately then you decided what your favourite hand warmer was.

Your heart rate picked up at an alarming rate though once you felt one of his thumbs rub a small spot over your hands.

Your gaze, still unmoving. Your breaths, unsteady.

You possibly would have stayed in that staredown, had Yoongi’s phone not vibrated in his pocket, with a call from Soojin, asking him to leave on time for the airport, since earlier today the global rap sensation requested his manager to allow him to drive to the airport himself. Change of pace, more time alone with his thoughts, he thought.

Scurrying out for the airport while touching (almost holding) your hands was not on his bingo card. But there he was.

#bts x reader #bts x y/n #yoongi fic #bts fic #bts scenarios #bts #min yoongi #bts suga #suga #yoongi #yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi fanfic #min yoongi x you #suga bts #min yoongi fic

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britany1997 · 1 year

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The Lost Boys Masterlist

Rules: Read Before Requesting:)

Fluff-💖 Spice/Smut- ❤️‍🔥 Angst-🖤

(Other characters I write for masterlists linked at the end)

Fics and Blurbs:

Poly:

Stargazing with the Lost Boys Poly! Lost Boys x GN reader 💖

Cuddling with the Lost Boys Poly! Lost Boys x GN reader 💖

Shared Interests Poly! Lost Boys x Lesbian reader 💖

Vampires Everywhere Poly! Lost boys x GN Vampire reader 💖

Hot Vampires in Your Area Poly! Lost Boys x GN Vampire Reader ❤️‍🔥 (follow up to Vampires Everywhere)

Hot Vampires In Your Area Poly! Lost boys x GN Vampire Reader (Part 3 to Vampires Everywhere)❤️‍🔥

The Sun Rises Poly! Lost boys x Fem! depressed reader 💖🖤

Quali-tea Time Poly! Lost boys and Laddie 💖

Rev Your Engines Poly! Lost boys x Motorcycle Expert GN Reader 💖

Let’s Motor Poly! Lost boys x Motorcycle Expert GN Reader 💖 (Part 2 to Rev Your Engines)

Cult Classic Poly! Lost boys x GN reader that’s like Pelle from midsommer 🖤 (part 2)(upcoming)

Queer Eye with the Vampire Guys Poly! Lost boys x GN reader💖

Purrfect Night Poly! Boys x Male catlike reader💖

If You Give A Vampire A Cookie Poly! Boys x GN Reader who owns a bakery💖

Birthday Request Masterlist🎂💖

Paul:

Paul and Fishy Masterlist 💖

The Big Bad Wolf ❤️‍🔥 Paul x Fem! Reader

Sharing is Caring Paul x GN reader x Dwayne💖

Spellbound Paul x Trad Goth GN Reader💖

Fallen For You Paul x Fem Angel Reader🖤

Hungry Like The Wolf Paul x Fem Reader ❤️‍🔥 (Part 2 to The Big Bad Wolf)

Starry-Eyed Lovers Paul x GN reader 🖤💖

Sticky Fingers Paul x GN Reader 💖

Passenger Princess Paul x Fem Reader x Marko❤️‍🔥

Pinned Marko x GN reader x Paul❤️‍🔥

Bad Boy Dom Dwayne x Sub Paul❤️‍🔥

Every Breath You Take Yandere Paul x fem reader 🖤💖

Signed, Sealed, Delivered…I’m Yours Paul x GN Selkie Reader 💖

Dwayne:

Use Your Words Dwayne x Male Reader ❤️‍🔥

Creature Comfort David x Dwayne centric 🖤💖

Everything Now David x Dwayne ❤️‍🔥 (Part 2 to C.C.)

Supersymmetry Dwayne x GN Reader x David ❤️‍🔥 (Part 3 to C.C.)

Sharing is Caring Paul x GN reader x Dwayne 💖

Lay Like This Forever Dwayne x Fem! Reader ❤️‍🔥💖

Bad Boy Dom Dwayne x Sub Paul❤️‍🔥

Each Night Before You Go To Bed Dwayne x GN Reader💖

Man of Your Midsummer Night’s Dreams Dwayne x GN Fae Reader💖 follow up blurb

Marko:

Passenger Princess Paul x Fem Reader x Marko❤️‍🔥

Pinned Marko x GN Reader x Paul❤️‍🔥

David:

Creature Comfort David x Dwayne centric 🖤💖

Everything Now David x Dwayne ❤️‍🔥 (part 2 to C.C.)

Supersymmetry Dwayne x GN Reader x David❤️‍🔥 (Part 3 to C.C.)

Male Manipulator 🖤 Modern Toxic David x GN reader

Love Marks Jealous! Toxic! David x GN Reader❤️‍🔥🖤

Style Icon David x Male Reader 🖤💖

Hand in Unloveable Hand Poly! Lost boy x Male Reader (David centric) 🖤

His Favorite Boy David x Transmasc reader💖

A Dragon’s Tail David x Male Dragon Reader💖

Michael:

Deep in the Heart of Texas Southern Michael x GN Reader fic ❤️‍🔥

Sunkissed Poolboy Michael x Fem Rich Reader ❤️‍🔥 (collab)

Star:

You Mystify Me Star x Banshee Fem Reader💖

Multi-Chapter Fics:

Fate Yields For No One Masterlist Poly! Lost boys x Max’s daughter reader

Headcanons:

TLB Headcanons Masterlist

Non-Lost Boys Fics:

Buffy The Vampire Slayer Masterlist

Stranger Things Masterlist

Tyler Masterlist (Thrashin)

Anakin Skywalker Masterlist (Star Wars)

And more to come!

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #tlb #tlb 1987 #david lost boys #dwayne lost boys #marko lost boys #paul lost boys #lost boys headcanons #kiefer sutherland #billy wirth #alex winter #brooke mccarter #the lost boys fic

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cliozaur · 2 months

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The one, in which Jean Valjean is incredibly gentle. The way he addresses Cosette (“little one,” “my child”) and expresses concern for her while trying to conceal it is profoundly moving. Even before he learns that the child is Cosette, he worries about her heavy burden in the forest. As he discovers more about her dire circumstances, he becomes increasingly distraught, perhaps blaming himself for not rescuing her sooner.

Cosette is a ray of light. Despite her harrowing life, she remains simple, sincere, and open to the stranger. Her life is a hell, but she is only a child and has her mechanisms for escapism. But when she declares that she thinks that she never had a mother, it’s heartbreaking — and it serves as a trigger to Valjean to inquire about her name. It means that Thénardier (of course) never mentioned Fantine’s letters.

This chapter is the most moving. While Cosette remains unaware that her saviour has arrived, we, as readers, have the privilege of witnessing their interaction with that knowledge. Valjean, clad in his ochre coat, holding a bucket, with little Cosette by his side in the darkness of the forest, forms the most iconic image from "Les Misérables."

#les mis letters #lm 2.3.7 #les miserables #jean valjean #cosette

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chantsdemarins · 2 months

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😅Real Villain Training [Tom Hiddleston circa 2012 X Fem.Reader]

Chapter three of Breath of the Æsir is almost here. I’m SO sorry for the wait! In the meantime, I hope you enjoy a very brief Tom story...

Honestly, I pledged to myself, no more Tom stories just focus on Loki. But I think I just can't help it. Especially when slutty inspiration like this photo comes my way (@lokischambermaid and @lokisgoodgirl 😳)

I am humbled by this era of Tom. In 2024 he is a husband/father/seasoned iconic actor in perpetual good cheer, but in 2012, he was a bad boy. As always please reblog and comment if you feel inspired!

Summary: Tom is hanging out with some real jerks for a new role, and he runs into you, literally. Your depression has caused your life to turn a little black and white, could this handsome stranger possibly add some color back? (at least to your cheeks🥵).

Smut factor: I hope...HOT 🔥

(Authors note: I have no concrete proof he was in fact a bad boy so please don't take seriously my young Tom plot themes of drugs and sex, which once again appear here. I could be totally wrong about him. It's art! It's a fabrication! Also, this story does involve mental health!)

I also don't know who would want to be on a tag list for a Tom fic these days! These are a few people who might be interested?? @lokischambermaid @mochie85 @mischief2sarawr @lokisgoodgirl @wheredafandomat @sailorholly @mrs-illyrian-baby @superficialdomina @gigglingtiggerv2 @fictive-sl0th @muddyorbs @tbhiddlestan83 @huntress-artemiss @smolvenger @kikster606 @mjsthrillernp @hiroyukinasukawa

Los Angeles, 2012

That afternoon, the rooftop pool at the Saint Avalon was a pink swirl of bathing beauties in early spring. Tom tried to focus on his deadpan conversation with his agent, but polka dots and silly cocktails danced around him. He pushed his Ray-Bans back into place, his sweat—or perhaps nervousness—causing them to slowly slide off his nose.

"Serious British actor succumbs to being typecast as a Norse sociopath. That's where this is headed, Tom, if we don’t do something, get you something else.” “Do you really want to be known only for Marvel?” he repeated his plea. The words just weren’t sinking in.

Tom laughed and inadvertently tried to change the subject. "Have you been to the La Brea Tar Pits yet, John? It’s wild—10,000 years' worth of dire wolf bones.”

His stare remained galvanized by the poolside girls. They just didn't look like that in London. Number one, the sunshine. Number two, the tans. Number three, well, his girlfriend—or ex-girlfriend, rather—made it hard to look too long at anyone else. So had he ever found himself at a rooftop pool party, he wouldn't have had the chance he was having now.

“Tom, are you paying attention? This is important. You're only here for a week, and we need to move on this role. I need to know if you're a yes.” The truth was, Tom was suddenly filthy rich with his own money for the first time in his life. He really loved being a Norse sociopath and already had big ideas for Loki’s eventual character arc into becoming an anti-hero someday. He had filled three journals on his bedside stand with his ideas for Loki.

His agent tried again, “Just hang out with Giorgio. It’s less than a month. Then the movie should be a very easy shoot. You get to embed yourself with some real hedge fund cats.” Tom’s attention snapped back. “Wait, I like that.” “Right? It’s like if Loki worked on Wall Street.” “Well…” Tom hesitated. He didn’t think Loki would actually ever bore himself that way. Those guys were boring to Tom and to Loki.

His poor agent was right, though. He did need another role. Things had gone so well; filming for the next Avengers movie was starting this summer. If he could find another gig, a time filler, a totally different genre, it really would be the best for his career. “Then a play next,” the agent mused, taking a sip of his own cocktail. “Shakespeare, or something 70s.” “70s? As in the 1570s? Or the 1970s?” “Tom.” “How should I know?” Tom laughed to himself, eyes still canvassing the poolside display around him. His agent leaned across his lawn chair and placed his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “So, you’ll do it?”

Two Weeks Later

Deep down, he knew he didn’t have the dissociation required for the job. He was too corporeal, too embodied. Years of being a long-distance runner and a trained athlete had fastened his mind, heart, and soul firmly into his muscles. He clearly wouldn’t be able to hide his feelings in his highly emotive, sensitive body. That was the first thing he noticed about the guys he was forced to hang out with for this role. They were covered up with their suits and sexist jokes. It was like they had Hadrian’s Wall around them. Which was, in fact, what exactly led to his sudden departure from the bar at Rue 23.

He had been embedded with short and loud Glen, buzz-cut Ellis, and the tall and lanky, just like him, Brad Nelson. There were a few others, but they were too milquetoast to be memorable. Role be damned. He left so fast the thick glass door almost hit a nice young couple as he bolted into the cold Los Angeles spring night.

He wasn’t dressed right; in his haste to leave London, he didn’t remember that California got into the 40s after the sun went down. He didn’t even pack a suit coat. Thank God he remembered to grab his leather pack from under the bar. It contained exactly five cigarettes, a finicky Zippo, his aftershave, a white t-shirt, and a travel toothbrush. There might also be a rolled-up Popular Mechanics magazine from the Burbank airport, something he never would be caught dead reading at Heathrow.

He also hadn’t done so much coke since he was in college. Why was LA always so incredibly cliché? He couldn’t blame Luke. He couldn’t blame anyone but himself for this role. He said yes when he was distracted. He was in over his head. They had hired these real blokes to make sure Tom looked authentic when they started filming next month, and given his intense drive for perfection, he had agreed that it was “brilliant” of the casting director to force the eight of them to spend these weeks in Los Angeles and one week in Manhattan, in a true immersive centrifuge of shallow materiality.

The night spun around him, a neon ball of yarn, teasing open his pupils until his eyes were black and not at all blue. As he walked, he ran his large hands down the surface of his body, the material of his shirt feeling like a fancy pillowcase from a boutique hotel.

One finger lingered over his jawline, tracing it as he brought his hands back up to his face. Engrossed in the comfort of his form a moment too long, he was distracted once again. This part of LA seemed to always be full of clusters of locals and tourists, laughing and talking. He was unfortunately moving against the flow of the crowd, a wayward salmon when he almost ran straight into you.

“Watch where you're going!” you yelled, dropping your purse onto the dirty LA sidewalk. It opened enough for your things to tumble out. Tom immediately stopped and bent down to help you, but you batted his hands away. “What the hell? I can pick up my own damn Chapstick,” you scolded. “Ma’am, I am so sorry, I am obviously not from here, and I am a little overwhelmed,” he rattled off. “Why is that obvious?” “My accent, of course.” “I didn’t honestly notice,” you spoke as you inspected the tall man’s face with squinting eyes.

You, of course, did immediately notice the timbre of his voice, his height, and the buttons on his tight shirt which looked like they were in the process of unbuttoning themselves. “Would you believe I’ve been doing coke all night with a bunch of Wall Street assholes at the Rue 23, and I had to get the fuck out of there,” he continued, not sure if you were listening, but you were definitely looking at him, so he continued.

“So now I am wandering the streets of Beverly Hills, and I haven’t the foggiest how the rest of my night will go.” You shuffled your feet for a moment before speaking. You had been heading home after a long day at work. You felt genuinely unprepared for navigating a handsome foreigner in the right direction. Yet there was a certain appeal to a man suddenly without his ship or his crew, so to speak. So you didn’t immediately walk away.

He had been shuffled from the airport to the bar in a hired car, he tried to explain, and his sense of direction bordered on problematic. Further, his flip phone was really only good for texting, and that even took way too long most days. He really did seem high, overwhelmed, and a little lost. He also seemed the type unable to handle any silence in a conversation.

“Do you live far?” he said after suffering through 30 seconds of no discourse. “It’s LA, everything is far.” “Fair enough,” Tom muttered sheepishly, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt, which were still somehow unbuttoning themselves. He thought he had bought the right size shirt. Maybe not.

You realized that if you were to ask this too-high, too-hot British man back to your apartment, you would inevitably cave and end up sleeping with him just because he caught you in this particular moment of your life. It was an in-between time. You weren't quite your old self and your new self that you'd been working so hard on, hadn't emerged yet.

“Want to grab something to eat?” You finally offered a neutral segue. That seemed to be just what the man needed to hear. His demeanor calmed. “Oh sure, yes, I could go for a big American cheeseburger, honestly.” “Okay then, let’s go to Patty’s on Vine, we can walk,” you said as you pulled at his shirt to turn him toward the right direction. He bristled at the feeling of your touch.

His whole body was even more sensitive than usual. You looked like the queen of the ancient British Iceni to him. In truth, he didn’t much care for the California look. He loved that you appeared out of nowhere and you looked like Boudica, not like Gwyneth Paltrow. Even though he was sure he heard she was nice. RDJ seemed to really love her.

The diner where you were headed was the second-tier after-hours hang, so it wasn’t populated with the usual crowd, not yet at least. You had some time before you would be inundated, and perhaps before someone would recognize him, which you still did not. You could ask him, of course. Although, sometimes in Los Angeles, the worst part is knowing who someone is.

Although Tom being Tom was unable to resist personal questions. “Tell me a little bit about yourself, just a little,” he had to ask as the night air propelled him quickly down the sidewalk. You considered telling him about your job, but it was just how you paid the bills. Your passions were your passions and not for a stranger. So you decided to be a little goth. It couldn't hurt.

“I have something like anhedonia, I suppose,” you finally said. Tom seemed to know what you meant right away. “The inability to feel?” He spoke. “More classically refined, which results in numbness, making capturing interior somatic sensations nearly impossible,” you clarified. “Sounds like you are depressed,” Tom flattened out your creative retelling of your current state. “Maybe,” although you weren't sure of his simple label. "You think it will pass?" Tom continued, ever the optimist.

You considered one way to try and test if this state you'd been in could possibly change, would be to see if he could provoke feelings of passion or at least some kind of low-grade horniness. You’d been feeling functionally blank for a while now.

He was stunning, after all.

He seemed game for anything, his amphetamine grin taking up the majority of his handsome face. He looked so lovely under the hanging light in your dingy booth. You ate the two-egg special you ordered and watched him devour his American cheeseburger with genuine joy.

“So, you're here to practice for a new part?” You sincerely tried to keep the conversation flowing despite the growing desire to test your theory. “Yes, they want me to branch out. In my career, there’s the fear I am already 'type-casted,' I guess you could say.” “Type-casted? So early on?”

He looked young to you. Possibly younger than you actually. “Yes, I had a big role as a villain, it really blew up, but, he's like a mythological comic book one. I am misunderstood mostly. I mean my character, not me.” "Sure." You nodded in understanding and agreed even if you didn’t quite pick up what he was putting down. You wondered if he had ever seen 'The Last Starfighter.' A favorite movie of yours, you rarely shared with anyone else. Or had he been in that? Your mind wandered. You really didn't recognize him, but you also didn't want to offend him by this fact.

“So how would this role be redefining your abilities? If you are playing a heartless hedge fund dude, isn’t that also a kind of villain? Maybe that is why you got this part.” Tom pondered your insight. He again fell into overthinking and was only a text away from bailing on the entire endeavor. He was becoming that kind of guy, emotionally uneven under his elite veneer.

“I guess they feel like I don’t have the chops to be a 'real world' baddie.” “I needed more practice.” “You don’t?” you said very timidly, suddenly you weren’t hungry anymore. You gently pushed your plate aside so you could focus.

You realized his bromance compadres would find him eventually. Another LA truth: it was hard to get truly lost for long. You had been studying his face during the conversation. His pale complexion was slowly becoming flushed in small increments. Was it shyness or a hidden boldness he was bursting to demonstrate, you couldn't tell.

You had worn your espadrilles today, maybe it wasn’t the right season yet, but they always went so well with your outfit-a flowery dress from H&M. Gently and playfully, you kicked one of them off your foot, making a soft thud. Tom dipped his eyes beneath the table for only a moment and brought them back to you, a new flash of crimson emerging. Why were you taking off your shoes? Maybe your feet hurt from the walk?

He picked up his water and chugged almost all of it.

Your right leg lifted up and found purchase exactly between his, landing on the soft seat. Tom chuckled nervously and grabbed your foot. “Just what are you doing?” “I thought you were in training to be a real villain. Or did I misunderstand that?” You teased. Tom’s sincerity and earnestness were effulgent. “Oh no, I am, I really want the part, I need this role.” Suddenly when the idea of something illicit going on beneath the table loomed, he was not reticent about this new role. “Then you better continue to practice.” You laughed, your own smile forming across your face. “How long do we have until they find you?” You inched your foot closer to his crotch.

Tom took a deep breath in and pulled out his flip phone eyes squinting, trying to see the rectangle text banner across the tiny screen. He held the phone up to you. “Can you read this at all?” You grabbed it from him, feeling his hand shaking a little. It was charming. He was nervous.

You read the tiny screen aloud, “Not really, something about where are you at…you wanker, we are about to call your agent." It did say exactly that, and you wondered if possibly Tom was throwing away this role. Were you watching him collapse his career before your eyes? “Are you one for self-sabotage Tom?” The question seemed to catch him off guard. Maybe no one had asked him so bluntly. “Maybe,” he said after a long minute of typing something on the seemingly minute phone with his long fingers and even larger hands. “Just like I am possibly depressed," you offered. He looked up and sat his phone down. “Yes, I think so. Just like that.”

Incoming

Just then the waitress came by filled your water glasses and gave you another quick refill of coffee. Your chosen sobriety was a strange foil to Tom’s imbibed stimulant cocktail which showed no sign of waning. “So, are we on?” He finally said after biting his bottom lip, for what seemed like a year, until it was slightly puffy.

“For what? A staring contest?” You offered, laughing nervously too, your foot still stationed between his thighs. You wondered what you could accomplish at this hour with the looming threat of an incursion at any moment.

The glimmer in his dilated orbs registered that Tom was now aligned in a mission of testing the perpetuity of your anhedonic state. Suddenly under the table, you felt his long legs spread yours apart, like opening a long-closed window that had been painted over.

You gasped but didn’t say anything. He laughed and widened his legs further. You moved your eyes to watch him under the table, his hand reaching down to adjust his cock, which was obviously becoming hard.

At that moment you wanted to jump over to his side of the booth, you wanted to concede and take him to your far away apartment in embarrassing Marina Del Rey.

Tom went silent and finally let go of your bare foot, he had been holding it so hard with his other hand, that you were sure it would be bruised. You immediately placed it on his now impossibly hard cock, tenting his pants obscenely. Honestly, you’d never given a “foot job” before and only seen something like this in a French film once. You had no idea what you were doing.

You slowly began to move your foot up and down his length, which was quite impressive and required more force than you had anticipated. You curled your toes around him to try and create more friction, dragging your heel just at the base.

You placed your hands on the edge of the diner seat so you could put some real weight into getting him off. That seemed to work, and Tom let out a guttural moan. He quickly grabbed your water glass and drank it in addition to his own.

“Should I stop?” You let yourself wonder out loud. “Are you crazy? No.” Was Tom’s quick reply. “Does this feel good?” “Fuck yes.” His voice was breathy, and he shifted in his seat, daring to look around at the customers, but none showed any sign of noticing anything other than themselves. “But this isn’t fair,” he spoke again softly, panting. “How so?” “Because I am um, I am receiving.” “Aren’t you supposed to be a selfish cold surface-level junior business asshole?” “Yes.” “Then this is what they do, they get foot jobs in diners, amongst other perks of course,” you laughed. “Shit, you’re right,” Tom barely squeaked out.

Just then the diner door opened, and you could see the dim faces of the guys he had been partying with. They finally found him. “Don’t look now but your Republican friends have arrived.” Tom’s flush became pale. “Should I stop?” You checked in again. “No.” His response was as clear as mid-day.

So, you increased your speed, you took a deep breath. You were so turned on at this point. You were positive there would be a wet spot on the cracked vinyl seat. You lifted your skirt up further. Tom noticed and peered beneath the table again. He saw your hand brush past your underwear and a finger curl inside the lace trim. You matched his erratic breathing to your motions as you fucked yourself intently. His eyes were glued to you, his fists almost punching into the flimsy placemats. You laughed to yourself about the chances of you both coming in public, surely, he wouldn’t, or you couldn’t.

You were about to mention that perhaps you should stop. When suddenly Tom let out a muffled cry. His breath hitched. You could feel moisture beneath the bottom of your toes as you brought your foot back to the tip of his generous cock once more. “Ah, I see,” you laughed. "Well looks like we are done here." There was no more time to discuss what just happened. The bros had spotted him and you and made their way to your back corner.

Tom closed his eyes in what looked like a silent prayer. He had just had one of the best orgasms of his life. The short blond one with cropped hair spoke up, “Hiddleston, where the fuck have you been, your agency was about to call the cops, which would have been lame.”

“Hiddleston,” you said his surname out loud. Realizing you never got his last name. Tom looked at you with both lust and remorse. Then turned back to the assholes. “You found me, good work,” he said assuredly. “Well we gotta go dick we have a strip club that closes at 3am and it’s in the contract that we take you there.”

Tom slowly got up and used one of his long fingers to expertly untuck that white button-down shirt to conceal the mess you had both made. He looked your way, the pale blue of his eyes returning.

You exchanged numbers for the pleasantry of it, as the assholes looked on impatiently, probably wondering why Tom was wasting his time on a girl who looked like Boudica, but that's just what assholes do you remembered. Although you really didn’t expect to hear from him again. To your surprise right before dawn, perhaps as he was leaving said strip club, a text came over your Blackberry.

“I hope you felt something, I know I did.” Shit.

You did feel something, a lot of things actually. Tom had brought something back to the solemnly plain bagel of your life. You quickly wrote back.

"Don't let the bros see you texting me Tom, you laughed knowing he was probably squinting and barely able to see your words. You picture all of them looking over his shoulder.

"They went home. Can I come over? I feel like we aren't done quite yet. My asshole-in-training self expires at sunrise and I turn back into the real me. Is that okay?" You blinked a few times just to make sure you saw that correctly. "So you're actually Cinderella," you laughed nervously.

You managed to type your address and push send before pulling your covers over your head and screaming quietly enough to not wake up your still-slumbering roommates. You then looked around your room in quiet delightful horror, you had about 30 minutes to hide all your dirty clothes from the past three months under your bed...

#Tom Hiddleston #Tom Hiddleston x Reader #Tom Hiddleston fan fic #foot lover #meet cute

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aiura-stan · 1 month

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Onto 0-3!

The first thing I wonder when I start reading this chapter is… why does Saiki repeat himself every chapter? Just to drill it in? I guess this was a serialized manga.

And he includes the same nose joke again… except it isn’t as funny as the original. (“If that applies to you, then please just forget about this conversation” had me in hysterics the first time I read it.)

Unrelated to anything in particular, I like the large screen tone used on Saiki’s eyes in vol 0. It’s visually interesting. I think Asou sensei could have kept using this to indicate when Saiki was using his powers.

Here we go! Actually important details to the saikiverse (if you will.) One second of staring at a target is enough to get a glance, but three seconds of staring removes clothing and five seconds removes muscles as well as skin (maybe four seconds removes just skin, revealing muscle.)

No guarantee of how true this is, but I like to think it’s more or less accurate, thinking forward to the Kusuo’s birthday challenge chapter, where he has to spend a lot of time staring at an object so that he can see through it.

I had forgotten that Chuono makes his first appearance in this chapter. Yay! Chuono san is so cute.

“At moments like these, what sort of face should I be making?” is another iconic Saiki quote. This gag still manages to be pretty funny in its rough form, imo. *Now* what sort of face does one make?? The kind of face Chuono is making, perhaps. I just love the idea of Saiki meeting an illusionist in the first place. The fake “magician” versus the real psychic who can alter the laws of reality. It’s one of the genius bits in Saiki k.

I also love the intentional misunderstanding that Saiki is an illusionist. It leads to so many funny situations down the line. Why does this random middle aged man call Saiki “master”? Who knows. In this case, Saiki’s habit of letting people make assumptions really came back to bite him in the ass. (Well, that and trying to out-magic and discourage him.)

Another detail I like: Saiki missing social cues (in this case, the dip in the conversation where an average stranger would be like, ok, see you, good luck. That’s not very neurotypical of him…

I really do find this weird stunt hilarious. Saiki’s logic is so off because he inevitably ends up dealing with weirdos expecting normal behavior. C’mon Saiki.

Also, Saiki says here that he can teleport (called apport in the comic proper I believe) not just things, but people into a specific place… crazy

Saiki doesn’t understand the (reasoning behind the) eyelash/long hair simile? Continuing to build my ND Saiki case material…

Also enjoying this little panel of Ike-san holding the 500 yen coin, which Saiki definitely gave him.

Well, I think that does it for volume 0 Chapter 3….

see you all soon. 💫

#read-saiki #read-saiki 0-3 #this is a scheduled post!#Also: my replies feature doesn’t work!#fyi #i cant reply. it’s very annoying #so if you wanna add on and you want me to reply feel free to reblog #👍🏼✨

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happilyfeatherafter · 3 months

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Happilyfeatherafter’s ficrec Fridays

Back back back again, and I don't know guys, I think we should all just totally stab Caesar! Welcome back to a new fortnight of fics that I’ve read and loved recently.

If you want to find more you can see my previous rec lists here!

15 March 2024

Are You Writing From the Heart? by @luckshiptoshore is now complete!! Congrats Luck! Full disclosure, Luck is one of my very best friends, but that just means I know not only how much of a talented fic writer she is, but also how much of her heart and soul she poured into writing this love letter to queer storytelling, season 4 Destiel as a romcom, meta text (and subtext), and finding out who you really are when society and your upbringing is fighting against you. Castiel is a ghostwriter for L.S. Shore's Supernatural novels about Neal and his brother. Caught in a storytelling rut, Cas finds himself adding the fallen angel character of Bel...what could possible go wrong? Meanwhile at his local writing coffee shop spot, he meets the handsome stranger Dean who is an up and coming standup comedian and Supernatural fanboy. They because firm friends, but that's definitely it because Cas is straight....right?! Following these two dummies as they FAIL TO USE THEIR WORDS is a total joy, as Luck's humorous and emotional writing paired with her eye for detail is so very on point, and I'm so excited more people will finally get to read this story in full.

Baker Six by komodobits because !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I cannot tell you how goddamn excited I was to get this email notification and finally be back in 91w world, and to witness these early stages of Dean and Cas' relationship through Dean's eyes at last. This barely needs a rec because it's THEE 91w Dean, but komodobits hasn't missed a beat in getting back inside their heads and I was once again swept away by this iconic love story against the odds. Head the trigger warnings as always, this is truly on the front lines as a medic in a war zone. Baker Six was written for the very good cause of the fandom Palestine fundraiser, in support of the Palestine Children’s Relief Fund. Please donate if you can!

Truth & despair by @shallowseeker was a recent discovery and such a fascinating read! It's set in a post-15x18 verse, but importantly it features a fun Sam narrative perspective that delights in his lens by...being a bit of an unsympathetic oblivious dummy (affectionate). I really appreciate a crunchy Sam characterisation and oooboy does this pay off. Dean is steeped in his grief for Cas, and Sam is oh so concerned. He reaches out to Mia Vallens to understand his own grieving, and that leads to him making a discovery...Dean's memories of Cas' death aren't what he claims happened. With the unwelcome reappearance of Chuck (he lost...didn't he?) and LITERAL sinkholes appearing in the fabric of the universe, can they figure out what's happening to save Cas and save the world? This wip plays with physics, theology and narrative fuckery in such intriguing ways. I can't wait to see how it wraps up in the next two chapters.

The Leap by @friendofcarlotta started reading this one when Tina reshared it on Leap Day...because of course. I'd actually read it before but it more than lived up to the reread. 'Castiel Krushnic is a police officer in Soviet-occupied East Berlin. He is also gay, in a city where that’s a dangerous thing to be. One night, he meets Dean Winchester, a mechanic from the American sector. Their mutual attraction is instant, and a convenient hookup quickly turns into a passionate love affair that defies all rules and expectations.' Meticulously researched, emotional, heartrending and thought provoking. I highly recommend taking the leap on this fic!

See you in two weeks and OMG it's @deancaspinefest time!!!! I'm so excited *clears calendar*

Tag list under the cut - let me know if you'd like to be added to be notified of future recs!

@dean-you-assbutt-cas-loves-you

#happilyfeatherafter ficrec friday #destiel #ficrec #destiel fic

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toowildintheseventies · 8 months

Text

Trade Mistakes

chapter two: strangers

A/N: slow beginnings here, but trust me, okay? i’m trying to tell a story here. i’m hoping that this chapter has enough little hints of despair, angst and love to keep you all satisfied. next chapter should pick up a bit and give us some sweet, sweet slow-burn romance.

Pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: You’re a woman with many vices. Smoking, drinking, spending time in shitty clubs, and your undying love and obsession with your ex-boyfriend, Bruce Wayne. You had spent your entire adolescence with each other, until he had unexpectedly broke your heart and disappeared. For the last few years, you two had lived separate, mysterious lives. Until you are reintroduced under strange circumstances and fictitiously rekindle your relationship.

Warnings: alcohol use, drug use, implied drugging, possible attempted sexual assault, violence.

Tag list: @midnightmystic @doetic

— —

You don’t recognize yourself in the mirror anymore.

You first notice when you’re getting ready, late for your evening at Iceberg Lounge — so late that your roommate had already left you behind over an hour ago. It was between coating your eyelids with dark eyeliner and fixing a long, pink wig over your natural hair when you saw an unfamiliar, dull look in your eyes. Your face seemed foreign. Completely unrecognizable.

You realize that you’ve muddied your personality for so long, changed so many aspects of yourself to fit into whatever glittering society or dull evening party you find yourself in, that you’ve completely lost the hold on yourself you once treasured.

It’s something you try not to think about for too long, though. There are more critical things to dread and worry about. Your existence is, unfortunately, last on the list.

In between taking a confidence shot of vodka and stumbling around your apartment looking for your keys, you realize that this loss of complete self must have happened after your breakup. Seven fucking years ago. Truthfully, in the time of becoming somewhat of a tabloid icon and the beloved girlfriend of Bruce Wayne, you never felt more like yourself. Even if it was all an act. Now, you feel much less polished and refined. Instead, your existence is only for survival, not the false concept of love and future security.

The thought follows you all night. You notice it during your drunken, stuporous walk to the club, catching your reflection in the dark-tinted windows that follow you down the long path toward the Lounge. That dead, lifeless look in your eye is ever-present and mind-consuming. It’s so obvious to you, even with the layers of makeup and your messy wig. You start to wonder how long you’ve looked like this, and how long it took you to notice.

It only takes a flirty smile and a flash of your ID to get access to the underground bar. Everyone who works at the Iceberg Lounge knows who you are, and understands how well your presence is beginning to be for business. It doesn’t take much for the security guards and club bouncers to bend to your will and give you access to almost everywhere. You’re rarely spoken to, but everyone’s gaze follows you as you walk past crowds of drunken dancers on the floor and dropheads strung out on the staircase.

It’s loud and numbing inside the lounge, drowning out all of your previous worries and self-hatred. The music nestles itself inside of your brain, silencing your thoughts and floating you towards the dimly lit bar in the corner where your roommate stands behind the counter, pouring liquid haphazardly inside of cheap glasses and yelling at customers over the chaos and noise.

Her face instantly brightens when you walk towards her and sit at one of the vacant bar stools in front of the counter.

She drops everything, ignoring the other customers and the cocktail she is currently making, and turns towards you instead, “Are we drinking tonight?”

You hum happily, pushing the faux, pink bangs out of your face, “Yes, please.”

It only takes a few seconds for a drink to appear in front of you, and you pull it towards you quickly, drinking through the straw as you look up at your roommate through your lashes. The drink is strong, almost too strong, and you push it away from you once it’s halfway empty.

She glances at your drink in between grabbing cash from customers and handing out a dozen shots to a drugged-out politician that you recognize from the news, “Rough day?” she asks.

You sigh and pull the drink back towards you, “You have no idea, Bella. He was everywhere today.”

The use of he tells Bella everything she needs to know. Bruce Wayne has become somewhat of a constant concept between the two of you, especially since his face and image seem to be following you even more aggressively since his appearance at the Mayor’s funeral months ago. All of the things that happened after the funeral were unimportant to the tabloids and scummy magazines, which were more focused on gthe one-time appearance of Bruce Wayne in a public place, notably the first time he appeared at a crowded event since your mysterious breakup.

You had mentioned your relationship to Bruce Wayne only a week after moving in with Bella, over a bottle of wine as the two of you sat in your empty, unfurnished living room. It was a casual, drunken mention – when you were still grieving the breakup and still begging for answers. Bella, whom you previously hadn’t spoken to since your Freshman year of high school, was unsurprisingly shocked and obsessed. Obviously, Bella hadn’t been following the drama and tabloids that have circulated throughout Gotham during your five-year relationship. That night, you had shared every detail and story you could think of. You cried and complained next to her on your cheap couch, and she held you without judgment. You’ve been good friends ever since.

Typically, Bruce rarely comes up in conversation. You do your best to forget about him and pretend that you’re not still hurting, almost seven years later. But some days, it’s more difficult than most. Especially since you continuously deny any attempt to date again, and instead you stick to flirting with shitty, older rich men for money and attention.

Today has been an especially bad day.

“Some Wayne executives had lunch at the bistro today,” you explain between sips of your drink, “I kept hearing his name as I took their order and gave them their check. They paid with the fucking company credit card, Bella. With that ridiculous Wayne crest on the front. I sincerely doubt they didn’t recognize me. I heard them whispering.”

“I’m so sorry, honey,” Bella whispers, leaning towards you across the bar counter. Most of the customers have wandered away from the bar, leaving the two of you alone, shrouded in the loud music of the dance floor to talk openly, “What else happened?” she asks.

You sigh, “Another letter from Alfred. An invite for breakfast at Wayne Manor and a little bit of money. I know he means well, but I don’t think he understands how much it hurts me. I hate the reminders. I doubt Bruce knows he’s speaking to me. I hate the idea of him keeping it from Bruce like I’m some sort of terrible, hideous secret.”

For the last seven years, you and Alfred still kept in contact, for the most part. It was something he promised in between your continuous calls to Wayne Manor in an attempt you get you to shut up and stop knocking at the door. Alfred played a huge role in Bruce’s upbringing, and you knew Aflred became somewhat of a father figure to him, something you entirely envied. Alfred was good to you, too. He was kind and respectful, always making sure you were well taken care of during college and your weekend trips to Gotham. In all honesty, you think he adored you. Alfred believed you were obviously good for Bruce, and that you kept him grounded.

You were grateful for his unfaltering support, including the money that was stashed away in unmarked envelopes. He never left you. It would be cruel to ignore that very obvious, painful truth. Though his existence in your life, even limited, still burns and scars you. You wish Alred never needed to take care of you. You wish your quick meetings and unsigned letters weren’t in secret – and instead, you still saw him across the breakfast table, or watched him as he adjusted Bruce’s suit before the two of you walked out the door. You wish nothing ever changed.

“Are you going to go?” Bella asks, “To see Alfred?”

You shrugged as she poured you another drink, “I don’t think so. I’m tired of hurting myself just to have some sort of connection to him. It’s too painful.”

Bella nods, “I think that’s the smart choice, honey. After all, you have a lovely life without the two of them, don’t you? You don’t need to keep reopening old wounds.”

The bar becomes busy again as the night grows longer, and Bella is forced to move away from you to finish drinks and break up fights happening at the end of the bar. To keep yourself busy, you continue to sip on your drink and watch as people pass through the bar. Many of them are smart, influential men who control Gotham, who haven’t been deterred from visiting Iceberg Lounge by Falcone’s death and the mysterious attacks from the Riddler. Instead, the underground of Gotham is more alive than ever, and a thousand times angrier and vengeful. There are others finding a home at the bar too, including familiar faces that tend to keep your bills paid and your drinks full and strong. Mixed in with the miserable and corrupt men are the bar showgirls, who basically hate you for stealing away their attention. You ignore their vengeful side eyes and sly remarks of greeting, instead focusing on the drink in front of you and the memories of Bruce Wayne that have unhappily infiltrated your thoughts.

Bella eventually comes up to you again with the fourth drink of the night, handing it towards you with a quick, giddy comment about it being sent to you by a man at the end of the bar. Before she walks away again, she leans towards you across the counter, so close that you can smell her cheap perfume and see the flecks of glitter in the corners of her dark, brown eyes.

“You have to face it eventually, she whispers to you as the music grows louder, “That fucked up ex-boyfriend of yours owns this city. He’s Gotham’s prince, and you’re bound to be reminded of him everywhere. But here’s the good part: you own this fucking scene. Something that is completely untouchable, and completely yours. I doubt you’re going to see any marks of Bruce Wayne here.”

You smile as you pull away from her, ignoring Bella’s use of the word prince when describing Bruce Wayne – knowing that if you recognize the metaphor your heart will burst and you will begin to feel like you are absolutely drowning. Instead, you direct your smile towards the direction of the bar Bella came from as she walks away from you towards the back.

You make eye contact with a middle-aged, slightly ugly man in an ill-fitting suit across the bar. He smiles as you scan him up and down, and doesn’t hesitate to get up from his barstool and walk towards you. As soon as he stands up, two other men appear from the dark shadows around him and walk behind him as he makes his way towards you.

“Enjoying your drink?” the man asks as he sits down beside you, reaching for your exposed thigh.

You shuffle away from him, instead reaching to place your own hand on his, “You bought it for me?” You ask, answering his question with another.

He nods, and you smile with false happiness, “Then of course I do,” you answer.

The flirting is nauseating. You like to pretend it is something you can handle, and something you even enjoy. But ultimately, it makes you sick. You can’t deny your skill and experience by pretending to be someone you are not, or pretending to play a part – but it doesn’t make it any easier. Each night, you question your own choices that brought you to sitting at a disgusting, secretive bar smiling at cruel men. Though when the money falls into your hand at the end of the night, you’re entirely pleased. At least you don’t fuck them. They just want a smile and a kind word from you, and the men fall at your feet.

The rest of the night becomes a nonsensical, confusing blur. More drinks are brought to you by a different bartender, Bella disappearing into the back as her shift begins to end. The man and his two mysterious shadows stay close to you for the rest of the night. You’re eventually dragged away from the barstool and into the crowded sweaty dancefloor, and then to a darkened, worn booth in the back of the lounge. You let yourself get dragged along, smiling, dancing, and sweet-talking your way into the night, halfheartedly dreaming of your bed at home once the night is over. You once catch a quick glimpse of yourself in the dirty mirrors that line the walls near the booth you lazily lounge in, and you can still see the glimpse of unfamiliarity in your eyes, even though the glassy, drunken gaze. You do your best to ignore it, and instead, bring your entire focus to the constant chattering of your unbearable companion. Your constant, girlish attention is the way you make your money, anyhow.

Some sort of chaos in the middle of the night strips your focus away from the man sitting beside you at the bar, and you hear the distant screams of anguish and ricocheting gunshots. As you turn toward the man next to you, you notice that his face becomes pale and his palms sweaty. He stops speaking and instead moves away from you silently, staring straight ahead towards the disruptions. The two other men who have been following you all night like coked-out bodyguards become rigid and stoic, and begin to run in unison towards the sound of the chaos and fight.

You stare at your drink, noticing the way everyone around you suddenly grows incredibly quiet out of fear and confusion. Suddenly, you’re beginning to feel much more drunk than usual.

You attempt to take a deep breath, but it feels as if each time you breathe your vision becomes more blurry and unfocused. Your mind becomes foggy and unreliable, and you can barely make out the vision of the man in front of you. You study the drink that had been placed in front of you and watch as the drink bubbles and foams in a deeply unfamiliar way. Something is very, very wrong.

Bella is gone from the bar, which is usual for this time of the night. Everyone else around you is unfamiliar and seemingly unkind, too wrapped up in their own shady, terrible business to pay you any mind. You’re completely alone, forced to escape the man next to you on your own.

As soon as you begin to recognize your dangerous situation and move towards standing up away for the man, his two bodyguards reappear, one of them reaching for you. You’re too slow with your reaction time, and he grabs your forearm forcefully and pulls you towards him.

You watch as the other bodyguard leans towards the man sitting in the booth and murmurs something only the few of you can here, “He’s here,” he whispers, “It’s time to leave.”

Suddenly, you’re getting pulled away towards an unfamiliar door and pushed into an alleyway. You can feel the man gripping onto your arm, so tight that you are sure his grip is going to leave bruises. The longer you stay standing the more confused and lost you become, which only solidifies the actuality that something is very wrong with you and your incredibly unfortunate situation.

The three men are walking you through the alleyway as you attempt not to trip over the holes and trash that litter the street. You can feel your heel breaking and every muscle in your body throb as if you’re about to completely collapse onto the hard, concrete ground. You can see a parked car in the distance with its headlights on, and you watch as one of the bodyguards motions towards the vehicle, signaling for the car to move closer toward the four of you. Your whole body seizes with panic as you dig your heels into the ground, pushing and shoving the man away from you. He roughly grabs at your arm again and pulls you forward in protest. You’re too exhausted and spiked to fight back for too long, and eventually, your body begins to give out as you are pulled closer to the car.

Footsteps come up from behind you, causing the three men that surround you to freeze in place, the two bodyguards with their hands on the guns hung on their waistbands. You attempt to use this moment to break free of the man’s hold, but his grip only grows tighter.

The footsteps move closer to you, and you hear the fearful, angry grunts of the men that surround you as they cock their guns and point toward the vision in the shadows. In a quick moment, the attacker is terrifyingly close to you, and the two men are pulled into the shadows in a violent, quick moment.

Everything’s happening too fast. You’re drunk, tired, and maybe drugged. You can’t tell. Either way, you think you black out for a moment. Everything goes fuzzy and you can feel your heartbeat in your ears, almost drowning out the sounds of the fight. Your vision falters, just for a moment, and the chaos around you disappears into a drunken, confused nothingness.

You hear everything. The breaking of bones, the powerful grunts of the attacker, the screams and shouting of the others. You can make out quick glimpses of awkward limbs flailing and powerful punches — but you aren’t all there. It’s as if you’re watching from far away, like a dream. You're not entirely convinced that this is actually happening, that what you’re experiencing is grounded in reality. And no matter how hard you try, you can’t make out the body of the attacker. Instead, all you see is a figure of shadow, as if he’s shrouded in the darkness of the alley.

When you regain a bit of awareness, the man who had an aggressive hold on your upper arm is on the ground of the alleyway, bleeding and sputtering for help. The other two men are running down the street, and you can faintly make out police sirens that seem to be following behind them.

You back away from the man on the ground, and you feel your whole body shake out of fear and confusion. When you look up, you see the shadowy figure step forward towards you, and the panic fully sinks in.

You don’t know why you do it or why you think it’s a good idea in the haze of anxiety and drunkenness. But in a quick moment, you make the decision that you need to fight, and that you need to get away.

You pick up the first thing you see. Which happens to be an old, rusty pipe near your feet. You grip it with both hands and swing it rapidly around you, like a warning shot.

“Stay back,” your voice shakes, “Don’t come any closer.”

Your fragile warning and ridiculous weapon do little to keep the shadowy figure at bay. Instead, he steps closer.

His hands are at his sides, his walk gentle and careful. A fleeting thought of calmness and security comes over you, and you start to believe that maybe you aren’t in danger.

After all, the men he attacked and scared away were awful. Drop dealers, corrupt politicians, or simply evil men with terrible agendas. Even if they weren’t any of those things, they were still pulling you, drunk and drugged, down an alleyway into darkness. Not a good look.

In one way, didn’t the men get what they deserved? They were terrible men who had horrific intentions. In that way, it was hard to imagine them being victims. The attack and brutalization was simply an action of justice.

It was the word justice rattling around in your head that snapped you back to reality and forced you to look up at the figure in front of you.

The figure hidden in the shadows wasn’t a pissed-off drug addict, or some crime goon who got power-hungry like you initially believed. This wasn’t an inside attack or some type of blind vengeance. It had been Batman, the hidden antihero who had become a ghost story within Iceberg Lounge, and who was now standing in front of you, still and frozen as if he was attempting to make some type of serious, terrible decision.

You lived in Gotham, so you knew of Batman. You remember the terrible chaos and destruction that happened months ago during the Riddler’s attacks. You remember hearing about his appearance at Iceberg Lounge and his presence during Falcone’s arrest and murder — which failed to make anything change within the hidden world of Gotham. His name and the fuzzy, shapeless photos of Batman around the dark city were front-page of almost every newspaper, he was spoken about on almost every Gotham news channel. He was whispered about at the bar, and you heard the ridiculous, terrifying stories of his encounters every day. He wasn’t a secret, even if no one knew who he truly was.

But, his existence meant very little to you. You had more important things to worry about, like getting to work on time and paying the bills. You didn’t think you’d ever come into contact with him, and at a certain point, you chose to ignore the stories as if they were some narrative of fiction.

He brought some sort of justice to the streets of Gotham, a silent, violent protector. He wasn’t in the business of hurting people who didn’t deserve it. The worst he’s done is disappear without any regard for others, which is what you expect him to do now.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he makes another step closer, and you panic once again.

You’re still not in your right mind. Something is still wrong, something unfamiliar is still coursing through your veins that steals your vision and makes everything feel more confusing and dark than it already is.

You continue your grip on the pole, swinging it wildly in his direction, which he ignores. He just moves closer, reaching for your arm. You hear the sound of the pole making contact with his suit, which results in a soft, low grunt from him. He makes no move to fight back.

You scream. It’s not a noise you knew you were capable of making, shrill and terrifying and more loud than you’d ever been before. You’re quickly silenced by a large, leather-gloved hand that covers your mouth. In your shock, you drop the pole to the ground and shut your eyes, your scream still muffled. You hear him speak, in a low, deep voice, and it sounds like your name.

He backs you up against the wall, and when you eventually stop trying to resist him, he slowly removes his hand from your mouth.

He hesitates. You watch his eyes as he scans your face, and you can see something similar to panic and worry flashing in his eyes. He seems unsure of his next actions, unsure of what to do with you.

It takes all of your strength not to pass out as your vision continues to blur and your mind continues to run away from you. He seems to be keeping you still and steady, with a firm grip around your waist that stops your knees from completely buckling.

It’s silent for a moment. You continue to follow his gaze, watching his face as he seems to fall through different emotions. And that’s when you notice him.

After all, you always believed you’d recognize blind and deaf.

You know those eyes. The same eyes that have haunted you for over a decade. The same eyes that once looked at you with so much love. They were unforgettable. Even before he left you, his eyes tormented you. They always left you uneasy, a little fearful.

You were too enamored that he stood before you to concern yourself with the unfaltering consequences of recognizing Gotham’s darkest hero. You didn’t care.

“Bruce?”

You felt yourself smile when you spoke his name, without even meaning to. It was so natural to you, that even all these years later you still reserved such a specific smile. Always a little seductive, or playful, with a hint of condescending admiration. A smile just for him.

You probably looked terrifyingly broken. Dazed, bruised, and barely able to hold yourself up against the wall. You can feel a bruise formulating on your upper arm, where the man had held onto you tightly, but it feels like a lifetime ago. You know you must look unrecognizable, so far away from the young girl he once loved and adored. Now, the two of you were strangers. More than strangers.

You watch him for a response. His face continues to contort through a thousand different, little emotions. He’s angry and fearful, his eyes focused and pupils blown with ridiculous terror. For a moment, though, you watch his eyes soften into something akin to goodness. He looks more familiar than ever now, with his eyes gentle and mouth slightly open in a confused, terrified stupor.

Bruce’s hands tighten around your waist, his fingers digging into your side. You know he can recognize the way your knees weaken with terror and blind confusion. Like everything, Bruce can recognize things happening to you before you can. Years after seeing each other for the last time, he still knew more about you than you ever learned about yourself.

The unfamiliar, drugged sickness was back, alongside the confusion and fuzzy thoughts. Somehow, you begin to convince yourself that you are about to die, huddled in the darkness of an old alleyway. It almost becomes a comforting, mind-numbing thought. Of dying in his arms, in a twisted, terrible way.

Finally, Bruce opens his mouth to speak. Moments before you can make out what he said, you slump against the wall and pass out in his arms.

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