#Mr. Unlucky Can Only Kiss

[absolutebl]

Which Japanese BLs should Thailand actually remake?

I should say up front I am NOT a purest. I actually like seeing different country's takes on IP. It says a lot about the culture in question and how they perceive themselves and queerness. I don't have "babies" so Thailand can fuck around with whoever they want to IMHO.

However, I do think Ossan's Love is a poor choice. And much as I love the original I think My Love Mix Up is a fine choice and Gem4 will do a great job.

But still, let's play a game.

The JBLs that GMMTV should adapt

You ready to be offended?

Seven Days - oh yes, I said it. ME! This BL is actually perfect (I WILL FIGHT YOU), but I think it would be fun to see what GMMTV could do with such an elegant piece of clean storytelling. It's right in their wheelhouse. I want an 8 ep run: One ep for each day plus one for them as a couple.

Minato's Laundromat - give us the age gap we deserve, Thailand.

Mr. Unlucky Can Only Kiss - I think Thailand could do a much better job with this one, frankly.

Eternal Yesterday - and give it a happy ending, damn it

Candy and Kiss - I'd love to see Thailand adapt this underappreciated little manga.

Takumi-kun - YES, I said it... bite me.

Wait For Me at Udagawachou - this is a long pull (and QL not BL) so I think only the 180 Degree people could handle it, but I'd love to see Thailand try.

Hand if off to Taiwan instead

My Personal Weatherman

My Beautiful Man

Tokyo in April

Silhouette of Your Voice

Same Difference - fucking please adapt Docchi Mo Docchi Taiwan, I will love you FOREVER. This is a GREAT IP that was criminally mishandled by Japan.

Hand if off to Korea Instead

Given

Kabe Koji

I Want to See Only You

Senpai, This Can’t be Love!

Jack o'Frost

Fujimi Orchestra

Ones I Think No One Else Can Handle

Our Dining Table

Takara & Amagi

Old Fashion Cupcake

Life: Love on the Line

His

What Did You Eat Yesterday?

The Cornered Mouse Dreams of Cheese

I'm gonna remind you all the Thailand has already adapted Love Stage!! and they did a better job than Japan, IMHO.

(source)

[clarkewayne]

Sota Ryosuke and Sato Yusuke in Mr. Unlucky Can Only Kiss; Chapter 8 (2022)

[sadtrash-masculine]

i love gay people

"he captured my heart" SHUT UP NAOYA UR SO GAY all he did was smile boi 🤨🤨🤨

[oreosmama]

What's in a Virtue (Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary:

Gaz wants you, but the hotel bar you work at has rules; when a bartender calls dibs, all others have to back off. It's how the peace is kept, and as the new girl just trying to rack up some savings, you're not willing to rock the boat.

But Gaz doesn't take kindly to you avoiding him, and he's never been one to beat around the bush. From confessing his love on the first night you met to shouting your name seven times from across the bar, he's not letting you off the hook that easy. Not when he's seen the proof that you've fallen just as hard for him.

A/N: idk man i accidentally googled who ghost was like a week ago and fell so deep into the hot cod men rabbit hole so here we are. Enjoy!

Word count: 8261

Gaz is pretty sure he’s in love with you. 

It’s a surprising discovery at 11 pm in an American hotel bar drinking the worst scotch he’s ever had. It’s even more surprising because he just discovered you existed all of thirty minutes ago. 

He’s got his glass swirling between two nimble fingers, trying to find that line between hating his drink and actually putting it down. And he’s watching you. 

You’re the same bartender who’d asked him (in a horrible imitation of his accent) if he’d wanted his neat scotch “shaken, not stirred.” You’d flushed after you said it and promised to leave him joke-free for the rest of the night. He’d laughed, a bit hollow from his circumstances, and told you it was all right. That he liked it, and that made you flush a little more. 

Now, you scuttle like an ant past the other worker, a blonde who’s been making eyes at him all night. Your face is split into this unabashed grin, grippable hips bouncing off the counter as you sweep by and reach below for a bottle, giving him a view of the enviable dip between your breasts. 

At first, he thinks it’s just that. Too much American booze, not enough inhibitions; both sending him into that post-mission spiral that makes him touchy and want to touch all at the same time. And he finds it’s nice to watch you rattling glasses and wiping up spills; it’s soothing, the way your eyes are alight with life in this ritzy place, seemingly unbothered by the high level of customers. He especially likes the way you mock the spoiled sods when you can get away with it. 

The hotel must be experiencing the perfect storm of weddings, proms, and business meetings—not to mention one very unfortunate layover for one very unlucky special forces sergeant. 

He watches as teens keep stumbling back to the counter with pink cheeks, flashing their IDs every time they ask for a new drink. Despite their prom getups and obvious ages, they swear they’re just guests from Mr. and Mrs. Weddington’s ceremony. 

The girl you’re with now, stumbling from her heels but selling it as though she’s tipsy, begs and begs for another lemon drop before she “goes back to work on Monday.”

You nod either way, and he watches as you make a display of pouring alcohol into one shaker and juice into another, swapping them out when the teen looks back towards her friends. 

You send her on her merry way with a sugared rim and a lemon rind, saying something like “Go easy” as she wanders back to her table. You smile to yourself, amused at this little game you’re playing with half the customers here. 

You must feel the heat of his gaze, because you glance at him then. He hopes it’s burning you up as much as it looks, that nervous pinkening of your face as you give him a shrug like what else was there to do?

And Gaz, again, thinks it’s just that. Lust. He thinks about wiping that small smile off your face with his lips, stumbling with you into his hotel room, frantic fingers peeling off clothes. He thinks about how it would be—giggly, probably, despite his surprising coordination when he’s plastered. It’d be you and him swapping words back and forth, back and forth the whole time, silence only filling the room when you’re kissing him and when you feel so fucking new it steals your and his words away. 

He doesn’t know why he latches more onto the idea of the moments afterward, the biggest thing being that you decide to stay. Then it’s more back and forth, hobbies and pet peeves and every little thing that’s been on your minds since the 2000s. He gets to know you inside and out, inside again a few more times even as your conversation runs on. 

It’s no longer lust at that point. He knows that. 

He’s ruthlessly torn from the fantasy by the blonde bartender who, judging by the looks you’re swapping with her, has gotten the entirely wrong idea about the direction of his stare. 

He swears to God he was being obvious about it. It was you—it was fucking you that whole time. 

But he’s noticed a couple things about you.

The first is that you’re quiet when your customers aren’t overwhelmingly sloshed; awkwardly so, for a bartender. You’re something of a mirror when they are, far more relaxed, laughing easy and cracking jokes, like you preferred your real self be forgotten the next morning. 

The second is that you’re soft. Around the edges, all pillowy at the hips and thighs, a sloping curve down each side. And you were soft with your words, no yelling, no arguing with customers, just easy little jabs that no drunk mind would ever cotton onto. 

You were only snappy with him the second his head started growing fuzzy. 

He wants more of it, even as the pretty bartender makes friendly conversation. 

She asks about his day, then his job, then his adventures. Three of the last things he wanted to think about tonight, let alone discuss with a stranger who wants in his pants. However, because she “loves a man with a British accent” and he’s too damn polite to give her the boot, he reveals a little. 

Yes, his job is hard. Yes, he’s jumped from an airplane. Yes, he’s killed someone. Of course they were bad.

Until they weren’t. But he won’t tell her that. 

However, above all things, Gaz is a planner. And though he’s caught the wrong fish with his bait, his plan B is working excellently. 

Gaz glances at you, brushing your hair behind your ear in the increasingly crowded room. The wide array of customers spread out among the limited seating are starting to flood the bar. You can’t pass out beers and shake cosmopolitans at the same time, and a wonderful warmth blossoms in his chest the second you glance at him too, growing desperate. 

There’s something like an apology in your eyes. You’re sad you have to ruin your friend’s chances; meanwhile, he thinks it may just be the best part of his night.

The third thing he discovers about you: you’re trying to be the wingwoman for your pretty friend here, and Gaz won’t have it. 

You’re going to have to come over here. Beg for help from your friend.

Ruin this little flirtation she’s got going on—what a shame. 

You’re too damn polite, just like him. The second he talks to you when you make your way over, you’ll think you have to stay. Humor him for a bit. He’ll ask you for a drink, forcing you to come back a second time around, when the bustle has slowed. He’ll rope you in for the rest of the night by then, and the wait’ll be over. 

He feels like a damn schoolboy when you take that first step toward him, and he’s practically vibrating when you get close enough that he can hear your voice for the second time today. It’s far less grating than your friend’s, he’s certain of it—he wouldn’t mind if it was you badgering him, is what he means.

After all, Gaz was on leave, and when Gaz was on leave, he liked things slow. Fresh off a mission, he liked to roll through the motions, order drinks and let the memories turn into static from the corner of the bar. He’d planned on calling Price and damning him for saying it was a blessing to get trapped in the US, set up at a posh hotel on the task force’s budget. 

But you stop before him, contrite eyes softening, and he’s getting better at seeing the upside of it all. 

“Hate to interrupt—I know you two are trying to get all cozy in the dark over here, but I could use your help, Jeanne. ‘Hugh Janus’ is asking for another beer and our non-alcoholic tap just ran dry.” You look off into the distance, frowning slightly. “I fear we may have genuinely drunk teens on our hands soon.”

Jesus, was her name Jeanne? Gaz hadn’t caught that. 

On the bright side, he’s able to confirm one of his sneaking suspicions. Your eyes really are fucking gorgeous up close, and they’re so expressive that he can read you like a book. 

But he hates the way you say “you two.” It’s so nonchalant. 

Was it too much to ask for a little envy? Just a hint of spite, to prove that some part of what he’s feeling, even a little speck of it, isn’t one-sided?

Your friend— Jeanne , apparently—gives him a disappointed sigh, looks at him like he and her are two conspirators planning on eloping any second. “Duty calls. I’ll be right back.”

He nods, trying to find that balance between polite understanding and absolute relief, but his head grows foggier by the minute and all he can manage is a “sounds good.”

You dive into an explanation when the pair of you are far enough away to inspect the taps, gesturing at a couple of them, and then discreetly at a group in the crowd. 

From here, he can see it a little more clearly. You’re younger than the blonde, probably just by a couple years, which means you’re newer here. Younger than him, too, since he pegs Jeanne at around his own age. 

The blonde disappears into a storage door wedged between two shelves loaded with glass bottles and illuminated white-blue. A manager, maybe.

Only thing he knows for certain from observing this quick interaction is that you’re finally alone. 

He flags you down, and his chest floods with that warm, fuzzy feeling all over again when you hustle over, genuine smile on your lips—because you’re so damn easy to read.

“Know you’re busy, ’nd I hate to bother you, darling, but can you get me another scotch? Shaken, this time, if you please.”

The pet name lands perfectly. Even through all the chatter and music, he can hear the quick stutter in your breath. Then you laugh at his joke, like you think he deserves it. 

It’s cheap of him to force that laugh out of you with a shitty joke like that, but he’s feeling a little needy. Wants a preview of what the real thing would sound like. 

Fucking music, surely. 

“I’ll go get it—”

Not yet. I need more time.

“Not right now. I’ll finish this one off while you work through that fresh hell–” he nods toward the anxious crowd “–then you can come back to me. You’ll find I’m pretty patient.”

A little less so, when it comes to you, but you don’t need to know that yet. 

The slight slur to his words must be comforting, because you give him that small smirk you’ve been conservative with all night. “I’ll hold you to that. I’ve heard Brits are perfect gentlemen; be a shame if you proved me wrong.”

“I’m all that and more, darling.” He winks. “You’ll see.”

He could be the bloody worst man on the planet, too, if you wanted. 

And he could come out and say that to you, all the things he could be for you tonight, if he wasn’t so keen on the instant change in you. 

Because here’s what he expected: a few more little flirtations back and forth, everything kept light and easy. He’d keep you smiling and smirking like that, comfortable in your own skin for just a little bit longer before you have to go back to the other customers and slither back into your shell. He’d get to see that breathtaking blush of yours, pink splotches that tell him he’s on the right track. And then he’d get your rapt attention for the remainder of your and his night, quite like he’s given you his. 

But that’s not what happens. 

Instead, you’re instantly sheepish, finding yourself leaning a little closer, so close he could reach out and run a finger along the back of your hand (a small touch, but it would certainly floor him). 

And then guilt. Pure, heart-wrenching guilt, like you’re taking every word of his to heart in the worst possible way.

Gaz panics. 

But you’re not wearing a ring, so no husband, no fiance. He guesses boyfriend or some long-standing crush he can’t—shouldn’t—burrow his way in front of. It’s a disappointing discovery, something he’ll be stewing on for the rest of the night or maybe week, depending on how long he’s stranded here. 

He’s not a fan of infidelity, and he sure as hell isn’t changing his opinion on that anytime soon. So he settles himself for a night at the bar cut short. Maybe he’ll order drinks up to his room from now on, praying the task force won’t try and shift the bill onto him. He can’t imagine coming down to the bar and seeing you will be nearly as satisfying anymore. 

“I shouldn—I mean, Jeanne really likes y—I mean, we kinda have this rule where we, um,” you fumble with the rag on the counter, suddenly invested in a stain he’s been avoiding all night. You swallow. “I’ll just, uh, bring you your drink later. As promised. I should go help her.”

And you dash off as fast as you can between the counter and the precarious wall decor, almost running into the storage door the other bartender whips open while dragging out a new keg for the tap. 

Meanwhile, Gaz… 

He has a question. 

Were you feeling all that guilt over some “dibs” rule at your bar?

He wants to laugh. The whole first-come, first-served thing makes you look as guilty as if you clubbed a baby seal. So what if Jeanne wants to ask him out? If he says no, does that mean he gets you?

Then he actually laughs a little, because it’s so ridiculous that it’s honestly cute. You care about and respect your coworkers, and support them when they’re hitting on guys at bars. So cute. You’re like the ultimate wingwoman, he’s sure, but that’s not going to change the fact that he wants you. 

But the night drags on, and this half hour of patience Gaz promised you becomes paper-slim when you pass off his drink to Jeanne and avoid his end of the bar for far longer than is acceptable. 

But you’re still giving her reassuring smiles and manning the bar as she lays her interest on thick, asking how long he’ll be staying and telling him when she gets off. 

Gaz isn’t laughing anymore. And that little thing you do where you back off and play wingwoman? Definitely not as sweet as he’d thought it was. 

Fuck, it might be the one thing he hates about you. 

Because you avoid him for the rest of the night, and he still can’t take his eyes off you. 

Not to worry, though. Gaz is a patient man. More importantly, he’s a planner. 

He’ll find a way. 

He always does. 

~~~~~~

Gaz barely sleep that night. Too busy thinking about the mission, the lives that were lost, all that blood that had coated his hands just three days ago. 

The way it bothers him comes and goes in phases. Some missions slip off him like rain water over a slick road, rivulets down drives, and he sleeps just fine. 

Others soak into him, further than skin deep, where his body becomes a subcutaneous cache of nightmares and gunpowder, and he wakes up choking, smoke filling his lungs, tearing at the tissue of his throat enough that water can’t soothe the burn. 

Mornings like this is where he fights fire with fire. 

The hotel bar is unsurprisingly destitute but still oddly open at 11 am on a Thursday morning, and he takes a seat more daringly center-staged than he had last night. He glances around, letting thoughts of you, a bartender whose biggest issue was a dibs rule on men, swathe around him. 

Admittedly, a lot of it is foggy. He remembers wanting you—a lot , actually. Too much, he might even say, but after all he drank he’s surprised he even found his way back to his room. But the place, a little more aglow with the open windows (that make his head fucking spin, by the way), looks the same as last night, which means he can still envision you wandering over every inch of it. 

And he thinks no, you probably weren’t that attractive. Maybe your snipes weren’t that funny, and he’d had no reason to get so upset with you over a rejection. And every little wish he’d had that you were the woman who could warm his bed while he was out on missions and greet him when he came home was a bit over the top, even for drunk Gaz. 

Sober Gaz knows better. Sober Gaz knows that no other human being can have that much of an effect on him anymore, because he’s had to rebuild himself after joining the military, after seeing the most honorable and dishonorable things humans can do, and he’s just not fit for something unconditional. 

Drunk Gaz, though….

Hammered and horny. That’s all it was. A terrible mixture, and he’s damn ashamed that an innocent girl like you became the target of it. God, did he even tell you his name? Or was it just instant come-on and creepy watching from the corner of the bar? 

Gaz notices he’s not alone as he lets his eyes wander; there’s a group of three elderly women jabbering in the corner, waving too-friendly when he spots them. He tosses them a dashing smile, the one that makes his grandmother’s friends burst into titters and giggles. 

It has the same effect. 

“Who knew you’d be just as charming sober?” a familiar voice rings out. 

Gaz’s heart thump-thump s forcefully.

“In all fairness, you do have a shot with them too, if you really wanted to take it.” You lean a little bit closer over the counter, one-ended smile pulling at your lips, and when he catches a trace of that same perfume, his chest twinges. 

Fuckin’ hell. 

“She’s newly widowed,” you nod to the gaggle again, demeanor conspiratorial, “and happy to be, apparently. Why am I not surprised you’re popular to all ages?”

He’s got no clue what you’re talking about. Damn, he’s not even listening. Your lips look too soft to him right now, and it’s downright unfair how domestic you look in morning light, placid and playful, like the last thing you were made for was exacerbating nightlife. 

“All ages?” he mumbles, because he can’t quite think straight, and the best thing he can do is repeat the last few words he’d heard you say before his train of thought had caught fire, derailed, and crashed explosively against brick wall. 

He’s struck still, is what he means. He can’t quite think past the idea of you, coming a little closer to him, letting him trap you against his chest. Letting him breathe in the scent of your hair as you tell him about your day—boring, maybe, if it wasn’t you who was telling the story. 

But your voice and tone, that playful edge that sounds like the sweetness of cotton candy and would taste like fucking everything to him, it draws him in. 

Gaz comes to the conclusion that not everything was a drunken haze last night. 

And he realizes that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t quite the fisherman he thought he was, trying to catch you. If anything, he was the fish snapping after your line, bait or no, wanting to be yanked out of the water and gutted until everything he ever was was bare for those pretty eyes. 

And he’s that very same fish this morning, gaping and blinking wide-eyed. 

Fuckin’. Hell. 

“My God, those teenagers last night? And then Jeanne, and the bridesmaids? And, okay, I shit you not, even the bride. You’re a menace in this bar, you know that?”

“Are you included in all that?”

If he remembers anything from the night before, it was the way you clammed up after he made his first move. You’re the spitting image of it now, pursed lips and antsy fingers, even after all that big talk. 

It’s an absent thought that flies past him in that moment, but he recalls that you were only loose enough to joke around with people already tipsy. He lets a small consideration tag along, a half-thought, really, that maybe you felt as comfortable around him as he did around you.

That, or he still looked smashed from last night.

You dodge his question completely.

“So what can I get you this morning…?” You let the tail end of the question drag on a bit, and he decides it’s because you can’t remember his name. He tries to stave off the gross pinch in his stomach by recalling there’s an all too real chance he never even told you. 

“Kyle.”

You shake your head quickly, mumbling, “No, I—I remember.”

Gaz, though he can’t help but feel like an asshole for it, grins at your stutter. 

“Surprise me, then.” He sits back, not remembering when he made the decision to lean a bit closer. “YN,” he tags on, smiling a bit more at your nervous laugh. 

You look him over, some short glance that stuffs his head full of cotton, and start working on a concoction with a small grin. 

He’s patient, minds his own business and fiddles with his phone as you shake and pour. 

No messages from Price, and Gaz shoves down any distant panic that he might have sent an aggravated text or two in his state last night. 

But no messages means no updates, which means it’s safe to assume he’ll be marooned at this hotel for another two weeks. 

Not as bad as he thought it would be, so far. 

You step away with a tray of drinks and return empty handed. Then you slip a glass in front of him, frosty and golden, slowly seeping red by a single maraschino cherry. 

He guffaws. “Mai Tai? What, no umbrella?”

You slip a mini umbrella into his drink. “You underestimate me.”

His headache is killing him. The sun’s too bright, and he’s thanking God that the music in here isn’t nearly as pounding as it was yesterday. The memories still haunt him, horizoning his mind. Every drop of blood, every plea, every blank-eyed stare. 

And then there’s you. Just you. You read like a sheet of paper, and you’re soft around the edges, and you couldn’t even comprehend half the things he’s seen. 

You spoon another maraschino cherry out of the cooling jar and pop it into your mouth, laving your tongue over it before biting down, the juices dying your tongue red. 

Fuck. 

Gaz wants to kiss you. 

He wants you to taste the Mai Tai on his tongue and sigh happily, eyes rolling the exact same way. He might die if you don’t.

“It’s on the house, only because you were true to your word.”

He gets peeks of that red tongue of yours and shifts in his seat. “What d’you mean?”

“You were patient, as promised, and I’m afraid I’ll need a little more of that today.”

Any of it. All of it, for you. Fuck, he could be so patient for you. 

Gaz furrows his brow anyway. “Didn’t know you were so greedy. Why d’you ask, love?”

“I guess you couldn’t tell from last night, but I’m a pretty shitty bartender. That’s why they got me working mornings.”

He glances at the Mai Tai. “So you’re sayin’ I’m shit outta luck.”

“I’m saying that if you’re going to let me pick your drink, you’re going to keep getting whatever’s left in the mixer from formerly Mrs. Jones’ group of three. I should warn you, they party hard.”

Gaz sighs. “What’s next on the menu?”

“More mimosas. That was their warm-up. You wanna catch up?” You frame a carton of orange juice in your hands enticingly. 

Fruity drinks from here on out. Gaz doesn’t exactly mind the idea, though he’d come down to the bar for something with more of a kick. But he’s wondering how long your shift runs if you’d worked the night before and the morning after. 

He’s got a chance here; without your friend present, your guilty conscience must feel balmed.

Gaz shakes his head, tearing a finger at the mini umbrella’s ridges. “I’ll stick to their schedule. Have a feeling I should be pacing myself with that crew.”

“Good feeling,” you nod. 

The air of silence that settles is comfortable. There’s the rattle of ice and champagne, the slow slosh of orange pooling in three going on four glasses, and Gaz watches you through it all. But he can see the way his gaze makes you nervous. Your movements are all rickety, and you can’t quite find that rhythm between shaking the mixer and making eye contact. 

Gaz wasn’t lying. Most if not all the women he’s met (sans a few of his targets) agree: he’s a kind man. Chivalrous, soothing, amiable. 

So he’s not sure why seeing your nerves gets a lovely thrill rattling its way down his spine. Sure, he wished you felt a smidge less timid, a lot more loose and sunny in his company. But, he guesses, it’s because with you, he’s willing to settle. Take what he can get; it’s not unlike a stakeout, really. He’s parked here, waiting for you to come out of your shell on your own time. 

Can’t really help that he’s greedy when it counts, though, and when you set the mimosa in front of him, he reaches before you can pull away, getting that warm slide of your fingers against his. 

“So what are you doin’ here, in a place like this, if you’re not a good bartender?”

He has to salvage your courage before you slip into the backroom for space to think. He can’t let that happen, overthinker that you are, and you’re too nice to abandon him mid-conversation. 

He’s okay with manipulating you that much. 

“Gap year. Several actually, but I don’t like to think about that.” You’re fidgeting with a rag, twisting it until the damp cotton creases under your fingers. 

“What are you gappin’ to?”

You huff out a laugh. “Med school, hopefully. Grad school, possibly. Just want to do something more, you know? Since apparently a bachelor’s gets you nowhere nowadays, and I’m just thirty grand in hole for nothing.”

“It’ll work itself out. For you, I’m certain of it.”

And he thinks he’s nailed it. 

Look. Look at all he can say and do to make you feel comfortable. And look! He can make you laugh and smile. And his touch was nice, right? Warm, gentle, everything you’d want. He’s got it right here. Waiting for you.

And then you blink, long and slow, eyes on the counter. Then…

“You know, I’m really jealous of Jeanne. I mean, she has it all figured out.”

Gaz fights the urge to grind his teeth, but he drops his elbows to the counter and cups at the mimosa. Not good enough, doesn’t burn enough. Too easy on the champagne, and he distantly wonders if you pull what you did last night all the time. 

That thing where you go easy on drinks by coming around less, or neutering them completely before you pass them out. 

That thing where you’re trying to do better for everyone , where you think you know better. He can only guess that it’s come so often with a cost to you that it’s all you know how to do anymore—giving, no taking. Helping always; never, ever hurting, no matter what you want. 

“C’mon,” he mutters, but you’re reaching for another red cherry. Chewing on it as it dyes your teeth pink. 

“She’s one of the managers here, did she tell you that? And she’s only a couple years older than me, and she’s just… she knows what she wants. And goes for it, too.”

Is that what it was? You weren’t willing to go for it? 

He’ll build that bridge for you, dammit. He’d hold you hand across the whole fucking way if you’d just let him. 

“She’s the only person in the whole area willing to give me a chance, even though I’d never bartended before.”

He lets you ramble, lets the sound of your voice sink into him, gives encouraging responses when he has to. 

Jeanne likes to go hiking. 

Jeanne likes to swim. 

Jeanne loves nights out. 

Sure, yeah, okay. But do you like any of that?

You don’t. You hate it all, actually. You even have a fear of drowning, heights, the whole works. You’re very much a homebody, curled up on your couch reading, drinking tea—not a huge fan of wine, or alcohol, actually, but don’t laugh! It was the highest paying job you could find, and yes, you do see the irony. Yes, you make a good cup of tea. Why?

Trying to find out even that much about you was like playing a damn tennis match. You won’t stop shoving the topic away, getting all insecure when he asks what you like. What you want. 

He plans to change that. 

But for now? Fine. You won’t talk about you. But he’s not going to let you talk about Jeanne. 

So you’re talking about him. 

“We don’t get much of your type around here.”

“Special forces?”

“British.” You give up on wiping the counter, instead leaning on two hands and watching him sip at the piña colada you’ve just made. He’d offered you the pineapple slice. After you’d said no, he watched you watch him bite in, wiping off the juice off his lips with his thumb. 

He had to remind himself that it was patience you were looking for, even with your lips parted in a daze like that. 

“Special forces, though, huh?” You glance around with faux wariness. “Should I be worried?” 

“Depends. How many people round here are up to no good?”

“I mean, there’s the occasional bad tipper but, between you and me,” you lean in, give a small shrug, “I deal with them in my own way.”

Gaz raises a brow, smile growing. “Maybe I’m the one who should be worried.”

“Depends. Are you going to be rifling around for a five or a twenty-five dollar tip in that wallet of yours?”

Gaz sighs, “The best company always comes with the highest price, don’t it?”

“Not as high as you think,” you laugh. 

If there was ever a groove to find between you and him, he’s finally located it. 

Five minutes too late, it seems. 

You’re glancing at the clock when you hear rustling in the storage room, and the blonde bartender that’s bloody haunting him now pushes through the swinging door. 

 “Jeanne.” You voice is a wonderful mixture of fake enthusiasm and slight disappointment. “Look who’s here.”

Trapped. That’s what he is.

And you leave without a goodbye or a glance in his direction, too. 

He tells himself you’re shy, insecure, delicate little thing that he keeps pushing the boundaries of, trying to find the edge of having you and scaring you off completely. 

Like taming a wild animal. 

Fucking patience. For all his years, all his adventures, he never knew he’d run out of it in the most civilian of circumstances. 

He sticks around a while longer, humors Jeanne’s interest. Amazingly enough, they have so much in common, who would have thought?

And who would have thought that after last night, that was the last thing he’d ever want.

~~~~~~

You’re doing that thing again, where you ignore him. 

He’d think it’s cute, how shy you were, if you only didn’t sic your friend on him each time you did it. He’s fairly certain his interest is clear. 

He’s been going to the bar for the last few days. Sometimes he sees you, sometimes he doesn’t. He prefers the former, and when it’s the latter, he’s reminded of just how shitty the alcohol is in the US, and that he’s trapped here, and how it’s starting to become hell. 

But he won’t tell you that. That your home and this hotel are the last places he wants to be on the whole planet, present company excluded. 

Despite the fact that present company feels like she has to include her friend in every conversation. He loves how selfless you are, no man left behind and whatnot, but he wishes you could see the failing attraction right before your eyes. 

You try to slip off, leave the pair of them alone, but Gaz won’t have it. If you wander too close, he’ll drag you in, call your damn name across the bar if he has to, wrench on that ever-guilty, ever-pleasing heart of yours to go and answer him, talk to him, pay him the attention he needs nightly, apparently. 

As of late, you’ve started playing this game. Gaz’ll bring up a topic, anything from the horrors of war to butterflies. 

And you think there might be some upsides to the horrors of war, maybe. And butterflies are ugly and gross, always. 

Gaz loves how beautiful the mountains are up north; you despise them. They look cold. 

But he thought you loved cold weather?

Well, you don’t like cold weather when it’s… on mountains. You guess. 

 An interesting play, he quite thinks. Such odd tactics you have running in your mind. But you’re trying so hard to be this good, loyal friend. You want so badly to find the middle ground here, please Jeanne and Gaz, let them both be happy. 

But when push comes to shove, Jeanne had dibs. And Gaz has to bear the brunt of it. 

Two weeks have gone by before Price contacts Gaz again. Tells him the 141 had lain low long enough that he can come back home and get some well deserved leave. The news makes him fucking ecstatic when he first hears it. Thank fuck he’ll never have to use the launderettes here again, never have to listen to the damned click-click-click of the aircon or the mini fridge. 

He misses so many things from home. 

Shepherd’s pie. Good cigarettes and tea. A whiskey sour from that bar just three blocks down from his flat. 

And his flat. His bed. His sofa, the kitchen he barely uses, the door that whines because he can’t bring himself to oil it; gone too long, too often for it to really matter most days. The toaster he doesn’t plug in ever because it damn well almost burned down his flat last time he was out for two months. 

All of it empty. Cold and bare. Too unused to really miss. 

Gaz slows while packing his things. He stops, grabs his phone, then lowers to the bed. He stares at the recent calls list, Captain still at the top, call ended twenty minutes ago. 

Home has a different taste in his mouth than it used to. Not horribly bad, but different enough to notice. 

It’ll be quiet. Gaz used to love quiet. 

Being here has changed something in him. 

Nothing big—all small things, in fact. 

A pondering floats down on him, comes to his mind and makes the rest of his body tighten, a coiled spring waiting, wondering. It’s such a small question, too, but things with you always seemed so small and insignificant, until he got a moment of quiet to consider it. 

Do they sell your perfume in the UK?

It’s not a huge thing if they don't. 

Really, it’s not life-changing. He’s just trying to consider never having it again, never having it flood his senses when you get too close, lean a bit closer to slide him his drink. 

Then it’s you not leaning in close ever again. Then no you, ever again. 

Gaz can’t quite make it make sense. 

Home is good. Hell, he misses it. 

But home is no set place anymore. Home could be two poles repelling each other but attracting him, pulling at each half of him, waiting to tear him down the middle while he tries to decide. 

Two fucking weeks? Gaz has to check his phone to make sure. Has that really all it’s been?

Bullshit. 

Tell him why it feels like it’s been years. Tell him why he can’t imagine going home as anything other than a misstep, one bad fucking decision away from sealing his fate. 

A slice of shepherd’s pie and a nice cup of Earl Grey—it can wait. 

A little longer, at least. He needs some time to make certain on some things. A month, maybe. On his own dime now. After all, what’s four thousand dollars compared to a missed opportunity for something better?

…He’ll see if they have deals on extended stays. 

~~~~~~

“YN.”

Nothing.

“YN.”

Still nothing.

“YN!”

You’re avoiding eye contact and maintaining a six-foot radius at all times, like he’s got the damn plague. 

It’s been the same setting for the past four weeks; corner of the bar, closer to the same dark shit that swirls in his glass now, aiming for privacy and good company. 

He used to think he was a good shot, but his accuracy’s been bloody terrible as of late. 

Twelve times. He’s tried asking you out twelve times. 

After the most recent attempt crash-landed with you interrupting to tell him about your sister’s obsession with popping zits, he considered it. Oh boy, did he consider giving up, asking himself why the hell he ever got so desperate in the first place. 

Tonight was supposed to be some last hurrah of sorts. His flight leaves tomorrow morning, and his patience with you has become so thin it could snap with a single breath. 

But he gets here, sees you. 

Sees you bustling around the bar—which, in his mind’s eye, is his flat. And you look right at home, by the way. Wandering in and out of his room, his kitchen, the living room. Curled up on the settee, your soft thighs winking at him from beneath his own sweatshirt. Then you’re dancing in the same way, hips swaying to the obnoxious beat, leaning in closer instead of pulling away when he grabs onto you like he ought to. 

For all that’s good and pure, you never distance yourself like you do now.

There’s no easily spooking the you in his head that wants him just as badly as he does you.

Your name falls from his lips an unavoidable number of times from the corner of the bar, and you finally fold.

See—wasn’t so hard, was it?

Not so painful if you’d just give in and go on a date with him now, too. 

You saunter over, a world-weary sigh falling from your lips. “My God, Kyle, you sound like a damn cockatoo over here. Or my mom, which was a bit unsettling. Need I remind you I regret telling you my middle name.” 

“Then you won’t be surprised to know you’re getting a good scolding, with the way you’ve been avoiding me.”

That same look takes up your features, pouty lips and wrinkled brow, like he’s barking up the wrong tree all over again. Might be his favorite expression of yours, second only to that little grin when you see him each day. 

The same one that keeps him barking. 

“You know it’s for a good reason, Kyle. I’ve told you this.”

“Remind me again, darling. Is it a boyfriend?”

You huff a sigh. “No.”

“Husband?”

You roll your eyes. “No.”

“Lesbian?”

“What?” You stare at him wide-eyed, and he shrugs. 

“Just makin’ sure my bases are covered. So what is it, then?”

“You’re unbelievable.” 

“I’m also dead fuckin’ serious,” his voice raises when you try to walk away. He can barely refrain from swatting out at your wrist, spinning you back around to look at him. Over the weeks, he’s discovered your biggest weakness is his eyes, and he puppy-dogs them now. “Out with it. Please.”

His white-knuckled hands ache from where they grip under the bar’s ledge, and he’s trying blessedly hard to keep still as you look him over. Every scar, every bag under his eyes, every premature wrinkle. You can see it all and more, probably even see the nightmare he had three days ago, where it was you tied up, enemy’s gun pointed at the pliable skin of your temple, your cries echoing in the empty warehouse.

Where, a building over, in sniper-position, Gaz’s frozen. His fucking trigger finger won’t twitch, and he can’t breathe, can’t move even as the gunshot lit up your skin, and he rolled out of the same hotel bed, coughing on the floor, wheezing. 

He tops off his eyes with a dashing smile, pleasant like his mind hadn’t painted the picture of you bloody and dying, still haunting him. 

Gaz isn’t as easy to read as you are. You wouldn’t be able to tell. 

“You’re looking at me like that again.”

“Like I’m whipped?” As if he could look like anything else.

“No, like…” You bite your tongue, and Gaz would give anything to know what you’d planned on doing with the hand you’d raised toward him just then, only to let it drop down at your side. “Never mind.”

“C’mon.” God , his hands ache. “Just tell me. Thought we were friends?”

“We are friends, Kyle.” You ignore how smug he gets, fixing him with a look. “But that’s all we are.”

Gaz scoffs, “I don’t get it. Just because your friend has, what, a li’l crush on me, and she doesn’t even know me, this can’t happen?”

You know what this is. He knows you know what this is. And he knows you want it, too. 

“It’s…” you bite the inside of your cheek while avoiding his gaze, and he knows it’s because you can’t think when he looks at you like that. Pleading. Desperate. And so damn breathless at the sigh of you that it makes it that much harder for you to say you don’t want him. “It’s a whole big thing we agreed on when I started working here. It’s how the peace is kept, not just between Jeanne and me—but for everyone. That’s just how we do it.”

“YN…”

You ignore him. “And I like this job, Kyle. I do. I don’t care that I’m horrible at mixing drinks, and that I can’t handle drunk people to save my life. It feels good to have something to do when I don’t know what else to do with myself, and I can’t have some little lover’s quarrel ruin that.

“And Jeanne is a great person. And I know you don’t like it when I bring it up, but it’s true. She saw you first and called it. So I’m stepping back, not getting in the middle of it because I owe it to her, and I don’t get why you won’t just do me that solid and give her a chance. You two are a much better fit than you and I would ever be—”

“You hate camping.”

You fall silent, staring at him in confusion. “What?”

“You hate camping. And the woods. The outside, really. You told me that. Then you told me your daily circuit is the bar, then your home, sometimes to the café down the street from here, but that’s rare. And that you like books, but I know s’not the cute, adventure-y ones you pretend to like. I googled a few of yours, ones I caught you sneakin’ on your breaks—dirty little bird, you are, by the way. But I like that about you. All of it. Everything you think you have to keep under wraps.”

“Kyle…”

“I like the way you say my name, too. And how soft your skin looks, and those thighs—fuck me. Is your perfume cherries, by the way?”

“Peaches,” you mumble. He nods.

“That too. I mean, every little thing, darling. I swear, I want it. Don’t care that we’re complete opposites, that you’re scared of what I do, what I’m built for. I need you to know that I want you because of that, not in spite of. I don’t need you all the time, I promise. But I don’t think I could handle it if I didn’t have you at all.”

You want him. He can see it. You’re melting into a goddamn puddle before him, wandering nearer and nearer like you can’t help it. 

What else can he say? What the hell else does he have to do to prove that he wants you so bad it’s driving him up the walls? Gaz is wrenched so tight in his seat that he could snap and hurdle the counter, drag you out of here and show you everything he’s willing to give. 

He needs a promise before he leaves. Something. 

“God, Kyle, I didn’t…” your breath stutters, but you won’t pull your gaze from his. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know you were so serious about this.”

You didn’t know? You couldn’t fucking tell? After a month of him puttering around here, begging for your attention, doing anything he could to get you to look at him—

“I thought you were just…”

Fuck. 

Gaz shakes his head.

Fuck. 

Messing with you? Teasing you? That’s all you thought it was?

He tips his head back, locking onto the ceiling. 

What could he have said during the past five weeks that would make you think that?

He runs through every conversation, every interaction, every whipped, needy look he couldn’t hold back because he couldn’t stop them around you.

And then he thinks about Jeanne. How you’ve been pushing her on him. And how he’s a perfect fucking gentleman and entertained her interest with polite conversation. 

Then there’s you, his shy little rabbit watching from the other end of the bar, so damn skittish that he can only draw you back in after she’s long left him alone. Not even surveying or passively watching, but crafting wildly inaccurate conclusions in your little overthinking head.

No. 

No, no, no, because, fickle as you are, you’re a giver. 

And Gaz’s been stealing that role from you this whole time. 

He hasn’t let you show your worth. He doesn’t need to see it, no, but you think you have to prove it. You like your trials by fire. You don’t like winning by default. 

You don’t think you could be wanted for wanting’s sake. 

In all fairness, Gaz didn’t think he functioned like that either—unconditional terms and all that. So he thought he’d had to give back. Give back so much that it frightened you, and you couldn’t hold up what you thought was your end. 

A bloody fool. That’s what he is. 

His little American rabbit plays by different rules. In the UK, women in bars are so straightforward, so honest. 

What a fuckin’ sod he is. 

His flight leaves in nine hours, and he hasn’t packed, hasn’t slept. 

Too busy thinking about you. How much of a wrench you’ve been in his plans.

He didn’t think wanting you would be like asking the world to spin the other way. 

And, hell, what’s he supposed to do when he does leave, gone off on the mission Price’s hinted to him, the one that’s halfway across the globe, and you’re back here, trying and probably succeeding at forgetting he exists. 

Fuck.

You not knowing he exists. 

Him having never met you.

The ideas make him sick. 

But Gaz…

Gaz is a planner. Above all else. 

And if you want an opportunity to show what you can give him, he’ll give you just that. While he’s on a mission, mind on worse, far more horrible things, he’ll give you that chance you’ve been itching so hard for. 

“Your phone.”

You’ve been watching him go through phases, even refilled his glass while he was out. Scotch on the rocks, this time. Like you thought he had to start taking it easy from here on out, like you think he deserves it.  

“What?”

“Let me give you my number.”

“Kyle… that’s not a good idea.”

“Don’t care, love.”

To your credit, you have a healthy amount of wariness. In several jerky movements, you pull your phone from your pocket, open it to a new contact, and pass it to him, eyeing up every little thing he types. 

Kyle (Hot Guy from the Bar) Garrick. 

His phone number. 

Then he texts himself quickly, saves your number too, and holds your phone out. 

When you grab at it, he holds tight, tugging for your attention. 

Like he hasn’t, in a most wonderfully heady way, already got it. 

“No funny business with this, love.” His features turn grim. “No giving it to your friend so she can woo me—”

“Woo you?”

He gives you a stern look. “A phone call. A text. A fuckin’ pocket dial, I don’t care. But I want it from you, or no one, yeah?”

Only after you nod, slow and unsure, does he push himself out of the barstool for the last time, nodding to you. Eyes soft as he whispers, “Have a good night, darling.”

Your eyes don’t leave him as he walks away, phone still gripped tightly in your hand.

~~~~~~

Part 2

[allysunny]

Hi Ally!! (Can I call you that?)

First of all,

*ahem*

CONGRATS ON 200 FOLLOWERS WOOOOOO✨️🩷🎉

I know that every single one is deserved, and I'm proud to be one as well 😌

I saw that you were doing a lil event to celebrate, so don't mind if I do!! 👀

I'd love it if you could write some much needed luv with Brucey! I picked 25+1 + g!

Imagine that Bruce and reader are just watching the stars, maybe either in the gardens of Wayne Manor or on top of Wayne Enterprises, and all Bruce can think is how beautiful reader looks under the shinning stars 🥹

Basically, Bruce is infatuated and he's smiling like an idiot!

You can add, take away stuff as you please, of course!

I'll wait as long as you need, so no pressure!

I'm excited to see what you come up with!!!

Much love,~ Fi 🐝

"You look stunning" / "You don't look so bad yourself" + "I love you" + Stargazing x Bale!Bruce Wayne

Words: 4k words

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff, friends-to-lovers, Bruce is a big sap and he's very much in love, stargazing and talks of stars (nothing too technical). This is extremely sweet, very corny and sappy and I live for it! Written with a female reader in mind, I'm sorry but I don't yet write for GN!Reader.

A/N: First of all, thank you very very much for the kind words!! YES, you can absolutely call me Ally! Everyone can! I agree that we need some love with Bruce because this man needs happiness pleasepleaseplease...

This was my first 200 Followers Celebration entry (which is still open and you can participate!), and I'm so happy that I got to write this scenario! We don't often get to see Bale!Batman being happy, so I hope I did him justice, and I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Took me some time because I had to sort out some uni stuff, but it's done and I really had fun with it!

I hope it is to your liking!

⁽ᵃˡˢᵒ, ˢᵐᵃˡˡ ᶠᵘⁿ ᶠᵃᶜᵗ, ⁱ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵍᵒ ᵃˡᵒⁿᵍ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵐᵃᵍᵍⁱᵉ ᵍʸˡˡᵉⁿʰᵃᵃˡ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵃᶜᵗᵘᵃˡˡʸ ʳᵉᵃˡˡʸ ᵈⁱˢˡⁱᵏᵉ ʰᵉʳ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒᵛⁱᵉ ˢᵒ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ⁱ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ʳᵃᶜʰᵉˡ, ⁱ ᵃˡʷᵃʸˢ ᵖⁱᶜᵗᵘʳᵉ ᵏᵃᵗⁱᵉ ʰᵒˡᵐᵉˢ 😭⁾

Parties at Wayne Manor could be oh so dreadfully boring.

Bruce didn’t particularly enjoy them, nor did he even want to throw them, but he knew it was necessary to keep up appearances. Tonight, he celebrated his birthday.

The evening had been filled with fake smiles, polite nods, firm handshakes. “Happy birthday, Mr. Wayne”s here, “You’re looking more and more like your father each day”s there, “What a spendind party this is, Mr. Wayne!”s in the corner, and, if he was feeling particularly unlucky, a few “Ah, what a lovely Manor you have, Mr. Wayne. Such a shame you’ve been keeping its beauty from the world…”s somewhere.

He’d downed one or two glasses of champagne in a few gulps, finding it harder and harder to stand the people all around him, fake leeches who hung on his every word and command, enthralled by the promises of what his money and wealth might mean to him.

Well, all except for one.

You.

You’d been friends for a while. Bruce can’t pinpoint exactly what made him think of you as his best friend other than just a regular acquaintance, but he knew he would never give you up. You were the only person who saw him for he really was, who refused to kiss his ass and baby him, who told him things as they were instead of coddling him simply because his name implied he was to be so.

He felt disarmed when he was with you, able to say anything that went on his mind. He could be himself. Could crack terrible jokes that would have you throw pillows at his face, could drop the eccentric billionaire façade and be an annoying nerd (as you so often put it), just looking for some friendship. He could talk to you for hours on end about topics that weren’t his last name, his family, his money, or his status. He could ask you for book recommendations and be told he’d enjoy this one silly adventure book about spaceships and planes, as opposed to the boring non-fiction and autobiographies usually gifted to him, “a man of culture”.

He could ask you for good restaurants and you’d take him to small, barely noticeable cafes and places that served homemade food, instead of being offered reservations at Michelin worthy restaurants. He could be a regular person.

Every time he felt himself loose grasp of his identity when adorning the black suit, he was reminded by you of who he was. You didn’t know of his secret identity but could sense when he was particularly tired or trained and were always able to put a smile on his face and return his grip on reality.

He needed you by his side. You calmed him down. You cheered him up whenever he felt upset. You made him laugh whenever all he wanted to do was cry. You didn’t question him whenever he told you he needed space, instead providing him with just that. And as days went by, Bruce Wayne was not sure if he saw you as a mere friend anymore.

After all, friends don’t linger their gazes on each other’s lips for more time than deemed appropriate. Just friends don’t make up fake problems or fake dilemmas just to get the one to visit them (let’s be honest – “I don’t know where I put my remote” was a pretty pathetic excuse and Alfred mocked the hell out of him after you’d left).

In conclusion, he needed you. By his side, to cheer him up, to get him out of boring situations, close, smiling, laughing, happy, to hug him, to be with him, etc. He needed you.

Which was why he’d invited you to celebrate a date as important as his birthday.

Bruce never really minded his birthday. He usually spent it at work during the day, politely accepting the nice words people gave him, then got home, ate his favourite dish cooked by Alfred, and left right after to protect the city of Gotham.

But unfortunately, he just had to celebrate his birthday this year. He’d been cornered by a few Wayne Enterprises associates and tricked into throwing a hell of a party in his Manor. He just sighed and filled Alfred in on the conversation he’d had at work, instructing the older man to take care of the preparations.

And of course, he’d invited you. If there was anyone that could make this dreadful celebration just a bit more bearable, it’d be you. He invited his childhood friend Rachel Dawes as well, but she’s just announced her engagement to District Attorney Harvey Dent, and while they remained friends, he did not expect her to dedicate him all of her time (especially when everyone kept asking to see her ring and tell the wonderful story of how they met).

But the problem was, you were nowhere to be found.

He knew you had arrived, Alfred had told him so, but just as he was about to chase you down the huge area that served as a ballroom, he was interrupted by a few family friends. Seeing as these were some of the few families that were in genuine good terms with his parents, and not simply greedy leeches, he decided to chat with them, smiling genuinely at their compliments and quips.

But now it’d been a few hours, and he couldn’t find you. And the combination of all of the unwanted people, the general chatter, and the lack of the one person he wanted by his side were getting to his head. And perhaps the champagne as well, even though he hadn’t drunk nearly enough to be the slightest of tipsy. What if Gotham needed him?

“Ma’am, I’m sure your quest for the very much secret next Fabergé Egg is quite intriguing, but I have a few guests I need to tend to. Everyone wants a piece of the host, what can I say? Birthday boy privileges.” He charmed the woman with one of his most dazzling smiles and pried away from her gloved grip, looking around for his knight in black and white armour.

Quickly replying to every guest that throwed a comment his way, he reached Alfred, who was standing in the corner of the room, silently accessing the party.

“Another useless conversation with any of these bloodsucking idiots and I’m killing myself,” he muttered, grabbing a champagne flute from a passing maid, and chugging the whole thing in one go.

“And here I was thinking you’d probably die at the hands of some unruly criminal, wearing the cape and cowl. All that training and fighting in some remote location only for you to die at the hands of Gotham’s wealthiest?” Alfred said, his voice laced with sarcasm and brow quirked up.

“Well Alfred, get me out of this and I might just be able to die the way you envisioned me doing so.”

“By my hand, Master Wayne?”

“Exactly.”

The two men chuckled, and Bruce took another look around the room, before turning to his butler.

“Have you seen – “

“In the gardens.”

Bruce was halfway across the ballroom, shouting “Thank you!” before Alfred could say anything else.

It took a while for him to find you.

After all, the gardens were filled with people talking, catching up, and the occasional couple slobbering all over each other’s mouths, apologizing profusely once they saw the Manor’s owner stride past them.

“Bruce?”

He turned around and was met with Rachel’s smiling face.

“Running off so soon?” she asked, Harvey Dent’s unmistakable figure walking up next to her right after.

“Yes, well, one can only get so much attention before they start getting bored of it.”

Rachel gave him a sympathetic look, and shook her head, nudging it towards Harvey.

“You don’t have to pretend with us.”

With these words, a weight was lifted off Bruce’s shoulders. His posture wasn’t perfect anymore, and the charming, cocky smile left his lips.

“If I have to talk to one more person who wishes to know who the hell decorated the living room…” Bruce sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

“I get it,” Harvey said, shaking his head. “If only people were interested in something other than how much I spent on Rachel’s ring, I’d feel more inclined to interact with them.”

Bruce nodded and smiled in understanding, before looking around. He thought he’d glanced at a very familiar face, but unfortunately, it wasn’t you.

“Looking for someone?” Rachel asked with a knowing smile.

“Yeah, actually, have you seen – “

“She was near the apple tree in the back.”

“Thank you.” Bruce nodded and all but sprinted towards the place, leaving Rachel to giggle with a rather confused Harvey.

“Who’s he talking about?” he asked.

“A “friend” of his,” Rachel replied nonchalantly.

“He seemed rather eager to see this friend of his. Surely that’s not all there is to her.” He chuckled; brow quirked up.

“And that, Harvey, is what everyone else but the two of them have figured out.”

Bruce did not hear what his friend had said, but if he did, he’d have gently corrected her.

Because he had, in fact, figured out whatever he felt about you.

Mostly.

He knew he liked you, that’s for sure.

He liked your smile. He liked your personality. He liked how your nose wrinkled up whenever you were cooking. He liked how your eyes sparkled whenever he gifted you a new volume of a book series you’d been collecting, or the way your laughter resonated across the Manor whenever you beat him at videogames. He liked how you always stopped to pet cats and dogs on the street, and how you made funny faces at babies in the supermarket.

He liked how his Manor, although big and empty, seemed full of life with you in it. Even if you were cuddled up on one of his couches, watching a movie, he always thought of it was warmer and more inviting just from your mere presence. He liked it when you massaged his head, thumbs circling his forehead so gently that he often found himself falling asleep in your lap. He liked your touch – found it addictive. Pulling you close to him on the street to protect you from traffic, hugging you every time he saw you, having you throw fake punches at him whenever he told a terrible joke.

He likes you. That much is clear.

But why was it so damn hard admitting that to you?

His steps slowed down as he approached a very familiar apple tree. Wayne Manor had plenty of beautiful plants and trees, much more so than this one. But there was something about it that always caught your eye. Not to mention, it was near a secluded area of the gardens, and you had always been fond of hiding in there. “It makes me feel at peace”, you told him.

Sure enough, that’s where he found you. Staring at the night sky, pretty locks of hair carefully styled with a few flower clips, hands resting one on top of the other behind your back.

You turned to him, shaken up by the sound of footsteps, and he took you in.

And, wow.

To say you looked beautiful would’ve been a crime - such a word couldn’t do you justice.

You wore a sparkly silver gown that pooled softly at your feet, your form modestly accentuated. Two silver straps held it at the front, coming together in a flattering cleavage. Your back was on display, and Bruce had to control himself not to touch it with his bare hands. You looked lovely, your silhouette shining beneath the stars. Their gentle glow was casting a perfect light on you, making you look even more like the celestial bodies you were admiring.

“Bruce?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

Bruce shook his head, grounding himself.

“Yes. Hey – hey.”

“Cat got your tongue? I said happy birthday,” you smiled and walked up to him, silver dress twinkling with each step you took.

It was as if all of you were made of pure, sheer, dazzling starlight.

“Won’t your guests miss you?”

Bruce approached you halfway and gave you a shrug.

“Probably. Doesn’t mean I’m going to miss them.” This earned a smile from you, and Bruce found himself smiling too. His gaze lingered on your face for a while, before descending once more and taking your lovely figure in again.

“You look stunning,” he said, and you seemed to blossom at his praise.

“Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself.” And he didn’t. With his black tux and matching bow, he was the picture of elegance and charm. And that disarmingly charismatic smile of his was helping him a long way. There was a reason of course, women fawned over his good looks.

“What are you doing out here?” Bruce asked nodding his head towards the night sky, the one you had been looking at.

“I couldn’t take it in there anymore. It was way too loud, and everyone was way too fake,” you rolled your eyes and sighed. “And the sky is looking far too beautiful tonight. At least here I won’t be disturbed.”

“Well, I did just disturb you, so I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“I wouldn’t call it disturbing. Your presence is always welcome.”

For a while, the two of you stood side by side, just watching as the sky glittered above. It was peaceful and quiet, and everything Bruce had wanted for his birthday. A nice, uneventful evening with you by his side.

“I can’t believe you can actually see the stars tonight,” Bruce mumbled, genuinely impressed. Usually, as the industrial and active city it was, one never got to see the stars thanks to smoke, lights, or other manmade obstacles. But tonight, the sky was clear and bright, and no clouds were in sight.

“Right?” you smiled, pointing at the sky above you. “Look over there – see that one?”

“Which?” Bruce squinted.

“That one – the kyte.”

“Ah. Yes. I do.”

“That’s the Big Dipper.”

“And the other one next to it?”

“That’s the Small Dipper. Can you see that bright star at the end of it?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s Polaris, the Polar Star. It’s supposedly the brightest star in the night sky.”

“I can think of something brighter,” he muttered stealing a glance at you.

You leaned against him and spoke of constellations and stars to him. Told him the myths that surrounded each one, how far they were from the Earth, how they’d come to be discovered. The party had been long forgotten by the two of you, and after a few minutes of discussing each constellation and their origin, you fell into a comfortable silence, just happy to listen to the happy sounds of crickets and the soft wind brushing against the trees.

“I got you something,” you said, breaking the silence after a while.

He turned to you as you opened your purse and pulled out a small, rectangular object carefully wrapped in golden wrapping paper.

“I know it’s not much – “

“[Y/N]”

“Shush! I know it’s not much, but I worked hard to find it.”

You handed him the small package and he was careful to not rip the whole thing open. Bruce carefully removed a book from inside, and his eyes widened.

“The Great Gatsby?”

“Open it.”

He did, and his eyebrows nearly rose to his hairline.

“Is this?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm.”

Bruce carefully touched the inked paper, eyes going over F. Scott Fitzgerald’s words over and over again.

“Where’d you find this?” he asked with a smile.

“That’s a secret. But it’s been quality checked a few times, and I can guarantee it’s the real deal.”

“So, with “It’s not much”, you meant you were giving me a signed copy of The Great Gatsby?”

“You deserve more than that, Bruce.”

In a heartbeat, he had embraced you tightly. You rested your head in the crook of his neck, standing on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around him. Overcome with joy, Bruce spun you around once your twice, and you laughed loudly, holding onto him for dear life.

“Be careful Bruce – shit, don’t drop me!” You protested in between giggles.

Bruce came to a stop, and looked right into your eyes, the world’s biggest grin playing on his lips. It’d been a while since you’ve seen him laugh so freely. Such occurrences were rare – Bruce wasn’t one to smile, not really. But when he did, it was a lovely thing. Not one of his fake smiles, the ones practiced in front of a mirror to impress rich folks and Gotham socialites – the real ones, the ones he gave you in special, true moments like these.

You’d do anything to see him smile like this more often.

“I’d never drop you,” his voice dropped to a whisper, and he swore he could see one hundred stars in the spark of your eyes. In fact, the stars in the sky did not hold a candle to your beauty, no celestial body would ever be more fascinating than your eyes. He was sure astronauts had to be wrong – how did they want to explore the galaxy, when there was one right here, staring into him?

“I know,” you whispered back, hands still on his chest. “I trust you.”

He waited for a minute, eyeing the contours of your face, memorising the way your mouth parted and how soft strands of hair fell on top of your forehead. You stood still, still observing the smile that never left his lips.

“Do you?” He broke the silence.

“Hm?”

“Trust me.”

“Of course I do. I’ll always trust you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise, Bruce. Always.”

“Please remember those words after I do what I’m about to do.” He chuckled and leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a silent request. Your breath hitched and you looked up at him, to find his eyes closed. You were inches away from him, and yet, he refused to move any further.

“Tell me it’s not just me,” he whispered. You could feel his warm breath on your skin, and it sent goosebumps all over your body. “Tell me the way I feel about you is not one-sided. But if it is – “ and you swore you felt him tense, “I’ll leave it alone. We’ll forget this ever happened; we’ll go back to being friends. But please, just tell me.”

You took shaky breaths, still feeling dazed from being so close to him.

Bruce remained with his eyes closed – he didn’t have it in himself to look at you, not right now. He was far too scared of what he might find in your eyes. Regret, disgust, hate. He couldn’t deal with it.

But the worst thing was the silence. Weren’t you going to say something? Were you going to taunt him forever? He could feel your body against his hands, soft skin sending shivers down his spine, so he knew you hadn’t left yet. Why weren’t you replying?

He got his answer when you pressed closer against him, and he felt your lips on his.

Bruce had fantasised about how his first kiss with you would be, but nothing prepared him for this moment. It was as if you were made for him, slotting perfectly against your body, hands on the small of your back, bringing you closer while your hands rested on his cheeks. Your lips moved in unison, as if speaking a language of their own, and Bruce felt slightly lightheaded.

You tasted sweet – probably from the chocolate covered strawberries you’d no doubt been stealing inside, and wanted to savour them, savour you, for as long as he could.

When you two parted for air, he pressed his forehead against yours, finally opening his eyes. The view was breathtaking; your lips were puffy and parted, your eyes were big and wide, pupils dilated and sparkling in the moonlight. Bruce swore you’d never been so beautiful.

And then he smiled, widely, and burst into chuckles like a lovesick teenager.

“You look beautiful. Have I told you this yet?”

“You have,” you replied, caressing the skin of his cheek. He leaned into your touch, pressing a tender kiss on your palm. “You do too. I love to see you smiling. You should smile more often.”

“Like this?” he asked, pointing at his grin.

“Yes – exactly like that. I could see you smiling more often. And I bet Alfred could too.”

Bruce grinned and kissed your forehead. After, he kissed each of your cheeks, and then the palm of your hand, and then the back.

“As long as you’re by my side, I’m sure I’ll smile much more often.” He confesses.

“Well,” you brought his body closer to you, and all Bruce could think of was how stunning you were, how beautiful you looked, how lucky he was to hold a star in his hands. “I don’t plan on leaving, Birthday Boy.”

It was so uncharacteristic of him. He never smiled this often, and certainly, never for this long, but Bruce couldn’t help it. He was happy. He had you, right there and then with him. Everything was well – more than well, everything was perfect. So why wouldn’t he smile?

His heart was getting fuller and fuller, and he blurted out the next words, without giving them much thought.

“I love you.”

You stared at him, eyes wide, surprise written all over your face.

And Bruce kept speaking, because for once, he was not at a loss for words, he knew exactly what to say.

“I think I’ve loved you ever since I first saw you. I love you and the way you brighten my days and make me feel like something when I can barely get out of bed. I love how you always manage to pick up the pieces whenever I’m shattered and never make me feel responsible for it. I love you. I love your beautiful face, your bright mind, your kind soul, your feisty spirit. I love you – I think I have for a long time, but I’ve never had the courage to tell you. But tonight – this party – you – it's made me realise something. This is Gotham. I could wake up tomorrow, and you’d be gone. I’d be gone. Anything could happen in this city. And I can’t let them happen without you knowing how I feel about you. I’m not expecting an answer back; I know this is a lot of information. And I know I come with a lot of baggage. There’s a lot about me you don’t know, and I haven’t told people to keep them away and keep them safe. But, if you’ll have me, I promise to spend the rest of my days making it all worth it. I will love you and take care of you forever, I promise. I love you, [Y/N].”

You looked at him, and Bruce saw your eyes sparkle with unshed tears. Had he scared you off? Were you upset? He reached out to hold your face, ready to wipe the tears away should they fall.

“I’m sorry. That was too much, wasn’t it?”

“I… I think I love you too.” You replied. The tears did not roll very far down your face, because Bruce was there to wipe them away. And in that moment, you knew he would always be there, be it to catch you, or wipe away your tears, or hold you close. “I really do.”

Bruce’s smile only widened, and he picked you up once again, spinning you around in the darkness of the garden. Your dress floated around you, like a shooting star’s trail, and he laughed loudly. He hadn’t felt this happy, truly happy in a big while. You joined him in laughter, and he put you down carefully.

“Thank you.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“For what?”

“For the perfect birthday gift.” Bruce bent down to capture your lips once more, and stare into your eyes. “You look like starlight tonight. You look perfect. And I’m the luckiest man in the world.” He smiled and kissed you again, because the stars were shining, and you looked beautiful, and his heart was full.

Bruce Wayne didn’t smile very often. But how could he not, when you rivalled the stars up above, and were his, and made his heart burst with joy?

A/N: And that's it! I hope you guys liked it! I'm afraid it was a tiny bit rushed - please do tell if it was. I hope it lived up to the expectations!

Thank you very much for reading, and I hope you have an amazing day ahead!

[mysterygrl20]

need a new bl show to watch but unsure of how spicy it is? someone made a spicy index list

🌶️ - Bell pepper - longing glances, maybe a caress and pinky touch, solid hugs, no kisses (Cherry Magic)

🌶️🌶️ - Jalapeño popper - 1 or 2 kisses, closed mouth or hidden behind camera angles, full of cheesy emotions but not sexual (Mr. Unlucky has No Choice but to Kiss)

🌶️🌶️🌶️ - Sriracha - at least 1 decent kiss, actual makeout with or without tongue, but clothes stay on (Bad Buddy, Semantic Error)

🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ - Birds eye chili - multiple solid kisses and some clothes come off, but cuts away before any pants come off and hands generally stay above the waist, it's implied that they have sex but we only see the very start of the encounter (609 Bedtime Story, Between Us, Until We Meet Again)

🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ - Specialty hot sauce - all or most clothes come off at least once, full on simulated sex happens though it can be masked with sultry background music and may or may not include an implication of climax (Ghost Host Ghost House, Cutie Pie, Long Time No See)

🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ - Carolina reaper - full nudity at some point, though junk may be cleverly hid with angles and conveniently placed furniture, these boys fuckin and there ain't no ambiguity about it, sexy sounds at full volume rather than replaced by music or voiceover (Kinnporsche, Love in the Air)

🌶️☠️ - Pepper spray - there's full on sex and/or nudity but it's not pleasant or intended to be sexy, can apply to graphic SA scenes or just the marketing campaign for Dangerous Drugs Of Sex

(the show list isn't fully comprehensive yet but a great start)

[worldofheroes]

Finally Some Privacy

tom cruise x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, language, broken bone(s), age gap relationship (28yrs), secret relationship, p in v sex, daddy kink, smut with no plot

summary: after a stunt gone wrong, filming is put on pause. you fly back to LA with tom to spend some alone time together.

wc: 1.9k

a/n: whoops kinda fell for tom. I do not support Scientology.

You hated when Tom had big stunts. The stunt you’re filming today is mild compared to some of his others, but they all carried risk of injury.

You flinched as Tom hurled himself off one building and towards the other. The whole stunt was him almost missing the jump but grabbing the edge.

When he hit, something seemed off. You felt it in your gut. It was only a second, but you knew.

When Tom stood up, he ran - or rather limped - off camera.

“Okay, cut. We’re done,” Tom says.

“Done?” the director asks.

“Yeah, I just broke my ankle,” Tom says, leaning on his knees.

“What?!”

“Can someone just take me to the hospital, please?” Tom asks, slightly annoyed.

“Alright, alright, wrap it up!” the director yells.

You watch as the on set medics go to Tom and help him to a chair.

Tom glances over to you and nods. You know that means to continue your work and the two of you will meet up later.

A few hours later, you’re wrapped and released from the set. You check your phone and you have a message from Tom.

Did a real number on my ankle. Need surgery but I’ll be fine. You can come visit, say you’re with the crew and need to check on me.

You make your way to the hospital.

“How can I help you?” a nurse asks you from the desk.

“Hi, I’m looking for Tom Cruise, I’m with the film crew, I was sent to check on him,” you say.

“Of course, right this way,” she says, walking out from behind the desk and down the hallway.

“Mr. Cruise, you have a visitor, may they come in?” the nurse asks from the doorway.

“Yes, of course,” you hear him say.

The nurse motions for you to walk in the room, and she closes the door behind her.

“Hey,” Tom says softly, with a smile.

“Hi,” you say, pulling a chair up beside the bed. “I would say you’re stupid but this was just unlucky.”

Tom chuckles. “One of the least risky stunts and I do this,” he says, motioning to his leg.

“But you’re alive.”

“Yeah.”

You take his hand and give it a kiss.

“At least we’ll have a lot of time to spend together without running behind people’s backs,” Tom smiles at you.

You press your lips together. You’ve had a secret relationship with Tom for three months now, and you’ve expressed how you don’t like it being secret but understand why it has to be.

“When I get out of here we’ll fly back to LA on the private jet. A few other crew guys will be there so it won’t be suspicious. Then it’ll be just us,” Tom continues. “It’s gonna work out.”

“I know, I know,” you say, not making eye contact.

“Sweetheart,” Tom says gently, “look at me. Please.”

You take a deep breath to find the courage to look at him. You finally look up and into his green eyes.

“I love you,” Tom says.

“Don’t say that,” you whisper.

“Y/n.”

“I… I don’t know how to feel about this. It’s nearly a 30 year difference, Tom.”

Tom nods. “I know. I’m sorry if I crossed a line.”

You press your lips together again. “Let’s just get back to LA.”

“Okay, sweetheart.”

You pause, then lean over and give Tom a kiss. Tom caresses your head and gives you a smile.

There’s a knock on the door and you scramble for your chair. Tom chuckles softly and you shoot him a look, but can’t help but smile too.

A nurse comes in. “Hi there, I’m here to go over the discharge papers.”

About an hour later, you’re helping Tom out of the hospital. Soon, you, Tom, and a few crew members are on the plane headed to New York, then LA.

You cannot wait to get off the plane when you finally land in LA. As you walk onto the tarmac, Tom approaches you.

“Y/n, I’ve arranged a car to take you home,” Tom tells you.

“Thank you,” you reply with a smile. “I appreciate it.”

“I like to take care of my crew,” Tom smiles. He opens the car door for you, and you get in.

When the door closes, the driver addresses you. “Hello Miss y/l/n. You’re headed to Mr. Cruise’s residence, is that correct?”

“Yes, thank you,” you reply.

It’s a quiet ride to Tom’s house. When you pull into the driveway, Tom is already there. He helps you out of the car.

“Hey,” he says, leaning in and kissing you.

“Tom,” you scold.

“Y/n, I trust these people with my life, they won’t say a word.”

“Okay. I trust you,” you tell him. “This place is huge.”

Tom laughs. “It gets pretty lonely.”

You roll your eyes. “Are you trying to say something?”

“Just that I can’t wait to spend some alone time with you.”

You and Tom spend most of the day watching TV, cuddling on the couch. You drift in and out of sleep throughout the day.

“Hey,” Tom whispers in your ear. “You want to move to the bed? Might be a little more comfortable.”

You yawn. “I guess, yeah.”

“If I didn’t have a broken ankle, I’d carry you there,” Tom laughs.

You laugh too. “Are you going to make it, resting for four to six weeks?”

“Probably not. I’ll probably start walking on it too soon and probably mess it up more.”

“Uh huh,” you say, moving to face him and straddling his lap. “You can’t put the movie off forever.”

“Stop being a distraction, then,” Tom says, moving his hands down your back and onto your ass.

“You’re the older one here, you should be the logical one.”

“I don’t have to be logical for the next couple months.” Tom leans in and kisses you.

You run your hands through his hair.

“You’re really pretty,” Tom mumbles on your lips.

You smile against his lips for a moment before you push the kiss deeper, and Tom responds instantly. His tongue dips into your mouth, his hands are all over your body, and you tug on his hair. A moan escapes from him, making you giggle.

“That’s not nice,” Tom mutters.

“What?” you ask innocently.

“You’re going to do that, are you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, now you’ve done it. Get to the bedroom, now.”

“I’ve never been here, I don’t know where it is,” you say against his lips as you kiss him again.

“Up,” Tom practically orders.

“Yes sir,” you say, getting off his lap.

He gently shoves you towards one of the hallways. “Walk,” he mumbles into your ear, sending a chill down your spine.

The two of you finally make it to the bedroom. Tom closes the door with a loud thud and turns his attention back on you.

“Are you really going to try to dominate me with a broken ankle?” You’re practically asking for it now. He knows it, and he’s enjoying it as much as you are.

He walks towards you. “I like this side of you,” he says. “But I’ve let you get away with too much these last few months.”

“Oh, is Daddy upset?”

“Fuck you,” Tom growls.

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh.

Tom walks you backward towards the bed, and you fall on it.

“You really shouldn’t be doing this with a broken ankle,” you tell him.

“Fuck my ankle, alright?” Tom says, pushing his crotch against you. His cock is already hard, and you gasp.

“Tom,” you mutter.

“Sex is more important than my ankle right now,” he whispers in your ear.

He pulls your shirt off, and you work on the buttons of his shirt. Tom leans down and kisses you. You finally get his shirt off, and your hands wander his torso.

Tom kisses his way down your body, and works on getting your shorts off.

“Tom,” you mutter again.

“I got you,” he whispers into your thigh, taking your shorts off in one swift movement.

His hand gently brushes over your core and your hips buck.

“Easy, baby girl,” he says.

“Don’t tease,” you reply.

“Oh you can tease but I can’t?” Tom locks eyes with you.

“Just fuck me already,” you tell him.

“I’ll fuck you when I want,” Tom growls, pulling your panties off. He drops his pants to the floor.

“Please, Daddy,” you beg.

Tom gives you a smirk as he pulls his boxers down.

“Shit,” you groan.

Tom climbs on top of you. “Is this okay?”

“What?” you ask, confused by his sudden change in demeanor.

“I want to make sure you are okay with sex,” he says gently.

You nod.

“I want a verbal confirmation, baby girl.”

“Yes.”

Tom smiles at you and leans down to give you a quick kiss. He reaches over to you and fumbles in the nightstand drawer.

You see a square wrapper, and Tom rips it open.

“Okay baby girl, time to teach you a lesson,” Tom growls as he puts the condom on.

“Tell me how bad I've been,” you encourage.

Tom places his tip at your entrance and slowly pushes into you. You gasp at his hardness entering you.

“So fucking tight,” Tom mutters, watching himself push into you. “So tight, just for me.”

You nod, unable to speak as he starts to thrust in and out.

“Are you going to be a good girl now, for Daddy?” Tom leans down and whispers in your ear, getting more aggressive with his thrusts.

“Yes!” You exclaim as his cock hits you just right.

“Yes what?”

“Yes Daddy… I’ll be a good girl,” you gasp.

“Good,” Tom says, thrusting even harder. You didn’t think that was possible.

You feel yourself reaching your orgasm. “I’m gonna come,” you tell him.

“You need to wait.”

“I don’t think I can!”

“You’ll come when Daddy comes.”

“Please Daddy,” you moan.

“Wait.”

“I can’t, Daddy, please,” you plead with Tom.

Tom grunts. “Okay baby girl, come for Daddy,” he says, voice faltering a bit.

He thrusts two more times and you come undone around his cock.

“Oh, Daddy!” you yell.

“That’s it,” he mumbles into your neck. “Fuck.” Tom finishes in the condom.

You finish your orgasm and you’re panting, trying to catch your breath.

Tom stays in you for a moment, his eyes closed and tries to catch his breath. His cock twitches in you, which makes you buck just a little.

Tom opens his eyes and chuckles. “Still feels good, huh?”

“Fuck yes,” you say, rubbing against him.

Tom smiles at you as he pulls out and discards the used condom. He lays down beside you and pulls you close.

“Damn that was good,” Tom says, kissing your hair.

“Mm hmm,” you agree with him, snuggling close to his naked body.

Tom reaches for a blanket and pulls it over the two of you.

“How’s your ankle?” you ask Tom.

“Probably royally fucked now. Recovery is likely going to take longer,” Tom says.

“Mm.”

“But that puts off the movie longer and gives us more time to fuck,” Tom whispers.

“You’ll never finish the movie.”

“As long as I can finish in you, it doesn’t matter.”

“Thomas!” you scold, laughing.

Tom laughs with you.

“I know I freaked out last time, but I love you,” you tell him, looking up at him.

Tom smiles softly. “I love you too, baby girl.” He leans down and kisses you.

The two of you spend the rest of the day in bed, in each other’s arms.

[hopelesslyromanticshark]

Hi Ms. Covey (or Mrs. Valdez)!! I was wondering if you could do a love letter between Percy and maybe a naiad!reader? If you don’t know enough about them, I completely understand. If so, I was wondering if maybe the reader could be a daughter of Tyche?

P.S. I hope you are doing so so wonderful in life and wanted to know if the 🦋 emoji is taken? You’re so amazing :3 !!!

yall can only refer to me as mrs. valdez if you want anything from this point on frfr- also, i went wit the daughter of tyche one bc PUT SOME RESPECT ON MY LUCKY GIRL'S NAME OKAY- also, yes you are dubbed butterfly anon!!

𝜗𝜚 ‧₊˚ ⊹ LOVE LETTER W/ PERCY JACKSON

"i'm a lucky girl. i do lucky things. getting all my dreams. for what it's worth it seems that. i'm a lucky girl. and all good things come to me, flow to me, move through me," you hummed as you walked into your cabin, percy in tow. he rolled his eyes, wishing that song hadn't gone viral enough for you to stumble upon it. everyone knew you were a lucky girl, the epitome of lucky girl. the luckiest lucky girl to ever lucky girl. your mom wouldn't be your mom if you weren't.

"do you think im a lucky girl?" you asked with a glimmer in your eyes, looking up at percy, expectantly. like you always did when the damn song got stuck in your head. percy sighed but smiled nonetheless.

"obviously. my lucky girl," he flirted back with a wink, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your reddening cheeks. you shook your head, pretending to not be affected by his sweet words but it was to no avail.

"your lucky girl," you echoed, glancing back up at him with a soft smile before shoving him off you, "because you are in some desperate need of luck. one of the most unlucky people i've ever met."

"fair enough," percy shrugged before throwing his arms back around you're shoulders with a widening smirk that left you looking at him suspiciously.

"wanna be my good luck charm?"

"forever? dont need to ask me twice, percy jackson."

[polyklok]

Hello there!! I really enjoyed your "what makes them soft/what gets them hard" headcanons for Dethklok. I was wondering if you could write a similar thing for Charles? If you're comfortable taking that request, that is. If not, feel free to ignore. I love your blog!

OHHHH BOYYYYY

So Charles isn’t in my “men to simp for” Radar, as much as I love him as a character and I don’t think I would ever write anything like that on my own-

BUT YOU BET YOUR SWEET ASS IM GONNA TRY also you seem like such a sweetheart so I have to

Charles Offdensen

What makes him soft 💘

Charles is, obviously, a very busy man. All day, everyday, work work work. His hands are usually full, signing away at documents, shaking hands to confirm business deals, fidgeting nervously while he discusses finances. So it means a lot when you gently stop what he’s doing and take the time to kiss his hands. Graze your lips over his knuckles and fingertips, he’ll be entranced by the sentiment. Even if you let go to let him continue whatever he was doing, he’ll be thinking about it for at least an hour.

He really likes being sung to. The only music he listens to nowadays is death metal (usually Dethklok’s) which obviously includes a lot of screaming, growling, and heavy instrumentals. He says it ‘puts him in the brutal mood’ for whatever Dethklok is going pursue next. But, despite this, his favorite type of music is listening to your heartbeat while you quietly sing or hum. Doesn’t matter what song, doesn’t matter how good you are. Please let him place his head on your chest and just sing for him.

Basically the opposite of Toki’s Charles is a serious, uptight, no-fun business man. Everyone calls him Mr. Offdensen, Dethklok gets the privilege of using his first name and occasionally robot, and only you can use any sort of pet name. Use it to your advantage, it’s so funny how dry he is to your dumb names, and despite seeming indifferent, he really does love the silliness of it.

“Hey there, my adowable, wittle pookie-bear muffin boy!”

“Hello Y/N.”

The thought of a room full of government officials and businessmen having to watch this display while holding back the cringe is so funny to me holy shit.

Whats gets him hard ❤️‍🔥

I’m gonna repeat again; Charles is busy. As much as he cares about you, he hardly has time for your relationship and is simply trying is best. Sex is barely ever on his mind. Until it is all that’s in your mind and you let him know. Seeing you needy and wanting him, hanging onto him, tugging at his tie, trying to pull him away from his work is the quickest way to get him hot and bothered. He just hasn’t considered being so desired before and it makes him crazy to watch you act like that for him.

Continuing that, when the two of you are in public and you suddenly get all touchy with him. Grazing his thigh, kissing his neck, running your hands in his hair. He knows that he should be above this and tell you to stop, but he really does love how shameless it is and how good it feels. He’s usually the most economically and socially powerful person in any room he’s in, so no one’s gonna tell him to quit on on the PDA anyway. If you’re lucky, he’ll pay you back for it at home. If you’re really lucky, he’ll drag you off into a nearby bathroom or closet. If you’re unlucky, well…

Is he a mean lover? No. Charles is very attentive and mindful of your needs. He’s going to constantly affirm with you that he’s doing the right thing. How selfless of him. But once that is all done and taken care of and he understands your limits…oh my god he wants to see you cry so badly. He just loves seeing you whine and squirm, your pretty face leaking tears for him. Of course he’ll be nice enough to kiss your tears away and praise you for how good you’re being, but that doesn’t mean he’ll stop.

[respectthepetty]

Hi RTP! What are the BLs you would recommend solely for the colors? 🌈

Anon, before I answer this great ask, I want to highlight other posts I've written that are slightly similar:

Reading the (Visual) Rainbow Awards 2023

Overall Winner - Kiseki: Dear to Me

Top Five - Color-Coded Storytelling in BLs

Honorable Mention: Oh No! Here Comes Trouble

5) Moonlight Chicken

4) My Beautiful Man

3) My Love Mix Up

2) Semantic Error

1) Big Dragon

Top Five Color Moments of 2023

Honorable Mention: 7 Days Before Valentine

5) GAP

4) Bed Friend

3) Last Twilight

2) Moonlight Chicken

1) The Eighth Sense

Bonus: Jeff Satur x SHAUN's "Steal the Show"

I don't want to repeat any of the shows I picked, and I'm trying to pick more recent ones so people can find them if they want to watch them, but per your ask, I'm recommending them based solely on colors regardless of how much I liked them.

Recommended Colorful BLs

Honorable Mention: Intern in My Heart

The show is not finished, and it's not a BL, yet it is doing everything right, which is why it gets the honorable mention. Great (Grey) is coded black/dark in the show, and Top is coded pink/light. They are supporting characters who are best friends, and they have stuck to their colors throughout, but in the last episode, they *almost* exchanged colors after Top revealed that he liked Great. Now I'm praying to all the saints for a full color exchange in the finale like I have a personal stake in this because I do! I'm invested, and it better not disappoint me.

#5 - One Room Angel

When I write "Heavenly Human" for a character who wears white, and "Black Brooder" for a character who wears black, THIS is what I mean. A story about an actual angel and a guy who wanted to die was the perfect place to use the light x dark dynamic. However, calling this show a BL is troublesome, which is why it's number five. It still is a great example of what the light x dark color scheme should be used for, and in the end, the guy who wanted to die is much lighter in mood and color, which is what the colors are all about.

#4 - Why R U? (Korea)

First and foremost, that kiss was LIT! The Thai version had Tutor and Fighter's high heat, which could never be matched, but Korea had that kiss, and it ate! But on top of that, it had colors! Ji Oh was a Black Brooder while Lee Won was a Multicolored Menace, and right after this kiss, they flipped colors. That's right! After five episodes of being enemies, they made out for acting "reasons," and then exchanged colors. Normally, Korea is all about the feelings, so the color exchanges in Korean BLs align with a character's feelings changing, but this one directly correlated with a kiss. And for emphasis - That kiss was fire!

#3 - Secret Crush on You

Destiny Seeker might have won the 2023 award for best group effort in color coding, but Secret Crush on You set the bar for that award the year before. This show is Color-Coding 101. Each character has a color, and by each, I mean each and every single damn character in a cast of eleven (plus three fairy godmothers) has their own color. That is a ridiculous feat! Wardrobe, props, and lighting deserved a raise for this show. Some shows can't even get consistent color coding when it only has two characters, but this show understood the color-coding group assignment for the entire series! I'm still applauding two years later.

#2 - Stay by My Side

Taiwanese BLs are my vice. Even the worst Taiwanese BL will still be better than the rest of these BLs. I WROTE WHAT I WROTE. So, of course, I liked this show beyond color reasons, but the colors greatly helped me enjoy the show even more. We had a guy who was haunted by ghosts. He was colorful and light coded. Then we had his roommate who could magically keep the ghosts away. He was dark coded. Read it again. The guy being haunted was bright, light, and colorful, while the guy with the power to help was dark. GENIUS! It was Mr. Unlucky Has No Choice but to Kiss with a supernatural twist. The dark coded guy is sad and isolated but the one who is being HAUNTED BY GHOSTS brings life to his world! Give me a minute. I'm still not over it.

#1 - Pit Babe

I watched this show muted and without subtitles, yet the colors guided me through all thirteen episodes. I understood the plot perfectly because of the colors, and only became confused when people tried to tell me about the actual plot. Alpha? Omega? Santa Maria? Wasn't important. Didn't matter. I don't know them. Red and Blue were the main characters here, and they did their damn job. Babe, in his black, was his own man. He wasn't trying to fit in, but every time the red light focused on Charlie and Way, I was screaming for Babe to run because the colors told me they were still tied to Tony BECAUSE THEY WERE! That's elite color coding, and it ushered in a whole new way for me to watch a show. I loved it.

Bonus: Old Fashion Cupcake

I love this show which is why it is a bonus. Unlike the other shows where I had issues with some part of the plot, Old Fashion Cupcake is as close to perfect as any show has ever come in my personal rating system. It is an Advanced Color Coding course only offered for graduate students, which, honestly, is very Japanese of it because it was in the ties. The color coding showed up in other ways, but the ties were where the story lived since in the past, Nozue was a bright red, but we saw his red damper in the present, which made his loyal assistant bluer. It was only five episodes, yet it used every second of those five episodes in every single way to propel the story forward, colors included. Actually, let me go rewatch this for the hundredth time instead of just writing about it!

[buckybarnesthehotshot]

Everbody Talks (Max Versappen x Reader)

|main masterlist|

summary: Max and Mercedes driver!y/n share a post-race interview

word count: 616

warnings: not proofread

a/n: first f1 fic, it’s a quick blurb based off an idea by @purehoney​ 

      “I’m exhausted,” y/n huffed, resting her head against Max’s shoulder as they remained in the cooldown room.

           “Well, you put up a pretty good race,” Max nodded in agreement earning an eye roll from y/n.

           “Still not enough to win the Grand Prix.”

           “Right, sorry about that,” Max let out a chuckle as y/n shook her head at him. 

            “No you’re not, Mr. Grand Prix winner,” she laughed, patting him on the back, “Congratulations, though.”

            “Congratulations to you too, second isn’t too bad,” he reminded her, a cocky smirk making its way to his face, “I mean, you were in a race with me. Of course, you were only going to win second.”

              “Beat you in the last Grand Prix, though,” she reminded him, a proud smile on her face, “That and I’m very much still in the running for the championship.”

          “Well, yeah,” Max nodded, smirking, “Still not going to let you win, though.”            “Good thing I don’t need you to,” she winked, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, “That was a great race, still.”

             “Podium ceremony’s about to start,” one of the staff entered the room, letting the drivers know it was time for them to exit the cooldown room.

               The podium went on as usual, with Checo being the first to step onto the podium, y/n next, then Max on the top step of the podium, all three of them celebrating with a spray of champagne before heading off to do media.

            A few of the interviewers happened to catch Max and y/n to do a joint interview.

          “That was a phenomenal race from you two, congratulations,” the reporter greeted them.

            “Thank you,” y/n nodded, allowing the reporter time to start asking questions.

             “Now, we’ve seen a lot of battling between you guys during this race—and throughout the season, actually—does that not affect what happens off-track? You both seemed rather civil with each other in the cooldown room.”

             “Well, I think it’s all about respect, you know?” Max started off, “We respect each other to know that whatever happens on track, it’s just us doing what we need to for our teams, and it’s never anything personal.”

             “Is it hard to separate your personal life and Formula 1 with how much of your time’s spent in the sport?”

              “It can get difficult at times, especially being on teams that are currently fighting for the championship, but we manage, I guess,” y/n smiled at Max.

             “And what’s it like for you both to be dating somebody from a rival team? Has it been difficult for you guys?” 

             “It’s been fun, honestly,” Max laughed, “I love racing on the track against her, and of course, I love winning against her.” 

            “And I love winning against him,” y/n chuckled, “Today was just pretty unlucky.”

            “Right, there were some great overtakes we saw earlier during the race, is it easier or harder to overtake because of how well you guys know each other?”

              “I don’t really think our relationship has much to do with our racing, honestly,” y/n let out a small laugh, “We just happen to be a couple of people who race against each other in really fast cars for weekends.”

            “And what do you have to say about the rumors saying you guys being together is an attempt to throw the other team off balance?”

              Both Max and y/n looked to the interviewer, a great look of skepticism on both their faces before breaking out in a fit of laughter.

              “Well, everybody talks, I guess,” Max gave a nonchalant shrug, wrapping an arm around y/n’s shoulder and placing a quick peck to her cheek, “Neither of us really care about it though.”

[absolutebl]

Thoughts on mr Unlucky? I was about to start it but someone told me it's not good and since you are the bl expert, i thought i would ask you your professional opinion. Thank you 💕

I didn't Love LOVE it, but I did enjoy it.

Mr Unlucky

AKA Mr. Unlucky Can Only Kiss

AKA Mr Unlucky Has No Choice but to Kiss!

Fukou-kun wa Kiss Suru Shikanai!

Japan 2022 Viki

My rating? 8/10

Mr Chronically Unlucky (adorable chaos muffin) and Mr Always Lucky end up dating after they meet at uni orientation. It’s JAPAN yet they kissed in the first episode. What freaky alt-reality did I enter into? That’s all they kiss tho, over which I was a touch disappointed.

Still, I spent far too much of my time with this show biting my knuckles and squealing “THEY’RE SO CUTE!”

It is very slapstick Japanese style comedic (light) BL and reminded me of a little of Cherry Magic.

So if you like that style of BL you’ll adore this show.

Amusing story:

I paused mid the most tooth-achingly adorable first date in the entire universe and Viki was like “something missing?”

and I was like

“MY HEART YOU BASTARDS”

(source)

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Fics w/ Classic Tropes Masterlist

Accidentally on Purpose Falling For You - auroraphilealis

Summary: After being set up on a blind date neither boy was prepared for, Dan and Phil come up with a plan to get back at their friends; Pretend to date, and then have the ugliest break up imaginable. The problem? They hadn’t expected to fall for each other.

A Flash Before The Line Gets Blurry - botanistlester

Summary: Dan gets dared to date Phil Lester, a guy from his school who only dates people for seven days before breaking up with them.

A Game for Those Who Seek to Find a Way to Leave Their World Behind - jilliancares

Summary: In which Dan finds a strange board game and ends up playing it (and releasing its horrors) with his best friend Carrie and arch enemy, Phil.

bruising the sun (ao3) - waveydnp

Summary: the bedsharing friends to lovers roommates au i was always destined to write.

Communication Is Key (ao3) - philsmeatylegss

Summary: In which au Dan and Phil are friends with benefits despite the fact that neither of them want to be friends with benefits and Dan just sucks at talking about his feelings

Falling In Love With The Enemy - dxnhowell

Summary: punk!phil gets dared by Chris to ask rich!dan out. They hate each other and Phil doesn’t want to do the dare but he loves challenges. He only has two weeks until the deadline to make Dan fall in love with him.

Five Times Dan Howell Got Kissed - littlelioncats

Summary: (And one time it actually ended non-horrifically for all parties involved)

Introductions - jilliancares

Summary: Punk!Phil introduces pastel!Dan to his friends, and he has a great reception.

It Starts & Ends With Your Arms - phanimist

Summary: dan and phil share a hotel bed in hong kong as all the other rooms are booked up. despite their unmentioned habit/tendency to wake up finding themselves curled up to one another, they’re both slightly more than comfortable with the sleeping arrangements.

Just Acting - cactuslester

Summary: PJ and Chris are constantly tying to get Dan and Phil together. One day, Dan and Phil get tired of it and decide to tell PJ and Chris they’re already a couple.

make your own miracle (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: A festive friends to lovers fic featuring ice skating, tree decorating, a power cut and two boys who need to talk about their feelings.

Now or Never - botanistlester

Summary: Dan and Phil are in school and hate each other, but then one day the school catches on fire and one of them gets trapped in a room alone and the other one ends up being the one to find and rescue them.

Our Universe (ao3) - cleartears

Summary: A University AU where Dan and Phil have the appearances of Pastel!Dan and Punk!Phil and the interests of Spaceboy!Dan and Plantboy!Phil. Fun tropes combined with angsty reality! Phil is in his last year of university and feels completely lost - until he meets Dan, a passionate first year, in Astronomy 101. Existential angst and nausea-inducing fluffiness occur over the course of the semester as Phil falls in love with the boy who teaches him a whole new way of looking at the universe.

Pink Roses (ao3) - roryonice

Summary: Popular!FootballPlayer!Phil comes up with creative ways to ask Pastel!Dan to Prom, but it doesn’t work out the way he’d hoped.

strangers (ao3) - waveydnp

Summary: dan is new to london and living in a mostly empty flat, desperate to forget the mistakes of his past. he’s all alone – until one day he gets a piece of mail addressed to someone in the neighbouring flat, one mr. philip lester. he can’t exactly not return it, can he?

The Five Times Phil Was Jealous - gorgeousdan

Summary: Phil’s not a person who gets jealous very easily. Until it came to his boyfriend.

Unlucky Events - jilliancares

Summary: Phil has to pretend to date Dan at his family dinner after a series of unlucky events.

Venus’s Looking Glass - auroraphilealis

Summary: Shy!punk!Phil has been crushing on confident!pastel!Dan for years now, but he’s never felt comfortable enough to do anything about it until he accidentally comes out to his brother Martyn, who is nothing but supportive. It’s Martyn’s idea to woo Dan with flowers - only, he didn’t mean do it anonymously.

You Can Sleep In My Bed (ao3) - clokkerfoot

Summary: Three times Dan and Phil sleep together, and one time they really sleep together.

You Deserve Color - crescendohowell

Summary: Soulmate au where your soumate’s name appears on your body on your eighteenth birthday.  Phil’s name shows up on Dan and they meet when Phil stands up for Dan in a coffee shop.

[he-is-lightning-in-a-bottle]

Sorry to bother you but how/where do you watch these Asian bl dramas? I'm very interested but have no idea where to go!

A lot of the Thai stuff produced by GMMTV, Star Hunter, and Studio Wabi Sabi is distributed internationally for free on YouTube with English subtitles. Some good Asian LGBTQ dramas to watch on YouTube are: Not Me, Bad Buddy, 3 Will Be Free, Theory of Love, Lovely Writer, He's Coming to Me, A Tale of a Thousand Stars, and Cutie Pie. (Look them up on mydramalist.com to see if they're potentially your jam, or check out my tags.)

In addition to YouTube, there are four main Asian streaming platforms available in the US. You can have free accounts with all of them, though most newer content (and the most popular content) requires a small monthly subscription fee.

IQIYI is Chinese owned and carries a lot of C-dramas, though they seem to be branching out with the desire to compete internationally with Netflix. I don't usually keep my subscription to it active, and I only subscribe to it while binging a particular drama. It is currently airing the Thai mafia drama Kinnporsche the Series: La Forte, which is so freaking good that I'm actually keeping my subscription active while the show is airing a new episode each week.

Viki is Japanese owned and carries a shit ton of Korean dramas, in addition to some Taiwanese, Japanese, Chinese, and Thai dramas. I always keep my subscription to it active, much like Netflix, Hulu, and Amazon Prime, although a lot of the LGBTQ content is free and doesn't require a subscription. I just can't imagine not having it. Some good Asian LGBTQ dramas to watch on Viki are: Semantic Error, History 2: Crossing the Line, History 2: Right or Wrong, History 3: Trapped, History 3: Make Our Days Count (but skip the last episode!), My Love Mix-Up (Kieta Hatsukoi), and Be Loved in House I Do.

WeTV (Tencent) is another Chinese owned platform that I only sporadically subscribe to when I want to binge something. It mostly has C-dramas and stuff from Taiwan, but occasionally they pick up other stuff too. Some good Asian LGBTQ dramas to watch on WeTV are: We Best Love No. 1 for You and it's sequel We Best Love Fighting for Mr 2nd, and Manner of Death.

Finally, Gagaoolala is an exclusively queer streaming platform from Taiwan, and they have recently been picking up so much new content from across Asia that I always keep my subscription to it active. Some good Asian LGBTQ dramas to watch on GaGa are: Long Time No See, Pornographer and it's Prequel Pornographer: Indigo Mood, His, Mr Unlucky Has No Choice but to Kiss, Plus & Minus, DNA Says Love You, My Ride, and Paint With Love.

Hope that helps! Please note that this is by no means an exhaustive list of recommended dramas, just a few of my favorites so you can get your feet wet!

[pascaloverx]

As It Was (S2)

Chapter Fourteen (final)

previous chapter

Author's note: Dear readers, this is the end of this story that made me very happy. It's the third fanfic I've completed and the first one I've written. It's been a personal pleasure, and I hope you follow my other fanfics if you can. The end of this fanfic with Bucky Barnes.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS STORY, there may be adult content and verbal and physical violence.

The end of the story is always too nostalgic, the conclusion of an entire narrative that guided you through a part of life. In books, the end is marked by the conclusion of the main story. But in my life, the ending is marked by blood.

"Listen carefully, future Mrs. Barnes. I want you in the back of this building unarmed and alone. I promise to give you the clean and peaceful death you deserve. One of your best friends is already dead, I believe you wouldn't want others to die too..." Killian speaks in my ear with a macabre tone. He killed Dave, it must be. Damn it, Bucky was right, my plan went wrong.

My heart skips a beat at the thought that my best friend may have died because I couldn't let it go. I couldn't help but cry at the thought of my friend being dead, because of me. My vision blurred, almost causing me to collapse to the ground, feeling a knot in my stomach; while next to me, Steve had already lost consciousness.

"Melisa!" James Barnes is coming towards me with a concerned expression. I don't want to have to tell him that everything went terribly wrong.

"Why is your shirt, your suit, stained... there's blood smeared here too. Don't come closer. In fact, get the rest of the guys and run. I thought I could take on Killian, but he'll never let me survive it all." I can't hold back the tears when I realize this is our farewell. A forever goodbye from two unlucky lovers trapped in a love story doomed to fail.

"Do you think I'm going to run away and leave you here to face a psychopath alone?" Barnes approaches, but I step back. If he gets close to me, it will be my end. I can't leave, I can't give up on him. But that means exposing everyone to death.

"My life is not worth the sacrifice, my love. Think of Yelena, Sam, Wanda, and... Dave may be injured somewhere in this building. Killian won't leave here without me, so let me be his only victim. Survive, live. That's all I ask of you." It's not easy to say these words, but I need to be strong. Barnes obviously isn't leaving; in fact, he only gets closer and closer to me. Soon Killian will be in the back of this building, and if I don't go there, I believe he will kill everyone. Even though it doesn't make sense, I can't think straight right now.

"My love, I'm with you. Till death do us part. Killian may have harmed Dave and Sam, we may not know exactly where Yelena and Wanda are, but look... we all know how to take care of ourselves, and we knew the consequences of your plan. Dying is part of life." The tranquility in Barnes' voice is enviable. I don't even notice when he hugs me, trying to reassure me. The despair weighing on my heart begins to fade, as does the feeling that the world is spinning around me.

"What are we going to do, Barnes?" Is all that comes out of my mouth before Bucky kisses my lips softly. To an outsider, one wouldn't imagine that there's a wounded man lying nearby and a murderer hunting me down.

"You pray that my aim is very bad. I warned you, dear Melisa. It would have been better if only you had died, but I must say that James is a perfect addition. Any last words?" Killian speaks, pointing a gun at both of us. If he were to shoot now, he would hit Barnes first, and if it went through him, the bullet would hit me. But he doesn't do that; it's as if Killian wants to be face to face with me and Barnes. Curious fact, an agent as well-trained as Barnes is always prepared. Prepared to the extreme. So prepared that I myself am startled to see him pull out a sharp-bladed knife and throw it towards Killian, who react.  The knife was on Barnes' waist, and now it has pierced Killian's skull, essentially killing him. A great day for us, I would think, but unfortunately, before dying, he shot towards nothing. That nothing hit Barnes' chest. I couldn't even react. The man of my life was dying right in front of my eyes. 

"Shit, shit, shit, shit.... you, I'm going to try to stop the bleeding. Stay awake. Hey, my love, stay awake." I say, holding back the tears that are already threatening to come out. I tear the bottom part of my wedding dress, trying to prevent the blood from flowing.

"You know, I knew since that barbecue that I would die for you. I just didn't think it would be so soon. I..." Barnes says with difficulty, letting out a grunt of pain as I hold the torn fabric against his chest, "didn't want to die without saying that I love you. Loving you certainly made me a happy man." It's all he can say as the sparkle in his eyes is fading. I kiss his lips with a taste of blood, fearing that no one will come to help. I scream loudly for help. The priest who was supposed to marry us appears behind me; seeing that Barnes is injured, he says he will seek help.

"You heard, my love, the priest is going to get someone to help. And you'll be okay. We'll get married again, and I'll be Mrs. Barnes. We'll grow old together and maybe have one or two children. Don't leave me here without you." I can't hold back the tears anymore, and then my sobbing takes over me. Barnes tries to respond, but his eyes close. They close never to open again. 

I don't remember how long I stayed on the floor crying, screaming for Barnes to come back, cursing everything and everyone. All I know is that at some point my voice was gone. And I passed out. I woke up in a hospital a day later, thinking it was all just a nightmare. But in Yelena's eyes, who was beside me in the hospital room, I saw the look of someone who lost someone very dear. She informed me that while I was dealing with Steve, she, Sam, and Wanda were being captured by Killian's henchmen. By the time they finally got rid of the henchmen, it was too late. Dave and Barnes were dead. She tried to console me, but I was too exhausted. So, crying, I eventually fell asleep.

One year later...

"Sam, grab the bag for me, I can't go anywhere without Bucky's special bag." I shout as I hold my son in my arms, rocking him back and forth. Sam comes down the stairs with the bag. Today is the day to visit the graves of the men I loved and who died. My father, James, and Dave.

"This boy is getting bigger every day. You were just a little bump in your mom's belly the other day. Now you even have a special bag." Sam says to little Bucky, who is all alert today.

"My godson looks like a little man in the outfit his godmother gave him, doesn't he?" Yelena says, playing with Bucky's fingers as he tries to put her fingers in his mouth. He's in a phase of putting everything he sees in his mouth.

"Melisa will have to have a lot of patience to put up with you two pampering Bucky. Now, put the baby in the car seat, the way to the cemetery is long, and little Bucky has a bedtime." Wanda says, patting Sam and Yelena on the back as they hurry to put the baby and his things in the car. At that moment, I smile, thinking about how blessed I am to have them by my side. We arrived at the cemetery about forty minutes after leaving my house. Everyone paid their respects to the deceased, and lastly, I introduced our son to his father.

"So, my love. This one, sleeping peacefully in my arms, is our son. If you're wondering, we made him the same day we fought because I made a stupid plan and you didn't want to participate. And you were right. Unfortunately, I'm late to say this. I'm sorry you can't see our baby, but he looks just like you. I swear, he even has your eyes," I say, touching Barnes' gravestone while holding our son with the other hand. Our son is sleeping so peacefully that it feels like I can sense Barnes with us.

"I have to take him home now, but I want you to know that even though you're not here physically, all of us, especially me, will always teach little Bucky here about the hero you were." I say, bidding farewell and leaving. Barnes and I didn't live a perfect love story, but we definitely experienced a love that made history.

The End

[gillianthecat]

Reverse Engineering the Gender Envy Bracket Seeding

I am very impressed by how accurate the BL brackets organizer's seeding has been so far! I reverse engineered the two seeded tournaments ('cause i'm a procrastinating dork), and in both the 1st seed won, the semifinals was between 1 and 2, and the bottom 16 lost in the first round. Otherwise it wasn't perfect (because that would be no fun) but it was pretty close!

I was inspired by their answer to this ask about how they did the seeding, and extrapolated the order from these brackets.

Below the cut is the seeding for Gender Envy, so you can see what it looks like. (Assuming I ordered them correctly!) The Best Kiss seeding (as reverse engineered by me) is in this post.

(@bl-bracket I can delete these posts if they ruin the magic of it all.)

This tournament seemed at first to have less accurate seeding, because there were more upsets in the last four rounds, but the numbers shake out about the same. Congratulations to Tankhun for beating two higher seeded opponents, first Win (Between Us) and then Ink (Bad Buddy)! He's the only one to do so in either seeded tournament.

Of the 64 candidates, 9 did better than expected and 9 did worse, so 72% did exactly as expected every round. In 69% of the gender envy match-ups, the higher seed won. The Final 16 corresponded exactly to the first 16 seeds, and the bottom 16 all lost in the first round. The biggest upset, in terms of a difference of 25 positions in seeding, was 45th seed Alan (Moonlight Chicken) beating 20th seed Khai (Theory of Love). All other upsets had a position difference of 13 or less.

purple = lost in 1st round. blue = lost in 2nd round. green = lost in 3rd round. orange = lost in 4th round. red = lost in semi-finals. pink= lost in finals. 👑=winner. 🔼= beat a higher seeded opponent. 🔽=lost to a lower seeded opponent.

Gender Envy Bracket Seed Order

1. 👑Tay – Kinnporsche👑 2. Choi Yuna – Semantic Error

🟥🟥 semifinals loss predicted 🟥🟥

3. 🔽🔽Win – Between Us 4. Kim – Kinnporsche

🟧🟧 4th round loss predicted 🟧🟧

5. 🔽Black – Not Me 6. Ink – Bad Buddy 7. 🔽Por – My School President 8. 🔽Vegas – Kinnporsche

🟩🟩 3rd round loss predicted 🟩🟩

9. 🔼Tiffy – My Lovely Writer 10. 🔼Wen Kexing – Word of Honor 11. Uea – Bed Friend 12. 🔼Jaab – Step By Step 13. Wei Wuxian – The Untamed 14. 🔼🔼Tankhun – Kinnporsche 15. Yok – Not Me 16. Zhou Shu Yi – We Best Love

🟦🟦 2nd round loss predicted 🟦🟦

17. Ayan – The Eclipse 18. Porsche – Kinnporsche 19. Jang Jaeyoung – Semantic Error 20. 🔽Khai – Theory of Love 21. Oh-Aew – I Promised You the Moon 22. Sean – Not Me 23. Payu – Love in the Air 24. James – Fish Upon the Sky 25. Sasaki Mugi – Mr. Unlucky Has No Choice But to Kiss! 26. 🔽Noey – I Will Knock You 27. Xue Yang – The Untamed 28. 🔽Pear – 2Gether 29. Pat – Bad Buddy 30. 🔽Pete – Love By Chance 31. 🔽Kurosawa – Cherry Magic 32. Eugene – Not Me

🟪🟪 1st round loss predicted 🟪🟪

33. Fai – Together with Me 34. 🔼Tan – Manner of Death 35. 🔼Nuer – Cutie Pie 36. Hashimoto – Kieta Hatsukoi 37. 🔼Prapai – Love in the Air 38. Zhou Zi Shu – Word of Honor 39. 🔼Xie Wang – Word of Honor 40. Med – He’s Coming to Me 41. Waree – The Eclipse 42. Win – My School President 43. Puen – Vice Versa 44. Gaipa – Moonlight Chicken 45. 🔼Alan – Moonlight Chicken 46. Palm – Never Let Me Go 47. Chopper – Never Let Me Go 48. Rio Kijima – The Novelist

49. Togawa – Old Fashion Cupcake 50. Sky – Secret Crush on You 51. Khaojao – Secret Crush on You 52. Takara – Takara-kun to Amagi-kun 53. Yoon Won – The Eighth Sense 54. Nuea – Y-Destiny 55. Kaeng – Y-Destiny 56. Neo – 3 Will Be Free 57. Yoo Sinbi – First Love Again 58. Shintaro – Mintato Shouji Coin Laundry 59. Tuaphee – Dear Doctor, I’m Coming for Soul 60. Ae – Step By Step 61. Jerry – Papa & Daddy 62. Pisaeng – Be My Favorite 63. Amber – DNA Says I Love You 64. Mamoru – Kabe-Koji-Nekoyashiki-kun Desires to Be Recognized