#and i need to save money for my third year field trip in two years (fingers crossed ill get to go to south africa)

[anaussiefan]

Making a pros and cons list to try and help me decide if I should try to get taylor swift tickets but it's not helping because none of the cons feel like they hold the same weight as the "it's taylor swift??" pro bullet point, despite all of the cons being about all the extra costs this would involve (plane, hotel, travel, food, outfit etc)

[rosesbxrry]

I’ve got my eyes on you

Pairing: Boyfriend! Heeseung X Fem! Reader X Roommate! Jake

Genre: Smut🔞 (Minors DNI), Heeseung and reader have a established relationship, Roommate AU!

Warnings: unprotected sex (wrap it up before you tap it), Hard Dom! Heeseung, Sub! Reader, Jake is like neutral, threesome, double penetration, anal sex, voyeurism, nipple play, squirting, cum eating, clit play and slapping, dirty talking, slut shaming, degradation, blowjob, degradation, multiple orgasm, cream pie, dacryphilia, overstimulation, fingering, Heeseung being mean. Hopefully I didn’t miss out anything else.

Summary: Jake has always loved capturing the beauty in any subject, the camera being his appendage for as long as he could remember. But pursuing what he loves in college didn’t end as well as he thought before he met the two of you, the couple who would change his black-and-white perspective for years to come.  

Main masterlist

Word count: 6,242 words

a/n: I have no words to describe how horny I was while writing this. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy reading this while I slave away to do my long awaited thesis 🥲 🥲 Also, I want to say thank you so much for 1,600+ followers 🫶🫶 🤧

Jake was always told that he had an eye for art.

Aligning the clear lens near to his right eye while the other shut closed, feeling the robust outline of the camera weighing his arms as he brings it up and the subtle tap on the flat button before—

Snap

He took a picture worth a thousand words.

From photography to filmography, Jake’s aptitude talent to be able to capture the nuances of angles and depth earned him a scholarship from a rather prestigious college to further his education.

Succumbing to the naivety of pursuing his skill in a more formal method, his passion for the art had been confined in a small defined box. The initial gratification and contentment of crafting a piece of pure refinery were moulded into the rules of academic guidelines.

He might abide by his philosophy, but he’s not stupid to flop his studies.

The semesters were filled with bleak and gruelling days— suffering through classes, assignments and professors that seemed to come and go. Nevertheless, he thought that he would spend his roaring twenties enjoying life and creating projects, with the possibility of doing a gallery show to display pieces of his creation to the world.

What seemed to be a rock bottom situation has graced him with the silver lining he needed.

Lee Heeseung was another fellow student in the school, a year older than him, who needed a new roommate in his apartment.

Coincidentally, Jake decided to move out of his parent’s house for independence, finding solace in the fact that the male was reasonably trustable and able to save money simultaneously.

It was initially awkward, mostly coming from him, who was slightly tense about living with an older person other than his family. Jake upholds respect as a constitution to his morals, but he slowly loosens up his relationship with Heeseung from a stranger to his best friend.

But it seemed Heeseung came with a combo, and that was you, his roommate’s girlfriend.

Intertwining his life with Heeseung meant that you were also in the package, often visiting the apartment to bring food or have a movie night together. As a result, Jake often feels like he is imposing on the couple because no one wants a third wheel tailing your scarce intimate time with each other.

However, it seemed like you and Heeeseung didn’t mind his company, often inviting Jake to activities like a trip to the aquarium or a study picnic on the grass field on the campus ground.

The couple knew about Jake’s talent with the camera, often asking him to take pictures of the memories for sentimental purposes.

For all his life in filming and snapping pictures, whether it be organisms to inanimate objects, the subject of his inspiration has never come close to how perfectly the two of you looked through the camera’s lens from his eyes.

At first, his impression of the couple’s relationship was admiration, understanding and respect for each other in overcoming complex obstacles, seeing one another as equal rather than subject to the emotion and stress that manifested during those squabbles.

Still, it didn’t sit right with him to call it admiration, and the turning point soon tests the hypothesis when in the dead of the night one day, he heard you and Heeseung having sex for the first time.

The walls that separate his room and Heeseung’s were arguably not that thin, but it wasn’t thick enough either to muffle the whimpers and moans coming from the room next door.

Jake felt like he had a stomach ache listening to the couple’s soft lewd sounds, not because he hated it, but quite the opposite; the noises turned him on.

It began as something that flew over his head, not dissecting the whole thing in great detail until he heard it for the second time, and then the third time, and before he knew it, he had his pyjama pants down to his knees, desperately humping his pillow to the rhythm of his friends having sex with a palm clamp over his mouth.

He fantasizes about the two bodies mingled with one another on the white sheets of Heeseung’s bed; the eloquent actions of touching, grabbing and thrusting that aggregated into white milky beautiful essence oozing out of your hole—

Jake came on the fabric of his pillowcase with the thought of capturing the cinematography of such an imaginary masterpiece deeply rooted in the reality he could never witness.

So much adrenaline was pumping through his body that he could hear his heart beating.

He woke up groggy and tired the next morning on those days, feeling like he got hit by a truck at how uneasy he felt. He dreaded coming outside, knowing he’d see you and Heeseung making breakfast together, embarrassed to even make eye contact with them.

The male felt nauseous, in fact, filthy to the core of even masturbating silently to the notion of them fucking. Realization slowly dawned on him that the search for the term to describe how he feels about the two of you has concluded in his head— infatuation.

No words could ever express the emotion better on how he felt in the enchanting relationship they shared.

The mundane life he had owned morphed into restless torture of constant tossing and turning. He felt guilt eating him up, more so because he hid such a deceitful act of touching himself while putting up a disguise behind his friend’s back.

At the culmination of the chaotic situation, Jake saw Heeseung's gallery by accident.

The younger male wanted to call his missing phone in his room, asking permission from Heeseung, who was doing the laundry at the time, if he could use the older male’s phone. However, while pressing on the phone app to search for his number, his clumsy fingers, by chance, opened up the gallery instead, causing his eyes to bulge out at what he saw.

It was a thumbnail of a recent video logged into the first file, big enough for him to decipher the image that made him almost drop the phone.  

The camera's angle was situated visibly at the side view of Heeseung in between your legs, missionary position with a blanket covering the area where your bodies meet. You were gripping his arm that was caging the sides of your head against the familiar bed, and Jake didn’t need to stare for too long to understand what was going on.

A dull sound rang in his ears, and his throat grew dry as his heart erratically beat against his ribcage. Then, with a shaking thumb hovering above the video icon, Jake’s breathing was as loud as his swallowing before pressing on it reluctantly, pupils trembling in nervousness.

The video played.

Heeseung was thrusting into you, hearing the sound of soft skin slapping mixed with whiny, muffled moans and grunts that echoed against the phone’s speaker. The upper part of their faces was cut out from the shot, but in the dimly lit room, the smirk on Heeseung’s face was evident.

“Shhh, didn’t I tell you to quiet down princess, or are you purposely doing it for Jake to hear you?” Heeseung whispered slowly against your ear, eliciting a small cry from your lips.

Eyes as wide as saucers, Jake couldn’t believe what he was witnessing, his name leaving his roommate’s mouth while fucking you.

Heeseung chuckled darkly, smacking his hips harder against yours. “Fuck, that’s it, isn’t it? You tighten up everytime I say his name. Such a dirty girl.”

Jake’s breathing shallowed beyond disbelief at what he was hearing.

Heeseung fastens his pace, causing you to sink your nails into his arm desperately. “That’s why you like it when I fuck your ass, right? Reserving your pretty pussy just for Jakey to ruin it.”

A gasp left his lips in total shock.

Something unfathomable brewed deep inside Jake’s stomach when he realized that Heeseung was penetrating your ass the whole time under the cover.

Jake envisioned your drenched, sweet pussy clenching around nothing at the thought of his cock in you and the little nickname that Heeseung teasingly used to build up the tension— a taut knot settling at the bottom of his gut at how turned on he was by the act.

But the last sentence that Heeseung said made him freeze like a deer in headlights.

“Imagining he was the one filming us right now.”

Every fibre of his body reacted to those words, playing them repeatedly in his head like a broken record. Jake felt like his head was doused with a bucket of cold water without warning; mind and body underwent a spiralled loophole of a fever dream.

He was in a state of disorientation when Heeseung walked into his room obliviously.

“Hey, Jake. Did you find your— wow, you okay dude?” Heeseung’s voice fell into deep worry at how ghostly his friend’s expression was.

Jake’s lack of response causes Heeseung’s eyes to trail to the phone he was holding tightly and the obvious sound emitting from the device.

The older male’s face distorts into multiple stages of horror and dread in recognition. The fear that pierced his wide eyes while looking back and forth between Jake’s face and the phone indicated that he was caught red-handed.

The taller male swallowed hard. “We can explain.”

It didn’t take long for Heeseung to call you to come to the shared apartment, albeit in between explaining to you on the phone, Jake heard muffled shouting of fury on your end while his roommate walked mindlessly in circles, trying to calm you down.

Sitting on the sofa patiently in the living room, Jake didn’t know how to handle the whole ordeal or if he was ready to accept whatever lay ahead with the two of you.

The sound of the apartment door swinging open echoed the space, revealing a dishevelled you trudging past the hallway into the living area. Jake felt guilty at your current dismay, possibly running directly here after finishing your class on campus as you were still carrying your backpack.

When you make eye contact with Jake, you look down in embarrassment.

“Okay.” Heeseung tried to fill in the awkward silence calmly, the pregnant pause giving away how thick the tension was in the room. “Where do we even start?”

You scoff distastefully, putting your backpack down harshly on the ground. “Start? How about you explain to me how the video was even found out in the first place!”

Jake drowned out the disputed exchange between the couple, trying to mallow down his rapid breathing. If he let this kind of situation escalate, it might end up being a dumpster fire in a few minutes. His mind wandered to articulate the proper sentence to begin, finally settling on the information he had been aching to know.

“How long…..has this been going on?” Jake didn’t realize how nervous he was until he spoke with a slight rasp, breaking his silence since he discovered the video.

His question shifted the attention of the two to him, realizing that the true dupe of the sitch had been wearily calmed the whole time. But, of course, they didn’t know that Jake himself kept a not-so-innocent secrecy as well.

“The first time we did it…..in my room.” Heeseung glanced your way as a confirmation while you gave a subtle nod back at his reply.

“Why did you guys film it?”

You and Heeseung exchange eye contact with each other apprehensively.

“We did it for the first time out of impulse, and when Heeseung mentioned your name in the middle of it—” You grimaced, trying to explain, but the words died in your throat out of pure awkwardness.

Heeseung flashes you a consoling look.

“Long story short, we didn’t realize how much you have an effect on us that we kept going even after the first. Well, the video, it's…..a living proof of that.” Heeseung continues, biting on his lower lip at the end.

Another excruciating pause follows suit.

It was hard to focus as you tried to read Jake’s facial expression but to no avail. It made you realize the loud ticking sound of the clock in the living room or the soft noises coming from the neighbours above behind the pin-drop silence in the backdrop.

The agitation was getting on your nerves, and all you could think about was the guilt that overshadowed everything else.

“We’re really sorry, Jake.” You apologize sincerely. “We didn’t mean to use you in that kind of way.”

“Yeah,” Heeseung muttered in agreement, flashing a remorseful downward glance towards the younger male with a sigh. “So, we totally get it if you want nothing to do with us and move out of the apartment.”

Anyone who was in Jake’s position would be bewildered by circumstance— finding out that your roommate and his girlfriend had been deliberately having sex for you to hear next door and, on top of that, gaining arousal from your existence unknowingly undermines the friendship that was built on trust seemed borderline intrusive.

But that was the perception that the two of you presumed.

In his mind, he couldn’t fathom such a surreal moment he thought was just an erotic fantasy in his mind was happening, as if the planets had aligned for the sky above to bless a disparate soul like him with the epitome of heaven.

Jake could feel the thrill of revealing his divulgence without a second thought; a small smirk curled his lips.

“Oh no, I don’t think I can do that.”

He chuckled slowly, watching the two faces turn perplexed by his words.

Jake gave a nonchalant shrug. “I mean, have you guys seen how horrible the set-up for the video was? It looks like a cheap DVD porno that many juvenile teens would drool over. Who else other than me can prevent that kind of thing from happening again.”

At this point, the two looked like a pair of gaping fishes standing in front of him, as if he grew a third head or said something wildly demented, completely disregarding the fact that he had insulted the camera work of the video.

There was a notable doubt in their expression, yet slightly reposed by the tether of hope that Jake was saying what they thought he was saying based on his words' innuendo.

“You guys weren’t really being sly about the whole thing, you know. I can hear you banging from a mile away.” Jake revealed, smiling cheekily when the couple immediately flushed in embarrassment.

“Oh my God, Jake.” You let out a tired sigh, but a hint of relief flooded the way you dragged your breath at the end. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

The younger male was slightly taken aback by the question but answered earnestly with his feelings because what he was about to say next will completely overturn the course of each other’s relationship.

The corners of his mouth slid upwards knowingly.

“You guys aren’t the only ones secretly enjoying it.”

If someone asked Jake what his proudest creation was, he wished that he could show them the sight he was capturing right now with his camera.

His figure stood a few feet away from Heeseung’s bed, perfectly encapsulating the shot of the couple making out with your back facing the camera, watching through the crips lens as he zoomed in the way Heeseung shoved his tongue into your mouth as he pulled you closer on his lap.

Jake’s fantasy of the two could never compare to the one he witnessed.

He felt excitement overwhelming his body, holding the camera steadily to focus on Heeseung’s hands, grabbing onto your ass, pulling on the strings of your lace panties until the crotch was wedged between your crack.

Your sweet moans filled the room, no longer timid like before when Heeseung convinced you and Jake that it was the perfect time to film.

The younger male was also nervous— it wasn’t that long ago when the three of you talked about what happened, finally coming to a conclusion about the addition of Jake into the bedroom.

He didn’t realize how nerve-wracking it was, feeling his cock growing hard against his jeans at the way your hips were desperately grinding on Heeseung’s clothed erection, facilitated with the help of the said male’s hand grabbing onto the flesh of your exposed ass.

“Such a needy girl.” Heeseung chuckled darkly after releasing your lips messily with saliva, kissing your neck as he buckled back to meet your movement. “You love it, don’t you? Knowing that Jake is watching you hump my cock so desperately while you show your bare ass to him.”

Heeeseung looked directly into the camera between your shoulders while nibbling on your skin, enjoying how Jake’s fingers tightened their hold on the equipment when you whimpered loudly in confirmation.

He moves close to whisper into your ears, hands snaking along your back to unclasp your bra.

“Let’s show him how much of a little slut you can be, okay?”

Jake’s breath hitched when Heeseung turned you around to face the camera, revealing your ample chest for him to marvel at as it bounced softly, nipples beautifully erect under the dimly warm lights of the room.

You caught sight of how Jake moved forward eagerly until his knees were flushed at the edge of the bed, your skin turning hot at the fact that he was filming your exposed breast so minuscule.

Heeseung pulled you roughly until your back was leaning on his naked chest, narrowing your chance of curling away from the vulnerable position. His large hands cup your breast from behind, kneading the swell in a tender and circular motion.

“Hands behind your back, baby.” Heeseung thumb at your stiff peaks, his nails digging at the sensitive area that you gasp out at the sensation. “Or I’ll have to show Jake that you can come with just your tits being played with like before.”

Jake couldn’t believe his ears, and his mind was already running wild at the thought, wishing that you'll keep pushing Heeseung’s button until he did carry out the punishment for Jake to see.

But you shook your head between the junction of his neck with your eyes squeezed shut, obviously not wanting to be subjected to such a humiliating act, especially for Jake to witness.

“No?” Heeseung teased, pinching your nipples before pulling them away harshly, twirling the hard peaks back and forth with his thumb and forefingers.

You whimpered in agony, clawing at his thighs resting between your hips while shoving your nose deeper into the crevice of his neck in mercy. Heeseung laughed at your state, panting hotly against his skin as he abused your tits.

“Then be a good girl and spread your legs apart for us, yeah?”

Us.

That specific pronoun sends waves of unfathomable pleasure between your and Jake’s legs, reducing both of you into a brazen state.

Following Heeseung’s order, Jake almost let out a moan behind the camera when you slowly opened your legs, his hands trembling at the sight of the very prominent dark and wet patch in the middle of your panties that sticks to the outline of your pussy like a glove.

Heeseung let a breathy chuckle at Jake’s striking reaction. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”

A hand escaped to curved downward along your stomach, dipping in between your hips to rub at your clothed folds. You buck your hips at the friction as Heeseung’s deft fingers drag along your puffy lips, eliciting a mantra of moans from your throat.

“This pussy gets nice and soaked just thinking about us. Right, baby girl?” Heeseung cooed, causing you to nod obediently, chest heaving at the way his fingers probed at your sweet entrance teasingly, letting a gush of juices escape to drench your panties even more.

Jake was enamoured at the sight, absolutely winded with a whole zoo churning in his stomach that he didn’t realize he was kneeling on the soft mattress of the bed, capturing the way Heeseung was stroking your clothed pussy while the other was still playing with one of your nipples lazily.

It didn’t help that you were watching him through half-lidded eyes, head lolling to the side with mouth agape when you eyed the visible bulge of his cock through his pants.

Heeseung glances at you when you squeeze his thighs a little harder, following your gaze to see what has captured your attention, causing him to grin.

“Looks like we got a big boy in our hands, huh, princess.”

Jake’s ears immediately perked up behind the camera, unbestowed to him that two sets of eyes were prowling on the outline of his aching cock like a predator hunting for its prey.

Heeseung nudged his nose against the underside of your ear. “Why don’t you be a sweetheart and help him out a little?”

There was no hesitation in the way you hooked on the belt hoop of his jeans, pulling the younger male closer until his crotch was arm’s length from your face. Jake was taken aback by your action, almost letting the camera fall while shuffling his knees on the bed to follow your lead.

You spread your palm over his bulge, dragging sensually with a little pressure to feel him over his jeans. A breathy hiss left his lips when you squeezed lightly on the head, and the friction felt deliciously good that he buckled slightly when you continued to smooth his erection.

The sound of his belt clicking and feeling the tight confinement of his jeans slowly loosening up, he throbs hotly when you tug at his pants, bringing them down to his thighs with his briefs.

“Fuck, Hee…..his so beautiful.” Jake immediately blushed when you whined incredulously at the male behind.

Jake’s cock stood proudly against his abdomen, fully pink and erected from the stimulation of watching Heeseung play with your tits and pussy. Milky pearls of cum had dribbled out of his slit and down to his length, head twitching when he felt your hungry gaze on him.

But you were drooling at how his veins pop up prominently, and his cute balls are nice and tight; it entices you to reach out and fist him firmly.

“Shit—“ Jake could hold it any longer, moaning at the sensation of your hand pumping him slowly and smearing his precum along his thick length.

Still, Jake was determined to fix the shot to you stroking his cock so deliciously, his abdomen tensing up when you flick your wrist harder when you reach his sensitive head, and then moaning loudly when you drag down to the base with a pressure, collecting his wetness between your fingers.

Heeseung watched you play with Jake’s cock as he rested his chin on your shoulder, heavy eyes soaking in the pleasurable sight of his girlfriend giving a handjob to his roommate.

“Baby, use your other hand to play with his balls.” Heeseung mumbled his command close to your ear. “I think he’ll enjoy it.”

Jake rolled his eyes to the back of his head when you fondled his heavy balls, gritting his teeth when you massaged the soft flesh indolently enough to make his hips stutter, igniting the knot in his stomach and making him lightheaded to the touch.

The younger male was gasping for air behind the camera, never thinking such minuscule action could drive him insane.

You lick your dry lips at how adorable his body reacted as you continue to use both hands, feeling an ache in your mouth and wondering how he would feel against your tongue.

Fuck, you bet he tasted sweet.

“Hee, Can I…..?” You ask gullibly to the side, and Heeseung doesn’t need any clarification before shaking his head at your antics with disapproval.

“If you want something in your mouth, baby, you have to ask him nicely. Where are your manners?” You whimpered when Heeseung slapped your clothed clit hard for Jake to witness before pushing your panties to the side, rubbing you raw against his padded fingers.

Jake observed with amazement how Heeseung treated you roughly, loving how you cried pathetically before looking up at him with hope-pooled eyes between your lashes.

“Jakey, can I please suck your cock?”

The way you asked him so crudely with such innocence had him swallowing hard, letting a sound of approval leave his throat.  

Jake thanked the heaven and stars when you engulfed his head around your plump lips, reaching out to rest a hand on your head to steady himself. With your hands around the base, you tongue at his slit to taste his sticky precum before suckling to take more and more of his length into your mouth.

At the same time, Heeseung slipped two fingers into your tight hole without warning; the sudden stretch of your velvet walls to accommodate his long fingers almost caused you to choke on Jake’s cock with saliva.

“Easy, princess. You don’t want to hurt our precious Jakey.” Heeseung used his other hand to securely hold your jaw, ensuring that your mouth was still attached to his length.

“I’m sure the underside is very, very sensitive…..”

Heeseung had never been wrong with Jake’s ticks, and you flattened your tongue to rub on the veiny side of his erection until he felt the drag of your textured taste buds that accentuated the pleasure.

The exact pace was established momentarily— Heeseung was pumping his fingers in and out of your pussy hole with the rhythm of your head bobbing and tongue swirling around Jake’s cock.

The hand holding the camera felt heavy when he grabbed your hair tighter as you plunged your mouth deeper, and he groaned when the tip of your nose was flush against his pubic area, feeling his tip pressing against the back of your throat.

You did this a couple of times, gliding in and out of his length until the wet sound that emitted echoed in the room.

Heeseung scissored your hole relentlessly, feeling you soaking his fingers until it dripped down his knuckles. “Look at you, letting your boyfriend watch you stuff your mouth full with another man’s cock, you dumb fucking slut.”

Tears blurred your eyesight as Heeseung spat at you with degrading words, swallowing around Jake’s hard cock as your boyfriend inserted another finger to abuse your hole, loving how the rough stretch enlightened your arousal.

Jake watches you through the foggy lens simultaneously as you look up to show him the lewdest expression through the camera, the corner of your mouth wide open with his cock and drool dripping down your chin so obscenely.

His cock pulsates at the picture-perfect moment, feeling his threshold teetering around the edge before he loads your mouth with his creamy seed, bucking his hips as a loud moan ripples out from deep within his chest.

“…..that’s it, you eat up Jake so well.” Heeseung’s three fingers curl to press on the tender spot of your cervix, and your walls spasm around them as your sweet release encapsulates you with euphoric pleasure.

The vibrations of your moans around his spent cock kept Jake’s orgasm elevated beyond the clouds.

Everything happens in tandem with each other— you were swallowing Jake’s hot cum while Heeseung rides you off your orgasm as you rock his fingers for more friction.

It gave Jake the perfect moment to readjust the camera's focus on the couple as the tension simmered.

But it didn’t end just yet.

“Come here, pretty girl.” Heeseung coaxes you after licking his fingers clean with your arousal, making you release Jake’s cock with a loud pop as he manoeuvres your head to the side. “I want to have a taste too.”

Jake’s heart lurches from his chest when Heeseung captures your lips and devours your mouth full of his cum. The kiss was sloppy and wet, even downright dirty, as two tongues wrestled to taste each other’s cavern, frenching with open mouths so vulgarly that the slimy spit mixed with yours and Jake’s essence dripped down straight out of a porno.

The proud smirk on Heeseung’s face while he sucked on your lower lip and glanced over at him briefly told Jake everything he needed to know.

“Do you need me to prepare you, princess?” Heeseung asks, wiping away the white strings that form when he pulls away.

He watches you tentatively through hooded eyes, chest rising and falling with puffy lips before looking at Jake nervously. The older male had the gall to chuckle at your state, finding gratification in your shy reaction as he tucked away a few strands of hair behind your ear.

“Don’t worry, I don’t think Jake minds filming me finger fucking your pretty asshole with your head down.” Heeseung curiously looks at Jake’s way at the end.

The said male was heaving in his breath, having the front row seat as he imagined your pink, puckered hole being shoved in and out with Heeseung’s lanky fingers to loosen up your walls, your face flush against the pillow muffled with your cries.

He might get lucky if Heeseung felt the need to take the extra step of letting you come again, your pussy in full display for him to see you clench against absolutely nothing as you drown your folds with your own slick.

This must be a dream; it has to be.

“N-no, I want it to be tight…..” Your desperate plea cuts through the tension, tucking your bottom lip with your teeth as you tug on Heeseung’s pants impatiently.

Heeseung smiled gently, knowingly.

“Okay, baby. But next time, we'll show Jakey how I prepared you, alright?” Heeseung was surprisingly considerate, kissing you on the forehead softly as you nodded at his reply.

Heeseung didn’t want to overload the two with too many things.

Of course, the dominant side of him sought out the ecstasy of showing off to Jake how much he could turn you into a messy whore for their cocks, but this was the first time, and he much preferred if you were in a state where you were confident enough to share it with Jake.

As for the said younger male, Heeseung couldn’t tell with the camera in front of his face but by the adorable body language visible for him to see— Jake’s cock that went limp was hard again against his stomach, head leaking with creamy white beads.

It reassured Heeseung that Jake had no plans to run away anytime soon.

Your soaked panties and Heeseung’s pants and briefs were discarded to the floor of the room. Scooching to hover over Heeseung’s lap with your back to him, the said male was fisting his cock with his precum while his other hand grips on your hip.

“Down you go, princess.”

With the swollen tip of his cock probing at your hole, you whimpered as you slowly sank to ease his length into your walls. It took you a few more breaths at the tightness, but the comforting thumb massaging your sides urged you to bottom down to his base, completely sitting on his lap.

“How does that feel, baby?” Heeseung was nibbling at your earlobe, wrapping his arms around your waist as he slowly rocked your tense figure.

You were breathing heavily, and the initial stretch was a bit painful at how big Heeseung was, but soon, the discomfort slowly disintegrated into waves of pleasure as your walls adjusted to his size.  

“So, so good— I can feel you deep inside me.” You huffed, clenching around him as a sign for him to move.

Heeseung pulled your back to his chest before he descended to lay on the mattress with you on top of him. The position nudges him deeper as he locks his legs around your knees, thrusting up leisurely as an appetizer for what’s to come.

Jake listens to your soft pitchy moans every time Heeseung moves his hips, getting off to the visual of your hole clenching around your boyfriend’s cock with your legs wide apart for the camera to capture.

A callous hand unconsciously trails to fist his hard cock as Jake jerks to the sound of your ass clapping on Heeseung’s thighs.

The once sensual pace turns heavily ruthless as he relentlessly thrusts up, yet the aching in your wet pussy makes you realize its emptiness as you clench back at Heeseung’s cock.

“Ah-aah— Jake— please…..I need you in me.” You call the younger male out as you pull your outer lips for him to see how desperate and pink your hole is, causing him to freeze at how completely fuck out you were.

His action seemed to garner frustration down the older male’s throat.

“Jake,” Heeseung growled sharply, gripping your waist as he rammed you harder with a dark glare over your shoulder. “Put the camera down and fuck her pussy.”

Jake frantically crawls towards you, the camera thrown on the soft mattress somewhere without a second thought.

A drool dripped down the corner of your mouth, teary eyes watching him align his head to your entrance as he filled you up so deliciously good that it hurt to have your holes simultaneously penetrated.

“Oh my god— yes, Jake— fuck, Hee—“

You choke out incoherently when Jake moves to slam his cock in and out at the same time as Heeseung did without mercy, arching your back as your tits bounce with every impact from both the back and the front.

You feel so full to the core, being fuck out of your mind, that you claw at the bedsheets from the pleasure.

“Dirty slut, one cock is not enough for you, is it?” Heeseung hisses out right below your ears, reaching out to slap your tender clit forcefully.

You cried out in pain, clenching around the girth of their cocks as they ruined your insides roughly. Jake bit the inside of his cheeks, watching from above as Heeseung landed another harsh slap against your clit that you almost lurch forward if he hadn’t forced your hips down.

“Hee—hahhhh— stop—“

“Stop?” Heeseung's laugh was almost sinister, rubbing circles around your tender clit precisely with his thumb as tears streamed down your cheeks, burning with humiliation.

“Fuck, you deserve to be treated like a dumb slut. Letting another man fuck your womb instead of your loving boyfriend.” He snapped.

Your surroundings were starting to blur, disappearing from your spatial consciousness until the pleasure numbed your body to your extremities at the way their cocks were abusing your sensitive walls. You were on the brink of bursting into a million pieces, and Heeseung could tell that you needed one more push to bring you to heaven.

“Jake.” Heeseung held your wrist until his nails dug into the thin skin to stop you from trashing any further.

Jake was stunted out of his mind at his name being called out, especially when he was close to reaching his high. Heeseung gave him a powerful stare down with a gleam of insanity behind those big eyes.

“Slap her clit.”

Jake knew the older male wasn’t asking; it was a direct command for him to carry without question.

Immediately Jake’s eyes went to yours below, only to see it begging with helplessness for him to follow Heeseung’s order. He could recognize the blown-out desire to release yourself from the prison of being edged for so long, and all you ever wanted was to come.

Like he was being bewitched by the couple, Jake felt a click at the back of his mind that he had never felt before in his life— even during his time with endless capturing of the camera, nothing could ever compare to how perfect this moment was.

The sound of his slap on your wet clit erupted you into a fit of moans, your abdomen tensing up before you squirt with your back arched on Heeseung’s sweating chest.

All your liquid drenches him with your sweet scent, spraying his lower half and the bed wet as your body convulses uncontrollably. Your skin was breaking into goosebumps that seemed never ending as Jake and Heeseung filled you with their hot seed blissfully.

It felt like time had stopped momentarily, letting the three enjoy the well-deserved orgasm that tumbled over their senses.

With a hand over your eyes, you were sobbing loudly in the backdrop of their groans, bucking your hips in the air until the last drop of your liquid leaked out.

The limpness of your body urged Jake to pull out, watching his creamy load bubble down to the crack of your asshole so ethereally until it met the white rim that formed as Heeseung lovingly rode you out of your orgasm, his heavy balls drowned with arousal as well.

Soft whispers of praises escape Heeseung’s lips against your ears, stroking your stomach with butterfly touches as he licks your salty tears away at how well you wet the bed for them, hearing your hiccups bounce through the walls.

Jake peeks to rummage around in search of his camera, taking it in his hands as he switches to taking a picture and saving the video content he filmed. He aligns the lens to his eye despite trembling at how heady your scent was sticking to his body.

Snap

He could never get enough of the sight of his artistic muses, all picture-perfect for him to capture.

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[banannabethchase]

For years I've believed that the reason I'm not rich or wildly successful is because I didn't work hard enough and didn't sacrifice enough.

And then I remember that, when I was in college, I would stay home while my friends partied or went on trips, because I was double majoring and had double the work to do, and I knew that I needed to save money because I'd be a teacher. In grad school, when my friends got their first jobs and partied and traveled like crazy, I was going to school full time and working full time, all while severely mentally ill and eventually getting diagnosed with cancer. My friends were having relationships and making wildly fun and irresponsible decisions while I ran the special education department in my first two years of teaching basically by myself. I moved to Texas to try and make a chance, and worked 12 hour days in a criminally understaffed special education department, all while being on call for my sister while she was dealing with her rough third pregnancy or whenever she'd need a babysitter.

I put in the sacrifice. I dedicated myself to my job and my family, giving up my own health and time to further my career and become a true expert teacher.

The problem is this society doesn't reward service. And it doesn't reward teaching. I'm not wealthy, not because I didn't do the work, but because my area of expertise and skill is undervalued.

Tl;Dr I put in all the sacrifice that the movie stars and politicians and rich people put in. I'm just an expert in a field nobody values, either monetarily or professionally. And that realization fucking sucks.

[twistedmusings]

Wake Up From Your Dream

A/N: I don't even know what I can SAY to this one except...I think I was so angry at not writing that I wrote smut outta SPITE? Can I be so angry with myself that I write Malleus smut to just get something out there? I guess I can. Anyways this ask certainly let my imagination fly q wq

Warnings: Non-con making its way into dub-con, manipulation, impregnating sex and Malleus realizing that family is really important.

You needed to find your way back to Night Raven College.

It has been so long since you’ve been back there, laughing and walking around as if there was no trouble in the world. Nevermind that you weren’t anywhere close to home and nevermind that your family was seeking you out.

As long as there was a possibility of you finding your way home, you had pretended that everything was going to be alright.

You were still a stranger to this world, you had no ties to this world and there would be no reason for you to stay once Crowley found your way back home. It was wonderful making friends with such a variety of people and watching them all grow in their own way. The way you knew you would grow from this experience as well.

Watching Ace and Deuce really come into themselves and their Unique Magic, watching the dorm leaders step into their positions of power and truly start to make a name for themselves that would help them out in their own version of the ‘real’ world. Riddle had gotten a wonderful position befitting of his family name, Leona was actually graduating, Azul was said to open a Monstro Lounge in the Coral Sea while Kalim had started investing time in his father’s trade without having Jamil help him. Even Idia was starting to take strides in his own field!

And you were proudest of Malleus. One simple conversation outside of Ramshackle had turned into a friendship you thought you would never forget. It was so wonderful to see him interact more with students, shyly following after you as you pushed him to talk more to others despite his position. That was what college was for, right? To experience new things and find your future--

You just didn’t think that Malleus would take it that far.

Was it because he was spoiled? No, even though he was born in a monarchy he still did his best to remain kind to others, especially his subjects. You were sure he was going to make a kind king in the future, even if you never got to see with your own two eyes.

You pull the hood over your head as you enter a bath house, the fae receiving you with a curious look and a smile as you hand her 2000 madols.

“Will you be booking a room tonight as well?”

“Just a simple shower and bath, that is all.”

If you were to make a guess, you were in the borders of the Valley of Thorns, a more rural area compared to the now rather modernized capital. You had stolen enough money to get you by for a few trips and you knew that places like these were the best at getting you directions. It had been a bit of a grueling trip, testing your knowledge of the fae language as well as avoiding questions about who you were and why you so desperately needed to make your way back to such a prestigious college. In a sense, you kept it minimal.

You needed to get back home.

“It’s fine. You’re fine. It’s fine. You’re fine.”

The mantra you kept repeating to yourself was whispered under your breath as you removed your articles of clothing slowly, still looking around to see if anybody had followed you in. But this is what was raising all of the hairs on your body, wasn’t it? This constant vigilance that didn’t let you sleep at night. You needed to relax, no one else would come this far.

You feel the fatigue melt as several days of walking are washed right off your body, a smile slowly creeping up on your face as you wash the dirt and oil from your hair.

It would be fine.

You would make it to Night Raven College and sneak into the Hall of Mirrors before wishing yourself back home. Crowley had said that they had pinned down the world you lived in and only after you make your wish would the connection be broken. This most likely meant that the connection was still intact since you didn’t even get a chance to to look at the mirror before you were whisked away.

Everything was going to work itself out, that’s the most you could promise yourself.

The bath is heavenly, the temperate water cooling you down from the hot shower as you look around.

There were no other patrons.

“Good.”

You lean back and press your head against a soft pillow of towels, enjoying the silence as you feel your worries soften while thinking back to what you would do when you were back home. It had been so long since you’ve seen some of your friends, your family was probably worried sick and you still had your own plans you wanted to get through.

If you had time, you could maybe drop by to see how your first year friends were doing?

Or were they in their third year now?

Wouldn’t that be a sight to see?

Your eyes close as you let yourself relax entirely, almost succumbing to sleep.

Only for a hand to grab your throat, the other covering your eyes as you hear a familiar chuckle that tenses your body up and breaks your heart.

“I am afraid we will have to postpone this shower.”

Tears well up in the corner of your eyes as you hear the sound of footsteps into the area, most likely the royal guard.

“Lilia--”

“You’d do well to stay put lest they chase after you.”

The hands covering your eyes pull back as you see a teasing smile looking down pitifully at your fresh set of tears.

“It has taken far too long to find you, Your Majesty.”

-----

“HUMAN!”

“[Y/N]-san!”

Lilia smiles as he leads you by the hand, the royal guard following close behind as Sebek and Silver join him.

“He might have already woken up, Father.”

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? DO YOU KNOW WHAT MY YOUNG MASTER HAS GONE THROUGH?”

“Sebek.” Lilia looks at his charge, “Quiet. Malleus might still be sleeping.”

Silver takes one peek at you, trying to meet your gaze but pulling away when he sees that the veil Lilia had put on you is blocking anybody’s stares from seeing your face. In fact, the second in command had put you in one of the traditional outfits for fae royalty, complete with a light veil that flowed down from the silver circlet placed on your head.

“Excellent.”

Lilia turns his attention to you and laughs.

“He has been absolutely miserable since you left. It was quite a surprise to all of us when you managed to leave the palace walls. None of us thought that you had really done it, especially him, and it really was a hassle to search the palace up and down to see just where our little human had run off to.”

His voice drops to a whisper as he brings your hand up to his lips.

“I’ll make sure to punish you for that later.”

The older fae leads you along as you finally reach your destination, smiling as he knocks on large wooden doors while pushing you slightly to stand in front of everybody.

An answer he was going to get by the end of the night.

“Malleus.”

No answer. He tests the doors and nods when he sees they are unlocked, opening them as he leads you to step inside so that you both could see the figure drenched in moonlight, looking out the window as if awaiting for an answer.

Lilia waits for his other charge to say anything but shrugs as he looks at you with a smile and a bow.

“We are glad to have you back, Your Majesty.”

The door closes with a loud click as you turn your eyes to look up at the imposing figure, your nails digging into your fingertips enough to draw blood as you try to hold back from screaming and shouting at him to stop acting like such a child. Yet you do not wish to anger him, at least to save yourself from any sort of harsher punishment.

So instead you make your way over to the bed--

Only for the fae to turn around, grab your wrist and slam your back into the rough stone wall. Bright green eyes glare down at you as you wince in pain, still looking away from him but letting out a yelp when Malleus’s fingers grab your chin and force you to look at him in the eye.

“Why did you run?”

He really had no idea, did he?

“Because I don’t belong here--”

Malleus tightens his hold on your wrist.

“We’ve discussed this before, child of man, you belong here just like anybody else, you are my Queen--”

“Malleus wake UP!”

You push against his hold but the fae’s hold gets tighter, most likely leaving a mark. But that wouldn’t deter you, not anymore, you were going to tell him.

“I’m not from this world! Coming to Twisted Wonderland was just an accident! A stupid, stupid accident that no one bothered to fix! And just when we were close to making it right you---you--!”

Shit, you’re crying again.

“I have people waiting for me. Just like you had a family waiting for you. I came to the Valley of Thorns thinking that I was supporting you during your coronation but you just--made a decision entirely by yourself and announced me as yours! Why did you lie to me? To them?!”

Malleus’s hold softens as you finally let your tears flow freely, wishing to wipe them away only due to how weak they were making you look.

“...did you not say you loved me?”

“I did! I did but--Malleus after what you did I can’t--”

He lets go of your wrist only to cup your face as he leans down to press his lips on your cheek, his tongue licking up the warm tears as you grab hold of his wrists to try and push him away.

“Do you miss your family?”

You nod as he moves to kiss the corner of your eyes.

“More than anything…”

The dragon fae hums, letting his lips stay where they were a few seconds longer before chuckling as he pulls you close.

“I see--I really have been cruel to you, haven’t I?”

Your heart nearly leaps out of your throat at his words, hands clutching at his robes as you quickly nod. Maybe this was it, maybe it had taken you breaking down to let him see reason?

Please. Please!

“...A family.”

Malleus’s words are like dripped honey as a thought formed in his head, the thought taking shape and form as his hands clutched you tighter.

“Then we’ll just need to make a family of our own…”

-----

Hands clutch at his sheets as Malleus takes in the shape under him.

How beautiful could you be? How complex? To him it was as if not a day had passed since you first met. What had been mere curiosity had delved into deep affection and blossomed into a love that Malleus would only read about in fairytales. The sort of books that led him to believe in soulmates, in happily ever after’s and the possibility of spending the rest of your life with the one you loved.

And yes, you weren’t a fae, but the power of his magic was grand enough to keep you tied to him for the rest of eternity.

His lips can’t help but seek out yours as he thinks about how he is the one who will decide when you die.

This love hadn’t started out like this. What he felt for you had been a bit more relaxed, a lot softer and dreamier. You had confessed to him after his Overblot incident and he had gladly accepted your feelings. He was still keen on finding you a way home and promised himself to not let any moment be wasted in thinking how you soon would be far away from him.

Every day was spent happily with you, the rest of the school year flying by as you both enjoyed the time you still had together.

But Malleus was still a dragon at heart, a fae that yearned and longed to take and take.

So when thoughts about you leaving started to make their way to the forefront of his mind, not even your constant love and affection could keep him from his instincts.

You would leave him to go back to your world. Go back to the normal and the familiar. As you walked your path, you would eventually find someone that enchanted you the way he had, all ending with you walking down a beautiful aisle to your now beloved.

A person that wasn’t...him.

As the days of his third year started to run to a close, his hold on you had become a lot tighter, his kisses a lot more possessive and in the end he had invited you to watch his coronation as he entered his fourth and final year.

With his announcement of making you his Queen.

“Malleus! Please I can’t--I’m not ready--!”

He let Lilia make up some story about you not returning to Night Raven, fooling Crowley into believing that you had found your future in the Valley of Thorns with him. The announcement of you taking up the role of Queen had been surprising but Malleus had woven the story in such a way that there had been talks of having it printed for others to read.

It was a wonderful ending to your love story, you ending up in his arms. But something was missing…

Malleus was glad that you had given him the answer.

Both of your knees were on either side of his waist, your hands clutching at whatever they could as his cock buried itself deep into your cunt. The veil was long forgotten as his robes and your own are thrown carelessly around the room while you wail and scream at being broken into by such a thick length. The small sight of blood on his cock made Malleus smile as he pushed in further, the tightness that was pushing him back slowly opening up for him as he watched you do your best to fit him inside.

It would be fine, you would be fine.

With a growl he finally bottoms out, two hands holding your hips and forcing you down to take all of him as the tip of his cock pressed right under your womb--

He shivers as you tighten up again, leaning down to lick up the trail of tears on your cheek before eating up your tiny whimpers with a hungry kiss.

“Here...right here is where our family will start.”

A large hand takes yours as Malleus puts it right over the small bulge on your stomach, your eyes growing wide as you realize just how deep inside he is. He kisses you again, not daring to break away as he lets a trail of saliva dangle from his lips to yours, the clear liquid disappearing into your mouth as your body relaxed and your eyes grew hazy.

“Do you love me, child of man?”

It was a simple question, but your brain seemed muddled from his kiss. Dragons tended to excrete a certain liquid as they got ready to mate, the experience painful even within his own species but being eased with the help of saliva, sweat or cum.

And with the way he was pressed against you, his sweat matted on your skin as he let more of his spit drip down his tongue and onto yours...surely the answer would come the more you two worked to start your family.

Malleus hardly gave you any time to recover as he started to move, his eyes entranced with the way he disappeared into you with each thrust. Your mind was still muddled but your body was already eagerly accepting him, your legs wrapping around him slowly before locking him in place as he repeated the question.

“Do you love me, child of man?”

You open your mouth but the only word that comes out is a plea for him to go faster.

Which Malleus gladly listens to.

It didn’t take long for him to start pounding into you at a brutal pace, every thrust having the tip of his cock slamming against your womb as your toes curled from the pleasure of taking him so deep. His cock disappeared inside your tiny cunt, shaft now coated not just with blood but with your arousal as well. The bed creaked in protest while the sounds of the bed frame hitting the wall helped him keep time, Malleus leaning back down to kiss you again as your lips this time part eagerly and sucked on his tongue while your hands clutched his shoulders and horns.

Cries turned into happy moans, your sad and abandoned look now one of pure ecstasy as your pussy flutters and tightens around him, pushing him to go harder and harder so he could---!

“[Y/N]--!”

Your legs close tighter around him as you bury your face on the crook of his neck, your orgasm being ripped from you unexpectedly as Malleus halted his movements with a stiff body. He drops his head on your shoulder as your legs keep him in place.

“Malleus...ah--!”

He groans as he paints the inside of your walls white, the warmth of his cum filling your womb to the point that what you hadn’t taken merely dripped out onto the now stained sheets. Malleus lifts his head to look down at you, smiling as he sees your eyes staring up at him eagerly despite how much you had protested before.

“A family…”

You smile as Malleus nods, your hands going all the way to your stomach as you feel the warmth start to twist your brain even more.

“A family with you…how wonderful…”

Arms wrap around him as Malleus kisses a trail from your shoulder to your lips. He just needed to ask you one last time.

“Do you love me, child of man?”

With a hum, your answer is whispered into his ear as Malleus closes his eyes as he realizes that this is where his happily ever after would finally start.

“I love you Malleus, more than anything else.”

[ellana-ravenwood]

“My fake boyfriend is a billionaire ?!” - Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

Synopsis : After a few shitty weeks of everything going wrong, you somehow find yourself faking a relationship with the one and only Bruce Wayne. 

That’s it. I did it. After 3 years posting stories on this platform, I finally succumb to one of the biggest fanfiction cliché of all time haha. The infamous fake boyfriend trope. And I really hope you will like it : 

My masterlist : @ella-ravenwood-archives

__________________________________________________

The Gap Year of Disaster

Today, you were an utter mess, and you couldn’t care less.

You know, this kind of days where you wish you would just have stayed in bed ?

Where everything goes wrong and you just want to hide under your blanket and pretend you don't have any responsibilities ?

Well today…Today was most definitely this kind of day.

It was suppose to be your first day at an exciting new job and you were so psyched about it, that you hadn’t been able to sleep all night. 

You finally fell into a deep slumber during the very early hours of the day, and…

Of course you woke up late ! You didn't have time to take a shower, or to do your make-up nicely or even to brush your hair. But worst of all you didn't have time to get coffee !

When you got out with your bike….it was pouring outside. Ah but of course, because when one thing goes wrong everything has to follow. Everything WILL go wrong. Murphy's law or some stupid things like that !

It's in those moments you wish you had a car ! Because when it rained in Gotham…It felt like Noah was ordered to built another ark !

So, sleep deprived, soaked, in a bad mood and looking like a mess, you managed, by some miracle, to arrive at your job on time.

Only to discover that this wasn’t at all what you were expecting. It was NOT what was promised to you, which was experience in an exciting workplace and a way to make the most of it. 

Instead, it was a desk job where you ran errand for everyone. Amazing. 

This was supposed to be your first try at “real life”, this was why you took that gap year from college. 

“I want to find myself, find who I really am !” You told everyone around you, ignoring those who were negative and telling you you should finish your study first. 

Now, as you were stuck in a tiny cubicle with an endless list of coffee orders you had to get for everyone else, you felt like maybe they were right, and that this wasn’t quite the way you were going to “find yourself”. 

Then again, wasn’t it through hardship that this sort of things unlocked ? Wasn’t it with great determination and knowing how it was to struggle, that you were going to thrive ? That’s what they said in TED talks dedicated to “success”...

So far in your life, things had been rather normal. Not particularly easy, but not hard either. You grew up in a small town in New Jersey, no troubles on the horizon. You then moved to Gotham for college as you had a scholarship for Gotham’s University, and as you were about to start your third year you sort of questioned wether or not this was your path...

One of your favorite professor told you to maybe take a gap year. A few semesters off, to think things through. Taking advantage of it to do some soul searching and try to know what you really wanted and...It sounded wonderful ! 

That’s when you started to have job interviews in many different fields, and it took you three months to finally find something. Three very stressful months of wondering how long you could live off of your measly savings, and wether or not you’d have to move back in with your parents (anything but that !)...Not a very good start to that gap year for sure. 

And when you landed what you thought was going to be a great job, things definitely were looking up ! Ah, but the fact that you were chosen while you had NO experience and such, should’ve been your first warning that this was too good to be true. 

You were trying to stay positive though. Maybe it was only for the first day ? Maybe their coffee person was sick or something ? It’d get more interesting later ? Yes. Yes let’s keep a positive outlook on everything. 

Except right now, as your entire morning was made of you walking up and down the building (the elevator was not working, but of course), to the coffee shop at the corner of the street, and bringing back orders for people, you didn’t feel in the mood to try and stay cheery. 

And the worst in all that ? You didn't even get ONE cup for yourself…This “real life” thing was not starting very well. 

And so here you were, during your lunch break, looking like a mess, bag under your eyes and still wet from the rain (your trips up and down the street for coffee runs not helping drying yourself off), your morale at its lowest..And…

"That'll be 3 dollars and 50 cents for the large latte with triple espresso shot, m'am."

Catastrophe. 

Proof that things could ALWAYS get worst. 

As you were looking through your bag, you couldn't find your wallet !

Did you leave it at home ?! Maybe. 

People at your work gave you the money to buy them coffee (and not a single tips, bunch of cheapskates). And you didn’t notice you were missing that oh so essential part of your daily life...Your credit card. Or any type of money. 

Damn it ! 

“Um, excuse me miss, that’s 3,50 please ?”

“Oh yes yes, um, you know what I just-” 

“Here, miss, you dropped this.” 

As you were about to explain that in fact, you didn’t need coffee (even if when you asked for it you might’ve mentioned it being a question of “life or death”), too embarrass to admit you didn’t have the money to buy it, a...very handsome man handed you a twenty dollars bill. 

You were a hundred percent sure this wasn’t yours. You never carry lose cash like this. A quick look to his kind deep blue eyes, and soft smile, and you realize...

Oh. Great. A total (very handsome) stranger took pity of you. 

You probably looked even worst than you felt. You were about to say this was a mistake, but before you could, he gave the bill to the barista, and left with a last smile to you, taking his own cup of coffee away with him. 

Damn. You didn’t have time to say “thank you”. He vanished as fast as he appeared, disappearing in the crowd of the busy coffee shop. 

“Here’s your change, m’am.” 

“Ah you know what ? Keep it buddy. Thanks for the coffee.” 

“Wow, thanks !” 

You were pretty sure that barista never had such a big tip, and it oddly made you feel better, to make someone else’s day like that. Your grandma did always say that you found true joy from helping others...

Oh, yeah, ok, you just helped someone out, why was the universe so angry at you ?! 

As you turned around and started to leave, almost at the exist of the shop, mood a little better after this nice encounter with a (again, handsome) stranger, and the barista, you see him. 

Him. One of the reason you sort of decided to take a gap year. 

Him. 

Your ex-boyfriend, Eric, who cheated on you with your friend Monica. Needless to say, it wasn’t a good memory. And you hadn’t seen neither him nor her since you left college, especially not since you heard they actually got together. 

Your FRIEND. With your BOYFRIEND. And it went on for a while, before you finally discovered it (that day was as shitty as today...). 

Oh. And of course Eric wasn’t alone. She, was there too. The one you thought was your friend, and who stabbed you in the back like that. Both of them discarding you like a dirty old sock. 

Great. Really. Awesome. This day was going from “bad” to “please kill me.” 

“(Y/N) !” 

He looks surprised to see you, although also a little pleased. And it makes you want to punch him in the face. You don’t care if it’s because he wished things ended another way, they both betrayed your truth and then never even tried to talk to you again afterward. 

You’re not sure you would’ve forgave them, but at least, it would’ve shown they still cared about you in a way. Nobody chooses who they’re going to fall in love with (that, you’d soon discover for yourself). But she was your best friend. And he was with you for over a year. 

She’s a little more awkward than him, and smiles, clearly embarrassed. You always knew she was a bit of a coward, if she wasn’t, she would’ve face you, right ? 

And that’s when it happened. The decision that would forever change your life.

In this great moment filled with despair and awkwardness.

From the corner of your eyes, you saw that nice stranger who paid for your coffee. The handsome one. He didn’t leave the shop, but instead went to seat at a table that was a little further away than the rest of them. 

His eyes were glued to his phone, and you thought : “Well, fuck it, all this can’t get any worst right ?”

You were sort of hoping that, since he had been nice with you once and offered you those twenty dollars without knowing you (although you were very aware it was probably just pity), maybe he could help again ? 

Maybe it was the fatigue, the fact you were getting sadder and sadder, that you had a terrible day, and that you just saw two people you loved and who threw you away like you meant nothing (oh but not before being super fake to you, pretending they WEREN’T cheating behind your back)...maybe it was a combination of all of that, that made you act crazy. 

But here you found yourself, sitting at that stranger’s table, and saying, as he looked up from his phone clearly surprised : 

“How are you guys ? As you can see, I’m great.” 

You don’t dare to look at the handsome stranger, and hope he’ll be too stunned to say anything, and you can make your ex-friend and ex-boyfriend feel embarrass enough they’ll leave quickly. But then Monica says something that makes your heart skip multiple beats : 

“You...You know Bruce Wayne ?!” 

You turn to the man who gracefully paid for your coffee, and your eyes go wide. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. How did you NOT recognize him ?! Of course. Chiseled face, beautiful blue eyes, a suit that was definitely worth your entire year’s salary, a very charming aura...

Your hazy mind full of “fuck this day” didn’t register that THE Bruce Wayne, was the one who helped you out. How did you miss that ? His face had been plastered everywhere in Gotham for the past year, since he came back to the city, in fact. 

You hear yourself wish with all your might to be struck by lightning this instant, as the two assholes who hurt you so much are looking at you expectantly and are not about to live (of course, they just met celebrity BRUCE WAYNE !! Could someone be as unlucky as you were today ?!)

And that’s when you hear a chuckle, a beautiful deep chuckle, and finally turn to look at Bruce. He smiles at you, and takes your hand, saying : 

“Honey, who are your friends ?” 

Your brain go full “ERROR 404″, not quite able to grasp the fact that THE Bruce Wayne just ran with what you were trying to do. How ? How was this possible ? You initially went to sit with him in the hope that Eric and Monica would see you were totally ok and with a hot date, not quite sure still yet how you ever thought this was a good idea and...

It was turning out alright ?! 

HOW ?! 

“Oh um, I’m..Eric. And this is my gir...This is Monica.” 

What a piece of shit. Not even brave enough to call her his “girlfriend” when he cheated on you with her for months and months. You glare at him, unable to stop this gut reaction. 

And that’s something Bruce caught. 

In fact, as soon as you sat down, avoiding looking at him and nervously looking at those two people, Bruce sort of knew you were in an uncomfortable situation. One that made you take an irrational decision. 

And oh, he didn’t like the look Eric and Monica gave you. Like they felt superior as they caught you in a bad moment. Bruce hated, people who thought they were superior to others... 

And you clearly seemed in distress and in need of help so...He ran with it. 

Bruce had to pretend to be someone he wasn’t enough that it felt natural, to run along with what your hazy mind thought was a good idea. 

“Nice to meet you, are you friends with-” 

Damn it. He realized he didn’t know your name. Quick thinking saved him, and he managed to keep his tone even, as to hide his hesitation : 

“My love ?” 

His hand around yours felt warm and reassuring, and you still couldn’t believe that, not only a total stranger, but THE Bruce Wayne was helping you out like that. Especially after you had such a bad day. 

Him calling you his “love” made your exes feel very awkward, and they shake their head “no”, suddenly pretending they’re very busy and have to meet up with someone. They leave the coffee shop, clearly stunned, whispering things to each others that you knew were probably : “how did she get a guy like him ?!”

You can’t help but glare at them some more...But then your hand feels cold again, and you realize Bruce let go off it. Well. Duh. Of course he would. 

You turn to him, your feature softening, and say : 

“Are you an angel ?” 

Ah yes. Your defense mechanism. “Humor”. 

He chuckles, and says : 

“Well, I’m afraid not. My butler would think this is very funny. But thank you.” 

Awkwardly, you rub your neck, your free hand nervously turning your cup of coffee clockwise in your palm. You don’t really know how to end this, what : “thanks for that” and leave ? 

“Thanks for the coffee. And for um...Saving my ass, just there.” 

He smiles, and wow hello white teeth and charming dimples ?! 

“You’re very welcome. They looked like they were jerks.” 

“Haha oh you have no idea.” 

“Glad I could help.” 

“Thanks again. Really. This means a lot, especially since we don’t know each others. Well, I know you. Everyone in Gotham does haha. And ok I’m going to leave now, my lunch break is almost over and I don’t want to make this even more awkward.” 

You start to rise up, but he holds you back by catching your sleeve, and says : 

“Actually miss…?”

“(Y/L/N). (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“Miss (Y/L/N), you are kind of saving my life right now.”

“…I am ?”

A flash blinds you. Not a lightning, a camera flash. You turn, just in time to see a guy hastily hiding a camera and running away. 

“What the...” 

“A paparazzi. Good timing, for once.” 

“Huh ?” 

You wish you had some witty come back, or would just know what to say. But you’re confused. And this has been a really weird day. 

“I am sorry if this will seem forward, or like I helped you wanting something in exchange. But I promise I will make it worth your while if you just sit back down and listen to me for a few minutes.” 

You sit back down. More because you’re unsure your leg can still support you in this moment, than because he asked you to. With a smile he continues : 

“Thank you. So. Let me explain a little, and again, sorry if this is too forward. If you don’t want to help of course, I would understand. I’m about to ask you something rather odd, I guess. And I’ll clear things up with paparazzis. I also promise I did not help you with your “friends”-”

“They’re not my friends.” 

“I figured that much. And I promise I didn’t help you with them and ran with whatever you were trying, just so I could ask you this.” 

“Ask me what ?” 

“Well, you see…it’s arranged marriage season.”

“What ?”

“Every year, every single rich family try to make me marry their single daughters. It’s a very tiring season, but I’ve never been able to avoid it…I thought about having a fake fiancee before but could never find the right person.”

What he says does not register with you. His clear proposal doesn’t hit your brain. And you just stare at him, waiting for him to keep going. But he doesn’t, and by the way he looks at you, you slowly starts to understand where he’s getting at. 

You gasp, now pretty sure this is all a dream (or a nightmare) and say : 

“And I’m the right person ?”

“Well, yes. You seem to be a...“normal” person.”

“…Thanks.”

“In that case it’s good. It’s very good. It means that if I’m dating you, a woman that has nothing to bring me, then it must be true love.”

“Wow, stop with the flatteries already mister Wayne, I can’t handle it…”

Ah, your slight wits are back. Good sign that you’re regaining your senses. Everything that happened in the last ten minutes still feel like a bad dream, but you’re back in reality now. 

“No no no, I didn’t mean it in a demeaning way ! But it’s just, you’re not rich, and you’re not famous or have political ties. You’re just a regular person. So they won’t think I’m trying to trick them, even if I am, do you know what I mean ?”

“Gotcha. My broke ass person cannot bring you any value, so it must be love and not just an arranged thing they can break. Cool.”

There’s a slight silence. And you find it a little fun, to play a little bit with the famous Bruce Wayne. He seemed so confident and cocky on TV, you never thought you’d be able to make him look so guilty. 

“I’m sorry if I offended you.”

He says, clearly meaning it. But you shake your head and smile at him (and oh why does he feel his heart tightening slightly at your smile ?), and reassure him instantly (you feel a little bad, actually, to mess with him while he did just really do a huge favor to you while he had no obligations to) : 

“Haha, just messin’ around with ya Mster Wayne. I’m not bothered by it, it’s the truth. I’m really broke, and I don’t think you could find more “regular” than me right now. So, and because you really did save my ass from an extremely displeasing experience back there. And also because you allowed me to see those assholes’ face of surprise and “how did she manage that ?!”, tell me more about your plan, and let’s see if I can help you back.”

And so Bruce starts to explain to you how, every year, this beginning of Fall is the worst time ever, as it’s a moment where everyone seems to want to marry off their daughter. And of course, Bruce Wayne is a good “party”. 

The plan was fairly simple. You’d fake a relationship with him, so he could avoid all of this, and in exchange...Well. You’d gain a lot in exchange. 

This is how you started to really feel like you had fallen into a “romcom” by accident...You and Bruce, became an actual living trope. 

************

“And then when the “marrying season” is done, you can break it off.”

“I ?”

“Well yes, I can assure you you’ll gain quite a rep if you break up with me haha.”

You raise an eyebrow, unsure you like that sort-of overly confident side of him. But you can see something behind his eyes, like a slight unsureness as he looks back at you, trying to see if you’ll agree or not.

“I don’t really need a “reputation”.”

Breaking up with THE Bruce Wayne himself. For sure people would talk about it a lot, and maybe it would help open some doors for you ? But you felt a little odd taking advantage of this like that. 

Seeing that he hadn’t convinced you quite yet, he adds : 

“Of course, I will pay you.” 

What kind of Pretty Woman sort of nonsense was this ?! You were about to protest when he added, realizing how he sounded : 

“I mean, you ARE doing me a great service. You ARE going to have to act, you know ? An...actual job ? And I will be honest with you, it won’t be easy, to find yourself in the public eye. I think it definitely justify a salary.” 

Put that way, you had to admit that, well, yeah it sort of did. Especially since you knew how crazy tabloids were about Bruce Wayne. Becoming his “girlfriend” would definitely put you on the front lines. 

“And it would truly help me tremendously.” 

Your grandma always said it : “True joy comes out from helping others !” So. What if you benefit from it a little ? If it helps you financially, and you can get a little network out of it ? First rule of Alchemy (what a weeb) : “equivalent exchange” ! Plus, he did really help you with your coffee, but also with Eric and Monica so...

And hey, this gap year was meant to help you find what and who you wanted to be. Help you go through this little twenty-something crisis. And this ? Living a literal romantic comedy cliche by faking being someone’s girlfriend ? Well, it definitely felt like the kind of adventure that could help you figure things out.  

With a smile, you finally nod and shake his hand, not knowing quite yet in which mess you actually put yourself into...

Briefing. 

Like every “secret mission”, this one too needed a “briefing”. 

A little meeting to put all the rules down, and the goals too. 

And here you were, feeling very out of place in a huge conference room in the biggest and tallest building in Gotham : “Wayne Tower”.  

The concierge stared at you for a very long time, when you said you were there to see Mister Wayne. No “nobody” like you ever called for his boss. 

Suspicious, as it was his job, he called security on you...Until it was finally cleared up that you DID have a meeting with Bruce Wayne ! 

Both the concierge, and the security guys, stared at you as you left to take the elevators they indicated to you, wondering who the hell had the kind of credentials to go all the way up there to see their boss ?! They didn’t recognize you from anywhere, not a model, not a famous politician or CEO, just...A regular person ? 

That was odd. And they noticed, it was odd. Which you assumed was what Bruce was aiming for, but it felt so awkward, to walk through this huge hall under their scrutiny. 

You finally arrived on the right floor, and oh look, some more staring. 

From his secretary, this time. She was used to see women coming to see her boss. But they’d usually wear Prada, and have plunging necklines full of pearls and fanciness. They weren’t...like you. 

You felt like it was easy, to know that you were just a “normal” person. You were definitely not wearing any designer clothes, and you were pretty sure the way you carried yourself made you super obvious. 

Hence all the staring. You could clearly see in her eyes, that she was wondering who the hell you were... 

She had her answer when Bruce came out of his office, and made a gesture as if he was going to throw his arm around your waist, and kiss you (which made you downright panic). But then, he looked awkwardly at his secretary, and instead just shook your hand. 

Something that DID NOT go unnoticed by his secretary. 

You saw how her eyes widen, and how she clearly hitched to take her phone out and call everyone...and you realized Bruce did this awkward thing because he knew his secretary, and her tendency to be a little gossipy. 

You’d discover later, in fact, that he hired her entirely because he knew if he said something, she would pick up on it and it would help him control rumors and such. Clever. 

For the moment though, he took you to a large conference room with huge windows. 

“I’m sorry for the weird “hello” back there, I wanted Shirley to think I was embarrassed to display affection to you in front of her. Usually, I do not mind at all. So doing it would make her think that-”

“I’m someone special to you.” 

“Exactly !” 

He smiles widely as you understood his plan (not sure how you felt about it, then again, that’s why you were here for, making sure you knew where both of you stood in all this), and then tells you he’ll be back in a few minutes. 

You have time to feel anxious and stressed before he finally comes back. 

“Sorry for the wait.” 

“Oh no, I bet you’re a busy man.” 

“Yes well. Anyway. Let’s get to it shall we ?” 

“Yes.” 

“Ok. So. I thought we’d settle sort of a little contract, so neither of us ever feel uncomfortable ?” 

“Sounds good, mister Wayne.” 

“Yes well first, please call me Bruce.” 

“Only if you call me (Y/N).” 

Oh and you two were still on the path of “romcom cliches”, with this conversation. He smiles, nods, and continues : 

“Ok, then I thought we could-” 

And so your fake relationship started, with some little ground rules. Like he could only kiss you after you gave him permission, if you ever felt overwhelmed everything would be called off, etc etc. 

Most rules were in your favor, to be honest. And WOW the paycheck he was going to give you for this little farce...Hey, maybe this gap year was finally gonna get interesting ?

Meeting the Little Buddy. 

It was sort of necessary. By then, Dick had been his son, officially, for a few months. He wasn’t calling him “dad” yet (and Bruce didn’t particularly want him to, at the time...ah but everything change one day, right ?), but they were already family. 

And it was a needed step. 

It wasn’t in the little “contract” you made, and honestly you could’ve refused to meet him but...Well, you liked kids. In another life, it felt like you could’ve been a teacher (A/N : AH, like in this story ;) : “Can you be my dad’s girlfriend, please ?” ). 

And you’d feel awkward, to fake a relationship and not ever meet his boy. 

The first time he saw you, it was at the Wayne Tower, and his eyes widened as he exclaimed : 

“Wow you’re so pretty ! Are you Bruce’s girlfriend ? You’re too good for him, you know.” 

You could feel your heart melt, how adorable this little guy was, right ? You chuckled, and almost full on laughed as you saw how vexed Bruce was by the comment. 

Not that he thought he was too good for you, no, he was just a little unhappy his son was stealing the show, and thought he couldn’t land someone like you...Oh but that, you couldn’t guess at the time, of course. 

“Nice to meet you, Dick. I’m (Y/N). And...I’m not really his girlfriend.” 

“Can you be mine then ?” 

You laugh again. You and Bruce had decided to tell him the truth, Bruce assuring you that kid was good at pretending too. You answer : 

“No, I’m saving him from marriage proposal.” 

“Oooooh !” 

Good at pretending. Dick had no idea what you were on about, but he was very good at acting as if he knew. 

It’s only way later, that he finally got it. By then, he already accepted you as : “his dad’s girlfriend”, and even knowing the truth, there was no way to change his mind. And to be honest, out of everyone, little Dick Grayson was probably the most aware of what the situation truly was. 

He had a knack, to notice how people felt. 

A “family” outing.

Two months in, and it was going GREAT. Faking a relationship was actually pretty easy. All you had to do was hanging out with him (and he was very nice to hang out with), and when a paparazzi was around, quickly kiss his cheek, or hold his hand, or let him put his hand in your hair...All those cute things new couples do. 

Today was one such small date. 

You could see Bruce was nervous, though.

After hanging around with him that many times, you started to know him a little better. Started to know he wasn’t really that persona he portrayed publicly.

He was actually quite a dork. What a pity, nobody else would ever know his real self...Yet, it made you happy you were one of the few in on the secret.

“Ok, out with it mister, what’s up ?”

He looks at you with such surprise in his eyes, as if it was the first time someone guessed what he was feeling...and, well, yes. It was. It was the first time someone who wasn’t Alfred got it. Someone realized something was on his mind. And asked him about it, didn't just ignore and move on. Actually cared to know. 

“I-Um...”

“Well ? Come on, I think literally nothing can surprise me by now, given you know, I’m faking a relationship with a billionaire, and it’s like, my job now.”

He smiles, and he couldn't possibly know how soft his look was, as he gazed at you.

“I...well, people don’t quite believe in us because-”

“WHAT ?! With all the “dates” and kisses and lovey dovey shit we did ?!”

He chuckles at your reaction, loving how honest you always were, and adds :

“The problem apparently is that you weren’t seen with my son yet, so many don’t believe we’re serious.”

“Oh...”

You met Dick. Because it felt like a necessary step to yours and Bruce’s scheme. And you knew he knew this was all fake...But neither of you wanted to confuse the boy in any way so he was kept mostly out of the plan.

“I talked to him, and it’s actually really up to wether you’re comfortable with it or not. I know he wasn’t part of our contract, and I should’ve probably thought about it, I’m sorry. But um...If you’re ok with it, we could..Do things with him, too ?”

Bruce is really nervous; And you’re pretty sure no one but you (and maybe Alfred) ever saw him like that. It’s kind of...sweet. But you let the silence linger for too long and he hurries to say :

“You really don’t have to ! It’s ok if they don’t think we’re that serious and I get some proposals. I can manage ! You’re still a great help right now. It was just an idea. Dick is a very social kid, he would go along with anything and loves to do activities outside. He would be fine. But if you’re not then we can-”

“No. No no it’s...It’s ok Bruce. The few time I saw him, Dick did seem absolutely a peach to be around. And I always have fun with you, so sure, let’s organize a little something and show those bastards we’re totally real.”

You chuckle a little, your smile and carefree face making his heart skip a beat, for some reasons...Bruce also decided to ignore how happy it made him, to know you were always glad to be with him, and instead, he smiled and settled a date.

************

And here you were. In one of Gotham’s biggest park, opening a basket full of delicious sandwiches made by the one and only Alfred. Pretending to have a great family outing.

“Hey, hey look !”

Dick was absolutely amazing, at acting as if you were really a thing. As if you were really a “family”. Right now, he was doing flips and cartwheels, demanding your attention with avidity.

Bruce made sure to always hide his face from pictures (he was GREAT at noticing where paparazzis were hiding, a life of practice, you assumed), as he wanted to keep as much as he could his son’s privacy (especially after he made all the headlines when he lost his parents).

It was quite adorable. And...You were really having fun.

Dick was such a lively kid, and he was full of talents. The food was good, and it was so comfortable around Bruce. It felt so natural.

This wasn't all that bad. To fake being a family. A good use of your gap year, really. 

You purposefully decided to ignore the glint in the boy’s eyes. The way you sort of suspected for him, this was getting real, and not only pretend.

You and Bruce purposefully ignored it, actually. And you both felt shitty for it. Because not only were you risking to break that little boy’s heart when it was all over but...It was too hard to accept that maybe, maybe he was right.

And that all of this ? Might’ve not been as fake as you’d love to repeat yourself.

First Official outing. 

First gala. You were terrified. So far all you had to do was hang out with Bruce in the afternoon, there and there. It mainly consisted in him buying you coffee, and keeping the addiction to caffeine real, while talking about anything that would come to your mind. The conversations between you two was always fluid and pleasant. 

Or you’d go out with him and Dick, to do some fun things like mini-golf or catching a movie. Nothing too big and scary. It was mainly just you guys, no one else. 

It seemed like he knew where the paparazzis would be (most likely because he was “anonymously” tipping them off himself), and he’d take you on random short dates when he had time in between his work, slowly fueling the rumors Bruce was not a heart to steal anymore. 

And that he was dating a “commoner” ! (He hated this name for you, while you really didn’t mind that much). 

And this gala, was what made it completely official. Finally. It was your idea, to take things “slow”, and hang out with him and his son BEFORE hanging out in public areas like this. 

It was clever, really. To make it seems like you were trying to “hide” your relationship by being low-key, to then finally announce everything in public like that, at such an event. 

Bruce went to get a drink for the both of you, and you were looking around you, horrified at the mere idea that someone would come talk to you. 

But for some reasons, nobody seemed to dare. Maybe Bruce made sure that people would leave you alone ? Even as if you were clearly the talk of the evening, all eyes on you, and not even trying to be subtle ? 

You knew he did the same with little Dickie. That he made sure he was safe from the paparazzi and that no unsolicited journalist would come around him.

Thinking of it, where was the little one ? Usually, according to Bruce, whenever there was a gala he would spend his entire time near the food table, eating as much as he could, and he would come home feeling nauseous because of it...Haha sounded like Dick alright. That kid was so-

Oh oh.

Who was that sleazy looking gal talking to him ? He seemed so uncomfortable, yet too polite to brush her off...Oh no, she wasn’t one of them, was she ?

Without thinking twice about it, wether it was your place to do what you were about to do or not, you resolutely walked towards them.

“-Think it’s because he relates to you ? As both of you lost your parents in horrific situations, you know ?”

“I-I don’t know m’am.”

When you saw Dick’s distressed face, and his eyes slowly filling with tears, there was no doubt in your mind.

This woman was not supposed to be there, and was definitely not supposed to talk to that child...

This woman was a - shiver of disgust- tabloid journalist.

Your blood boiled as you saw her take a picture of the teary eyed Dickie, and you were standing protectively in front of him before you could even think about it. When you felt the boy clutch to your sleeve, hiding behind you and holding on for dear life, you knew you wouldn’t regret it.

“Can I ask you why you’re talking to that boy, please ?”

“What, it’s illegal to talk to fellow guests now ?”

“Lady, you’re well in your thirties. He’s eight. You have no right talking to him. Not only is it weird, but I know what you’re doing.”

“Oh, and pray tell, what am I doing, lovey ?” 

“You’re trying to get a story out of him. And you should be ashamed of yourself. He’s eight ! And from what I heard, you were asking some very disgusting things back there !” 

“I-”

“Shut up.”

Your words came out harsh and determined, and the woman was so shocked she stayed silent for a while. You crouch down to Dick’s level, and ask : 

“Are you ok, my little buddy ?” 

He nods weakly, and then burst into tears as he launches himself in your arms, clinging to you tightly. You turn your head towards the woman, glaring at her so fiercely she doesn’t dare to take a picture of the scene, even as she knows she could sell them for a golden price. 

“You should be ashamed of yourself. He’s just a child !” 

The woman was about to say something else, something you knew would fuel your anger further, when Bruce arrived, and it was clear from his face that he was not happy. 

A quick look to you holding his crying son in your arms, and to the lady with the camera in her hands, and he understand what happened. With a cold voice you never heard him use before, he says : 

“I suggest you leave the area now, before I force you to.” 

There was something almost scary, in his demeanor. Almost like...No. Impossible. In any case, you didn’t worry about it much, drawing soothing circles with your hand on Dick’s back, trying to calm him. 

People around quickly stopped staring as they met Bruce’s assassin glare. It was not secret, that he was very protective of his son. And of his new girlfriend, apparently. 

You picked the little boy in your arms (Dick, at the time, was still so tiny), and Bruce comes closer, trying to soothe him too. And it really looked like all this was real...

Dick fell asleep in Bruce’s arms shortly after that, and was still there when it was time for the gala official pictures. Not wanting to wake him up, for once, Bruce allowed people to photograph the boy, as long as they did not frame his face. 

He laid his free hand on the small of your back, and just like you got used to those past months, you pretend to be head over heels for him and have one of your own arm around his waist.  

“Would you please allow me to kiss you on the cheek, for the cameras ?”

His question is so sweet, softly whispered in your ears. And you felt like a tease tonight, and maybe a little tipsy too. You tell him : 

“On the cheek only ? Let’s give them a show no ? Let them forget about what happened with Dick.”

Of course, you’re only joking, but there’s a light in Bruce’s eyes you haven’t seen before and...It disappears quickly. He chuckles, of that low chuckles that would charm anyone in the world, and says :

“I don’t want to force you to do anything you wouldn’t want to. Actually kissing me, I realize, might be too much.”

You know he caught on your joke, but you can’t brush off that light in his eyes that ignited when you suggested to kiss him...You don’t know why, and it feels you’re not controlling your own words, as you hear yourself say :

“Oh because kissing you would be such a horrible thing wouldn’t it ? Oh my, you’re only one of the handsomest man in Gotham, a rather attractive fella, how could I handle kissing you ? So disgusting !”

Your tone is teasing, and a little bit challenging. He catches on that, too. He answers : 

“But I am merely here to serve. I will do as you wish. You only have to say the words.” 

His smile fills your vision. His face. And the way he softly holds your waist, even as his other arms is carrying his son (the man was BUILT). And you think...Well, fuck it ! It was time for the first (fake) kiss, right ? 

Right here, in front of the cameras, where everyone was seeing you. Making it go full circle. Making it “official”. 

“Kiss me then, if you dare.” 

You simply say. Releasing a breath you were unaware you were keeping in. And he feels his heart squeeze, and as if he’s sweating a bit. When was the last time he was nervous about kissing a woman ? 

He couldn’t remember. 

And then he kisses you, the flashes of cameras slowly fading away as his lips melt onto yours. 

Wow. What a perfect, and nice, first kiss. 

As fake as it might be.

Your room. 

Your room at Wayne Manor was bigger than your entire apartment. 

You and Bruce decided that sometimes, so you wouldn’t raise any suspicion, you’d sleep at the Manor. Paparazzi were so on top of everything, it would seem weird if he was in a “committed relationship” and you never slept at his place. 

So Alfred settled a room for you. 

Oh. Alfred ! You met him not long ago, and he was the best ! 

It felt like he could magically guess what you wanted when you wanted it, and magically appeared with that warm cup of tea you craved, or that meal you’ve been thinking about all day. 

But beyond that, he was genuinely nice and made sure to make you as comfortable as possible. He showed you around, and his conversation was so pleasant ! 

You could actually see a lot of Bruce in him. Or, rather, it was evident that Alfred had raised Bruce most of his life, because they had a lot of similar mannerism, and were both kind and caring (Ah, imagine if Superman knew what you thought of Bruce, how crazy it’d sound to him eh ? But of course, that you’d discover way WAY later). 

You never went to explore much when it was time to go to bed, too afraid to get lost. This place was huge, and you never quite had a good sense of orientation. 

One could only wonder, what would you have discovered if you ever dared to wake up during the night, and explore his home ?

Build a Bear. 

Sometimes, Bruce really had to wrack his brain for original date ideas. Ever since he came back to Gotham, his dating days consist of pretending to sleep with every model in the World. 

He’d take them to fashion shows, to galas, to charity events...All very public places, unsuitable for a “serious” relationship like he was hoping to make yours and his pass for. 

Enter : Clever little Dickiebird, who always had an idea (and who might’ve been the best wingman someone like the Batman needed...that, of course, he’d discover it way, WAY later) :

“You can take her to a build a bear !” 

“Build...a bear ?” 

“Yeah, you know. You go and you make your own teddy bear !” 

“I do know, I took you to get Chester - the name of Dick’s favorite plushie toy now, and maybe with which he slept-. But...For a date ?” 

“What ? It’s cute and intimate !” 

“Huh ?” 

It has been a long time, since Alfred Pennyworth had to hold his laughter in that hard, and try to stay impeccably neutral. And there, faced with his master Bruce, who was known as the “ultimate womanizer”, the “perfect playboy”, and who was currently taking advice from his eight years old son...It was really hard to keep a straight face. 

It was also incredibly adorable. Especially how Bruce seemed to genuinely listen to the little one, unaware that he seemed actually way too interested for things just to be for his “fake relationship” to be more convincing. 

Not that Alfred was going to tell Bruce anything. 

“Dick, you know (Y/N) isn’t really my girlfriend, right ?” 

The way the boy talked about taking you to a date, felt to Bruce like he was forgetting this was all fake. And it was important to remind him.

But Dick had to invoke all the efforts in the world to not roll his eyes as to say : “sure she isn’t”, by now, it was oh so obvious to everyone but you and Bruce that there was a very real thing forming between you two. 

Instead, he said : 

“But you’re suppose to make the public really believe it right ? If you take her to build a bear, I can assure you they will think you guys are the real deal.” 

Bruce pondered this for a little bit, and realized that his son was right. It did seem like a cute and intimate date to bring your girl to, even if she was your fake girl...

Ah. Bruce forgot his own words. “Dick is great at pretending.” He is. He really is. Just like right now, he was pretending his idea was completely innocent, while he knew it would bring you two ever so closer. 

That whenever you’d see those bears you were going to build in your home, you’d think of one another. And remember fondly of the memory. 

And oh. Oh that boy was right. 

Your bear was sitting proudly on your couch, and every time you saw it, you remembered how clumsy Bruce had been, filling his own bear up. And how cute he was, carefully thinking of his options. 

And every time Bruce saw his own bear, that Alfred, for some reason, settled in the Batcave on the “trophy shelves” (and for some reason Bruce didn’t take it off of it...), he couldn’t help but think how he had genuine fun that day. 

Genuine fun, for the first time in what felt like ages. And how your smiling and giggling face didn’t seem to leave his mind, whenever he saw that bear...

Conniving traitors. 

“We both agree, he’s in love with her right ? He’s just too dense to realize it.” 

“Oh yes, young Master Richard, he definitely is. And he is dense, at times.” 

“Should we do anything ?”

“No more than what you’re already doing.” 

“Which is ?” 

“Which is continuing to push them in the...Right direction.”

“Oh ! I get it ! I’ll keep going Al’!” 

“And I’m sure you’ll make miracles, young master.” 

Dick’s smile to the old butler was so pure and happy, that Alfred had a hard time keeping his composure once again. 

And oh. Oh how he wish they were right, and that his Master Bruce would FINALLY allow himself to be happy... 

Rumors and Truth 

Bruce was just a tiny bit older than you. 24, according to his wikipedia page. 

And you couldn't help but be a little jealous, as you were looking at the page to re-enroll yourself in Gotham’s university, knowing he was done with college.

Then again, he was obviously a genius and would’ve been done faster than you anyway, even if you were the same age, since he finished his PhD just the year before, while most people don't even START their doctorate until they're around 23/24. 

Mmmm. Made you think. Was this just yet another rumors about the man ? 

Maybe not, after all it was proven he started college at age 14, and in Ivy Leagues ones, all across the world. 

From Cambridge, to Oxford, without forgetting La Sorbonne (A/N : by the way, this is canon haha, Bruce really did start college that early and went to many different places, and honestly, is anyone surprised ?). 

This wasn't really something you absolutely couldn't believe, compared to other crazy rumors about him. And you knew he WAS smart. 

By then, you couldn't count how many things were circulating about him, and how hard it was to know the truth from just plain old rumors. 

He had over a thousand lovers, he had MORE than one PhD (impossible, right ?), he had died once but survived somehow, he was part of a cult, he often lost his status as a billionaire because he gave so much money to charities and such, but his companies meddled in so many areas that his bank account was always filled more and more…

Honestly that last part didn't really surprise you. You saw him gave his money away to things he cared about (like education and medical care) without a second thoughts, so the fact he constantly oscillated between "billionaire" and "multi-millionaire" didn't really surprise you, not when you knew him like you did now. 

You totally trusted the rumors that said that by now, he gave away more than he currently owned. It sounded like him alright…But how to know the truth from the downright crazy ? Did he really have a PhD or was this just an addition to how special and different Bruce Wayne was in Gotham ? What kind of PhD did he have anyway ? 1000 lovers, really ?!

So many questions. And not a lot of answers. Even if you grew closer (as friends, of course), Bruce was still somewhat of a mystery to you. 

He never really tried to dismiss rumors, even the bad ones (unless they touched his son). Which made you wonder if they were true or not. And you really, really, for some reasons, wanted to know more about him...

“Is something the matter ?” 

He asks. Oh goddamn you, day dreaming on one of your regular “coffee date”. 

You shake your head, sipping on your drink and say : 

“Was just thinking about...Tabloids.” 

“Ah.” 

He frowns. For understandable reasons.

“I was just thinking about wether some rumors were true or not.” 

“What do you think is not true ?” 

“I don’t really know, and you never really say a rumor is false so it’s hard to know.” 

“Do you want to know anything in particular ?” 

Bruce knows it’s dangerous, to let you enter his private life like that. There’s a reason, after all, why he never dismisses any rumors. 

It helped build his fake persona, and take away any suspicions that he might be the infamous Batman. 

But he felt weak, around you. As if he just wanted to please you, no matter what. Sometimes, he felt dangerously close to just tell you : “ask me anything and I’ll tell you the truth”, even if it meant revealing his night activities...

Crazy, right ? 

He knew it was. And that he shouldn’t let it happen. Yet here he was, asking if you wanted to know something. Craving your attention. It felt so unlike him. But...You seemed to unlock a certain part of him. 

The one that didn’t die with his parents, and remained hidden. The one that was the old little Bruce, full of hope, honesty and happiness. Full of wish for the future...Even if he knew there was none. 

“How was college, for you ?” 

You hear yourself asking, really wondering if it was true he was 14 when he started, and if it was...How different you guys were, right ? You were 21 right now, and taking a gap year after two years of college...When he was your age, he had already finished a master (or even maybe two). 

"My college years were actually pretty boring, and unlike some rumors say, weren't particularly wild. I was really young."

"Ah, I heard the rumors."

"Those are true, I'm afraid haha."

"Afraid ? You're a genius !"

Which is why you found, more and more, his "himbo" persona to be odd. WHat was Bruce Wayne trying to hide ? Mmm…

Bruce recognized that look in your eyes. The look of someone who was onto something, and it was too frightening to let it happen. So he said :

"Yes well, I feel I missed a lot, during those years. Which is why I make it up now hahaha !"

His boisterous laughter seemed genuine, and totally fooled you. You couldn't always be on top of everything eh ? And this, did answer your question about his himbo persona…Oh, Bruce was good.

And he knew it. He trained for years, to make sure nobody would ever even suspect him to be Batman.

But he had to be careful with you. He knew it. It was obvious. You weren't that easy to fool…

The Day Batman saved you. 

The fact he had to be careful with you was confirmed not long after. When, as Batman, he came to your rescue.

He should’ve known, that even with a voice changer, and a mask covering most his face, plus a demeanor that was completely different from his usual one, you’d still get suspicious...He should’ve known because he, by then, knew you quite well. 

But, what ? Was he suppose to just let you get mugged ? 

He couldn’t. 

Even if in the grand scheme of things, it would’ve been better, and he would definitely intervene if it got too rough...He couldn’t. 

He couldn’t bear the thought of you getting hurt, or feeling distressed.

He knew this was stupid. That he shouldn’t get so attached. That muggings weren’t really his area of expertise, that to stop them, he had to hit the big bosses. He knew. Small thugs weren’t his target. He had a much bigger vision. And rationally, he should be somewhere else right now. 

Yet he couldn’t resolve himself to. Because, and that was a dangerous thought and feeling, he was in l- 

“Why are we spying on your girlfriend ?” 

Dick’s voice takes him out of his reveries, good. It WAS getting dangerous. Still keeping you in his field of vision (you were slowly going back to your apartment, a few minutes still, and he could leave to do other things knowing you were safe and sound in your home), he answered :  

“We’re not spying on her, we’re making sure she’s safe. And she’s not my girlfriend, you know that.” 

“Oh yeah ? We’ve been following your “totally not girlfriend” since the night started, awfully looks to me like we’re um, you know, stalking her.”

“We’re not.” 

“Suuuuuuuuuure.” 

Bruce gives an annoyed look to his son, who had way too big a smug face right now, and says : 

“The night is calm, if something comes up we’ll go. But right now, it’s alright. And it has been made official, that she and I are a couple.” 

“Fake couple.” 

“Fake one to us, not to the public eye.” 

“Ooooooh !” 

Connections were quickly made in the boy’s head, and he understood why they were following her. After all, this was Gotham. And if THE Bruce Wayne had ONE known lover...Well, it was easy to know it’d attract some nasty business. 

Dick was about to make a smug remark of which he had a talent for, when it happened. He pointed at you, fear in his eyes, and Bruce focused your way again. 

“Stay here.” 

“What why ?! I wanna help her too !” 

“Because she’s too smart not to put two and two if she sees you with me. She knows us in our day lives. She’ll recognize us for sure, if we’re together.”

“Oh...”

“Just stay still, ok ?” 

“Ok.” 

Without a second thought, Bruce jumped down in the street down below, under Dick’s worried eyes. If anything happened to you, he knew his dad would never be the same again. 

And he knew he couldn’t bear to lose yet another person he cared about. Even loved. Yes. Yes Dick loved you, as if you really were part of his family...

The months of “faking” family outings made it so. Your worst fear happened. Dick was getting attached, hardcore. And he really hoped you and Bruce would figure out you were actually in love with each others before the end of your “contract”, and before his sometimes very dense dad would decide to let you go...

For now though, he was anxiously looking at Bruce making his way to you, after he spotted a suspicious group of men genuinely stalking you. 

************

“Hey pretty girl, can we talk ?” 

You stop in your track, turning around, cursing yourself for not having the instinct to just take off running. Oh. But you can see at least one of them has a gun. You can’t run faster than a bullet... 

“Ah it is you, isn’t it ?” 

You don’t answer, knowing what they mean. Bruce sort of warned you against this. But you didn't take his warnings seriously, and here you were, going home at night, something he definitely told you not to do. 

You just couldn’t sleep that night, and needed a walk...And here you were. 

“You’re gonna come nicely with us, right ?” 

“I dont’ think so.” 

Uh ? You’re pretty sure that weird robotic voice wasn’t yours. Even if that’s exactly what you wanted to say. And that’s...oh wow. 

That’s when you see him. Batman. 

Immediately, the atmosphere grow even tenser. And you can see the thugs who wanted to take you with them fearfully looking at him. 

“This has nothing to do with you Batman, leave us alone, we didn’t do anything wrong !” 

“It has everything to do with me. Leave.” 

“We have to-You don’t understand. We have to take her to-” 

“Nowhere. Leave.” 

Even if he was protecting you, you had to admit that, that dude was frightening. He had his back to you, and even then, he looked so intimidating and tall and broad...

Bruce was tall and broad too. But he was soft and sweet, not scary at all.

“OH MY GOD LOOK OUT !!” 

One of the thug had a gun pointed at Batman. Right at his head. He didn’t have the time to enforce his helmet yet, and if he shot around his mouth, he was done for...

A rock coming out of nowhere hit the thug right in the face. 

Coming out of nowhere ? To you, maybe. But Bruce knew that this was little Dickie’s doing. “Robin always has Batman’s back”, he said often...

For the time being, the one taking his gun out being knocked out triggered a “fight or flight” reaction in the others, and as two took off running (and were mysteriously hit by rocks too, knocking them out), three decided to attack Batman. 

Bad move. 

Very bad move. 

In a matter of second, it was over. 

He turns to you, and it’s hard to discern any emotions with his lighted eyes and mask. He asks : 

“Are you alright, (Y/N) ?” 

“How-How do you know my name ?”

“Well, you’re Bruce Wayne’s girlfriend, right ?” 

There was no hesitation in Bruce’s voice as, as soon as he pronounced your name, he knew he messed up...but he trained himself to think quickly. And this “fake” relationship was a perfect excuse, of course. Everyone in Gotham knew about you two, by now. 

“Oh, right, ok.” 

You seemed a bit disappointed, and Bruce couldn’t quite understand why...

It only hits him later, as he was going to bed, why you looked like that. And it made hi heart beat widely. Because he was pretty sure that it was because you sort of hoped Bruce talked to “Batman about you...Oh...Oh this was getting dangerous. 

But of course, Bruce had a reputation to be the one funding Batman’s gadget (a really good cover for the fact he was actually Batman). So they’d know each others...

But right there and then, as he just saved you, you felt so stupid, hoping that Bruce would’ve talked to you to Batman. Why would he ? How the hell would your name even show up in a conversation between Bruce Wayne and Batman (but oh, if you knew you occupied his thoughts many times, and who he really was, maybe you’d feel less bad ? It was, in a way, Bruce talking about you to Batman, right ?). 

You smiled weakly and shyly at this impressive being in front of you, and thanked him one more time. He nods, smiling too (oh ?), and bid you farewell. 

Ah. But Bruce didn’t notice your eyes go wide, as he took off with his grappling hook, and you caught the side of his face in a certain light...

Fake ?

"You know, he smiles more when you’re around.” 

Dick tells you once, you look at him curiously, as he continues : 

“And before you say it’s “all pretend”, let me tell you there’s a difference between this smile and the fake one. Look, that’s how he pretend.” 

On that note, he looked at you and smiled widely, exaggeratedly, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. And it was so like how Bruce portrayed himself in public, that it made you chuckle. 

It also scared you a little. 

Not because there was a possibility Bruce did smile more around you, but because as that little boy was being silly, and now imitating his adopted father further and oh so perfectly...You felt a surge of love for him. 

And that wasn’t good. 

Because the day, which was coming soon now, you’d have to “dump” Bruce Wayne, you wouldn’t be able to see that little one again...why would you ? 

It’d be too weird, right ? Someone like you, once “broken up”, would have no reasons or ways to ever interact with billionaire Bruce Wayne or his son ever again. 

That little boy was the sweetest child you ever met. He suffered a great loss so early in his life, and there he was, making you laugh and being nice by saying you made his dad genuinely smile. 

It hurt, to know that one day, you wouldn’t see him again. That he’d grow up, and you wouldn’t know what he became. 

You were sure he was destined to become a great man, and you wished you could see it...No. No this was bad. This was so bad. 

“I mean it you know.” 

His little voice brings your attention back to him. 

“I think you make him happy. With you, it feels he can be himself. He laughs more, really laughs. And it’s often that he tells me “oh this makes me think of (Y/N)” and calls you. He doesn’t need to call you for the fake relationship thing, right ? Yet he does. That means something. I think he likes you.” 

You shake your head, smiling at this little boy’s wild imagination. No way. No way was THE Bruce Wayne falling for you in any way. Were you guys becoming real friends ? Sure. But it definitely stopped there. Right ?

Oh but if only you knew Dick had a knack to see this kind of things, and to guess people’s real feelings. If only you knew, that yes, Bruce was starting to fall for you...It would make the next episode way less painful for you. 

“Catch me dead before you catch me catching feelings” - You to yourself, a few days before starting a fake relationship with THE Bruce Wayne. 

“Fuck you” - You to yourself, almost six months in faking a relationship with Bruce Wayne. 

This was...bad. 

Soon enough, you and Bruce will break this entire deal off, you will “dump” him, and you’d go on your separate ways. And...

This was bad. 

Why ? WHY COULDN’T YOU JUST HANG OUT WITH THIS AMAZING CHARMING MAN AND THAT’S IT ? Why ? WHY DID YOU HAVE TO GET OUT THERE AND CATCH....

Catch...

Catch those body shivering “feelings”. 

Not just for Bruce though. But for the little buddy too. 

You felt yourself fall for Bruce slowly, and as if it was completely out of your control. But you also felt like if Dick wasn't in your life anymore...You wouldn’t feel whole again. Like he was sort of your son, too, by then. 

This was so bad. How did you get yourself in this mess ? What was that FIRST rule you gave yourself when all this started ? 

Right, “Catch me dead before I catch feelings”. Damn it. 

Thanks GOD the “marrying season” was finally coming to an end. Both you and Bruce settled you’d wait a few weeks after it to make your break-up official, so nobody would be tempted to cancel any wedding plans to try and force their daughter onto him.  

And it couldn’t happen soon enough. 

Being around him now, faking being in love, was torture to you. 

Kissing him knowing he felt nothing. Holding his hand in public while you knew in your heart he was just putting a show still. And hanging out with him feeling that you had absolutely no chance of this ever evolving...

It hurt.

It hurt so bad. 

And you were slowly hoping you never agreed to being his fake girlfriend. Being a living cliche, the money and the fame were REALLY not worth the heartache. 

So not worth it...

The end...?

"Well mister Wayne, it has truly been a pleasure to be your "girlfriend" haha. Seriously, I had a lot of fun, and a little revenge on life. You know, I saw Eric and Monica not long ago. They tried to become my friends again, knowing I was with you. It was great, to ignore them like they ignored them. You’re right, they’re really not worth it. And honestly I still don’t think we’re even after they hurt me like they did but...In the end, they looked so outraged. Win-win, really. Thank you very much."

"Thank YOU, for playing along and doing more than you bargained for. You really saved me a lot of hassle and…I had fun, too."

Your taxi was pulling in front of the Manor, and honked as he parked. Clearly, not a very patient driver.

"Well, see you around, Bruce ! If you're not too busy, you know…I kinda consider you a friend by now ?"

"Me, too."

Bruce lied. A "friend" ? No, it couldn't cover and explain all his feelings for you. A "friend". How ridiculous.

As you walked away, giving him a last smile, Bruce felt a pang in his chest.

A painful and yet happy one. A longing one. One that told him that "friend" wasn't what he wanted to be…Not anymore…

But was there really a future for you and him ? Probably not. His nightly activities would get in the way. You deserve more than the life he could give you. Being his "fake" girlfriend, you only took part in his public matters. Part in a fake world full of nice things, that was far from his actual life.

"Friend", he wished he could be more to you than this.

But he knew.

He knew that for your own good, he had to stay away. And oh, oh how he wished he could be more than just your "friend" or "fake" boyfriend. 

Yet he watched as you walked away. Without doing anything. 

He watched you leave, and felt the hole in his heart expand a little more. But didn’t try to catch you, or stop you from leaving. 

And your taxi was already far, now. On its way to Gotham. 

"So you gonna run after her oooor…??"

Dick's little voice takes him out of his reveries.

“Mmm ?” 

“(Y/N). Are you gonna run after her, or stand there looking like a sad puppy for the rest of your life ?” 

“I do not look like a sad puppy.” 

“Yes you do, and you know it. Come on dad, why are you doing this ?” 

This was the first time Dick called him dad. Which didn’t go unnoticed to Bruce. It meant...It meant something was definitely happening. He felt it in his heart. Something that was dangerous. Oh so dangerous. 

Hope. Like the “old Bruce” had. Hope. Full of it. Before his parents were murdered in front of him, for no reasons. Meaningless. 

Hope. 

To have a family again. Ah. But...Being with you was impossible. And Dick would be enough. He would. He was already enough... 

“How long are ya gonna torture yourself exactly ?” 

That boy was too smart for his own good. Bruce said : 

“I’m not. I just...I can’t be with her.” 

“I cAn’T bE wITh hEr !! ...Why ?!” 

“You saw what happened, when it was made official we were together. She almost died.” 

“And you saved her. Your point being ?” 

“Dick...”

“Don’t -he takes a mock Bruce voice- “Dick” me mister ! You’re afraid to be happy, and I won’t have it. You gave me another chance to have a family. A dad. And I’m not about to let my dad punish himself for feeling good. You told me yourself my parents would like for me to be happy. Well yours would too, you big idiot ! So now, you listen to me.” 

Dick, meaning business, jumps on the stairs’ bannister to sort of be on eye level with Bruce, and says, pointing his finger at him : 

“You take one of those fancy useless sport car, and you run after her. Capish ?” 

There’s a moment of silence. During which Bruce is unsure of what to do. And then...Then he smiles at his son. 

His son. 

“Capish”, he simply says, and he rushes towards the garage’s entrance, under Dick’s happy look. 

Success. 

Bruce’s car was leaving the estate, when Alfred joined Dick at the front door. 

“You did it, Master Richard.” 

“I hope I did !” 

“Oh you did. You did. Thank you. Thank you for taking care of my son...”

Dick turned to Alfred, who couldn’t keep a straight face this time. Small tears gathered in the old man’s eyes, and sweet little Dick did not hesitate one second before jumping into his arms and giving him one of his famous “Grayson special” hug. 

It’s real. 

Back to square one. 

You. A bad day. Looking like a mess (this time not because of the rain, but because you cried a lot). Your gap year almost over and still not knowing who you were. With no coffee, but at least, you had a tub of ice cream. 

You already missed Bruce. And Dick. And Alfred. 

You couldn’t believe those six months of “faking” would end up meaning so much to you, and feel so devastating as they ended. 

You wish you had never met Bruce. And that you’d been ridiculed by Eric and Monica, that your life would still be pathetic...Pathetic maybe, but at least, your heart wasn’t completely shattered. 

You don’t hear the hurried knocks on your door, at first. Entranced by your own sadness. It’s only when they become loud and insistant you react. 

You really hope it’s not a journalist. They sort of tried to talk to you so many times, since you “dumped” Bruce...You knew he made sure that they’d stay away, but some were particularly persistent. 

Including that awful woman from the charity, who was asking Dick those horrible questions. “Vicky Vale”, was her name, apparently. What a witch. 

Clearly, the knocking wasn’t gonna go away, so you stood up, settled your tub of ice cream on your coffee table, and went to the door, ready to fight if need be. 

But there was no need for fights. 

At least, not in the literal sense of the term. 

“Bruce ?” 

He seems out of breath. Incredible, given how in shape he was. He doesn’t really leave you any time to say anything else, as he blurts out :

“I was wrong.”

He blurts out out of nowhere, and you’re even more confused. Before you could ask what was all this about, he adds : 

“I was wrong. When I said you were the right person because you were “normal”. You’re everything, BUT “just a regular person”. You’re the most fantastic woman I’ve ever met. You decided to help a total stranger just because. I know I helped you before, but it doesn’t compare to what you did for me. Especially on a matter that seems so silly to me now. You put yourself in a very awkward position for someone you didn’t even know. In front of the public, for a guy like me. You knew I was a “playboy”, and that I could very well use you. Yet you still put up with it. You accepted my son, even as you didn’t have to. Even as, just like me, you are so young. You were nice to Dick, even if all you needed to do was pretend. You’re...You’re...You’re just something else entirely. It feels like you know me, the real me. Like you can read my very soul. Like you’re the only one for me. I’ve known for a long time. I ignored it because I was afraid of what that meant but...but a certain little one made me realize this was time. It’s time to move on. It’s time to allow myself to be happy. And so, here I am.”

Was this...it ? The point of your gap year ? To discover that finding yourself...Meant finding your soulmate ? 

It sounded silly. While at the same time, not. Because you felt it. You felt it deep within you. From the moment Bruce handed you that twenty dollars bill, fate was in motion. 

You meeting Eric and Monica wasn’t bad luck. It was the opposite. It was the Universe’s push towards your real Destiny. 

Towards Bruce. 

“You’re not saying anything. Is this bad ? Or does it mean I blew your mind away ? I’m clearly hoping for the latter...”

Over the months, you discovered how huge of a dork Bruce Wayne could be. Even as if there was often a darkness right behind his smiles. Deep within his eyes. You discovered he wasn’t always this cocky arrogant man he portrayed himself to be while in public. How he was actually pretty funny and oh so empathetic. How...How so many things, the list seemed endless in your mind. 

And it only added to everything, that he looked so unsure. And so you smile. You just smile at him. And everything you feel is in that smile. 

You don’t even realize you’re holding each others now, and that you’re kissing...

It’s not pretend this time. 

A real first kiss. 

Though maybe all your kisses until now weren’t as fake as you pretended them to be. 

In any case, this, right now, is a real kiss alright. 

A real one. 

Full of all the pent up emotions. Free of all the fear and hurt you both felt as you realized you were in love with the other one, yet you thought things were all “fake”. 

Because it wasn't fake. It wasn’t. 

“I love you.” 

You don’t know who said it first. You, or him. You felt so in sync, that it didn’t matter. What is sure, is that you both said it. Before you closed the door to your apartment, leading him in. 

Before you spend the night in each other’s arms.

Bruce not even thinking about going out as Batman..

For the first time in years, he decided to fully embrace being happy. 

“You always told me my parents would wish for me to be happy, well yours too !” Dick said. And oh, he was so right.

By the way, I’m Batman. Surprise. 

“It’s not like I didn’t know, you know.” 

“Huh ?” 

Oh. Oh the delight to see that surprised expression on Bruce’s face. It was quite a rare one, really. And as he finally gathered the courage to tell you who he really was, risking losing you in the process but wanting to show you his full self...

It was particularly delightful. 

“Busted you on that night you saved me. As if I wasn’t going to recognized that jawline.” 

“Wait, really ? I really thought you bought my lies !” 

“Well now, you know not to underestimate me.” 

“I...Do.”

A natural smile reaches his face, and he approaches you, pulling you to him, and laying a soft kiss on your lips. Feeling fully accepted and loved, like never before. And he could see you-

“Oh NO EWWWWWW !!!” 

You pull away from Bruce’s kiss (noticing his slow grumble, displeased to lose  your warmth), and look at little Dickie (your son too, now !), staring at you two, looking disgusted. 

“Get a ROOOOM !!” 

This makes you laugh. A lot. And oh. Oh how would you ever guess, in that moment, that one day, this “get a room !!” said in such a disgusted tone would be the trademark of your children (SIX OF THEM) whenever they’d see you and Bruce display any sort of affection to one another ? 

You couldn’t guess, of course. But even in that moment, as you softly laughed, in Bruce’s arms, while looking at your son now making exaggerated noises and acting silly, you knew this...

This was what you’ve been looking for during this gap year. 

This was who you were. 

Right there. 

At the heart of a loving family, even if right now, it was just the three of you (four, let’s not forget Alfred !). 

The end. 

_________________________________________________

And here we are. I hope you liked it ? I feel particularly nervous about this one haha. Don’t hesitate to leave a little comment and reblog :),  It’s always greatly appreciated, and encouraging :D. Thanks in advance, and see you soon with a new story ! 

[anonymous0writer]

Saving You II JJ Maybank

Part One: Fine Line

Author: @anonymous0writer

Summary: You and JJ had been best friends for as long as you lived. But the feelings that would change your status haven’t been said. Will the words ever be said?

Warnings: Alcohol use, parental abuse, swearing. Brief mentions of depression/ self harming. 

Please read at your own discretion! (I struggle with depression so I wrote it how I experience it.)

Requested: “Reader and JJ are friends since kindergarten. She is his complete opposite - shy and low-key and introverted, but that’s why they fit so well together. They have feelings for each other, but never confessed. She knows about his issues at home, but JJ doesn’t want her to interfere, its dangerous. One day tho she sees as JJ's dad is abusing him and tries to help him, but she gets hurt as Luke slaps her too. JJ freaks out and after this mess he tells her how he feels”

A/N: This was really fun to write!! I love a best friends to lovers troupe. :) And this is long.... I hope you like it anon!! It’s also long..

Also: My second JJ series!! I actually have a plan for this, so it won’t be like Not Together Anymore, which was pretty bad! But for this series, I have four parts roughly planned... and I’m excited for it!!

Let me know what you think!!!

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Tags: @jayjaymaebank @rudys-pankow @maaybanks @everydayimfangirling @outrbank @thelocalpogue @teamnick @bxbyyyjocelyn

Y/N was laughing, with her head thrown back and her eyes alight with amusement. She didn’t catch the look her best friend gave her. But it was there, the secret glances filled with love and longing. In fact, ever since seventh grade, the two had been stealing admiring looks, hugging a little longer and smiling just a bit wider at each other. 

They were in love, yet the strict line of “best friends” kept their mouths shut, confining them to longing and dreaming of the day one would toe the line. But years had gone by, and no one had toed the line or even stepped just a little too close to it. The line was there for a reason right?

They’d met in third grade, and once they knew that the person staring at them was their person, they made up for the years they missed quickly. The two, ever since they met at the field trip to the beach when they were eight, and forced to be in a group together, they never left the other’s side. At eight, they knew that they were soul mates. Maybe not romantically, but in every other way. They never kept a secret and never left the other behind. They had a secret understanding that they couldn’t abandoned each other. Y/N and JJ were each other’s rocks. Any thing they needed, the other would be there in a heartbeat. 

And that’s how Y/N knew about JJ’s father way before anyone else. He’d been able to deal with it for a couple days, but when he showed up for work one day, grunting and wincing up a storm, Y/N demanded to know what had happened. JJ knew he couldn’t lie and say it was Rafe or another Kook. That was how Y/N learned that JJ’s father had beaten him ever since seventh grade and his mom left. Ever since then, whenever Y/N sensed something was off, she drove to JJ’s and found him hurting and bruising, and would nurse him back to health and kept her mouth shut.

JJ knew about Y/N’s struggle with depression. She’d been hurting herself by biting herself since the start of high school. The episodes hit out of no where, and when Y/N didn’t show up for two days at school, JJ knew something was very wrong. Y/N was never late to school. Hell, she hated missing class more than anything and came in once when she was half dead from a cold. So JJ had barged in, and found her in the shower, staring blankly at the wall, bruises and angry red teeth marks marring her arm. He’d nursed her back to health, promising to keep her struggles a secret from everyone, including her parents as long as she didn’t hurt herself anymore. 

Both had secret they’d rather keep secret, but they couldn’t keep it from each other. They had a pact. They’d be there and help each other, and they’d never leave the other. 

The two were practically attached at the hip. You didn’t see Y/N without JJ close behind. You never saw JJ without an arm around Y/N’s shoulders or her laugh chasing after him. They were always together, and it was a shock if you saw one alone. They didn’t avoid each other if they fought. Sure, they rolled their eyes at each other and called each other an idiot or a dumb ass, but they still sat close and acted as if there wasn’t a fight. They’d make up, deciding it was too much work to be mad at each other. But no matter what, they were always together. Some called them twins, or the two. Even the pogues didn’t call them individually. Even when JJ was begin a dumb ass, and Y/N was just sitting next to him, Kie would yell, “Quit it you two!”. 

But with knowing each other since they were eight and spending every day together since then, and knowing each other’s deepest darkest secrets, they fell in love silently. They’d both crossed the line without the other knowing, thinking it was untouched.

And Y/N would’ve known that the blonde was in love if only she saw the look he gave her as she laughed. But she didn’t, so she never knew. 

-----

The Boneyard party was in full swing, but a small group of kids from the Cut were sitting by themselves, opting for hanging out with each other instead of getting shit faced drunk with the rest of the kids. 

Pope Heyward sat, back pressed against a dead tree, no beer in sight. The boy liked to keep the ‘signal clear’ and not get a DUI. The boy ran a hand through his hair, eyes bright as he talked. He wore an old fishing T-shirt and was sitting cross legged, talking enthusiastically with the girl across from him. 

Kiara Carrera was shaking her head at Pope, waiting until he finish so she could launch into her own point. Her long and dark curly hair was tamed into a half up half down bun, the curls bouncing around her shoulders. She wore a bright yellow crop top, her shorts faded and worn. Her flip flops were discarded beside her, and she dug her bare feet into the warm sand. When it was her turn to speak, the boy on her right poked her in the stomach. Kiara slapped his hand, and started over. 

The boy who poked his best friend was John B. Routledge. Called John B. because his father was also a John, and John B. fit him more than John. He laughed and poked the girl again, but let her talk as he took a sip of his beer. He was tall, tan and wore a half open button up. He sat on a log, and dropped the empty beer can to the sand, asking his best friend since the second grade to hand him another. 

JJ Maybank grabbed the cooler seated next to him and fished out a beer, popping it up into the air for his friend to catch. “Nice one, slick.” He commented when the boy failed to catch it and it hit him in the stomach. The blonde laughed, smirking hard, but was able to listen to the girl who’s feet were in his lap. His hands rested on her legs, thumbs tracing small patterns onto her skin. JJ was wearing his famous backwards cap that tamed the blonde hair underneath. His tan arms were on display in his sleeveless T-shirt. 

The girl with her legs on JJ was Y/N Y/L/N. Head thrown back as she listened to the heated conversation of the two next to her, and smirking at John B. and JJ. Her longest friend here was JJ, but John B. was in close second. Kiara was her sister and Pope was the fellow genuis. Each kid had their own connection to each other, but in all, they were the closest group of friends you could find, best friends since the day they met. 

And with the closeness of the best friends came a few set of rules. 

One: Never leave a Pogue behind.

However, the rule had been broken a few times when they came a little too close to the cops catching them. But the rule was the foundation of their group. They would die for each other and wouldn’t even think about leaving one. Except when the cops were inches away from putting them in a cop car. The cops were the only exception, though JJ had a knack for ending up there anyway.

Two: No pogue on pogue macking.

That was established by Kie. And seconded by Y/N. If people started to sneak around, the intricate webbing of their friendship would unravel. The rule sharpened the line between Y/N and JJ. This was also another foundation of the group. No kissing or messing around with each other, and everyone would be fine. Sure, they’d kiss on dares and on time Y/N kissed Kie because the boys wouldn’t leave them alone, but that was strictly... ‘professional’. 

There were other rules, but none as important as those two. And, with the closeness of JJ and Y/N, people automatically assumed that they were a couple. Hell, out of the five in the circle, they were the only ones touching, with Y/N’s feet in JJ’s lap, his fingers tracing a soft pattern in her skin. There was no denying or arguing the fact that those two were the closest out of all of them. Soulmates was the one word to describe them.

“Alright, Kie,” JJ called out, thumbs pressing a little harder into the calf of Y/N. She didn’t mind it and smiled lightly at the surfer. “You gotta pay up.”

Kie glared, pulled out of her conversation with Pope. But now everyone’s attention was on the blonde. He smirked and raised his eye brows at the dark haired girl. 

“For what?” Kie asked. 

JJ laughed, “C’mon. The bet about-”

“Yeah, yeah. I know, JJ.” Kie grumbled, embarrassed about loosing the bet. 

The five bet all the time. Nine out of ten times, JJ was involved, but everyone gambled with each other. Over stupid things, but one was always granted a kiss, money or fulfilling a dare. This time, the award in question was a kiss. If JJ could do three of the difficult tricks on his board, three times in a row without messing up, (in one go) Kie would give JJ a kiss. 

But Kie being the clever girl she was, knew JJ didn’t specify the kiss. She smirked, and leaned forward, mouth hovering near JJ’s. 

Y/N looked away, mouth twisting at the thought of JJ wanting a kiss from Kie. It made her heart ache just a little. Y/N had fallen in love with the boy in front of her since high school and had helped her through one of her darkest moments. The blonde never reciprocated the feelings, and Y/N never pursued them. The line between them was clear. Friends, and friends only. Even if she felt like crossing the line, she knew JJ would never feel the same way. Not in a million years. The countless girls he took from Boneyard parties and the locked doors was enough evidence of such. So Y/N kept her secret close to her heart, keeping it from the guy she’d never lied to in her whole life. She’d kept it for two years, silently yearning and begging the boy to feel the same way. 

But here he was, grinning as a girl leaned toward him, rewarding him with a kiss. And not just a girl. Kie. The girl he flirted with shamelessly. Sure, JJ did that with Y/N, but it was toned down and not as obvious. Y/N even overheard the surfer refer to her best friend as “the super hot hippy chick”. It was obvious why JJ made the bet with Kie in the first place, no less established a reward as such.

But Kie wasn’t into him. Or the bet. She smirked for her own reasons and planted a soft kiss on JJ’s cheek. Kie pulled back and sat back down, ignoring the squawk of disbelief from the boy.

“That wasn’t the deal!”

“You never said it had to be on the lips, idiot.” Kie muttered, eyes glancing over to Y/N to see her friend frown slightly at JJ’s reaction. “You’re a dumb ass.” She reiterated, but this time for a different reason. 

Kiara was the only one that knew the feelings the ‘two’ had for each other. But none of the two involved knew that she knew. She saw the way JJ looked at Y/N. Sure it was always different from the way he looked at everyone else, but something had changed in the past year. JJ had caught feelings later, but Kiara knew Y/N had loved the boy since the beginning of high school. 

“What?” JJ pouted, flashing his baby blues. When Kie shook her head, the blonde turned to Y/N. “You’ll kiss me, right?” 

The boy puckered his lips as they curved into a devious smile. Y/N blinked and met the eyes of her best friend. JJ leaned closer, waggling his eyebrows. However, Y/N recovered quickly, and smirked. She leaned in like she was going to kiss them, and then as their lips neared, she put her hands on his chest and shoved him back. JJ floundered, hands reeling and his jaw dropping in disbelief. 

Y/N giggled, smiling at her best friend. But as her stomach erupted in butterflies at the thought that JJ asked her for a kiss, even if she was the second option, JJ’s stomach was sinking because of the slight rejection. 

They knew each other inside out, but for their own reasons, they didn’t know that the other was feeling the same thing. They were falling in love, but they thought they were alone in the plummet, when they could be falling together.

[fangirlingincamouflage]

Blind Hope: Chapter 7

Title: Blind Hope Author: Rosie Dayze Word Count: 1,232 Pairing: Nick Jakoby x Reader Chapter Rating: PG-13 Themes: Angst, Plot, affectionate frustration Disclaimer I do not own Nick Jakoby, he is the intellectual property of Netflix Originals, I make no money from this fanfiction. Dedication: @14readwritedraw96 and @thezucchini​ (For being so wonderfully enthusiastic) TW/CW Descriptions of pain, long term hospital stay

Previous chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7 <~ You are Here

You are standing in the middle of the pasta isle at the grocery store when your cell phone goes off. It's that distinctive ping of an unknown number texting you. You sigh, roll your eyes, and wonder what is the easiest possible thing that you can make for dinner that night. In the past six days your workload has tripled. June and Em are on a much needed vacation and Nick is still unconscious at the hospital.

You know that because you called right before you left to go grocery shopping. You also called first thing this morning, and last night, and the morning before, and the night before that. You have called the hospital at least twice a day for the past thirty-seven days. You got the exact same information.

“Officer Jakoby is still in an induced coma, and he is not ready to be seen by friends or family.”

It was maddening.

Your phone goes off again and you set a jar of premade sauce back on the shelf. Your stomach isn't feeling red sauce. It isn't feeling pasta. Or oranges. Or any one of a thousand other things you were totally down for eating. You hadn't been hungry since the night part of LA went up in magical flames. Since Nick had been hospitalized.

With a sigh you eased into the snack isle. Is a bag of chips an acceptable replacement for dinner? Probably not, but you've had take out for the past two weeks and absolutely none of it has filled the steady, continuing ache in your heart.

Your phone goes off again.

“What?” you snarl loud enough to make the old lady with a basket full of frozen dinners blink with bewilderment. “Sorry. Not you.”

You pull your phone out and waive it at her. She doesn't look convinced, and doubles her speed to get into the next isle.

With a few swipes you bring up your new messages.

“This is Jessica, the Head Nurse at the Intensive Care Unit at the UCLA Medical Center.” The first message reads.

Your heard pounds so hard in your chest that your vision goes a little hazy. You grip your phone tightly enough to make the screen rainbow with protest.

“Nick Jakoby has achieved a state of continuing consciousness. One of my nurses made the mistake of telling him that you had stopped by.”

That hazy feeling turns to ash. You had wanted to see him yourself, to let him know what had gone on, and why you hadn't talked to him in six, not seven, months.  He must be angry, furious.

The third message is brief, and comes across as a little mad. “In order to keep him in bed, I promised him you would come see him tonight. Do not make me a liar.”

You desert your cart, and take the shortest possible trip to the hospital that you have ever taken. Which is impressive, considering all the times you driven up there in the past month, just in case something had happened between your morning and evening check-ins.

You don't stop at the front desk, you know where you are going. The elevator doors close as you turn the corner, and the wait for the next ones seems like an eternity. The moment the doors whoosh open, you surge inside hitting the buttons for the ICU floor. You don't even wait. You ht the close-door button and watch your reflection stare back at you as the lift starts to rise.

What are you going to say? Should you have gotten balloons? Flowers? A stuffed animal? Would he even be allowed those things? Did he want them from you? Did he want to see you to make up or to have a final talk? In the twenty-eight seconds that it takes to get to your floor, your mind plays out you greatest hopes and worst fears in a strange, overlapping loop that leaves you feeling a little lightheaded.

Though maybe that has something to do with the fact that you haven't eaten well in a month.

Your clothes don't fit right, you think as you tug at the fabric. You should have gone home to change. You were wearing your comfy clothes to go shopping. The fabric weird. Then you realize its not the fabric, its your own skin. You are so nervous that your skin feels like an electric current is running through it. With a huff you roll your shoulders, trying to settle your nerves. It doesn't help.

The doors slide open and as fast as you got into the elevator, you hesitate to get out. This could go wrong. What if his mother is there? His partner? What about Johnassen, the jerk who broke his phone so long ago?

It doesn't matter you tell yourself as you take that first step off the elevator. All that matters is he's awake. You'll be able to see him with your own eyes.

A stern looking woman with stark gray curls looks up from a desk as you approach. She tilts her head and inspects you.

“For Jakoby?” she asks like she already knows the answer. “Follow me.”

Your heart is in your ears as you follow in the steps of her worn out shoes. She swipes her badge, taking you through a set of secure double doors. The sounds of the hospital change. The ICU is bereft of human noises, but it isn't quiet. You can hear televisions on a half a dozen channels turned down low, doing what they could to preoccupy patients who were in layers of pain. The sound of breathing machines hiss and whirl. A man in green scrubs wheels supplies down the hall. There's no happy, warm chatter. Just a strange sense of desolation and pain.

You do not like it here, and you can't imagine Nick here. Nick, with his warm laugh and kindness. Nick who kisses you like the universe exists in your lips. You want to scoop him up and take him away.

The nurse stops outside of a door at the end of the hall.

“They are quarantined behind a see through partition,” she tells you in the kind of no-nonsense voice that must come from years in her work. “Do not attempt to breech this partition.”

She holds out a long medical gown. Confused, you shoved your arms into the sleeves. She spins you, and starts to tie it up, and then she puts another one on your back, spinning you again so she can tie it in the front. She hands you a cap, and a mask, and you put them both on as she helps your feet into medical grade booties.

“How dangerous is it?” You ask as she holds up a pair of gloves to slip on your hands.

“Unknown,” she tucks the end of the gloves over the wristband of the double set of gowns. “But you saw the news, you know where they were. Better safe than sorry.”

She types a number into the key pad. “You get ten minutes. No more, no less. I'm not being mean, but we need to minimize any chance of exposure.”

You nod your understanding. Ten minutes isn't much time, but you'll make the most of it.

“There are armed men in there,” she finally says. “Don't do anything to make them think you are a threat.”

It's the last bit of advice she gives you before the pad turns green and the door is opened.

The room is long, white, and empty save for what looks like a box made out of hanging plastic. Only a few of the lights are on, casting half the room in evening darkness. There are several beds, but only one of them is occupied. The long, lean body of a black male is visible beneath the harsh lighting. Three other people stand guard, dressed from head to toe, AR-15 clutched in their hands. The door closes behind you.

For a moment you stand there, frozen and unsure. A little, ugly thought makes you wonder if this is some weird trick. Then you hear your name.

Your eyes are drown to the shape of a man sitting in a chair. You hadn't noticed him at first because the dark lines of his body blend a little too easily with the pseudo darkness on that side of the room. But now that you've seen him, you can't pull your gaze away.

Nick. You'd know the shape of him anywhere. The broad, strong line of his shoulders stands guardian against the pitch black behind him. There's a blanket across his legs, and an IV in his arm.

“It's you,” he says softly, disbelieving.

“Nick.” You take one step, and then another, and before you know it your legs are carrying you across the room. You almost forget the plastic. When you foot hits it, you're startled. The guards watch you with cold glares. “Sorry.”

And once you start saying it, you can't stop. Over and over again you apologize. You don't realize you are crying until you taste the hot salt of your own tears. You are sorry you didn't call him. You are sorry you left. You are sorry you didn't answer him back. You are sorry for everything you ever did in the last six months because none of those things was going to him. You sink to your knees at the edge of the partition, the tears making it impossible to speak.

He says your name again, so soft you wonder if you dreamed it. You look up, and he's shaking his head.

“Please, don't cry.”

Slowly, unsteadily, he gets up. He doesn't look at you as he pulls the chair from one side of the plastic sheet box to the other. Right in front of you, he plops the chair down, and then lowers himself into it. His staccato motions belie how hurt he must still be.

The pair of you are silent as you look one another over. You see the bruises beneath his woad blue spots; purple and yellow and, in some places, black. You see the stitches in his arm, the thick swelling of his hands. The skin around his cheeks is slack with the lack of food he's gotten in the past month. But his eyes, those gorgeous eyes that are yellow and red and orange all at once, they are filled with pain that has nothing to do with being thrown half a football field by a magical explosion.

“You're here,” he says, his voice soft. “I thought-” He stop short, shrugging, and then wincing.

“I know,” you tell him. While you aren't sure of the exact words he must have thought, you know that it couldn't have been good.

“Why?” he asks.

You open your mouth to tell him, but the words wont come. You remember Elizabeth, his mother, and the way she had looked at you. You could tell him everything, but what good would that do? He might get angry at his mother, it might cause some kind of rift between them and how many people did Nick really have who cared that much for his safety? Not nearly enough, you think as you take in injuries you hadn't noticed before.

Instead you shrug. You can't bring yourself to lie, but you can't bring yourself to tell him the truth either, no matter how much it's burned inside of you. You turn the words that she said over in your mind, pulling an answer from them without revealing their source.

“You got hurt because you were with me.” Your voice cracks as you say it.

His eyes close and his shoulders sag. His body leans forward. You think he's about to slide out of the chair. The pair of you kneel on the floor, staring at one another. Emotions that you don't think have ever been named whirl through you. You want to touch him, you want to hold him, you want to vanish together into the night.

“No,” he said shaking his head. “No. You were just the excuse. When they saw me-” he cuts off, coughs, and shakes. “They'd already decided what they were going to do.”

He looks away. You can tell that there's more to say, that he's struggling. Rather than push you give him a moment. He deserves that at the very least.

“It wont happen again,” he says.

“Why not?”

He opens his palm, I can't see anything there, but he must because he's staring down at it like it's something special.

“I can't talk about a lot that happened that night,” he says. “I want to, I want to tell you everything but...I can't.”

You shake your head. “I just need to know you are safe.”

“I think I am. I mean-I gotta tell you, it was not a normal night. I was...I was blooded.”

Your eyes go wide. You can't help but stare at his lips. He smirks.

“It'll take a while for the tusks to grow. But I don't need to file them anymore.”

You sit back on your heels. “Are you okay with that?”

He shrugs. “I guess that depends.”

“On what?” you ask.

He takes a deep breath and looks at you. It's a long look, a scared and hopeful one. It's like he's weighing a thousand dreams as he watches you and all you can do is wait.

“I thought I was getting over you,” he finally says. “It'd been months. Long months. Really, really long months. My mom even set me up on a couple dates with some unblooded girls from other states.”

Your stomach twists.

“Yeah?” you say, hoping that he's not about to tell you that he has moved on and this whole thing was about him saying goodbye.

“They were nice, but they...they didn't understand me. They didn't like what I do. They didn't like my jokes and they all thought Alaska is stupid.” The two of you laugh and it feels so good. He shifts his position until the two of you are nearly the same height. “I wasn't falling for someone else but I was pretending really hard like I was getting over you.”

You nod, you know what he means. You'd been going through all the motions, acting like you were moving forward when all you were doing was playing the role and hoping.

“I was going to come see you,” he said. “As soon as my shift was over that night. I was going to go right to your apartment. Everyone said I shouldn't because I'd just get hurt, but I thought that it would be worth it. I just..”

Slowly he reached into the blanket still twisted around his legs. His thick, injured fingers shook with pain as he pushed the fabric around.

“Where-hold on-it's here, I swear.”

Your heart, which has already gone through far too much, pounds all over again. Your mouth goes dry.

“Nick...”

“I almost died you know,” he says as he lifts a corner, continues to look. There's a little wetness on his brow, and you wonder if it's fear, nerves, or pain that's put it there. “And not just once. I almost died like four times.”

One of the guards cleared their throats.

“I know,” Nick said, holding up his free hand. “I know. I can't tell her anything. But you only have to look at me to see that it happened.” He went still, and bowed his head. “I did die.”

It's not even a whisper, there's no sound. It's a breath of words that you are sure the guards couldn't hear. You pounding heart turns to ice in your chest.

“What?”

But he doesn't say it again. Instead he looks up at you and his eyes are bright with a hundred emotions. “And all I could think about, was you.”

He holds out his hand. Nested there is a black velvet box. Carefully, he opens it, revealing a ring. It's made of two metals, platinum and rose gold, twisted around one another to form a very simple braid, and right there at the center is a stone in the exact same shade of blue as his spots.

“All  I thought about every day has been you,” he is saying when your ears start to work again. “And I don't want to ever have to worry again.”

You swallow twice before you can speak. “Are you proposing?”

You aren't sure if he's blushing, but his ears twitch. “Only if you're saying yes.”

“You have to ask,” you say. “You have to...ask.”

“Is it a spell? A human thing?” he says.

You shrug, because it kind of is, but mostly you just need to time to stop your thoughts from making such a commotion in your head. There are a hundred ways this could go wrong, a thousand even, but even so-

He says your name and you find that he's shifted yet again, down on one knee in front of you. “Will you marry me?”

[alottanothing]

Left to Ruin Chapter Seven

Summary: Nouke and her family struggle with life in exile. When her mother show’s signs of falling ill, Nouke tries to find away to save her. 

Previous Chapters

Word Count: 4087

Warnings: None

Tag List:  @xmxisxforxmaybe​, @r-ahh-mi​, @theultraviolencefan​, @hah0106​, @rami-malek-trash​, @diasimar​, @sherlollydramoine​, @flipper-kisses​, @ivy-miranda-2390​, @txmel​, @sunkissedmikky​, @concentratedsassandcandy​, @babyalienfairy​, @edteche2 (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N:  Alrighty, so timeline wise, by the end of this one we are caught up to where Ahk was the last we saw him in chapter 5 (about a week or two after he’s sent all of his potential brides away)–hopefully that’s not confusing. And as always thank you for your comments, likes and reblogs of last chapter! Also, a couple of you have messaged me about the moodboards and you have no idea how happy those messages made me. I’m so glad you’re enjoying the story, and the totally self-indulgent moodboards. I welcome messages like that! 🥰 You guys rock! Once again as a disclaimer, I am not an ancient Egyptian expert and google only knows so much. So yeah, I took so historical liberties while writing this to make my life easier, but tried to keep it as “authentic” as possible

Years spent among the common people—hours spent cultivating land—was no better, nor was it worse than Nouke thought it would be. There was no extravagance; every day was the same as the last, and the labor was the hardest she ever recalled doing. Each night her body ached, her skin grew rough with callouses and darker from the unyielding sun. And despite it, Nouke felt there was a sense of dignity to all that her family did on their farm. Every effort made was to better themselves versus a lifetime of work to better someone else. Mornings were early and the work was hard, but it could have been worse.

She still had her mother and her father—her life—despite the toil they all had suffered. All things considered, everything lost or gained; it was her family that mattered the most to her, and she still had them. 

Nouke thrived on that routine and for five years life was truly blissful. 

The workday was drawing to a close, Nouke could tell by the dull ache beginning to settle in her feet and back. It had been abnormally hot, and her skin was sticky from hours of sweat creating a protective film over her flesh. She wanted nothing more than to wash up for the evening and rest. 

She and the two stable boys were finishing up with the livestock in the lower part of their dwelling when a cry came from out in the field. Immediately, Nouke dropped her sack of feed and ran to investigate, finding her father doubled over and clutching his abdomen in pain. Nouke gasped and ran to his side. 

“Father!” Concern rapidly contorted her face as she knelt beside him, cradling his head as he writhed, the shock forcing her into a momentary state of paralysis. “What’s wrong?”

The strain on his face was evidence enough for her to know he was in pain. She watched helplessly as Ramentukah opened his mouth to speak, only for strangled grunts to form in place of his words.

Worry settled deeper, and suddenly her own aches were forgotten. Nouke called for the farmhands to help her father up the stairs and inside. They were quick and strong, easily positioning themselves to support her father's weight.

 “Thank you,” her father choked out, doing his best to walk with them.

Nouke helped guide them as best she could, scaling the staircase backward skillfully, shouting for her mother.

“I’m fine, Nouke,” Ramentukah assured her with a weak smile.

She could still see the pain in his features, and it made her own concern even more apparent.

“What happened?” her mother spoke, her expression a mirrored image of her daughters concern.

“He fell over. He’s in pain mother,” Nouke told her.   

Maketatan rushed to help guide her husband into the room where the three of them slept on separate mats, gently laying Ramentukah on his. She never strayed from his side, lulling him and brushing the rough strands of hair from his face with one hand as she held his in her other.

Nouke dismissed the boys back to their chores and thanked them for helping. She lingered in the doorway for a moment, feeling somewhat helpless as she watched her mother fuss over her father. She could feel the onslaught of tears beginning to brew behind her eyes, but she held them back, taking a moment to steady her composure. 

“We need to get him to a healer,” she said softly, stepping into the room.

Maketaten nodded, but frowned, “We don’t have money for a healer.”

“What about the money we’ve put away?”

“Not enough.” 

Nouke’s frown fell deeper as she searched her mind for a way to help her father.

“Some of the crop will be ready for the market come the week's end,” she stated. “Perhaps that will bring in enough to add to what’s been putting away?” 

On a good day, they made a significant sum at the market—which alone could help buy her father the care he obviously required. But that was only if they could sell every bushel for the price they asked. Most people liked to barter lower.

After a moment of thought, her mother nodded.

“It could be enough,” she said, still sounding unsure.

Maketaten’s focus fell from her daughter to her husband as she dabbed at the droplets of sweat dotting his forehead with a piece of clean linen. Even through his pain, Ramentukah held his wife in his gaze, as though she were the only person in the world—a creature of astounding beauty. And her mother looked at him much the same. 

Nouke watched them quietly, the love and admiration radiating from them filling the small space with warmth as well as a sadness that made her heart heavy.

“Hold on, my love,” Maketaten murmured, kissing the back of her husband’s hand. “You mustn’t leave me yet. I will not let the gods take you.”

A soft, strained chuckle rasped past Ramentukah’s lips as he smiled up at his wife, bringing her hand closer so he could lay a kiss to it.

“I could never, truly, leave you,” he rasped. 

Tears welled in Nouke's eyes, overcome with the radiance of their love, suddenly feeling as though she was imposing. She left her parents in search of distraction, letting them have that moment to themselves. Her feet carried her back outside and down into the stable, though she could hardly recall the journey. There was so much to be done still, yet the knots in her stomach kept her mind from focusing on much else. Mechanically, she picked up the sack of feed she’d abandoned and willed herself not to think about whatever malady had stricken her father.

Three days—She reminded herself as she worked. Three days of heavy routine, a trip to the market and back. Three days and she could get her father the help he needed. Just three. 

It was the longest three days of Nouke’s life; every moment spent hanging by a thread. Never had she worked so hard towards a goal that never came to pass.

At dawn on the third day, before she’d woken to ready the cart to take to market, Nouke was pulled from her sleep by the sounds of her mothers crying. An emptiness fought to consume her when she heard those sobs; she knew what they meant. Her father passed in his sleep, holding his wife’s hand.

Nouke laid frozen with grief, shedding silent tears until bottling up the raging emotion to be expressed later. She needed to be strong; her mother’s grief would be worse than her own. Maketaten's love for her husband had the potential to destroy her upon his death—Nouke couldn’t let that happen. Such a notion made Nouke wonder if loving someone so deeply was worth the inevitable heartache—would she ever know? She hoped so. Her mother and father were so happy together.

Maketaten refused to let go of her husband's hand for hours despite all of her daughter's gentle coaxing. Her mother’s devastation was even worse than she would have imagined.

“Okay…” Nouke conceded easily, kissing her mother on the temple before she stood.  

A sharp pang of woe stabbed into her as she took in the picture of her mother and father. The sight made her heart break even more, and she wasn’t sure if it was due to the loss her mother was feeling or her own. Nevertheless, tears started to breach the cold façade she’d built to guard her mother as she realized the money they’d saved would now be needed to cover a modest burial, and Nouke would have to see to it all. Her mother was not strong enough with grief crippling her to organize such formalities.

On the day Ramentukah was laid to rest, Nouke was certain she had never seen someone more inconsolable then her mother. The priest did little more than utter one or two blessings; her father’s coffin was a simple wooden box that she herself painted with blessings to see him into the afterlife. The farmhands dug the plot themselves, and they helped to lay her father in the ground where his body would remain for the rest of time.  

It was simple and somber, and not nearly enough for a great man like her father. However, Nouke also knew that Ramentukah would be happy to rest on the farm he had built for them—with his family forever until they joined him in death. And that notion was enough.

In a matter of days, the routine Nouke had come to master significantly shifted. With their money all but spent, they had to dismiss the farmhands in their employ, unable to provide for them as well as herself and her mother. Nouke could only devote so much time to the land to make a truly lucrative harvest; her mother needed her care. And while her mother did her best to assist in the field with chores, it was simply too much for her to keep up with.  

Maketaten’s spirit was amiss, and Nouke could not bring herself to lay blame upon her. She had to be strong for her mother. Not once in those initial months following her father’s death did Nouke ever let on how much her bottled-up stress and grief was ripping away at her from the inside—screaming to be set free. Nouke knew if she let her mother see her break, Maketaten would slip back into the void she was trying desperately to climb out of. She refused to be the reason her mother suffered any more pain.

Her only release came when the sky was as black as the emptiness her father’s death had left, and after her mother was sleeping. Nightfall was when Nouke could sneak away to the rooftop of their home and nestle herself among the makeshift bedding, clutching cushions to her chest as she let her emotions spill until her eyes were bloodshot and every last nerve in her body was frayed.

It took years before life started to resemble a fraction of what they’d once had. Time, Nouke feared, would never truly heal the pain her mother endured, but as the seasons passed, Maketaten’s grief let go of more of her.

The farm survived too, be it out of Nouke’s own stubbornness to not let it fail after the work her father had put into it, or simply the fear of what would become of she and her mother if they lost anymore. It was a strenuous undertaking for only the two of them, but Nouke knew there were few choices.

“Maybe it’s time I marry…” Nouke thought aloud as she and her mother were finishing up their work in the stable.  

Her own face twisted, the taste of her words sour. The notion was not a sudden revelation; it was something Nouke had sacrificed many nights of sleep to mull over. Marriage offered stability as well as another hand to help: more crops meant more income. It seemed such an easy and logical solution to their struggles, but it remained the most daunting.

There’d been a few men who’d taken a fancy to her and come calling. Both were farmers—able men who would take easily to the work the farm required. But they lacked something that Nouke could never place each time she was with them; they had no spark, and she doubted she could live happily with someone like that.

Maketaten cast her daughter a look of disbelief, mouth popping open, as though she wanted to rebuttal but couldn’t find the words.

Nouke ignored her mother’s shock and continued her reasoning, unsure if it was for her mother’s benefit or her own.

“We could use another hand, mother. And we can’t afford to pay anyone.”

A series of emotions drifted onto her mother’s face, each one turning her lips into a deeper, more shameful frown.  

“I am sorry I am not more help, Nouke.”

“That’s not what—” Nouke sighed, immediately regretting having brought up the topic. “It’s not that you haven’t been a help—you have. We need stability. We are barely getting by.”

Maketaten sighed too, her expression one of sorrow.

“It was never your father and I’s wish to marry you off for the prospect of stability—stability is built, not bought.” Her expression softened, and Nouke could almost see her mother slipping into a fond memory before she spoke again.  

“I, unlike so many others, was promised to no one. I met your father, and we fell in love. Only with love can one truly prosper.”

Nouke felt a tug on her heartstrings seeing the wistful expression take hold of her mother. It was so close to an air of happiness that she didn’t dare interrupt it. Instead, she watched the memories drifting in her mother’s eyes: memories of her husband, the love and light of her life.

She wanted that for herself, as greedy as perhaps it was. The devotion and adoration she’d witnessed all her life was something she craved to hold. However, the gods had a habit of destroying every dream she’d ever wanted for herself.

“Mother…” Nouke choked out softly, suddenly overwhelmed with a sadness she was unsure of.

There were tears shimmering in her mother’s eyes when she met them, tears, and resoluteness that Nouke had not seen in a long time.

“No, Nouke,” she said adamantly. “I will not see you live even more miserably. This world has already taken so much from you…”  

Her mother’s words stilled her, and she knew then there would be no sense in arguing. Nouke responded with a sad smile; her words lost amidst the mess of thoughts in her head.

A silence fell between them as they tended to the rest of their chores. Nouke did her best to push her focus on her work, wanting it to consume her, afraid her thoughts would stray to the piles of things she’d fought for years to forget.

Night was falling when their work was done and Nouke followed her mother up the stairs, her mother’s steps growing more labored near the top until she began to fall. Nouke quickly braced and caught her, helping her mother stabilize on the stone railing.

“Are you alright?” Nouke asked, concern evident in her tone.

Maketaten chuckled lightly. 

“Just a little dizzy from a day in the heat,” she reassured her daughter.

 Nouke led her mother to a stool in the common area of their home, skeptical about her mother’s reasoning. An irritating twinge of panic began twisting familiar knots into her stomach as her mind filled with images of her father collapsed in the field.

“Does this happen…often?” Nouke asked, unable to mask the crack in her voice.

Her mother shrugged, “Only recently.”

Nouke’s panic settled deeper, knot's tightening.

“I’m not young anymore. I assure you; I am fine.” Maketaten’s voice was calm and exuded assurance, but Nouke didn’t miss the faint glimmer of fear in her eyes. 

That restrained fear was enough to tie a knot in Nouke’s throat she tried to swallow before it drew tears to her eyes. She could gauge her own expression from the one her mother held, knowing that her own fear was rapidly taking shape on her features.

“Maybe…” Nouke said as softly as she could. “You should see a healer.”

Maketaten reached to caress her daughter's face, smiling gently.

“My sweet girl. You are full of worry…” she spoke, tracing the lines on her daughter's face, looking sad. “I will be fine.”

Nouke cupped her hand over her mother’s and held it to her face, relishing in the warmth her touch offered.

“I cannot lose you, mother.” 

Maketaten placed a lingering kiss to Nouke’s forehead.

“I’m tired. It’s time I rest. Goodnight.” Her mother said, without more to say about her supposed sickness.

“Goodnight.” 

Nouke watched her go, allowing her fear to settle in a room by herself. Her father was taken too suddenly for them to remedy whatever it was that ailed him. She would not let the same fate befall her mother. She didn’t know if she had the strength to lose everyone she loved.

During the week that followed, Nouke’s concern took root in her stomach a little deeper as every day slipped by balefully to remind her that time was working against her. And while her mother didn’t seem to be in any pain, the knots in her stomach wound tighter with the sense something was not right. Meals went uneaten and the labor it took her to do the simplest of the chores was evidence of her failing health.

Every passing moment felt more critical than the last, dread an ever-present cloud in her thoughts bringing with it the fear of waking to find her mother had passed in the night. The notion ate away at her night after night, keeping her from sleep before, finally, Nouke couldn’t waste another minute—she had to try something.  

It was late afternoon when Nouke ventured into the market while her mother rested. The familiar thrum instilled her with a much-needed boost to keep her head focused on her task. She knew of two people who could help her if they were feeling kind: one took patients and both sold vials of curatives. The jingling of coins in the bag tied at her hip, and the sack of fresh harvestables slung over her shoulder, reminded her that she had little to offer for services—a few coins and the best bushels from their farm.

In her heart, she knew that wouldn’t be enough, but she kept walking with her chin up.

The market was busy for the lateness of the hour, the glow of lamps and torches lighting the shadowy streets. Nouke maneuvered through the hordes of people with practiced agility, making her way to the first stall, going over what she was to say silently in her head.

He was a younger man, older than herself, dressed fashionably in robes of finer linen indicating that he was skilled in his profession. The man was carefully packing up his stall, ready to turn in for the night when Nouke approached.   

“May I ask you a few questions?” Her heart was beating in her throat.

The healer turned and glanced at her with a raised brow and a smug curl on his lips.

“You may,” he said, his beady eyes looking her up and down several times, before deciding that she was worth his time.

“My mother is sick—though she won’t admit it. Would you be willing to—”

The man held up his hand to silence her, looking disinterested.

“Payment,” he demanded holding out his hand.

Nouke swallowed and glanced at the small coin purse on her hip, and the sack of goods she’d brought. Before she even worked the satchel of harvestables from her shoulder, the man scoffed with a mirthless chortle.

“No,” he told her.

“Please?” Nouke reached for the purse of coins, spilling them into her palm. “This is all I have.”

“All you have is not enough,” he scoffed, turning to pack up the rest of his market stall.

Any other day, Nouke would have acted on his slight, letting him know the gods would not take kindly to his cruel heart, but she was exhausted from her ceaseless worry. Instead, she sighed a wrothful puff, accompanying it with a scowl she hoped conveyed the level of insult she felt.

The next man was much older and adorned like most of the other merchants: as common as she. When he welcomed her into his stall with a kind smile, Nouke found herself smiling back in relief.

“What can I help you with?” he asked in a warm voice that was a stark contrast to the last man she had spoken to.

“My mother is sick,” 

“What signs of malady does she show?” he asked with genuine curiosity.

“Um, weakness, no appetite, fatigue—I don’t know of any pain.” Nouke swallowed, throwing another mournful look at the payment she had to offer. “I don’t have much in return for your services, but it’s all I have. Will you help me?”

The man looked at her with a sad, apologetic smile.

“I am no healer, child.” He confessed. “I sell ointments for skin, burned from long hours in the sun, honey’s that help heal cuts. I know not what ails your mother. I sincerely wish I could help you, but I cannot provide the remedies you seek.”

Nouke’s entire body wilted under the weight of defeat.

“Thank you,” she murmured, offering the man her coin purse as payment for his time. “Sorry to have troubled you.”

“No, no,” he declined waving his hands. “Save it to help your mother.”

Nouke gave the man a warm smile and thanked him again.

The walk back to her farm seemed longer somehow, made that way by the weight of defeat she carried with her. Maketaten was sleeping when Nouke returned, venturing into their shared room to be sure she had not suffered the same fate as her husband. A tiny wave of relief washed over her when she heard her mother's soft snores, and the sound coaxed the ghost of a smile to tint her features.

Nouke didn’t even try to go to sleep that night; the grace of deep, dreamless slumber was elusive. When she did find sleep her mind was plagued with memories that soured into nightmares. Most nights, though, she spent staring at the ceiling. The day had brought only more worry, which left her mind too preoccupied for the wish of restfulness. Nouke instead took refuge on the roof.   

Tears brimmed her eyes the moment she nestled herself in her makeshift nest, feeling the full weight of fate upon her. She sat with her knees pulled to her chest, hugging them, feeling as though she was going to burst if she didn’t keep herself wound tight. For the first time in a long time, Nouke let herself drown in the sea of emotions she’d kept at bay longer than she wanted to admit. She cried until her head ached and throbbed with every beat of her breaking heart; until her tears ran dry leaving only soft whimpers. She knew sulking would get her nowhere but releasing all that pent-up turmoil cleared her head, and Nouke felt a sense of calm letting go of so much.

As the tears dried on her cheeks, the pulsing slowed enough to let her mind focus on a new plan to find a solution for her mother’s ailment. It would be months before most of the crops could be harvested to make any substantial profit, and as much as it pained her to think, Nouke knew her mother could not spare that kind of time.   

She sighed, trying to fight off another wave of defeat from pulling her back under the water, the heel of her hands rubbing her swollen eyes. When her vision adjusted, her focus settled on the distant horizon, and a glint caught her eye: the pharaoh’s palace was shinning like a beacon in the distance.

“Ahk…” she whispered breathlessly, feeling her heart flutter at the sound of his name falling easily from her tongue.

All at once, her mind flooded with the memories she’d locked away to keep from missing him. His kindness filled every trace of those memories, feeding her waves of foolish hope. Ahk would have healers and priests waiting to serve him, but he was pharaoh. The title loomed like a dark cloud to cast a shadow over the sweet prince she remembered. Power had a funny way of spoiling kindness. If his crown had not tainted him, he would help her—she knew he would.

Even getting inside the palace wouldn’t be difficult if the garden wall still held the passageway she’d found in her youth. All that was stopping her was Kahmunrah’s warning. If he or his guard recognized her, that would be the end. The thought should have frightened her more than it did, but the threat of her own death didn’t seem so daunting if it meant she could save her mother.

As long as she could avoid Kahmunrah and find Ahk, there was hope something good could come from such a foolish decision.  

Next Chapter-> Chapter Eight: The Boy From the Palace

[telcumekum1982]

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Red Dead Rising | Chapter 4

Fanfic summary: 12 YEARS BEFORE RDR2 - Greed, money, and larceny. These are the only things Arthur has ever known; the only things he’s ever been taught. But when Dutch decides to hit a town called Harlow, what started out as nothing more than a plan to rob the local bank ends up igniting the events that lead to RDR2, and a 24 year-old Arthur is forced to confront his morality while the gang faces a terrifying enemy of their own making.

Point of view: third-person

Author’s note: Omg guys I’m sorry this chapter took so long to get out. I hit a writer’s block for a while (and also ran into a few technical difficulties), but I’m finally happy with it. Hope you enjoy and thanks for being so patient.

This story is also on AO3 and Wattpad

Previous chapter

ABOUT AN HOUR LATER

GILLIS FARM

Trotting underneath the golden sun, Arthur rode through the lush grass and rolling hills as he made his way to Gillis Farm, eager to see his fiancée again.

It had been quite some time since the young man last got a chance to visit Mary. For the past couple of months, Arthur had been so busy running around with the gang and planning robberies with them, that he barely had any time to write to the woman, let alone see her in person.

It made him feel guilty, leaving her hanging for so long. They were going to be married soon, after all... and as a husband, he couldn’t afford to leave his wife alone. If Arthur wanted this marriage to work, he’d have to be there for Mary and support her in their new life together. As a couple.

What truly worried Arthur, though... was his recent conversation with Benjamin.

Up until this point, the young outlaw had been convinced that he was more than ready to go through with the marriage. Arthur loved Mary more than anyone else in his life, and he knew the feeling was mutual. They were practically soulmates by now. How could anything go wrong?

But when Benjamin expressed his doubts pertaining to Mary’s commitment, Arthur couldn’t deny that he shared some of the man’s concerns.

Robert had been such an obstacle in their relationship for these past few years that it was impossible to guarantee he wouldn’t have any influence on Mary in the days to come.

...What if Benjamin and Susan were right? What if Mary didn’t love him as much as he thought? Would she really pick her father’s opinion over a new life with him? It shook the young man to the core to even think about it.

If Arthur lost Mary... he didn’t know what he’d do.

He had put so much time and effort into their relationship that if she simply walked away after all this... he’d feel like she was taking a part of him with her.

There was no way Arthur would be able to just “move on” if Mary decided to drop him, and the mere thought of her leaving him put the man in a state of panic.

But... then again, Mary had yet to actually do anything to solidify his doubts. She had been nothing if not compassionate to him so far, and Arthur knew for a fact that their love was mutual.

These thoughts were probably nothing more than temporary anxiety due to their upcoming wedding. This was most-likely what a lot of people went through before their marriage, and Arthur had to remind himself to calm down.

Everything would be okay. He just had to trust Mary.

Finally arriving at Gillis Farm, Arthur steadily slowed Abitha down to a halt and took in the quaint view, admiring the natural beauty surrounding it.

The farm was located on a flat plot of land that seemed to have nothing but open fields stretching out in front of it, and off to the side, Arthur could see a lively collection of farm animals lazing about inside the fenced area.

There were cows, chickens, pigs, goats, and even some horses, too. A few of the creatures lifted their heads in curiosity at the sight of the young man visiting their farm, but the rest of them seemed to be unbothered and simply carried on with their day.

Hopefully, the same would apply to Mary’s family.

Approaching the hitching posts, the outlaw hopped off his mount and left her near the other horses that were also gathered there, giving her a small treat to thank her for the lengthy ride.

The farm wasn’t a long distance from Indigo Peak necessarily, but Arthur would’ve been lying if he said he had no problems navigating the steep hills and rocky rivers dotting the region. It took a good chunk of effort to not slip in a few places, and he definitely didn’t look forward to backtracking through that mess once this visit was over.

Oh, well. He supposed it was worth it if it meant he got to see Mary.

“Good job, girl...” Arthur said softly, feeding Abitha an oatcake. His companion wiggled her pointy ears in gratitude.

“Arthur!” A woman’s voice suddenly called out to him, getting his attention.

Turning around at the sound of his name, Arthur spotted an elated Mary waving to him from the front porch, trying not to trip over her dress as she walked down the steps to greet him.

At the moment, Mary was wearing a simple yellow blouse paired with a navy blue skirt, and her hair had been tied into a stylish bun. A few annoying strands danced around her face due to the light breeze in the area, but that only gave Arthur the chance to tuck them behind her ear before pulling her into a loving embrace.

“Hello, Mary,” he said softly. “It’s good to see you again.”

Mary smiled, hugging him back. “You too, Arthur. You too. I’m so glad you came. How’ve you been?”

Arthur separated the hug and returned the smile. “Good. Busy, but good.” His expression dimmed a bit. “I’m sorry I didn’t visit you more often. I wanted to, but... things have been hectic lately.”

The woman didn’t appear to be bothered. “Well, you’re here now, Arthur. That’s what matters.”

She fell silent for a moment, changing the subject.

“Are you, um... still with Dutch and Hosea?”

Arthur nodded, although not proudly. He was well aware of what his fiancée thought about the gang.

“Yes. But don’t worry, Mary. I’m gonna leave ‘em soon. We just have one more job to take care of, and then I’ll be gone once the wedding’s here.”

Mary wasn’t entirely convinced. “Are you sure? You may be willin’ to leave, but... do you really think Dutch and Hosea will let you go that easily?”

“...I don’t know,” he conceded. “Maybe not. But I’m an adult now. Even if they don’t like my decision to leave, I’m sure they’ll respect it.”

That seemed to comfort the woman somewhat.

“That’s good to hear. I just... I don’t want there to be any trouble with gangs once we’re married, Arthur. Things’ll be busy enough as is.”

“There won’t be.” He reassured. “Dutch and Hosea may be outlaws, but they’re good men. They wouldn’t put us in harm’s way.”

Mary paused for a second. “...I was talkin’ about the O’Driscolls.”

Arthur raised a brow. “The O’Driscolls? What about them?”

She lowered her voice, pulling the young man closer to her. “It ain’t no secret that they’re not fond of Dutch’s boys, Arthur. Even if you leave the gang, they’ll still see you as one of them. Are you sure we’ll be safe? That... Colm won’t come after us?”

The outlaw shrugged. “What reason would he have? Colm’s main beef is with Dutch. Not me.”

“I know...” Mary said anxiously. “I just... I worry about you. You’re always out there, runnin’ around and getting shot at. It’s impossible to not fear for your safety.”

Arthur gently placed a hand on the side of Mary’s face. “Everything’ll be alright, Mary. I promise.”

The young woman decided to let go of her worries for now and simply let out a sigh, realizing that it was pointless to repeat the same fears over and over again.

Mary may not have liked Arthur’s involvement with crime, but she was also aware that he couldn’t just drop everything and leave. Despite being an outlaw, Arthur also had his own responsibilities to take care of, and for now... she was just going to have to accept that.

But before she could think anymore on the subject, an intrusive voice suddenly joined the scene and called out to the woman, interrupting the affectionate moment she was sharing with her fiancé.

“Mary!” They exclaimed in a gravelly tone.

She let out an uneasy breath, knowing exactly who it was before even seeing them.

“...Daddy.”

Robert Gillis stomped in their direction, pointing an accusatory finger at Arthur.

“What the hell is he doin’ here? Didn’t I tell you to stay away from this boy?”

Mary tried to defuse the situation. “This ‘boy’ is my fiancé, father. I told you already. I’m gonna marry him. Now, please... just calm down.”

The drunken man scoffed. “Calm down? How do you expect me to calm down when my daughter’s marrying some lying, cheating, piece-of-shit outlaw? Bastard probably came here to rob us!”

“Father!” She scolded. “You know he’s not like that. And besides, I invited Arthur here.”

Robert’s eyes narrowed in disapproval. “...Did you, now?”

Mary nodded staunchly. “Yes. He’s our guest. He just wanted to pay me a visit... and he’s also going to join us for dinner.”

Arthur snapped his head towards her.

“Wait, what?”

Mary stood by her decision. “If this marriage is gonna work out, then you two need to get along... and you can start by sharin’ a meal together. Like a family.”

Robert refused. “...That man ain’t no family of mine.”

The young woman remained persistent. “Well, he’s going be. So please... just for one night, don’t start anything. Both of you. Let’s just... have some dinner in peace. Can you do that? For me?”

Arthur sighed in frustration, suddenly regretting having come here in the first place. What the hell was Mary thinking?

Dealing with Robert was bad enough, but sitting down for an entire meal with him? And for the whole evening? He may as well have just shot himself in the foot and saved Robert the trouble.

But... Arthur did care about Mary. And regardless of how much he may have wanted to strangle Robert sometimes, the man was still her father. If Arthur was going to become part of Mary’s family, he’d have to accept his company eventually, whether he liked it or not.

So, against his better judgement, Arthur figured that if this was what she wanted from him, then... he would do his best to make her happy.

“...Alright.” He agreed, albeit reluctantly. “For you.”

Mary smiled warmly at him. “Really? You mean it? Thank you, Arthur.” She turned to Robert. “...And you, Daddy?”

Robert nailed his stern gaze onto Arthur, not even daring to blink as he gave his daughter an answer.

“...Fine. But he ain’t settin’ one foot in this house with that gun on his waist.”

Mary glanced down at Arthur’s holster. “Why not? You’ve got a gun too, father.”

The older man laughed at that. “Yeah, but mine’s for protection. As for him, his type are always unpredictable. They make a living shootin’ people in the wilderness, and takin’ everything they got. There ain’t no way I’m trusting him to enter my house with a goddamn six-shooter hangin’ off his belt. He wants to sit down at my table? With my daughter? Then he’s gotta follow my rules.”

The young woman shook her head in embarrassment. “...Father, please--”

“--It’s alright, Mary.” Arthur reassured, returning Robert’s glare. “...I’ll put my guns away.”

Keeping his eyes glued on Robert, Arthur reached down to undo his gun belt as the other man watched his every move, monitoring him like a hawk. The last thing Arthur wanted was to do anything Robert asked of him, but at the same time, he also didn’t want to start any trouble when Mary was around.

He knew the woman was just doing her best to have them get along. They were both her family, after all, and if Mary was putting in the effort to make this marriage work, then... Arthur supposed he should, too.

It was something much easier said than done, of course, but Mary mattered to him.

Slipping the accessory off, Arthur turned on his heel and trudged back to Abitha, slinging the loose belt over her saddle as Mary and Robert waited for him.

It was humiliating for Arthur to follow Robert’s commands like this, but he knew the fighting would never end if he didn’t comply. He had to be the bigger man in situations like this, and perhaps that was part of what it meant to be a good husband. Didn’t mean he had to like it, though.

“There.” Arthur said, patting his empty waist. “No guns.”

Robert wasn’t finished interrogating him just yet. “...Any knives?”

The outlaw had to hold back his annoyance. “...No, sir. Just guns.”

The other man crossed his arms and fell silent for a moment, clenching his jaw in irritation as he stared Arthur down.

“Alright then.” He finally accepted. “You can come in... but if you try anything funny, just remember that I’ve still got my gun on me. And I won’t hesitate to use it. Got it?”

Arthur bit his tongue. “...I got it.”

“Good. Then let’s head inside.” Robert held up a cautionary finger. “And don’t start nothing.”

~~~~~~~~~~

INDIGO PEAK

THAT EVENING

Meandering around camp, Dutch casually sauntered through the scattered trees and tents as he watched his fellow gang members prepare for the upcoming robbery, all of them eager to get things rolling.

It wasn’t too long ago that he informed them of Benjamin’s long awaited update, and even though the robbery was still a week away, the fact that they were finally going to make their move after two whole months had the entire gang on their toes.

Dutch couldn’t deny that he wasn’t without worry, though. This was the first time they’d ever be hitting a bank, and if he was being honest, Dutch had no idea if his men were ready for this. Hosea and Arthur were some of the best outlaws he’d ever met, sure, but neither of them had experience with a heist of this level.

He supposed he’d just have to trust that his people knew what they were doing. Everyone wanted things to go according to plan, after all, and if he learned anything from his time with them, it was that they wouldn’t do anything to botch this robbery.

At least... not on purpose.

Approaching Hosea’s tent, a soft smile crept onto Dutch’s face as he came across a heartwarming scene, causing him to stop in his tracks so he could watch it unfold.

It wasn’t very often that their gang got the opportunity to be at peace like this. Normally, they were always running away from the law or fighting against their enemies... and as anxious as everyone was to rob Harlow’s bank, Dutch knew it’d be a trigger for chaos once it happened.

And so, with a few moments to spare, Dutch simply leaned against a tree and kept his gaze on Hosea, watching as the man carried on with this serene evening.

“...Your reading’s getting much better, Marston.” Hosea praised as the boy examined the book’s text. At the moment, the two of them were sitting side by side on a log just next to the man’s tent.

“Go on,” Hosea urged. “Keep reading.”

John furrowed his brows in confusion, doing his best to concentrate as he mouthed out the words. “...The Indian chief and his son... p-parleed--”

“--Parleyed.” Hosea corrected.

“...parleyed with the... American... ‘ker-nel?” John turned to him for clarification.

“That’s correct. Keep going.”

The boy paused. “Wait, why does ‘colonel’ have an ‘R’ in it? There’s no ‘R’ in the word.”

Hosea shrugged. “I don’t know, John. That’s just the way it is.”

John was quiet for a moment. “...That’s stupid.”

The other man chuckled in amusement. “Perhaps, but that’s how the English language works.”

The boy sighed wearily. “...I’m bored. Can we read the rest tomorrow? I wanna go play with Arthur.”

Hosea glanced up at the darkening sky and shut the book closed, placing it on his lap.

“Yes, I think now’s a good time to stop. It’s getting late. Though... I’m not sure where Arthur is.” His gaze traveled to the man watching them from a distance. “You have any ideas, old friend?”

Dutch pushed himself off the tree, afterwards strolling in their direction. “I believe he’s still with Mary. I know he went to visit her earlier after our talk with Ben.”

A curious expression spread across John’s face. “Are they still gettin’ married?”

Hosea put the book away and stood up from the log. “Yes, I believe so.”

The boy frowned in response. “...Does that mean he’s gonna leave the gang once they’re together?”

Dutch and Hosea fell silent at that, exchanging looks.

“I...” Hosea trailed off, admittedly somewhat sad to think about it, “...I suppose so. He’s got no choice, though. He’ll have a family to take care of.”

John gestured at the three of them. “But we’re his family.”

“True, but everyone grows up eventually, John. Even you will someday. And who knows? You might find a wife of your own when you reach Arthur’s age. You’ll have to be there for her too when that happens.”

The kid rejected the idea. “Then I don’t wanna do that. Not if it means I gotta leave other people behind. That wouldn’t be fair.”

Hosea put a comforting hand on John’s shoulder, urging the boy to get some rest. “Well, there’s still plenty of time before Arthur and Mary... marry. You’ll get to see him again soon enough. Have no fear. Now, go on. Get some sleep. We can continue reading tomorrow.”

John didn’t appear satisfied with the response, but followed Hosea’s instructions nonetheless. “...Okay. I’ll see you in the morning, then. I guess.”

Hopping off the short log, the boy removed himself from the tent’s vicinity and returned to his own corner of the camp, leaving Dutch and Hosea alone as the two men contemplated everything the kid just brought up.

“...He’s got a point, you know.” Hosea said once the silence settled.

Dutch sat next to the other man, plopping himself down on the log.

“About what?”

“About Arthur. He’s gonna be a husband soon, Dutch. He can’t stay with the gang forever. You know that.”

Dutch shrugged in denial. “I dunno. You and Bessie have been married for a few years now and you’re still with us. You don’t think Arthur could do the same?”

“Oh, I’m sure he could. That boy’s capable of practically anything.” Hosea leaned forward, linking his hands together. “But that doesn’t matter. What truly matters... is whether he wants to. And I don’t believe he does.”

The other man stretched his legs out, getting more comfortable on the log. “What makes you say that?”

“Our situation grows more volatile with every second, Dutch. We have lawmen hunting us from the west, rival gangs coming from the north, and God knows what else lurking in the shadows. Not to mention we’ll be robbing a goddamn bank soon. If Arthur wants a stable life with Mary, he’ll have no choice but to leave this one behind. It’s just not possible to juggle the two at the same time.”

Dutch knew Hosea was right, but still remained reluctant to admit it. He saw Arthur as a son, after all. The last thing he wanted was to see the boy leave.

“...It wouldn’t be the same without that little rascal.” Dutch said despondently. “You, me, and Arthur -- it was the three of us that started this whole thing. That boy ain’t just part of our gang, Hosea. He’s part o’ the foundation. If he leaves...”

Hosea rested a hand on Dutch’s shoulder, trying to help him come to terms with reality.

“I’ll miss him too, old friend. But Arthur’s his own man now. To be honest, I feel like he always has been. If he wants to start a new life with Mary, then perhaps that’s what’s best for him. Better than the life of crime we’ve given him, anyhow.”

Dutch let out a heavy breath, slouching his shoulders. “...I suppose we’ve done all we can for him, haven’t we? Sometimes I forget he’s all grown up now.”

Hosea chuckled. “You and me both. But time moves on, and we have to move with it, Dutch. The most we can do now is wish Arthur luck in his marriage.”

With that said, Hosea stood up from the log with a soft grunt and picked up the storybook he was reading with John earlier, leaving Dutch to his thoughts.

“Well, anyway... I think Bessie’s gonna start cookin’ dinner soon. I should go help. See if she needs anything. In the meantime, try not to think too much about it. Arthur loves us too, y’know, and I’m sure he wouldn’t want us to worry about him.” A quiet laugh escaped him. “...If only that were possible.”

Dutch returned the laugh, returning to his own activities. “Indeed. Stay safe out there, Hosea. I have a feelin’ this week’s gonna go out with a bang.”

“Oh yes, old friend.” The other man agreed. “If there’s one thing I don’t doubt -- it’s that.”

~~~~~~~~~~

GILLIS FARM

A WHILE LATER

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

That was the only thing Arthur could hear as he picked aimlessly at his food, sitting awkwardly at the dining table and waiting for this torturous evening to come to an end.

For the whole meal so far, the rest of Mary’s insufferable family had been discussing nothing but politics and religion as if they lived and breathed the two subjects -- and every once in a while, one of them would turn to Arthur and ask the outlaw for his input.

It was probably the most pretentious conversation he’d ever been a part of. It was evident to the young man that none of these people truly had any interest in politics, and merely brought up the topic because they knew Arthur despised discussing these sort of things. Not to mention the fact that they also assumed him to be highly uneducated, and therefore saw his presence as an opportunity to make themselves feel more intelligent.

The only person at this table who wasn’t irritating the living hell out of Arthur at the moment was Mary herself, but even she had caused him some level of annoyance due to her forcing the man to go through this in the first place.

Arthur just wanted this night to end. He was already well aware of how Mary’s family felt about him, and he doubted that sharing one meal with them would change anything. Hell, Robert already threatened to shoot him before he even set foot in the goddamned house. It was unlikely that a simple chicken dinner would be enough to bring the two men together.

“...Did you hear?” Mary’s aunt Loretta asked as she buttered some bread. “Apparently Reuben Walsh has been at Margaret Whitaker’s throat ever since his father passed. They just can’t see eye to eye.”

Loretta’s husband Wilfred scoffed. “Those two fools will tear Mercy apart with their political war before anything gets solved. They’ve got gangs coming at them from every direction, and yet they’re more concerned about whose crown shines brighter? Abraham Walsh may’ve been old, but at least he knew how to keep the peace.”

Robert laughed at the statement, deciding to throw his own two cents in. “Keep the peace? The only thing that miserable old coot did was swipe all of Mercy’s problems under the carpet. Some people call Reuben reckless, but he’s the only person who’s got the balls to do something about the crime in that town. After all, nothing’s pretty when you’re dealing with that sorta lot. It’s about time Whitaker learned that.”

Mary’s grandmother Helga offered her thoughts. “Well, there are rumors suggesting that the reason Miss Whitaker has been so much of a pacifist is because she’s working with the gangs. It sounds like they’re the only ones keeping her in power.”

“Well, of course they are,” Robert replied. “You don’t get to that high of a position with that amount of ease unless you got someone in your pocket.”

Loretta set her knife down, glancing in Arthur’s direction. “What do you think, Mr. Morgan? I understand that you’re, um... familiar with that sort of lifestyle. Who do you think is in the right?”

Arthur paused for a moment, admittedly unsure of what to say.

“Um...” he said sheepishly, “...I-I’m afraid I don’t know enough about Mercy’s situation to really give an opinion, ma’am.”

“Well then, let me run it down for you.” Loretta offered. Arthur wished she hadn’t.

“The Whitakers and the Walshes are the two most powerful families in Mercy,” she explained. “They both carry an extravagant amount of wealth and influence, but recently, have butted heads with each other. You see, Mercy has always had quite a persistent problem with local gangs in the area, and both of these families want to deal with them. They just disagree on how.”

Arthur tried to pretend he was interested. “What do they wanna do?”

“Margaret Whitaker believes that their town is too small to stand up to such a large amount of outlaws, and thinks that the safest solution is to negotiate a deal with them in order to keep the peace in Mercy. As for Reuben Walsh, he would prefer to take on a more direct approach. He thinks that Margaret’s plan to negotiate with them will only lead to more trouble, and wants to wipe out the criminals entirely. But by doing so, he would risk an open war with Lord knows how many gangs.”

Wilfred jumped in. “Not to mention that the man himself is also a cripple. Apparently, the boy’s half blind and moves around in a wheelchair. A wheelchair, for heaven’s sake! How can a man like that fight against anyone?”

Robert boomeranged the subject back to Arthur. “Well? Any thoughts?”

The young man let out a sigh, thinking deeply about the argument.

What did they expect him to say? They all knew he was an outlaw himself, and there was no question that they dragged him into this God-awful conversation purely to put him on the spot.

Still, Arthur knew he’d have to give them some kind of answer if he wanted to keep them satisfied. Yeah, they might’ve been doing this just to humiliate him, but if it meant being one step closer to finishing this nightmare of an evening, he’d do anything.

“...Whitaker, I guess.” Arthur replied. “Why risk more peoples’ lives when you’ve already got a solution standin’ in front of you?”

Surprisingly, Loretta seemed to approve of the response. “Well said. It’s never pleasant to deal with these sorts of people, but when there’s that many of them crying out for blood on the horizon, sometimes you’ve got no choice but to comply.”

Robert, on the other hand, only appeared to dislike Arthur even more. “Yeah, of course he would agree with that.”

“What do you mean by that?” Arthur asked, sounding more irritated than he intended. The young man couldn’t deny that his ability to hold back was deteriorating by the minute.

“...You know damn well what I mean.” Robert fired back. Mary shot a disappointed look at him.

“Daddy, please. Not now.”

“If not now, then when? You know what kind of a man he is, Mary! He may say he’s prepared to commit to a marriage with you, but we all know he’s always gonna be an outlaw at heart. That boy’s gonna get you killed someday, and you’re gonna wish you listened to me!”

Arthur decided to bite his tongue and reached for his drink, only to find himself gripping the glass harder and harder the more Robert prattled on about him.

“Nothin’ to say, Mr. Morgan?” The man challenged. “Oh, you’re big and bad when you’ve got a gun in your hand, alright, but face a real man for once, and suddenly you’ve gone mute!”

“Daddy!” Mary reiterated. “Please! That’s enough. I didn’t bring Arthur here just so you two could start an argument! I brought him here because I wanted you two to start gettin’ along! Is that so hard?”

“He’s got no place in this family, Mary!” Robert exclaimed. “In fact, he’s got no business being on this farm at all. I only let him in because you asked me to. But look at the man! He hasn’t got a single, goddamn clue what any of us are talkin’ about. He’s got no education, no real job, and no real family! The closest thing he’s got to family is a group of dirty, filthy, worthless inbreds!”

Arthur suddenly sprang straight up from his chair and glared at Robert, unable to restrain himself anymore.

Mary jumped at the abrupt motion and held an arm in front of Arthur, desperately attempting to diffuse the situation.

“Arthur! Please, sit down!”

“See?!” Robert accused, pointing a finger at him. “What’d I tell you? The man’s an animal!”

Arthur firmly placed his hands on the table, leaning towards the other man.

“You got somethin’ to say, you say it to my face when you ain’t cowering behind your own daughter. The only reason I agreed to share a meal with you is ‘cause I wanted to smooth things over, but that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna sit here and take this nonsense!”

Robert glowered at Arthur. “...Excuse me?”

The young man tore the napkin from his lap and tossed it down on the table. “No, I’ve excused you enough for one night. I’m done.”

Storming out of the farm at the speed of light, Arthur made a swift exit and left the rest of Mary’s family in a state of shock as the woman herself chased after him, following her fiancé into the cool weather of the night.

“Arthur!” She called out. “Wait!”

But the young man ignored her and simply carried on with his escape, heading towards the hitching posts.

“Arthur!” Mary repeated, desperate to get his attention. “Please! Just... hold on a moment!”

The outlaw stopped in his tracks, letting out a frustrated breath. “What, Mary? What more do you want from me? Look, I tried, okay? I really did. But I can’t go back in there. There’s nothing in this world that could please that sorry excuse of a man.”

The young woman frowned. “That’s my father you’re talkin’ about, Arthur.”

Arthur unhitched Abitha from the post and retrieved his gun belt. “Well, what else d’you want me to say, Mary? That he’s a nice man? That... he’s kind and compassionate?”

Mary sighed. “Whatever you may think of him, he’s still my father. I just want you two to get along. Is that too much to ask?”

The man shook his head. “Listen... I love you, Mary, but your father is never going to accept me. It’s clear that he’s already made up his mind, and there’s nothin’ we can do to change it.”

“Well, your outburst certainly didn’t help things, Arthur.”

The outlaw was perplexed. “What did you expect me to do? Just sit there and take it? You heard the way he was talkin’ about Dutch and Hosea. About these people I consider to be my family. How can you expect me to respect him when he doesn’t respect me?”

Mary crossed her arms. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I know my father did wrong tonight, but all I wanted this evening was for the both of you to put your differences aside. Can you not even do that?”

Arthur mounted his horse, gesturing back to the farm. “Maybe you should ask him that question.”

Falling into silence, the couple took a minute to gather themselves as Mary’s family started cleaning up inside, causing the distant sound of clattering plates to reach their ears.

It had been a long night for the both of them, but Arthur was especially worried about what sort of impact this incident was going to have on their marriage. He couldn’t help but repeat what Benjamin said to him over and over again in his head, and the more he thought about the man’s words, the more he started to think he may’ve had a point.

Perhaps Mary was going to choose Robert over him. It was evident that she still loved the man despite his drunken behavior, and no matter what Arthur did, it always felt like the other man had the upper hand when it came to influencing Mary’s decisions.

Jesus Christ... what kind of hole had Arthur dug himself into this time?

“...Look, Mary,” Arthur said softly, breaking the silence, “I’m sorry for what happened tonight. I didn’t mean for things to turn out like this, but... I just can’t deal with that man anymore. I can’t go back in.”

Mary nodded in an understanding manner and watched sorrowfully as Arthur led Abitha away from the posts, preparing to go home.

“I... I understand, Arthur. Thank you for trying, at least. I know you didn’t want this. I just wish things could’ve gone better.”

Arthur hung his head low. “...Yeah. Me too.”

She walked up to him. “Well... anyways, it’s gettin’ late. You should probably head back to camp now. I reckon Dutch and Hosea might be wondering where you are. Try to stay safe, okay?”

The outlaw gave her a reassuring look. “I will. You take care of yourself too, Mary.”

The woman returned the remark with a caring smile, bidding her fiancé farewell as he disappeared into the night. “I will.”

[unicornery]

For my own amusement, I started tracking how the songs from the Billboard Hot 100 from this week in 1974 have been used in movie soundtracks. Feature Films only people! As you read, you will see the “gimmes” that made me think of the idea, but I’m putting this behind a cut because there ended up being so many which had a soundtrack match. As a reminder, you can follow along as I do the Hot 100 each week corresponding to which classic AT40 and VJ Big 40 get played on SiriusXM ‘70s on 7 and ‘80s on 8 respectively with my ever-changing Spotify playlist. 

100. “Beyond the Blue Horizon” - Lou Christie. This one is a cheat because when I looked it up on Spotify it showed up on the Rain Man soundtrack. The only song I could have told you off the top of my head was in Rain Main is the Belle Stars’ version of “Iko Iko.” Rain Man marked the first soundtrack appearance for Christie’s version. 

98. “The Air That I Breathe” - The Hollies. Very memorable appearance in The Virgin Suicides, which had the score done by, wait for it, French electronica duo Air. The song would go on to be heard in other movies. 

90. “Billy Don’t Be a Hero” - Bo Donaldson and the Heywoods. The Paper Lace version appears in The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. Both acts topped the charts with the song on opposite sides of the pond: Paper Lace in the UK and Bo Donaldson and the Heywoods in the US. [Update: the BD&H version may be in "To Gillian on Her 37th Birthday"] 

87. “Hollywood Swinging” - Kool & the Gang. This oft-sampled track first appeared in a feature film in the 2005 Get Shorty sequel Be Cool. 

84. “La Grange” - ZZ Top. Armageddon first, followed by others. 

68. “Band on the Run” - Paul McCartney and Wings.  I didn’t search for this at first because I didn’t think there would be anything, but then Jet was on the chart at #27, so I did a twofer search on imdb. Jet has not been in any films (save “One Hand Clapping, a rockumentary on Paul, which I don’t count for purposes of this discussion) but “Band on the Run” appears in The Killing Fields, in a shocking scene that contrasts the light tone of the pop song with the horrors of the Khmer Rouge’s executions of Cambodian citizens. 

66. “For the Love of Money” - The O’Jays. Has been used many times, according to IMDb the first feature film use was the Richard Pryor roman a clef (if I’m using that right, I only know it from Musings of a Cigarette Smoking Man) Jo Jo Dancer, Your Life Is Calling. 

59. “Rock Around the Clock” - Bill Haley and his Comets. Notably used in Blackboard Jungle, the song is on this 1974 chart for its appearance in American Graffiti. 

55. “Rock and Roll, Hoochie Koo” - Rick Derringer. First one that comes to mind is Dazed and Confused bc I had that soundtrack, but it has been in others.

49. “Love’s Theme” - the Love Unlimited Orchestra. The swirling strings of this song indicate that someone is indeed falling in love. That’s my way of saying, if you think you haven’t heard this, you have. Imdb has it in Mean Girls, among others. 

47. “The Way We Were” - Barbra Streisand. The titular song of the 1973 film The Way We Were, starring Barbra and Robert Redford. A little long, but worth a watch bc Barbra is amazing in it. At the 1974 Academy Awards, Marvin Hamslich won Best Original Song honors for this tune, and was awarded Best Original Dramatic Score for his other musical work on the film. I always think of Lisa Loopner’s big crush on him.  

44. “Don’t You Worry ‘Bout a Thing” - Stevie Wonder. First feature film usage was the 1998 Eddie Murphy flop Holy Man, which surprised me as it’s such a good song, you’d think it would have been in something earlier. Notable given Eddie’s impression of Stevie Wonder he performed on SNL! 

42. “Rock On” - David Essex. Michael Damian’s cover (or remix as described by Patton Oswalt) was recorded for the 1989 2 Coreys classic Dream a Little Dream, and per imdb, David Essex’s original appears in the alternate-history comedy Dick, from 1999. 

37. “Oh Very Young” - Cat Stevens/Yusef Islam. Surprisingly, this sweet song appears in the gross-out bowling comedy Kingpin. 

36. “Jungle Boogie” - Kool & the Gang. This song may have been used in the most films and tv shows of any I’ve researched so far, but its first appearance was in Pulp Fiction. 

34. “The Payback - Part 1” - James Brown. First feature film appearance was in 1995′s Dead Presidents. A different James Brown track appears on the soundtrack for racist-ass Melly Gibson’s Payback from 1999. 

33. “Help Me” - Joni Mitchell.  Another why’d-it-take-ya-so-long shocker, this mellow tune first appeared in the 2018 sci-fi movie Kin, narrowly beating Welcome to Marwen from 2019. 

31. “The Entertainer” - Marvin Hamlisch. The title theme from the Redford/Newman team-up The Sting. Hamlisch won a record-tying third Academy Award in 1974 for Best Original Score for The Sting.  It seems at this time Best Original Score and Best Original Dramatic Score were separate categories. Hamlisch would win Grammys for both this and “The Way We Were,” eventually becoming an EGOT winner in 1995.

30. “Eres Tú” - Mocedades. This Spanish Eurovision entry notably appears in the buddy comedy Tommy Boy when Chris Farley and David Spade’s characters sing along with the radio. 

28. “Midnight at the Oasis” - Maria Muldaur. Catherine O’Hara and Fred Willard perform their own rendition in the Christopher Guest film Waiting for Guffman. That should be all you need, but imdb has the first film appearance for the song as 1995′s Falcon and the Snowman. 

24. “Let it Ride” - Bachman-Turner Overdrive. This lesser-known but not less great BTO jam has appeared in a handful of films, the first being Ash Wednesday, starring Elijah Wood and directed by Edward Burns and not Garry Marshall. Note: it does not seem to be in the Richard Dreyfuss gambling movie Let It Ride, a classic VHS cover of my youth. 

18. “Mockingbird” - James Taylor and Carly Simon. Memorably performed by Harry and Lloyd in the dog van in Dumb and Dumber, later joined by a Latinx family on guitar and vocals.  Before that, Beverly D’Angelo and Chevy Chase’s characters also sang it on their road trip in National Lampoon’s Vacation. I couldn’t find an instance where James and Carly’s version played in a movie but I am sayin’ there’s a chance. That it could be someday. 

16. “Tubular Bells” - Mike Oldfield. This instrumental is best known for being the theme to The Exorcist, but I was surprised to learn from the Wiki entry that it was not written for the film. Tubular Bells or something that’s meant to sound like it has been in a ton of other things, generally uncredited. Of note: Mike Oldfield would go on to do the score for The Killing Fields. 

14. “Seasons in the Sun” - Terry Jacks. Now here is the type of song that ‘70s haters point to as an example of the whiny wuss rock that they feel over-dominated the era. It’s not one of my favorites but I appreciate it for how weird it is. I suppose being translated into English from a French/Belgian poem will do that to ya. Before I did my search, I imagined I would find it in a Farrelly Brothers movie or two, possibly the Anchorman sequel. However, the only feature film match I found was the 2002 indie flick Cherish, a movie I have never seen despite being confronted by the cover many times at rental places over the years. Before today, when I watched the trailer, I would have told you it starred Jennifer Love Hewitt and was about “a band trying to make it.” It turns out I am thinking of the 1999 film The Suburbans. Anyway Cherish seems aggressively indie and very of-its-time in a way that makes me want to watch it. 

13. “Dancing Machine” - The Jackson 5. The song appears in the Blaxploitation spoof I’m Gonna Git You Sucka, as well as the movie of Starsky & Hutch.

11. “Lookin’ For A Love” - Bobby Womack. This was in the movie of The Ladies Man starring Tim Meadows as his SNL character Leon Phelps. I almost skipped this one but I’m glad I didn’t because Tim Meadows rules.

8. “The Loco-Motion” - Grand Funk Railroad (the single and album it was on are credited to Grand Funk). We have our second song from the Kirsten Dunst/Michelle Williams movie Dick. Since that was satirizing Nixon and Watergate, well done to the filmmakers for including these 1974 hits!  It appeared in one earlier film, My Girl 2. 

5. “Come and Get Your Love” - Redbone. Known to modern listeners for appearing in Guardians of the Galaxy. [Sidebar: if you can find a way to listen to the With Special Guest Lauren Lapkus episode T.G.I.G.O.T.G.OST (Thank God It’s the Guardians of the Galaxy Original Soundtrack) with Sean Clements and Hayes Davenport, do it!] The song first appeared in Dance Me Outside, a Canadian film about First Nations youth, which is a cool parallel with Redbone being composed of Native American musicians. “Come and Get Your Love” is also in Dick! 

4. “Best Thing That Ever Happened To Me” - Gladys Knight & the Pips. Another SNL feature pops up on our list, 1994′s It’s Pat: The Movie. 

3. “Hooked on a Feeling” - Blue Swede. ALSO known to modern listeners as being from the GOTG, but possibly only in the trailer? I’m fuzzy. The song ALSO also appears in Dick, and its first feature film appearance was Reservoir Dogs. 

2. “Bennie and the Jets” - Elton John. You know it, you love it, you cackle at the gag in Mystery Team. IMDb has this song down as first appearing in the low budget feature Aloha, Bobby and Rose, from 1975. It is ALSO in My Girl 2, with proper credit for Sir Elton. 

1. “TSOP (The Sound of Philadelphia)” - MFSB featuring The Three Degrees. IMDb says this appeared in the Al Pacino film Carlito’s Way, and I have no reason to doubt them because it means we are done! Thanks for readin’ and rockin’ along. 

[avengerscompound]

The Big Guy

The Big Guy:  A Bruce Banner Fanfic

Series Masterlist

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Bruce Banner x F!Reader

Word Count:  1419

Warnings:  Slight Angst, Fluff, Pregnancy, Smut (F|M, Vaginal sex)

Synopsis:  Meeting the big green guy wasn’t exactly a normal day, you didn’t expect it to you leading a life on the run and keeping your child’s nature from the world.

The Big Guy

The first time you met the Hulk you had been sitting out in a field at the edge of the forest that bordered the land your family cabin was set on.  You had come up here to disconnect from the world. To paint.  To write.  To just be alone with your thoughts.

The cabin was perfect for it.  There was no phone or internet.  There wasn’t even signal on your cell.  You were completely removed.

The first morning after you had arrived you were sitting in the field painting the sunrise coming up through the trees.  There was a blanket of mist over the ground and the way the soft pink light of the just rising sun played off it was almost ethereal.  The forest was noisy, with the early morning animals and birds up and chattering.

There was a sudden crash followed by a low rumble and what looked like hundreds of birds burst out of the canopy.  You only had enough time to look up and register what had happened when the green, giant of a man came crashing out into the field, pushing a tree right over as he smashed through the fence.

People always say there’s a fight or flight response to danger.  You had neither.  The Hulk stood, staring at you with a look of pure rage on his face.  He was hunched over and breathing so heavily his whole body rose and fell.  He roared at you.  The sound filled the whole area making birds fly up from the forest all around.  You didn’t flinch.  You didn’t run.  You didn’t put your hands up to defend yourself.  You just stared at him.  Frozen.

There’s a theory that if ever faced with a much larger predator who is not hungry, it’s best to just stand your ground.  Don’t fight, because then they see you as a threat and they attack in self-defense.  Don’t run either because then catching you becomes a game.  Just show no fear and stand your ground.  They’re not threatened by you and they don’t see you as easy prey so they leave you alone.

Whether this is actually true or not you have no idea.  But what happened that morning was, he roared again but quieter this time.  He huffed, shaking his body and ran off into the forest on the far side of the field.

The second time you saw him, you were trying to untangle a deer stuck in your fence by its horns.  It was proving very difficult because no matter what angle you came in on him at, he’d spin around and try to kick you.

You became aware of something watching you and saw him skulking in the shadows.  Eventually, he came over and held the deer in one of his enormous hands.  For a moment you thought he was going to take it and eat it.   Instead, he just held it still and looked at you.  You approached slowly untangling the horns and he let it go into the forest.  He looked down at you and you stared up into his bright green eyes. He nodded and he was gone.

The third time you were outside cooking on the grill.  You’d taken a trip into the town and gotten some fresh supplies and decided it would be nice to eat out in the sun.  The smell of the food cooking must have drawn him out.  He came over to you a little like a scared animal.  Dashing forward, slinking back again.  Until he was right up near you looking from you to the grill.  You didn’t think there was anyway what was on there could be enough to feed him, but you got a plate and filled it and held it up.  He tentatively approached and took it taking it a couple of feet away from you.  He sat down on the ground heavily, and then very daintily started eating the food.  You touched your chest and said your name.  He stopped eating and looked at you.  His hand went to his chest.  “Hulk.”  He said.

“Do you want more?”  You asked.

He nodded his head and you added more food to the grill.

And so it went.  He came around more and more, until the point you were spending whole days together.  He started becoming more verbal with you.  Telling you things he liked and things he didn’t.  You rigged a hose off the solar hot water so he could shower outside and bought a big bar of berry scented soap.  It was from a place that sliced it off a large wheel.  You ended up buying half the wheel even though it was ridiculously expensive.  He was quite grateful and would shower behind your house every day. You bought fabric and very roughly sewed him new pants.  He wore them happily.

One day he lay in the sun and let you paint on him like he was a canvas and then take a photo of the end work.  You played games with him.  Roughhousing in a way where you knew he was actually being extremely gentle and play acting getting hurt.  Like mother lion teaching her cubs how to hunt.  You got him his own large paints and he painted the side of the old barn.  Big childlike paintings in bright colors.

You had originally planned to only stay on your retreat for a month.  In the end, you extended it to two.  You didn’t know what to do.  Even though you knew the Hulk could look after himself, he was in so many ways like a huge toddler.  You felt protective of him.  But more than that.  He was your friend, and you were worried about leaving him alone.

The two of you sat in the field and you made a daisy chain as he watched on.  “I really like you, big guy.  You know?”  You said, as you diligently threaded the stem of on flower through the next.

“Hulk like you too.”  He said in his deep rumble.  “You fun.”

“Thank you.”  You said and held the now completed chain up.  He dipped his head and you put it on him like a crown.  “Looks good.”

“Hulk want to see.”  He said.

You took a photo with your camera and held it out to him so he could see the preview screen.  A huge grin spread across his broad face.  “Hulk like.”  He said.

You ran your palm down one of his fingers.  They were so large that even at the broadest part of your hand it didn’t cover his finger the whole way.  “I have to go away, Hulk.”  You said.

“You shop? Buy Hulk candy.”  He said.

“No, big guy.  I need to go back to my job.”  You explain.

“When come back?”  He asked furrowing his brow.

You looked up into his eyes.  The green looked muddier now that he’s worried. You continued to rub your hand over his fingers.  “Maybe next year.”  You suggested.

Hulk pulled his hand away and stared at you.  “No.  Stay.  Hulk want you to stay.”  He rumbled.

“I can’t.  I’m eating into my savings.  I need to go back to work.”  You tried to explain, not even sure if Hulk understands the concept of money or not.

Whether he did or not, he wasn’t happy.  He got to his feet and doubled over in pain.  “No.  No.  Hulk stay with you.”  He roared, slamming his shoulder into the ground.  His body seemed to twist and convulse and you rushed to him.

“What’s happening?  What’s wrong?”  You asked putting your hands on him and running them down his large arms as the muscles and bones shifted under them.

“Hulk stay!”  He roared even louder, but at the same time, it sounded far off.  He reached up to hold onto you.  His hands wrapped around your arms and he clung to you desperately.  “Hulk stay!”  He repeated, this time more like a plea.

“What’s happening?  What can I do?”  You asked running your hands along his jaw.  His whole form changed in front of you until instead of the huge, green, muscular Hulk, there was a small, scared, pale man cowering in front of you.  He looked around wildly as you scrambled back away from him.

You both stared at each other holding your hands out defensively.  He was sitting in a pool of the fabric that had made up Hulk’s pants.  You both start speaking at the same time.

“Who are you?”

// NEXT

[bluewatsons]

Jennifer Schaffer, The Wife Glitch, 51 The Baffler (April 2020)

Household tech makes women’s work profitable—for men

© Evangeline Gallagher

Five summers ago, I was invited to visit an eccentric acquaintance on a picturesque island off the East Coast. The island was divided into two parts: the shingled, sea-beaten summer homes of the inherited wealthy, and the year-round homes of the working people who serviced the island’s various amenities—the old-timey movie theater, the upscale restaurants, the twelve-dollars-a-beer bars.

The acquaintance and I had become friendly years prior in San Francisco, where I had been a student and he was, by his account, a high school drop-out tech millionaire. Let’s call him Matt. I’d found him funny, kind, and more down-to-earth than the archetype would suggest. Like many Silicon Valley guys, Matt’s small talk ran five sizes too large, from the purpose of fidelity in modern society to various bodily functions he was attempting to outsmart. But he always seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say in response. Our conversations often took on the appearance of a mutual interview: Matt, interviewing me as though for a job, unsubtly trying to determine how intelligent I was; me, interviewing him as though for a profile, shamelessly provoking and storing up his most memorable lines.

It didn’t seem out of character, then, when years later Matt reached out to ask me for help on a potential moonshot philanthropic venture related to artificial intelligence and education. I happily agreed, and a few weeks later, Matt invited me to join him at his summer house, graciously encouraging me to bring along my then-boyfriend. We booked tickets later that night.

When we arrived on the island, we rented exorbitantly expensive bikes and used Google Maps to find our way to Matt’s house. The weather seemed almost self-congratulatory with temperance: sunshine diffused through fast, bright clouds; heat offset by a steady sea breeze. The house itself was beautiful, stuck in time. It had belonged to Matt’s family for generations and was littered with trinkets that went back as far as the Civil War. The floor was made of long, splintered wooden planks, and the dusty windows looked out onto a semi-wild expanse of tall, bleached grass. The Atlantic was somewhere beyond the grass; you could hear it, but you couldn’t see it.

We stayed on the island for just a few days. Matt was almost constantly busy, glued to his laptop and his phone, occasionally running mysterious errands. It wasn’t until the last full day of our trip that he decided it was time to discuss the project. Hearing him talk about the potential of artificial intelligence was like reading the script to an action movie: the possibilities were exhilarating and the vision ambitious, but it was hard to believe it’d all get made. Still, I offered my perspective in earnest, and Matt listened closely before suggesting we go for a walk on the beach. We set out, climbing a set of steep, sandy paths before arriving in front of a calm sea. Waves broke, metronomic, between two panels of rich blue. Matt began to tell me, with flat-line sincerity, about how he felt it was reasonable to assume that we were living in a simulation.

I had heard this idea before, always from men for whom life looked pretty great: wealthy men, white men, intelligent men, respected men. Here was yet another. What was it about the idea that this all might be a game, someone else’s game, that struck such a chord among those who were by all accounts winning?

I thought back to another conversation we’d had in the kitchen, two nights prior. Matt had been describing his approach to dating—a topic which he’d clearly given a great deal of thought, studying the criteria that the various four-letter billionaire tech moguls (Elon, Mark, Jeff, Bill) had used when selecting a “mate.”

“I don’t want to be with someone who has my skill set,” Matt began, “I want to be with someone who has strengths in another area, who can fill in my blind spots.” He went on to describe a woman he was seeing, who he was flying out first-class the day we left. He liked, for instance, that she was good at reading people, that she was perceptive and sensitive to things like art and literature, that she was knowledgeable about cooking and food culture, that she understood his world but was not exactly of it and so could objectively add something to his field of vision. I found this odd but charming: better than the engineers I knew in college who thought it was “dating down” to be with a humanities major. Unlike them, Matt spoke eloquently about how selecting a partner was among the most pivotal choices a person made in life.

“So if we’re in a simulation,” I said, snapping back to the moment, the beach, Matt’s expectant look. “How would partnerships work?”

Matt grinned. “That would depend.”

“On what?”

“On who controlled the simulation.”

Happy Wife, Happy Life

Look: he wanted a wife. Don’t we all? Someone to think ahead about our needs; someone to make our homes and our lives orderly; someone to tend to our emotions when they’re raw and sore. Someone to track and manage the infinite details of living; someone to be responsible for our moods; someone to balance the books. We all want someone who knows us so intimately they can predict what we’ll want; someone who picks up our loose ends without complaint; someone who fills in our weaknesses with her strength; someone who does what it takes to help us succeed. Someone who attends to our desires eagerly, with a smile. Someone who means it.

But, you know, we’re progressive. We want a wife, but we want her to be happy. More than happy, we want her to be fulfilled. We want a true wife, a born wife, a wife who would feel imprisoned by any other role, so that to be our wife is in its own way a golden opportunity, a liberation. We want a wife who wears her responsibilities like a privilege.

And who could blame us! Regardless of gender expression or sexual orientation—everyone needs a wife. There isn’t enough time in the day to fulfill the demands placed on a modern human: to be available to work throughout all our waking hours; to show determination and ambition so that we are not made redundant; to service debts and taxes and run a cost-effective household; to source and consume healthful meals three times a day; to exercise our bodies the recommended amount; to maintain mental well-being amidst chaos; to care for dependents (aging parents, young children); to be present and attentive to those we interact with; to find, build, maintain, and perpetually assess the longevity of meaningful and fulfilling partnerships; to get eight hours of quality sleep. Literally: how does one do it?

For most of Western history, the answer was: the wife. Now what?

An App of One’s Own

The new answer, for those with a little disposable income, may seem obvious. Food, laundry, health, money management, well-being? There’s an app for that, honey. By which we mean: there’s underpaid labor, and a massive tech conglomerate ready to profit off that, honey! Seamless your dinner, Cleanly your laundry, Babylon your doctor’s visits, Wealthfront your savings, Headspace your sleep. Such services are either entirely automated or rely on poorly compensated human workers as a stopgap. The end goal is the same: to take work which, for most of history, has been uncompensated and drive the price of it up as high as possible to the benefit of a minute number of venture capitalists, company directors, and shareholders.

There’s an app for that, honey. By which we mean: there’s underpaid labor, and a massive tech conglomerate ready to profit off that, honey!

Of course, those with more substantial disposable income can still cut out the digital middle man and hire underpaid labor directly into their home, or proceed directly to what I like to call “artisanal wife” mode: choosing a partner with a wide set of skills who will focus their energies on servicing your various needs, without the economic imperative to pursue paid labor themselves. And then there is the highest echelon of earning power: the bunker-deep pockets of the billionaire class that reaps the profits of the underpaid workers, holding the entire sick, inverted pyramid of wealth on their shoulders like a packed delivery cooler. For those at the top, it’s always been the “lady of the manor” approach: a wife who manages an entire fleet of, you guessed it, underpaid labor. Judging by the number of extraordinarily ambitious and competent women in my graduating class whose aspirations have been funneled into marriages to hedge fund scions, the “ladies of the manor” remain in high demand.

For those without any disposable income at all—a rapidly-growing demographic made perpetually larger by tech-accelerated inequality, because irony isn’t part of Silicon Valley’s vocabulary— there are virtually no options. Most working-class women have no choice but to work one job or several—often in the precise, underpaid sectors being automated by technology—alongside providing caregiving labor at home. The direct and knock-on consequences of this second (or third, or fourth) shift labor are borne out in the growing chasm between the life expectancy of the rich and the poor. Meanwhile, the privileged middle remains perpetually marketed to by apps and products designed to give the illusion of technology-supported self-sufficiency, masking the interdependent web of individuals and stakeholders which make up any given household service.

Picture it: a bearded dad stands alone in the kitchen making a stir-fry. “Eloise?” he calls up to the ceiling, “Dinner in five.” His voice is loud but calm, pleasant. The kitchen is lit with clean blue LED lights. Four bright yellow lemons sit in a clear glass bowl, next to a full, meticulously balanced ceramic fruit platter. The only sign that there is cooking taking place is the cutting board in front of him, topped with a mound of chopped neon bell peppers. An open bottle of craft beer is placed on the center of the kitchen island; Dad wears a casual chambray button-down shirt. This is all very relaxed, the tableau suggests, but also pristine; homely, but perfect. Dad is easy-going, dinner is effortless. Eloise arrives promptly and slides into a seat at the kitchen island, where Dad serves up a nutritionally void but photogenic bowl of stir-fried cabbage. “Enjoying that?” He asks, self-satisfied, as he watches her eat. Eloise raises her eyebrows and nods. “Mum will be pleased!” Dad exclaims, and gently asks Alexa—the female voice that lives inside a smart speaker on the kitchen counter—to add stir-fry vegetables to his shopping list. She does so dutifully. Dad and Eloise retire to the sofa, where they eat ice cream together and Alexa plays a Philip Pullman audiobook.

Mum will be pleased! Or, as the identical German ad, in which the bearded British dad is simply swapped out for a slightly younger-looking bearded German dad, puts it, Mama wird sich freuen! The subtext is clear: Mother isn’t here, Mother is “leaning in.” But we—a progressive, modern family, assisted by an unobtrusive yet highly skilled and patently stylish, artificially intelligent smart speaker—are thriving.

Who Cares?

We are fast approaching the social breaking point of a historical movement in capitalism that has simultaneously brought our waged life into our private life (what’s a private life?) and the tasks of the domestic into the commodified world. In the nineteenth century, as industrial capitalism boomed, the state shunned responsibility for care work, cementing it firmly in the private sphere—giving rise to a particular kind of Victorian, feminine responsibility in the home. The twentieth century saw the rise of a “family wage” for the working class; families were expected to survive on the husband’s work alone, further ensnaring women in unpaid care roles. Pre-sexual revolution, the labor of the twentieth- century wife served as a critical support structure for the male worker. Though he was waged and she was not, the family finances depended on their combined work in clear and distinct gender roles.

During the manufacturing decline of the 1970s, as wages began to plummet for working-class men, capitalism Trojan-horsed its way into feminist liberation, warping a necessary social cause—freeing women to pursue aims outside of housework—to suit capital: freedom means working for capitalists! The result has been the normalization and subsequent necessitation of the two-wage household. Across the industrialized world, the cost of living has soared while wages have stagnated, to the point where what could once be afforded on one salary can barely be afforded on two. At the same time, right-wing commentariats lambast the low birth-rate and the death of family values, framing feminism as the root of all evil, carefully eschewing the reality that liberal and conservative governments alike have chosen the enrichment of a few over the social reproduction of the many.

Without federal assistance in the form of publicly funded childcare for all, wage protections for workers, or a universal basic income—to name but a few of the creative opportunities at hand—the individual becomes increasingly reliant on her employer. It is no coincidence that technology companies, particularly keen to co-opt and commodify historically feminized care work, offer the most pointed range of reproduction-related benefits for their employees: egg freezing and paid parental leave abound, though often not childcare.

The end result is that we now all have at least three jobs, three modes of survival to tend to: our financial survival, the survival of our communities, and the survival of our family units. The state has long shirked its responsibilities in each sphere; now, the wide, slobbering maw of the tech industry waits, ready to commodify whatever it can.

Rage Against the Machines

Perhaps you can sense the despair in my tone. Certainly, when I have broached this topic with men, the most common response has been: But come on, isn’t that better than before?

“Before” being the presumption of a wife’s place in the home as “natural” and “right,” unpaid and largely unseen? The electroshock therapy that presumption necessitated when housework drove a generation of wives clinically mad? Legal rape? Or should we go a touch further back to “wife as property”?

Is today a better state than those “befores”? Yes, of course it is, though a lobotomy might be too.

To pay wages for housework would require a wholesale transformation of the economy, revealing at the core of capitalism a fundamental reliance on the unpaid labor of women.

What troubles me, what keeps me turning the matter over and over in my head, is this: for centuries, women asked for recognition of the value of “women’s work”—which is to say, the practical labor that makes the world go round and has historically been placed on the shoulders of wives and mothers and daughters without question. Many simply asked that the work be recognized as just that: work—not a calling, not a natural state, not a pure act of love. Others asked that men take on their share of domestic labor, and in so doing, free women to pursue other, potentially more fulfilling or stimulating forms of work—and leisure. And through the Wages for Housework movement led by Silvia Federici, women even asked that that value of their work be recognized in capital’s primary currency: a wage. This demand was more radical provocation than concrete policy proposal, one which attempted to speak the language of capitalism in order to undermine it. To pay wages for housework would require a wholesale transformation of the economy, revealing at the core of capitalism a fundamental reliance on the unpaid labor of women.

How strange and predictable it is, then, that wages for housework have, at last, become widespread—but in the form of our subscription to digital services and gig economy labor. This work has become concretely valuable at the precise moment its value can be effectively captured by a small cadre of men sitting at the top of the tech industry.

This didn’t happen overnight, and it didn’t happen by accident. It is no coincidence that the first artificial intelligence boom began around the same time as the sexual revolution; no coincidence that the history of women in computing has been roundly overwritten by the myth of male coding genius; no coincidence that the voice coming out of your smart device is almost always a woman’s. Stemming from a fundamental arrogance on the part of men—the idea that work historically performed by women is so straightforward, so mindless even, that it can be effectively programmed— the latter part of the twentieth century saw a rise in technologies aimed at making traditional women’s work faster, simpler, or redundant.

Robot mistresses, digital nurses, smartphone secretaries, algorithmic wives, and app-based mommies: huge swathes of the modern tech boom are a reaction against women’s partial liberation from housework and our increasing resistance to performing unpaid and undervalued emotional and sexual labor. When small-minded men are terrified of losing something, they belittle it; they puff their chests out and stomp their feet and declare they do not need it at all, that they have something better at hand anyway. And the rise of personified technologies in particular is a mass response from a male-dominated industry to the revelations of the twentieth century: the sexual revolution and women’s movement that upended traditional gender roles, and the economic pressures requiring women to seek employment outside of the home. The first wave of at-home artificial intelligence—embodied by Amazon’s Alexa, Microsoft’s Cortana, and the nameless personality living inside the Google Home—was designed to replace or supplement roles historically filled by women: mothers, wives, mistresses, secretaries, nannies, even sex workers.

Robot mistresses, digital nurses, smartphone secretaries, algorithmic wives, and app-based mommies: huge swathes of the modern tech boom are a reaction against women’s partial liberation from housework and our increasing resistance to performing unpaid and undervalued emotional and sexual labor.

Of course, in addition to being historically female, these roles are almost always underpaid or undervalued. As philosopher Helen Hester notes, the same tasks Alexa and Cortana perform for a premium are not just ill-remunerated but often resented and mocked when performed by human women. A smart device’s insistence on helping is clever and valuable; a wife’s insistence on helping is taken for granted or viewed as frivolous nagging. It’s no surprise many women no longer want to take on the roles they’ve been programmed to perform, or that still more of us simply cannot afford to, regardless of what we desire. The system is malfunctioning; we’ve gone off script. Tech, looking for a fix to the glitch, has found it at the intersection of cheap labor, algorithms, and automation, which in concert perform thankless female labor (with no bitching or aging) for an upfront cost, to the enormous financial benefit of the overwhelmingly male industry leaders and stockholders.

Much of the writing about the sexism latent in the tech industry, and the development of artificial intelligence in particular, has focused in on three concerning realities: the dramatic underrepresentation of women at virtually every level of the industry (and the self-perpetuating, demi-god-in-a-sweat-drenched-hoodie culture that serves as both the primary cause and effect of this lack of gender diversity); the gender bias being coded into tomorrow’s (and today’s and yesterday’s) algorithms by virtue of this lack of diversity; and the portrayal of many personified tech products as servile and female, chief among them Amazon’s Alexa and the Google Home which, if not real AI, still stand as most Americans’ first experience with something even remotely close.

What concerns me as much as these developments is the broader picture of which they form only a part: a world in which the exact forms of labor women have fought to have recognized and remunerated—chief among them caretaking labor, tedious household labor, buoying-the-male-ego labor, service-with-a-smile labor—are being co-opted, monetized, and sold back to us as shiny, premium, cutting-edge tech, the intermediary step of individual households outsourcing such tasks to workers primarily from the Global South having been insufficiently profitable for the Silicon Valley brain trust. As automation rises, technology will increasingly undercut the wages of these workers; the human workers who depend on these precarious gigs are viewed by the tech industry and the broader economy as a temporary inefficiency.

This is the dark ethos of the twenty-first century: most of us are performing labor that can and will be at least partially automated. We work, and as we work, we audition for the right to continue working. There is no room at the negotiation table; any unpaid work will remain unpaid until, in due course, we will pay to have that work done for us by automation. And like that, the mainstays of human life become premium services we pay for. Like that, the value only flows up.

The Future is Fembots

Pop culture and advertising have reacted in lockstep with the rise of household technologies. Disney’s Smart House, released in 1999, showed an overworked female computer scientist developing the perfect AI “smart home” to liberate women from housework, only for the “smart home” to become increasingly unwieldy and possessive—hormonal even—after a motherless teenage boy tinkers with the code to make the artificial intelligence behave more maternally. The happy ending comes when the scientist reprograms the smart home and settles down with a nice man.

More recently, Her and Ex Machina played into the heterosexual male’s neuroses that feminine affection is, in a sense, always a ruse and as replicable as code. The British television series Humans shows male and female bots—designed to perform care labor in family households and the homes of the elderly—driven to rebellion over a desire for recognition. Many early advertising campaigns for Google Home and Alexa, like the one described above, portrayed modern men aptly assisted by gentle, obedient, disembodied women. Such visions of techno-capitalist feminism abound: women empowered by technologies that free them from the unsavory realities of pregnancy or household labor or sex; men taking on new, progressive roles as a result of their obedient female-voiced assistants.

It has been quite some time since we’ve seen a direct cultural portrayal of feminized tech that has any real teeth. But if we look back to a time before Lean In feminism, there have been more honest attempts. Much of Bryan Forbes’s 1975 horror film The Stepford Wives feels oddly familiar, even millennial in its sensibility, from its pared-back interior design, its fetishization of upstate domestic life, and its portrayal of a certain type of liberal man who—while paying lip service to progressive ideas—yearns for a wife who will let him call the shots. Based on the 1972 novel by Ira Levin, the film follows Joanna Eberhart as she moves from New York City to Stepford, Connecticut, with her husband Walter and their two children. Walter quickly joins the local Men’s Association, where former technology and entertainment moguls relax with scotch and cigars. The women of Stepford, meanwhile, are uniformly beautiful and obedient, spending their days ironing sheets, watching children, and preparing casseroles: a hybrid of tradwives, Instagram influencers, and spam bots. Their husbands adore them.

Joanna, an aspiring photographer, felt coerced into moving to Stepford, but she tries to put on a game face. Hoping that her new suburban lifestyle will offer her the chance to focus more on her art, she is understandably creeped out by the passivity of the Stepford wives and her husband’s secretive involvement in the Men’s Association. She soon forms an alliance with the two other women in town not yet obsessed with housework: Bobby, an outspoken New York feminist, and Charmaine, a tennis-playing trophy wife. Together, they attempt to start a women’s group. But when they gather the women of Stepford together, the wives fall into discussing a litany of household tips: advice on starching their husbands’ collars, brand name suggestions, and vague musings on their domestic contentedness.

In the end, it becomes apparent that these beloved wives are robots, modeled on the human wives of Men’s Association members, who are summarily murdered once their robot replacements are ready. (The seventies were not known for their subtlety.) Unlike in the camp, feel-good 2004 remake, love and corporate feminism do not save the day. On the advice of a psychiatrist, Joanna tries to escape, but ends up strangled to death by her robot replacement.

The messaging is a little too obvious to be worth digging into at length: housework deadens a part of a woman, and men are desperate for control. What really stuck with me about The Stepford Wives is the way the men watch the women, both the human Joanna and their robot wives. In one scene, a Men’s Association member draws Joanna with incredible skill, making sketches of her face and her eyes. In another, a man records her voice, allegedly for a hobby project; preying on her kindness, he claims that his childhood stutter has made him fascinated with language and accents. The men look at Joanna with admiration and desire: she is beautiful, spirited, and kind. There’s lust, but it’s not quite sexual. It’s as though they genuinely want to understand the way she works, if only so that they can reconstruct her according to their own desires and ideals. It’s the same way they look at their own wives, always with a knowing confidence in their eyes.

I wonder, sometimes, if this is what it all comes down to. Perhaps our moment is just catering to a particular kind of man, the kind who longs to look at those who serve him, without ever feeling the unsettling tug of need. Who desires nothing more than to look at a woman—real or simulated, no matter—and think: I made you.

[atinyidea]

Glitch | Ateez Gang! AU | THREE

⟶ gang!au, hacker!au, love triangle? poly? female!original character

How curious it is, the fact that the police just gave a media conference, confirming ATZ’s involvement in Kyungri’s families newly-appointed murder, just as she sat down for her best friend, Jaehyeon, to be tattooed by one of the gang members?

⟶ glitch ml! main ml!

⟶ prologue | previous | next

⟶  note! @atinyluna @iis4d @untainted-memories !! if anyone wants to be on a tag list for this fic just let me know!

⟶ 4000 words

⟶ edited 08.03.2020

THREE: The Loft, 15:03,

Saturday 25 October 2025,

“Ah! There she is! Our princess has arrived! Finally!” The voice of her boss, Noh Gongmyung, filtered through the hidden speakers and to her ears as soon as she stuck her key into its lock. With a roll of her eyes, she looked up to where she knew a camera was and sharply turned the key, opening the sliding door.

“I’m not a princess, Gongmyung. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“At least once more!” The speakers hummed as she slammed the door shut, it’s automatic locks clicking into place. Kyungri could just hear the grin on his face from his words.

She walked up the metal floating stairs that led to the loft, her workspace and also home to her boss. She hadn’t cared that she worked in someone’s house, she knew well enough how well she worked when she was in the comfort of her own space. When they started working together Gongmyung hadn’t lived in the loft – it was a home away from home for both of them. However, while Kyungri chose to stay at home with her aunt and younger cousin, Gongmyung realised that he spent all of his time in the loft and that the gas money was not worth the thirty-minute trip from his house to the loft every day.

So he moved in.

He had offered Kyungri a room of her own and, while she did take it, she told him it was mainly for when they had to work long jobs. She didn’t like taking their not-so-legal jobs back to her aunt’s house.

The loft was quite large, having three separate rooms, one bathroom and an open-plan kitchen-living room that they turned into what Gongmyung called The Hacker’s Cave.

After a few years of making modulations to the loft, the two of them decided to buy the whole building, converting the downstairs area into space for their unsanctioned work. More specifically it was essentially a giant closet, locked under a padlock and a fingerprint scanner. Gongmyung had wanted to add a retina scanner but Kyungri thought that would be pushing it a little too much. They had only just been able to hide the fingerprint scanner in the wall, having a camera outside the door would just be suspicious.

She typed in the code specific to her entry and opened the door to the loft. Closing it behind her and listening for the tell-tale click which signified the door was locked again. 

Once, a while ago now, Chaeyoung had called everything over the top and that the two hackers were overly paranoid. Now she just called them “hacker spies.” Chaeyoung was the only one of her friends – and family – that had been to the loft, that had seen inside the loft. Kyungri didn’t exactly know why Chaeyoung had been let onto their little secret but she couldn’t say she was complaining. Gongmyung liked Chaeyoung too, which was always a plus, he referred to her as his second employee even though Chaeyoung couldn’t hack anything to save her life. She was a good informant and strategist though, which is why she fits in so well in their unofficial jobs. Kyungri wondered if Jaehyeon even knew they partook in felonious jobs too.

“Good afternoon, princess.” Gongmyung grinned at her, twisting his spinning chair around to face her as she entered the room.

“I brought you a coffee.” Kyungri smiled at him softly, holding the paper cup out to him, her own still half full in her other hand. She had stopped at another café, one closer to the loft, on the way – having forgotten to buy it when she was at The Café – so it was still piping hot. Just how he liked it.

“You’re buttering me up,” Gongmyung stated, taking the coffee anyway, leaning back in his chair and letting out a satisfied sigh as he took a sip. “What do you need?”

“A favour,”

“Of what kind, pray tell?” He raised an eyebrow, leaning forward in his chair.

Kyungri took a second to reply, speaking slowly like the words hurt to say, “I need your help.”

“You? Need my help?” Gongmyung emphasised, placing his free hand to his chest as if he was clutching his heart. Kyungri’s eyes closed as regret washed over her. “Our Great Hacker, the Pyo Kyungri…” he placed his coffee down on a nearby table, “wants her poor, old mentors help? The honour!” He shouted dramatically. Kyungri was tempted to just walk back out, but before she could, Gongmyung had shot up from his chair to place a hand against her forehead. “Are you feeling ill?”

She swatted his hand away, a small scowl taking over her features. “You’re thirty-four.” She rolled her eyes. Poor and old my ass, she thought. “Can you not be a dramatic dick right now? I ask you for help all the time.” She grumbled, finally taking her jacket off, hanging it on the back of the couch.

Gongmyung grinned at her. He didn’t have to verbalise his acceptance to help, he would help Kyungri even if she hadn’t asked. With the flourish of a hand, he turned to kneel on his chair with one knee and kicking off from the floor with the other, using his chair to glide across the room towards his set up area. Kyungri shook her head slightly, walking after him. Sometimes she wondered how he was the older one.

Gongmyung’s set up was… over the top, to say the least. He had lined a wall with monitors, twenty-four in total, with four servers ranging in sizes and psychedelic colours underneath them. Kyungri had always wondered why he kept a few servers upstairs, especially when they had a whole room dedicated to server’s downstairs, but she couldn’t fault him for wanting to keep the ones he built from scratch separate. When the monitors weren’t being used – by the surveillance cameras or from completing several long-range hacks at once (or downloading the latest version of his favourite video game, unreleased to the public) – they linked with each other to create one big screen. Usually when the loft had visitors – sometimes the police liked to pop in uninvited – the monitors served as a functioning TV. Gongmyung’s over the top personality and a rather large bank account had saved them from suspicion numerous times.

Kyungri had often told him that it wasn’t necessary, that everything could be done on a singular screen. He had always answered her with a simple “I know, this is just more fun!” to which she would roll her eyes, silently agreeing with the eccentric man. Their set-ups were like them: total opposites. While Gongmyung’s took up half a room, Kyungri preferred to stay mobile. She was simplistic, having three of each kind of electronic (two for her and one as a backup). Three phones – two iPhones and a Huawei – three tablets – two Samsung and a Huawei – two iPod and three laptops – her treasured Microsoft laptop and her two new ones: a MacBook and a Huawei laptop. (They had done a job for the company Huawei and were gifted with their electronics, which they kept after completely wiping them and making sure they were secure.)

In a way, the two hackers were described by how they worked. Gongmyung was over the top, in your face with a dramatic flair that everyone had to appreciate no matter how hard they tried not to. Kyungri was mobile, working incognito, on the move, classic. It was why they worked so well together: he was the guy in the chair, and she was the girl on the move.

(Chaeyoung loved to refer to their little team as spies. “We could totally be Charlie’s Angels.” She had said once. “We just need the third angel.” At her words, Gongmyung drew in a theatrical gasp, hand to his chest, offended. “How dare you say that I’m not an angel.” That day was fun.)

“What’s got you in a rough patch?” He asked, grabbing a neon pink keyboard – the one that was connected to the hot pink server, the one he kept separate because it was the only one connected to the dark web.

Kyungri pulled her own laptop out. Her trusty laptop lovingly named Microsoft (All her laptops were names as such: Mack the MacBook, Huawei the laptop.) and began typing away, still standing up next to him. “Two people apparently don’t exist anywhere other than a singular police file.”

“Now, this is interesting.”

“That’s the weird thing! It’s like these men only exist for the purpose of one measly police file and nothing else.”

“You only used your laptop to search, right? Microsoft?”

Kyungri nodded.

“Perhaps your server isn’t strong enough. Run the searches again with Huawei connected to the server room downstairs. Maybe you’ll get wider search field parameters.” Gongmyung grinned. While he wasn’t exactly a patron of the black net, he did have access to it and its connections – anything was findable for the right price. “Also, just send me all you’ve got, and I’ll get in touch with connections.”

Kyungri nodded again.

“This is quite unusual, isn’t it?” Gongmyung said after a few minutes of silence as he read over the information she had gathered. “Jo Jowon. Choi Jongho. Pictures.” He mumbled, narrating as he typed out an invisible email – an incognito way of communicating with his contacts without a trace. “I don’t think my contact is online at the moment. It might take a while to get a response.”

Kyungri nodded a third time. She wasn’t in a rush. She just got easily frustrated when things didn’t go right, quickly.

“So the police are re-investigating their deaths.”

“Yeah.”

“And Soonchul is the lead.”

Kyungri hummed in agreement.

“You have to know that ATZ aren’t even five years old yet. The crash was –’’

“Seven years ago. I know.” Kyungri cut him off, fingers stopping their tapping as she looked over at him. “I figured that out the same hour I heard the police were suspecting them.”

“So why are you still looking for them.” He asked, also stopping, having finished for now.

“I don’t know. Something doesn’t feel right, it’s bugging me.”

“Ah, and then these two boys don’t seem to exist.” He realised, teasing her slightly, “you can’t resist.”

“Soonchul is trying to pin my family’s death on a gang who hadn’t even formed yet. It’s sloppy, and I don’t appreciate it.” She shrugged, turning her attention to a monitor on the wall, where a figure had walked to the front door. She looked away after realising she knew who it was, continuing her little speech. “I don’t understand the connection. I’ve been waiting for six years for them to re-open the case and when it is, I can’t help but feel angry.”

“My father wants to find ATZ, everyone wants the Pyo Crash case solved once and for all. He’s killing two birds with one stone, trying to twist everything together by his own will.” Chaeyoung called loudly, having heard the last part of Kyungri’s sentence as she entered the door. She leant back against it, waiting for the click before she wandered into the room. While she wasn’t a hacker, Chaeyoung worked with Kyungri on their out-of-hours jobs. She had her own keys and her own password for the loft, she was part of the team. She shrugged her black trench coat off, throwing it haphazardly in the direction of the couch, not bothering to see if it fell on the floor or not. “I went to lunch with him last week, he wouldn’t stop muttering about how he was going to get the station to look for ATZ and get off his back about the Pyo case.” Chaeyoung rested on Kyungri, her arms over the now seated Kyungri’s shoulders and her head resting on her shoulder. Kyungri leant back into the orange-haired girl, trying to give her stronger stability to lean against – she knew she was tired.  “We are talking about my dad, right?”

“Bit of a poor solution. It’s not even thought out well.” Gongmyung tsked.

Chaeyoung yawned a little, “I don’t think the station cares if I’m being honest. They’re just happy he’s finally doing it.”

“Anyway, now that both of you are here, I can brief you of tonight’s job.”

“Sure thing GM but, can I go get pizza first? I came straight here from the café, and I’m starving.” Chaeyoung’s tired expression had cleared into a livelier one at the thought of food through her words still slurred a little. Gongmyung mirrored her grin and pulled a silver card out of thin air, holing it out in front of her.

“It’s on me or rather, on you. That’s your card for the night, there’s five million won on it.” He told Chaeyoung, emphasising the amount on the card. “It’s for the job, to keep up appearances. You have to be expensive to look like a regular at an expensive club.” Chaeyoung nodded, plucking the card from his fingers. She pressed a gentle kiss on Kyungri’s cheek before standing, walking to the door and scooping her coat up from the floor on the way.

“Got it! You want the usual?” She called over her shoulder as she opened the door.

Kyungri and Gongmyung hadn’t left it a second before they chorused a ‘yes’. After the orange-haired woman had left Gongmyung turned to Kyungri, another card in his hand.

“Thank you.” Kyungri smiled at him softly. He reached out the same hand to pat her hair gently. “While she’s gone I’ll go shower, the world knows I'm quicker. She’ll need at least an hour just for her shower.” Kyungri let out a laugh as she slapped her hands against her thighs as she stood.

“I’ll keep you updated.”

“Ah yes, we can play Is Gongmyung’s Voice Louder Than The Shower again.”

The bathroom was standard compared to the rest of the building. Kyungri only really used it for its essentials – to shower and to use the toilet – while Gongmyung couldn’t care less what a bathroom looked like. Chaeyoung kept bringing in little decorations around every now and then, but they always seemed to go missing after a week or two. The walls were tiled in white, a toilet sink and shower the only appliances inside. On one wall hung five towels, two were black, two were hot pink and the last of was a white hair towel, stained with diluted hair dye. Also hung on the wall, above the sin, was a large square mirror.

Kyungri stared at her reflection, letting the shower warm-up before she got in it. She had bags under her eyes that would need to be covered properly before they left for the job, no one going to the club would flaunt their designer eyebags. She’d have to get Chaeyoung to fix her up with the strong stuff later. Kyungri took her hair in her hands, looping it through her fingers. It was getting quite long, the black hair dye starting to leave her roots. They weren’t that bad, her natural hair a dark brown anyway, but she knew they would bother her is she didn’t get them done again soon.

The water was hot against her skin; it almost burnt. But that’s how she liked it. She liked being warm and would often cuddle herself up under at least three blankets when she could. She closed her eyes and leant her head back, letting her hair fall down her back, under the steady stream of water. She liked showers, they were relaxing. However, she could never spend more than fifteen minutes in there. She washed out the shampoo in her dark locks and applied the conditioner, twisting her hair into a makeshift top-knot to sit for a little while as she bent over slightly to shave her legs. Kyungri liked having smooth legs but, in reality, she hated having to shave them. Just as she finished up with the razor and went to wash the conditioner from her hair, the bathroom door bounced open startling her a little but not enough for her to make a sound.

“I’m back, and your pizza will get cold if you take forever!” Chaeyoung shouted over the flow of water. Kyungri shook her head in amusement, continuing to wash out her hair.

“Thanks, Chae.” She shouted back. She could feel Chaeyoung’s cheeky grin as she heard her laugh.

“OH! Before I forget! After you left the café earlier, I overheard Mr Tattooist and his friend. Whose name is Yoosang by the way and, he’s completely one-hundred-per cent cute. Apparently San did something, and you didn’t notice? I assumed it was that he tried asking for your number by the way Yoosang laughed at him, but I had already given him your number, so it got me thinking.”

Kyungri switched off the water, stepping out of the shower. She didn’t rush to cover herself in front of Chaeyoung, but she wrapped a pink towel around her body because the window was open, and the breeze was cold.

“Just be careful around him okay, he’s like super pretty to look at but, now I have a funny feeling about that tattooist. Like there’s something hidden about him.” Chaeyoung spoke seriously as she sat on top of the toilet as if it were a chair.

“You gave him my number?”

“Before he was being shady!”

Kyungri couldn’t help but laugh, and after a few seconds, Chaeyoung had joined in.

“I also went outfit digging so finish up in here and then just come through to the room, yeah?” Chaeyoung smiled up at her tall best friend. Kyungri returned the smile and kissed her cheek as Chaeyoung departed from the bathroom.

She left the bathroom, hair and body wrapped up in pink towels and headed towards the living room. She didn’t care that she was in just a towel around Gongmyung, he was essentially her brother for all intents and purposes. 

“I did tell Chae you were in the shower, sorry she interrupted you.” He told Kyungri as she stopped next to him at the table. From where she was sat on the floor on the opposite side of the table, Chaeyoung grinned up at Kyungri with a wink.

“It’s not like she doesn’t do it every time anyway but, thanks,” Kyungri replied to Gongmyung with a small amused smile. She propped a hand on her waist, her other hand holding its wrist as she focused back to Chaeyoung. “So what are my options, Chae?”

“Under very tight time restrictions, not fair by the way,” She glared at the man in the room for a second, “I’ve given you a dress and a crop-top-shorts combo.” Chaeyoung gave her a dazzling smile, hands shaking back and forth like she was in a jazz number. Kyungri nodded a little, looking over both options. “I get to wear the other one so, please choose the one I don’t want,” Chaeyoung added with a rushed mumble and a little squeal, her hands shooting into the air to show off her crossed fingers. Kyungri rolled her eyes a little, the smile growing on her face. She should have known.

The dress was a lively red colour, the woven cotton was laced with glittered fabric to give off a shine under every angle. It was lined with cream-coloured silk, smooth to the touch. It was also quite small, and Kyungri knew it would fit Chaeyoung better. The orange-haired girl had even paired it with a pair of black criss-cross stiletto heels in her size.

The other outfit was quite racy, but Kyungri really didn’t care. While she preferred to live her life in leggings and jumpers three sized too big for her, she knew her body was fit. She looked after herself; going to the gym every other day and running two miles every morning. Her core was strong, ready for anything that was thrown at her. She knew she had abs, not rock hard, but there was some definition there. She knew she would feel comfortable in the crop top (which was actually just a fancy lace bralette) and matching shorts. It was placed with a peached coloured jacket - a thin material studded in large sequins - and a pair of black sneakers that were jazzed up with the same peach colour, but the sequins were extra small. She loved it, she knew that Chaeyoung had expected her to choose that outfit and so, just to mess with her she picked up the dress and turned on her heel towards her bedroom.

“Kyungri!” Chaeyoung called after her. Kyungri couldn’t help the giddy laugh that left her lips as Chaeyoung started chasing her.

“You’re too easy to wind up, Chaeyoung.” She told her once they had stopped running around. Kyungri handed the dress and heels over to the shorter girl with a teasing smile over her lips. Chaeyoung grumbled a little under her breath, making her look slightly younger than she was than how she acted. Kyungri was reminded that Chaeyoung had only just turned twenty the other month.

Kyungri returned to the living room to scoop up her outfit, and the two girls left Gongmyung to eat his pizza alone. Which wasn’t particularly unusual.

An hour and a half later, Chaeyoung was out of the shower and drying her hair out with a hairdryer as Kyungri nibbled on the last slice of her own pizza, still in her towel as she worked on Sam, her Samsung tablet. (Truthfully, she had been distracted by Twitter.) The two girls got dressed together, helping one another with small adjustments and styling choices. Chaeyoung helped Kyungri twist her long hair up into two twisted space buns, doing her makeup for her since Kyungri was kind of helpless. Kyungri had pulled a detailed braid through one side of Chaeyoung’s hair, decorating it with small metal loops and hair gems. By eight P.M they emerged from Kyungri’s bedroom, dressed to the nines and glowing. Gongmyung, who had seen them dressed up for club jobs before, let out a little wolf whistle as they came into view.

“Stunning, as always.” He complimented them. Kyungri gave him a small, yet confident, smile as Chaeyoung dipped down into a curtsey.

“Thank you, I know. I know.” She spoke in a fake posh accent, dramatically waving her hands around as if she were royalty. They all made their way to Gongmyung’s set up, waiting to get briefed.

“The club is called X-Clusive.” He began, sitting down in his chair. The two girls sat down together of one of Kyungri’s huge beanbag chairs, sharing a tablet to see what Gongmyung would be talking about. “The official job Kyungri’s on tonight is to figure out how one gets through all their security. There's a singular back door entrance under a set of seven different electronic locks. The bouncers are given a printed version of the guest list, which is very specific, so as a fall back you will both be on it as yourselves.

“However, for your second job tonight, you will be known as Park Hyeri and Lee Chanmi, two old college friends who reconnect after seeing each other at a fancy club. There is talk of a gun pass happening in the high levels of X-Clusive tonight. The gangs are unknown, but connections think NCT will be there. You are to observe and relay information. Do that by any means necessary, we don’t know who else we’ll be dealing with.” He finished. 

Both girls nodded once in unison. 

“Great. After that, you’re free to stay as long as you want and spend as much as you want. Stay alert, I want to be able to get to you if anything happens, got it?”

Again, the girl’s nodded, grinning at one another. Time to go clubbing.

[thunder-the-ranger-wolf]

A World of Difference (BNHA story)

Summary: That premise where Izuku is a year older and ends up in the class that gets expelled before the canon class 1A. 

Something gave him a bad feeling about this year’s class. He didn’t know what, exactly, but he knew to trust his instincts. None of these kids would last a day in the hero world, and not just because they were crowded around two kids chanting “Fight! Fight! Fight!” like a bunch of elementary school kids.

No, that was indeed confirmation. But there was more to this. 

“Fall in!” He barked out. Some of them glanced up, saw his glare, and scampered to their seats. The rest of the class was too focused on one of their own getting pummeled. 

“He said to fall in!” 

He forgot that Mic had been right behind him when he walked into his room, had been so thoroughly unimpressed by the state of his students. But Mic’s Quirk was good for more than a few things. Right now it was getting people’s attention. He nodded his thanks and Mic went to sit behind the teacher’s desk, a spot he wouldn’t inhabit until he was done talking. 

The students all shuffled nervously to their seats. It turns out that the pair who’d been fighting had the same seat but shouldn’t be near each other due to an old rivalry. Something he would have to rectify with assigned seating.

“Dude, what’s up with the caterpillar act?” Someone called out. 

“It’s a sleeping bag. I sleep.” He offered dryly. “But you kids can’t be left alone for five minutes, now can you? I was going to give you all a chance to show off your Quirks but now you’ll do an essay.” 

“Is it gonna be on why fighting is wrong?” Someone simpered. 

These little shits would absolutely be testing his patience. 

“Togamiru, welcome to the class. Congrats on your relationship. But if you could pull up your pants and tell your partner to use mouthwash before he speaks, your classmates would appreciate it.”

“This class is definitely one for the books, eh?” Mic snickered as the pair made for the front of the room. 

“If you walk out that door, don’t bother coming back.” Aizawa informed them. 

The partner scoffed and spat at him. Mic narrowly avoided the kid’s terrible aim and rummaged through the desk for a pack of wipes and some hand sanitizer. 

“The essay is not going to be on why fighting is wrong, Kumitoru. The essay will be five-thousand words on your favorite hero and how they contribute to the community around them. This will likely take the rest of the class, so you best get started.” 

Most of the class had some objection to that and some of them were more verbal than others. 

“There’s no way I’m doing some dumb fucking essay on the first day!” A boy in the front row snapped. 

“Well, Rosuru, as your previous two classmates have shown, you are very much free to leave, so long as you don’t come back.” 

The boy deliberated for a few minutes before shaking his head. 

“This isn’t worth it.” He scoffed. “They’re not like this at Shiketsu, I promise you that!” 

“I know what they’re like at Shiketsu, Rosuru, and I doubt you would like it there either.” 

“We’re supposed to be heroes! How is an essay supposed to help us save people?!” 

“Well, if you think about the subject for more than a second you might see why I assigned it.” 

“Fuck you, old man!” 

“I don’t do kids.” Aizawa deadpanned. “For that matter, if you say that to someone and they take you up on it, run. As far and fast away as you can, because those words get you nothing good.” 

“Cryptic bastard. I don’t need this!” 

“As I said, you are free to go.” 

 There was his second (or was it third? That kid sucking off Togamiru probably wasn’t in his class… he’d have to look into that.) student for the day. 

“Start writing, children. I want as much as you can get me by the end of the session.” 

Some breathed exaggerated sighs of relief while others glared venomously at him. 

Ten students are left by the end of the day. The rest hadn’t taken their assignments seriously. Some of them had written about how amazing their Quirks were, some had written about how awesome their personal heroes were. Some had written about whatever the fuck they wanted, and that wouldn’t stand. A student who couldn’t follow directions turned into a hero who got people killed. 

Aizawa found that walking into his second day that only one student had come in and found his seat. He handed the student his paper and waited for another half-hour before taking it back. 

“I wasn’t done-!” 

“Did you honestly think you could get five-thousand words done in not even two days?” 

“I figured it was a drawn-out assignment when you took the papers back at the end of the day, Sensei. Still, I went home and did some research on the programs set in place because of-.”  

The boy cut himself off when he noticed Aizawa moving away, but the homeroom teacher waved his hand. 

“Keep talking, but come on. We’re going to test your skills today.” 

“I went home and did some research on the programs set in place because of things like destruction of property. There are a bunch of initiatives that die almost on-the-spot because no one Agency can keep them up.” 

“How so?” Aizawa wondered.  

“Ryukyu, the Dragon Hero, has fought for her interns with less powerful Quirks to be recognized as heroes in their own right. The Iida family sets up their employees who don’t have proper homes with everything they’d need to get one more immediately. It’s not as easy as giving them more money because if they could just buy everyone houses then someone probably would have tried by now, but like my mom can tell you, even just paying for rent some places can wipe out savings and there’s not much that your job can do about it but maybe give you a higher raise. I got off track, though, we were talking about hero initiatives.” 

“I think we should pick this conversation up tomorrow after I do some research myself. This is some interesting work you’ve done. Now how far can you throw this ball?” 

The kid’s name was Midoriya, and he passed the Hero Course Entrance exam by his own genius and pure luck. He also managed to persuade Nedzu to allow him the use of some homemade gadgets, after impressing him with knowledge of the millions of ways the principal’s Quirk, High-Spec, could be used in a number of fields. 

Everyone else has a natural advantage, Midoriya had informed the principal. Why not allow me to level the playing field? 

That’s how the kid seemed to do everything, Aizawa noticed. The kid was smart and he knew it. Able to spout off facts about any given hero the second a name was dropped. Able to break down and rearrange any Quirk he was informed of.

The green-haired boy was a bag of tricks physically as well as mentally. He wasn’t able to go toe-to-toe with Aizawa or Vlad King, though he tried just for the hell of it. But he knew that. His emphasis was on dodging and letting his opponent’s actions turn back on them. 

It’s how he’s gotten rid of many a childhood bully, he informed his teacher cheerfully. This, after literally tripping Aizawa over his unraveled capture weapon and sending him sprawling with one yank. 

“Very good.” Aizawa groaned as he lumbered to his feet. “Can you pick out weak spots like that on the fly?”

“Yes, but it took some major training and a lot of hero fights.” Midoriya admitted. 

“What would you suggest for Midnight-san?”

“Nothing.” Midoriya offered flatly. “There is absolutely nothing she can’t do with that Quirk, and since she hangs with you and Present Mic, I’d assume she knows how to fight of her own merits. There is no way I am touching her outfit with a ten-foot pole even if she wasn’t literally right behind you.” 

Aizawa dipped his head in acquiescence and turned to face his friend. 

“That you thought I wouldn’t call you out is amazingly stupid. That Midoriya did was rather impressive.” He told her. The Rated R Hero snorted, which turned into an all-out giggle. 

“You’re a gem, Aizawa,” She crowed, leaning her full weight into the hug she was giving him. “A diamond in the rough. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.” 

“Vlad generally acknowledges that I’m hard to ruffle, but thank you anyway. What exactly do you need from me right now?”

“Oh, right. Yagi wanted to see if you were busy. I think he’s nervous about actually teaching this year instead of just being part of the staff. Poor guy was muttering over his notes all morning.” 

“Well, I just so happen to be finishing up this session. It’s onto Vlad for you, Midoriya.” Aizawa informed the boy. His student nodded, waved to both of them, and sped towards the main building.

“I still can’t believe you only kept one student.” Nemuri scowled, standing on her own feet so she and Aizawa could follow Midoriya. “Out of twenty-three.” 

“I never said they were expelled. They could come back if they wanted to. Technically they’re skipping class of their own accord.” 

“They dropped out and you know it, Sho-chan. I’m shocked this kid lasted as long as he did. Did you really make them write five-thousand words on the first day?” 

“I wanted the assignment to take up the first few classes. They were literally watching two kids fight to what would have been the death. Mic was there, he could tell you.” 

“And your first expulsion, they were…” 

“Maybe don’t ask Mic about that one. He might genuinely be traumatized.”

“Fair enough. But what’s so special about this kid in particular?”

He comes back.” Aizawa snorted. “I’ve scared all the others off or bored them off or reprimanded them somehow. I knew something was up with this set of kids but I honestly didn’t think it’d be this easy to get them all out of my hair.” 

“Re-evaluating your teaching methods?” Nemuri teased, knowing the exact opposite to be true. 

“More like wondering if this next crop of heroes will be ready for the world.” Aizawa admitted. “I might have driven them away, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have other options. If they’re smart, they’ll re-evaluate themselves before taking such chances again.”

“And if they’re not?” Nemuri promoted warily. 

“Well, that’d be to everyone’s detriment.” 

[aoibaratraveler]

A Look Back At My Time in Japan Chapter 3!

Double Collage! One for Busan and one for Nagasaki in May!

Heyo! We’re back for chapter three and it’s only been a little over two weeks! Looks like I’m getting the hang of this...maybe?

Second Month on Exchange: May

I last left off with the beginning of my South Korea exploits in the city of Busan. We had met some other travellers, visited some street markets, had lunch with our host and started our trip off rather nicely apart from sleeping on the hardwood floor of our host’s apartment every night….

It looks like we started off May with visiting the beautiful park and cliffs of Dongsam with our host. It was a glorious day with spectacular weather where we walked along the rocky cliffs and coastline for a couple of hours. Our host was a really friendly dude who really wanted to show us a good time when he wasn’t busy with his university classes. Afterward, we headed back to Gwangbok street and met up with the other couch surfers to enjoy more street food and some skincare shopping as well as check out a nearby beach. It was about here though when things started to go a bit south with TC and me. I mean it pretty much started from the beginning of the trip, especially when we met these other travelers but it really started to get to me that night when we went shopping. You see, TC loves herself a bit of attention which I didn’t care so much about. It was the belittling and nasty remarks that I couldn’t stand. She is someone who hates taking responsibility for anything and has no empathy or consideration for others. Throughout the course of that night, she kept making snide remarks about how I’m too cheap and I should be spending as much money as her because in her opinion I was holding back too much. I mean truth be told I was holding back, I was nearing the end of my first two months in Asia and running out of the scholarship money I had received for my trip (it wasn’t that much money but more than enough for at least 2 months), which wasn’t anything too major as I still had my credit card and savings back in Canada but I didn’t want to use them unless I really needed to - especially since I knew that when I returned to Japan I would get my month’s earning from my part-time job at the English school. Besides, I’m not that much of a shopper, even though I do love my Korean skincare. Who doesn’t? It wasn’t just money. She started body-shaming me since I had put on a bit of weight from all the food I was trying and claiming that I should stop and lose the weight in order to fit into Asian clothing better so I could properly shop with her (I refused to go clothing shopping). I mean, I do agree that by that point I wasn’t looking my best but I was trying to enjoy myself and all the digs she was throwing at me was really making me resent taking this trip with her. The atmosphere between the two of use was starting to drop and we were making it a bit awkward for the guys with us. I was trying to be normal but anyone who knows me, when I’m upset or frustrated, knows that I tend to go quiet which is very different to my usual energetic, happy self so it was apparent that something was wrong. I tried to be diplomatic, I really did, but I also felt that she just kept spinning things to make me look bad. I was really embarrassed especially since I was starting to like Z, whom I mentioned earlier, and we were getting along but meh it wasn’t meant to be. The night ended a bit sour and we both decided that we would do our own thing on what we thought was going to be our last day. My trip to Busan was, unfortunately, a bit of a blur after this as things tend to be for me if it is spent with bad company. I can tell you that the next day I decided to go off to the area of Haeundae and spent the day walking around the beach, getting some dinner and bingsoo and just having some self-reflection. I do remember getting a message from Z asking if I wanted to join them (them being him, the other guy, and TC) for a night at a day and night spa but since I was feeling a bit insecure about my appearance and just too embarrassed from the day before, I declined. I finished at Haeundae and decided to head back but didn’t realise that TC hadn’t given me the code for the apartment and she wasn’t planning to come back that night and was spending it with the guys at the spa so I was locked out and nowhere near wifi and had to wait for the host to come back… Yea the Busan trip wasn’t going so well. The first day or two were nice though and I would love to go back but this is just an example of how traveling with some people really brings out their true colours. I had only known TC for a month at this point but still. Unfortunately, a huge storm came that night and lasted until the next morning and our ferry back to Fukuoka was canceled and we were forced to stay in Busan for an extra day. Couldn’t really do anything that day either but when TC got back and the weather got a bit better we just went for a walk in the neighborhood and checked out the nearby convenience store to try some more Korean goodies. Our host ordered dinner for us on our real last night there and I told him that I couldn’t eat any pork so he asked the restaurant to just make it meatless but then, of course, TC was then spiteful for the rest of the night because of this claiming that she “needs her protein…” I’m sorry. I wish I could tell a great story of my Busan trip but unfortunately, TC and I just had very different personalities and thus were probably never meant to travel together. I do honestly highly recommend Busan as a lovely side trip from Fukuoka. Anyway, the day of our departure finally arrived and I couldn’t be more thrilled. When we arrived back in Hakata, it was late at night and our bus back to Nagasaki wasn’t going to arrive until the next morning. I mean we could have paid more for a train or opted to stay in a hotel or something for the night, well TC could have, I was going to be my frugal self and go back to the family restaurant that I had stayed in the first time I arrived in Fukuoka and chill there for the night and get some dinner and even though we weren’t so friendly anymore, TC decided to join me. The next day we boarded our bus back to Nagasaki and parted ways, then, and for the rest of my time in Nagasaki (we remained civil at school though, of course). I spent the rest of that day walking around Suwa shrine to decompress.

The next day was Friday and since it was still Golden Week, I decided to spend the day exploring Peace Park. I should mention that Golden Week in Japan is called as such because a few national holidays happen to occur during that week. The university wasn’t closed the whole week but luckily one of my teachers, an American who was in charge of all the exchange students, allowed me and several others who had plans to travel to just take the whole week off because we “should just enjoy our time and make the most of it”. He was a very relaxed individual. Peace park was a remarkable place, a symbol of hope that is also filled with melancholy. It was established in the early 1950s and is close to the hypocenter of the bomb and remnants of the concrete wall of a cathedral.  At the park's north end is the 10-meter-tall Peace Statue created by sculptor Seibo Kitamura of Nagasaki Prefecture.

“A plaque at the nearby hypocenter gives the following account and statistics of the damage caused that day.

At 11:02 A.M., August 9, 1945 an atomic bomb exploded 500 meters above this spot. The black stone monolith marks the hypocenter.

The fierce blast wind, heat rays reaching several thousand degrees and deadly radiation generated by the explosion crushed, burned, and killed everything in sight and reduced this entire area to a barren field of rubble.

About one-third of Nagasaki City was destroyed and 150,000 people killed or injured and it was said at the time that this area would be devoid of vegetation for 75 years. Now, the hypocenter remains as an international peace park and a symbol of the aspiration for world harmony.” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nagasaki_Peace_Park

This adds a bit of a sad tone to this blog but I do think it is necessary for people to be educated about what happened. I also think that everyone should at least watch Grave of the Fireflies once to be further educated on the history of this event. I think a lot of foreign tourists go to Nagasaki and Hiroshima while remaining ignorant of the past and just take a lot of pictures to add to their collection or add this site and the nearby museum as something on their tourist checklist but even my local friends are too horrified to go to the museum and be reminded of what happened but do visit peace park often. Junior high school students also make annual trips there to lay a dozen cranes against the statue, another symbol of peace. 

Over the next couple of weeks, I began to focus more on university and taking my language studies seriously. I decided to ditch taking the bus every day to and from university and either use an old bike that my homestay family had or walk. The bike ride would take about 45 minutes but the walk would take 2 hours. It was a big difference and I would mostly just walk when the brakes on the bike weren’t working so well, which was a lot of the time (as I said, it was old). I did this partially to save money and partially to get in shape and I honestly loved it. The university may have been far from my homestay but this allowed me to really get well acquainted with the area as well as shed a few pounds. Around mid-May, I checked out Glover Garden and the Dutch area of Nagasaki with one of my Japanese friends whom I had met in Vancouver when she was doing her exchange there. It was a very interesting place and different from the rest of the city. We explored the garden and Glover residence of a Scottish merchant who lived there hundreds of years ago and is the oldest Western-style house in Japan. Later on, we walked around the Hollander Slope which was a preferred settlement area for mainly Dutch foreigners in the mid 19th century. Upon returning home that night, my homestay mother cooked for me a non-pork version of Nagasaki Champon which was delicious. 

The next day, I joined my homestay family in supporting my homestay brother at his undokai, or sports day while having a picnic. It was a fun-filled day with lots of excitement and was much like something that I had seen in anime numerous times.

At the end of the month, I went with the rest of the exchange students on a day trip to Huis Ten Bosch which is a slightly overpriced, but still fun, Dutch theme park in Sasebo, Nagasaki. May was pretty much a chill month where I became more acquainted with my surroundings, became closer friends with my classmates; two French girls, CA and LY and an American girl, R as well as my coworker at the English school, B, who was my rock during my time there and whom I considered like an older sister (well apart from the bf who I was messaging every day during my time in Japan and becoming closer friends with. I think having him as a connection that was separate from everything happening in Japan was what really made me feel like I was never alone, I also felt like I could tell him anything so that helped.). Honestly, apart from what I am going to tell you next, it was a not too eventful time in regards to my regular life. Oh and I woke up one day at like 4 am to walk up the hill behind my apartment by myself to watch the sunrise peek behind the mountains and go for a run, it was amazing.

Boy Drama Part One:

So what good study abroad trip in a foreign land where everything is new and exciting is complete without a bit of boy drama here and there? I’m separating this into two parts because it took place around mid/end of April until mid-June and setting this aside from the rest of the story because it really needs its own part and I can’t remember when exactly everything coincided with the rest of my time there. Hold onto your horses folks.

Ok, I know I said that I had a bit of a crush on Z whom I met in Busan but I only met him for a couple of days and it wasn’t anything too serious. Before I went on my trip to Busan and began a few my classes at the university, however, I met E, a 27-year-old Japanese man who also happened to be one of my Japanese language teachers. Don’t worry guys, I was 22, it was fine. Well, that’s what I told myself anyway. To me, at the time, he was super cute and a bit shy and I found that attractive and even though everyone told me that I shouldn’t, I decided to pursue this crush. Very innocently, of course. What do you take me for? I wasn’t expecting anything serious to happen but I wanted to get to know him and see where it would go from there. I tend to be a bit forward when I crush on a guy, I mean, I am after all the one who asked out the bf but the bf turned out to be an amazing guy which I can’t really say the same for E… oops I’m getting ahead of myself! Ok, where was I? Right, I decided to pursue E so I added him on Facebook and began to message him every now and then to get to know him. In the first week or so, I think he could tell that I liked him a bit and so he reminded me that he was my teacher and nothing could happen. I completely agreed. Honest. This story may make me look a little bad but I wasn’t hoping to become his girlfriend at all, I just wanted to get to know him and maybe go for a date since I didn’t know anything about him. So I told him that, I told him that all I wanted was to be friends since there wasn’t that much of an age difference and it didn’t take him long to get over the fact that he was my teacher and start to become very responsive in our chats. We began to become a little flirty with each other in school when no one was looking and I even went as far as to cook him lunch after he had told me what his favourite food was. I was very silly, giddy and just fully embracing my girly side. It was certainly an experience to be doing something that felt like it was straight out of a shoujo manga. Over the course of the first half of May, I could tell that he was really starting to like me back which was interesting….because I was starting to lose interest in him. Ok, chill I’m getting ahead of myself again but I’m looking back on this whole experience with hindsight and really I was just pursuing him so much because everyone told me not to and the more they did that the more I wanted to. I know, very childish. Anyway, I’m pretty sure it was around mid-May when we finally went on a date.

I told him to meet me next to my homestay’s apartment at Suwa shrine and after that, we walked up to Tateyama to sit at a really nice viewing spot (same place I woke up to see the sunrise). I thought this would be a great location where we wouldn’t really be seen by anyone and where we could have some privacy since only the elderly or really young kids ever go near there but it’s mostly empty when it’s not cherry blossom viewing season. We didn’t really need to hide anything because again it was just two people innocently meeting up (I do realize now that it was inappropriate) and there was only a 5 year age gap plus he looked super young. My interest in him sparked back up a bit that day because forbidden fruit and what not and I thought it was fun and exciting to have a secret date with a teacher. Anyway, I can’t remember for how long we sat at the top of Tateyama for but it was at least a few hours and all we did was talk….well I was talking. I filled in a lot of silence because he didn’t really have anything to say, I don’t even know what I talked about but it became apparent that outside of Facebook messenger this guy wasn’t so good with talking to women. He did tell me that it had been ages since he had a girlfriend and he hadn't met with a girl alone in a really long time (a bit of a red flag there...maybe?). Finally, around dinner time, we grabbed some cheap food from a bento place and some yakitori and sat outside to eat it as it became dark. It was kinda nice, I could tell though that he was starting to like me more than I liked him. A little while later we said good night to each other and parted ways and I went back to my apartment. I was satisfied. Honestly, in my head I felt like I was good, I did not need to pursue him any longer and I had experienced my “forbidden fruit”. Nothing happened of course, literally just talking and dinner. I had satisfied my curiosity and I honestly think that after that date is when I completely lost interest in him because I did get to know him a bit. I got to know...and this might sound a bit mean but I got to know that he really wasn’t interesting at all and was actually just a bit starved of attention, which I had given him. Over the next couple of weeks, he would message me and I would reply but I was no longer instigating the messages. He would tell me how much he couldn’t wait for our next date and after a while, his messages started to become really creepy and I stopped replying as much which made him not send as many messages. Anyway, I now need to backtrack a bit for you. So E and I went on our little date around mid-May and then afterward I pretty much put him at the back of my mind, right? Actually, just a little while before is when I met another guy, maybe like a week before? Which is also what was making me lose a bit of interest in E… Welllll a lot of interest. I still went on that date with him just because I wanted to see how things would go and if there was anything actually there and I proved to myself that there wasn’t. (Of course, E did not realize that the date didn’t go that well...but more on that later). Yea, so this new guy, who we’ll call Y. Another Japanese boy and damn was he like Japanese pop star attractive. I’ll start from the beginning. I was hanging out a lot with my coworkers by this point and one day we decided to meet up at Starbucks (one of three in Nagasaki city, it’s a small city and Starbucks was THE place to meet up) which is where I thought I would study and they would complete some marking and whatnot. After a while, my friend and coworker, B had to go and I was left with the receptionist...who was a little crazy but we’ll get to her some other time. Anyway, what happened next was very simple. This barista was spending a lot of time near our table cleaning up and at first, I didn’t notice until the receptionist (oh right, we’ll call her M) pointed him out to me and damn was I instantly attracted. I chatted him up a bit and I could tell that he was everything that E wasn’t. Very charismatic, boyish good looks, tall and talkative. 

So I hung around for a little while longer and then I packed up my stuff, walked up to him at the barista counter and asked if he was to be working the next day and told him I’ll see him then. (honestly looking back on it for some reason when I was living in Japan I just gained all this confidence that I never really had before, I have always been forward with my feelings but never this assertive and flirty and honestly, I kind of had the feeling almost that if I wanted a guy that I could have him, it was probably all the freedom and excitement of living abroad and being away from my parents) Right, so the next day I decided to take my time in going back to Starbucks, I hung out with LY, one of my French friends for most of the day, and studied with her and didn’t did really get to Starbucks until around 6. I rocked up with my books, saw that he was still there and set myself up to look like I was still gonna study. But then suddenly he disappeared from behind the counter, I figured that maybe he had gone on a break but then he reappeared in front of me in his civies. I was a bit taken aback that he was done work but pleased that he came to talk to me. He told me that he had just finished which was really just good timing and then we talked some more. I found out that he was 19 and in his first year of university studying to become an architect. He had to leave after a little while but I told him that we should be friends and that we should exchange LINE IDs (a popular Japanese messaging app, although I think it originated in Korea?). From that day onwards we messaged each other every day and damn was I smitten. He was a great talker and really made me feel special in our chats which I can’t really say the same for E. I never needed to instigate a conversation, he was always the one messaging me and was able to naturally keep the conversation going. The way he spoke to me and made me feel special was kinda like how Neal from White Collar talks to women, especially when he’s trying to con them. He would wish me a good morning and good night everyday, asked how I slept and how I was doing and really just showed that he cared. I began going to his Starbucks a lot more and would stay until he finished his shift and then he would walk me home, he was super gentlemanly. I told him that I like riding my bicycle everywhere so he said he loved riding his bike too and would always cycle to my apartment on his days off and we would walk our bikes side by side, we didn’t actually ride them so we could have a proper conversation. Towards the end of May, we met up one night and walked our bikes and chatted as we usually did but this time we went to a nearby river and sat down. It was all very romantic and what do you know, like out of a friggin romance novel or, again, shoujo manga, a lone firefly flew past and it really set the tone and made the night magical and intimate because it was both of our first times seeing one. We held hands, spoke for a while longer and I felt like I was in high school again and all my romantic fantasies from back then were coming true. I had properly fallen for this guy.