#fake dating trope

[frost-queen]

It comes with perks (Reader x Jake 'Hangman' Seresin)

Requested by: anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly @denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn

Summary: When you need someone to be your fake boyfriend to get you out of a situation with your ex, Hangman is the closest guy you find. What needed to be a one time thing, turned out into a long term act of fake dating. Certainly now that your dad Iceman is involved in as well. Slowly the lines of fake dating fade as Hangman becomes obessed with you, a ray of sunshine. When your ex tries to get back in your life, Jake becomes protective, finally ending those unclear lines of fake dating.

Phoenix and you entered Penny’s bar when your phone suddenly rang. Taking it out, the nametag on it made your eyes widen. You touched Phoenix on her shoulder, letting her know you needed a moment. She simply smiled, heading further into the bar to the booth were Bob, Coyote and Fanboy already were. The phone kept buzzing as you weren’t sure what to do. Panicking a bit as to say. You knew not picking up, would do nothing as he would just keep calling you.

Answering was even terrible, as you knew he’d say anything to get you to yield. Like a collective caller, kept he calling you. Looking around frantically, you spotted the first person at Penny’s bar. You rushed over to the bar, pulling Hangman back by his shoulder. – “Emergency, you’re my boyfriend.” – you breathed out, holding the phone out to him. Hangman smiled cocky. – “Well, well. If you were desperate for a kiss, you’d just had to ask Y/n.” – Hangman replied all smug to your annoyance.

“No. No! You’re not actually my boyfriend.” – you informed him hastily. Hangman furrowed his brows, frowning. – “Make up your mind girl.” – he let out confused to what was happening. You moved your phone higher up for him to notice. – “I need you to be my boyfriend and make him stop calling me!” – you called out almost frantically at how slow he was catching up.

“Right.” – He simply said, setting a beer down and taking your phone in his hand. He answered the phone, giving you a cheeky eyebrow wiggle. Hangman didn’t even listen to what the other person was saying on the phone. – “Listen bud, stop calling my girlfriend.” – he spoke through. He heard an immediate response. – “Uhm her boyfriend.” – Hangman answered, showing you a goofy look at how obvious it was who he was talking to.

The man kept blabbing in his ear as Hangman had little interest in keeping him on the phone. – “Stop calling us, bye.” – he spoke in such a manufactured voice, he could work in sales and be dealing with a terrible customer but still upholding his work voice. Hangman hung up, giving you the phone back. – “Thank you!” – you let out relieved, bending a bit through your knees out of gratitude. – “So what do I get in return?” – Hangman asked.

“This beer?” – you suggested, placing your hand on the counter by it. Hangman tsked his tongue. – “Already paid for it sunshine.” – he said with a chuckle. – “Fine.” – you breathed out. – “I’ll clean your locker.” – you took out another suggestion as Hangman thought. – “How about wash my clothes?” – he responded. – “Deal.” – you agreed it was just that. Hangman shook hands with you to seal the deal.

He picked up his beer, throwing his arm over your shoulder. – “Who was the dude anyways?” – he asked, leading you to the others. – “My ex.” – you sighed out. Hangman looked half in shock at you. – “I didn’t know you dated someone.” – he called out as you had to shush his loud voice. – “It was like 6 months ago.” – you informed him.

“And he’s still calling you?” – Hangman blurted out as you hummed with a nod as response. – “I can’t shake him off.” – you sighed out nearing the booth with your friends. – “Well good thing your boyfriend saved the day.” – Hangman winked with a ridiculous smile. – “Not my boyfriend.” – you reminded him before sitting down.

Back in the locker room, you were washing Hangman’s attire. Washing them by hand as he called them delicate and needed to be handled with care. – “Uhm what are you doing?” – Phoenix asked seeing you in the locker room as she had walked by. – “Are those Hangman’s clothing?” – she pointed out when you had pulled it up to see if it was clean enough, revealing his nametag. – “Phoenix!” – you called out startled, splashing some water as your arms lowered immediately. – “Why are you washing his clothes?” – she wanted to know. – “I owe it to him.” – you responded, scrubbing his pilot gear.

“You dared to bet with Hangman. Bold.” – she answered impressed. – “It’s not that.” – you told her with a soft sigh. – “He did something for me, so I have to return the favour.” – you explained. – “Right.” – Phoenix widened her eyes briefly in delight. – “If your dad could see you know.” – she chuckled a bit. – “He’d flip that you fell so low.” You grunted soft. – “Good thing my dad.” – you emphasized. – “Can’t see me.” – you replied bitsy. – “Ohh cold touch.” – Phoenix teased touching her own shoulder. You scooped up some water, splashing it at her to wipe that smile off her face.

Phoenix screamed, dodging away when the water came her way. Half laughing, you teasing her with another scoop as she already darted away. When you were finished up with Hangman’s uniforms, you hung them neatly to dry. You came out of the lockers, making your way out of the hangar when you got pulled aside by Rooster. He pushed you firm up against the wall. – “Are you dating Hangman?” – called out at the brink of losing his mind. – “What?” – you responded confused.

“Are you dating him?” – Rooster wanted to know with a stern look. – “What, no, no…” – you replied waving your hands across. Rooster exhaled deep moving his fingers through his hair. – “Who told you this?” – you asked curious. – “Hangman has been bragging to everyone he’s dating you.” – Rooster let you know. Your eyes widened with shock.

You pushed Rooster a bit back, to make some room for you to leave. You needed to find Hangman and you needed to find him now. Jogging out of the hangar into the open. You saw a group of people near the F16’s going over to them. The closer you got, the clearer you saw Hangman amongst them.

“Hangman!” – you shouted drawing his attention. – “Looks like my girlfriend needs me.” – he said to Fanboy and Coyote all smug. Coyote rolled with his eyes as Fanboy shook his head. Hangman turned round to you, welcoming you with a warm smile. – “Yes my love.” – he said as you grabbed him firmly by the arm, dragging him away from the others. – “So eager.” – Hangman whispered to his friends with a chuckle. You came to a stop, letting harshly go of him.

“What are you doing?” – you called out giving him a little shove. – “Au.” – Jake mouthed pretending to be hurt from your shove. – “Jake!” – you called out wanting an answer out of him. – “What?” – he replied loud, making himself taller. – “Why are you telling everyone we are dating?” – you freaked out. Jake scoffed loud, turning his head away. – “Are we not?” – he answered cocky, wanting to slip his arm over your shoulder. It made you puff annoyed, crossing your arms.

“Oh come on Y/n, don’t be such a baby about it.” – Jake said taking you by the elbow, wanting you to uncross your arms. – “It’s a joke, sunshine.” – he kept tugging at your arm, trying to be smooth and cool at the same time. – “Sunshine!” – you suddenly heard loud, making you straighten your back. Hangman’s back straightened as well. Cyclone appeared coming to you. – “Iceman wants to speak to you.” – he said firmly, making your shoulders slouch. Jake was snickering quietly at you with a little point. – “He asked for both of you!” – Cyclone made clear, making Jake’s smile drop.

You tugged on his elbow, pulling him with you. Following Cyclone inside and up the stairs to Iceman’s desk. Cyclone knocked on the door, before popping his head inside. – “They are present.” – he said to Iceman. Cyclone stepped aside, expression flat as he allowed you to walk in. – “Tell me, am I hanging?” – Jake whispered to Cyclone wanting to know his outcome. Cyclone ignored him, giving him an extra shove into the room. – “Dad!” – you said with mixed expectations, opening your arms to a hug.

Iceman got up from behind his desk, coming to hug you. – “How is my little girl?” – he asked. – “Flying and thriving.” – you told him, making him form a smile on his lips. His gaze then shifted to Jake, who swallowed nervously. Iceman got all serious. He went to sit again, gesturing for you to sit as well. Jake and you sat down, unsure what to expect. – “So you are the one dating my daughter.” – Iceman spoke. – “Dad no…” – you blurted out, waving your hands across.

Iceman observed Hangman closely as it made him move uncomfortable in the chair. – “How’s his flying?” – he asked. – “Superb… sir.” – Jake replied loudly, humbling himself immediately. Iceman glanced your way. You could only smile sheepishly at him. – “I’m a bit saddened you didn’t tell me Y/n.” – Iceman began. – “But he looks decent enough. As long as he doesn’t hurt you… or else…” – Iceman gave Hangman his death stare.

Jake swallowed again. – “Dad we’re not…” – you began wanting to explain as Jake grabbed your hand out of the blue. – “No, no sunshine, it’s okay. He knows now.” – Jake spoke upholding the image of dating. You stared confused at him, why he would even want to go on with his stupid joke. – “Jake, this is my dad.” – you said between clenched teeth to him. Making it clear that he didn’t need to mess around. – “I’m so happy for you Y/n.” – Iceman said cheery.

“The man’s happy Y/n, let him be.” – Jake said to guilt trip you. You sighed soft letting yourself fall back in the chair. Jake got up. – “Well it was nice of you to call us in, sir.” – Jake said, nudging you to get up as well. Your dad chuckled happily at his manners as you could only roll your eyes. Jake extended his hand out to Iceman. Iceman took it to shake. – “I’m not one for favours, but if you ever need one for my daughter.” – he whispered to Jake with a wink.

Jake breathed out a laugh of surprise, glancing your way. Just to rub his it more in your face. – “Now we must really go.” – Hangman spoke tapping your elbow, to get you to follow. – “Give her a kiss.” – Iceman replied. Jake’s expression dropped. – “S’cuse me?” – he blurted out. – “Give her a kiss.” – he repeated gesturing at you.

Jake looked sheepishly at you, chuckling nervously. – “Sir truly…” – Jake began wanting to talk his way out of it. – “I want to see just how much you care for my daughter.” – Iceman persisted. Hangman took your hand, pulling you closer to give a kiss on the cheek. – “Give her a real kiss!” – Iceman shouted out of good sports. Jake sighed loud with a soft drop of his gaze. You raised your eyebrow at him, curious to see what he would do. He took you by the elbow, pulling you even closer.

“Just a quick one.” – he whispered to you. – “One second.” – you responded. Hangman held his finger up to his lips, looking all smug. He lowered his finger, giving you a quick nod before he’d kiss you. Your lips touched for a split second, pulling away quick. Iceman shook his head with disappointment. – “We have to go dad!” – you called out, opening the door. Dragging Jake with you out of his office. Downstairs, you let go of Jake.

“Your joke just escalated Hangman. Now my dad knows!” – you called out panicking. – “Hey you asked me to be your boyfriend.” – Jake replied loud. – “For like a few seconds.” – you shouted back. – “You asked for this Y/n.” -  Jake answered loud taking off. – “Where are you going?” – you called out to him. Jake turned around, pulling his shoulders up. It made you groan loud.  

Phoenix and you were stretching before exercise. – “Boyfriend coming over.” – she pointed out, turning her torso, holding her arm by her elbow. You looked up seeing Hangman come over with the other boys. It made you look at her with a certain glance. Phoenix stopped, walking off when Hangman came near. She joined the others behind him. – “You know for a sunshine, you frown a lot.” – he pointed out, touching your forehead.

You slapped his hand away. He grabbed you by the shoulders, moving his head closer to you. – “Smile, your dad is going to watch.” – he whispered making you widen your eyes. Jake moved aside from you, throwing his arm over you as he led you to the others. Maverick, Cyclone and Iceman neared. You all followed Maverick to the beach for a match of rugby. A good team exercise Maverick would call it. Cyclone and Iceman sat down, watching the pathetic play of rugby.

Hangman and you were on opposite teams. Fanboy had the ball, throwing it at Coyote. Hangman jumped in front of him, catching the football before his eyes. He then ran with it to your side, throwing his hard on the ground. He called it out in victory, pointing towards Iceman. Iceman clapped for Hangman’s score. He then looked all smug at you. Phoenix nudged you as you rolled your eyes at him. Trying not to find it sweet. Rooster caught the ball wanting to throw it at you. You caught it, wanting to run when you got picked up from the ground. 

Hangman had picked you up, making you squeal loud out of surprise. Your feet hit the ground again, as he kept his arms around you. – “Try getting out of this now, sunshine.” – he breathed out. You wriggled in his grip for freedom. When you weren’t getting any, you tried running. Hangman laughed loud, squeezing his arms tighter around you. – “Where are you going sunshine?” – he laughed out. You tried so hard not to laugh as well, not to enjoy it too, but you failed.

You stopped trying to run, laughing loud. You tossed the football over to Bob. You showed him your empty hands, showing him his attempt to stop you failed. Hangman picked you up in response, making you squeal again. He then pressed a kiss on your cheek so quick, he barely caught himself doing it. You turned round in his embrace, staring a bit at him. Jake stared back at you.

Swallowing, he let go of you, scratching his neck sheepishly. You looked blissful away. The two of you hesitantly got back into the game, questioning whether you were actually starting to like each other or that it was the drive of fake dating for a while now.

After practise, you were all exhausted. Having been playing till the sun had set. Worn out, you all decided to grab a few drinks at Penny’s bar. You went up to her bar as Jake followed. Almost instinctively. You held four fingers up to Penny, ordering beer. Jake leaned with his elbows on the counter, throwing you a smug smile. Your phone vibrated in your pocket. Confused, you pulled it out holding it to the front. Jake’s eye fell on the caller, taking the phone from your hand before you could react.

He picked up, turning around to lean against the counter with his back. – “What do you want?” – he said bothered. Your ex didn’t even have to finish his sentence when Jake spoke again. – “Listen asshole, if you call her one more time. I’ll make sure you’ll never see daylight again. You won’t see me coming. I’ll fly above your house, aiming for your pathetic bedroom and you’ll be burned to crisps in a matter of seconds.” – Jake threatened making you stare in shock at him.

“She doesn’t want you cause I’m her boyfriend. She’s mine and let me tell you ass, I don’t like sharing.” – Jake said over the phone. – “This was your last call or you’re dead!” – he angrily hung up the phone. – “Thank… thank you…” – you said astonished by how hot that was. Jake tugged your phone in his pocket.

Penny arrived with the drinks as he took them, motioning with his head for you to follow. You slid into a booth with him as the others were waiting. Hangman threw an arm over your shoulder, pushing you closer to him. It made you feel like squealing. The lines of pretend and real blurring away. Jake caught you staring at him, melting as he saw you smile like the sun back at him. He moved his head closer to you, wanting to kiss you in that moment, but caught himself just in time.

He shifted his head to the side, kissing your cheek instead. It didn’t feel satisfying, but he wouldn’t dare himself to kiss you out of the blue with everyone around. Your friends were so used to the two of you dating, they hardly had any eye for it. Not clear it was all an act, started from a joke. After an hour or two, checked Jake his watch. – “I’m taking Y/n home.” – he said removing his arm from you. He got out of the booth, taking you with him.

You said goodbye to the others. Jake grabbed your hand, walking out of Penny’s bar with you. Outside he was still holding your hand as it made you snicker soft. – “No one’s watching Hangman.” – you told him. Hangman looked at you with eyes full of affection. – “I know.” – he responded, pausing you. – “Are we still faking it?” – he asked catching you by surprise. Unsure, you pulled your shoulders up. That seemed to answer Hangman enough as he cupped your cheeks, kissing your lips.

The kiss was long, anticipating the moment till he could finally kiss you. His tender kiss moved to longing and desperation as his hands grabbed you tightly. You kissed him back, fully surrendering under his spell. The lines of fake dating having been shattered long ago.

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[ggrapeejuicee]

„Just… Pretend.”

summary: in which harry convinces you to spend your summer in cape cod with his parents as his ‘girlfriend.’ but everything is just pretend, your not actually his girlfriend and you never have wanted to be his girlfriend, you’ve never seen him as more than harry styles, the singer… but by the end of the summer will that change?

tropes (so far) : fake dating

part one

“It’s just for one weekend.” He pleaded, “Then you can go back to hating me. You never even have to talk to me again, I don’t care.”

You sigh, your head falling backwards with a groan. You did not want to do this at all, but he’d been persistently asking you for days.

“C’mon, please?”

You roll your eyes, “You’re on a date with a new girl every week, I’m sure any of them would be up for it.”

“I can’t just take anyone to my parent’s place.”

“Why not? Or how about you just tell them you’re not seeing anyone right now? They won’t care.”

“I just need you to come, alright? I’ll owe you one, I promise.”

“Why me? There’s a million other people you could take, besides I’ve already met your parents at a show, they’ll never believe we’re seeing each other.”

“And they really liked you!”

“There’ll be a ton of other people that they like too, Harry. Choose anyone else.”

“I can’t.” He sighs.

“You can.”

“I can’t.” He repeats.

You look at him with tired eyes, awaiting his explanation. You’d been over this a hundred times, you had no interest in pretending to be his girlfriend while he visited his parents over the summer.

“I already told them we’re together.” He says quietly, avoiding eye contact.

“What?” You scoff, “You’ve gotta be joking.”

“They just… They met you at the show, and they really did seem to like you, and they kept going on and on about how they want me to find someone who makes me happy and stuff and I shut them up by saying we’re together…”

“You’re unbelievable.” You say, annoyed.!

The fact he’d been telling his parents ridiculous lies without even telling you about it, when said lies actually involved you had pissed you off.

Harry’s parents were lovely, and a producer on his latest album you’d met them a couple times at shows- Especially during the LA residence where you and his parents sat through the concerts in a VIP booth. His mum was lovely, always smiling and knew every single lyric. She told you that she was in Harry’s 0.5% of top listeners on Spotify last year.

You thought that was cute.


You couldn’t relate though, 5 Seconds of Summer were your top Spotify artist- Harry could never find out about that.

“They’ve been asking for me to take you to the beach house for months-“

“Months?!” You interrupt, “How long have you been telling them we’re together?”

He shrugged, “Since the end of the Forum residency?”

“Harry that was SIX months ago!” You yell, “I can’t pretend to be in a six month relationship with you, that’s ridiculous.”

He sits down on the couch, hugging a pillow.

“Yes you can. You practically know everything about me already. We spent every day of the tour together.”

“Everything about you in a career aspect.”

“Everything in general.” Harry corrects, “Sometimes I think you know more about me than I do.”

“I don’t. You’re just saying this because you’re convincing yourself that this ridiculous idea will actually work.”

“Name my first pet.”

“What?” You question. He was being stupid. There is no way you’d ever be able to spend two weeks with his parents over the summer, it was never going to work. It was a recipe for disaster.

“C’mon. You know the answer.”

He just kept staring at you. He wasn’t giving up. The longer you stayed silent the more intense his stare got. When he began to raise his eyebrows you’d given up.

“Max.” You mutter quietly, unimpressed with this whole game he was playing.

“And what am I allergic to?”

“Marshmallows, but you eat them anyway.”

Harry was grinning, and it was pissing you off. He was winning and he knew it.

“My favourite Christmas song?”

You rolled your eyes, “Christmas lights by Coldplay, but you tell everyone that it’s Merry Christmas Everyone because it’s a classic.”

Harry was giving you a ‘I told you so’ look. He wasn’t going to quit until you agreed to pretend to be his girlfriend.

You sigh softly, “Even if I agree to this… It could he really damaging for my career.”

“No one will find out.” His face was more serious now, and you could tell from the way he was looking at you that he meant it, “I’ll make sure of that.”

“But if if does-”

“It won’t.”

“But if it does, because there’s always a chance no matter what you think, then everyone will only think I got hired to tour manage because we’re ‘sleeping together.’” You say, using air quotes, just to further elaborate that this was all fake.

Harry had already got his grammy, he was at the peak of his career he’d be fine no matter what happened. But you were a female music producer in a male dominated industry, if people think you were only hired for this album because you’re fucking the singer- your career was over.

“If people find out I’ll kill you.”

“Does this mean you’re gonna agree?”

You nod, reluctantly.

“Thank you!” He jumps out of his chair, “I swear I’ll make it up to you, thank you so much.”

— — —

If you were in Harry’s position you’d be vigilant of everything, everyone, everywhere. You’d be paranoid of someone jumping through your bedroom window while you were asleep. But Harry was oddly calm. Maybe he was just like that. His lips were formed almost in a smile while he slept, and his eyes were moving under his eyelids- probably from a dream he was having. He wasn’t calm very often- recently he’d been very on edge and anxious about everything, it was nice to see him look so peaceful. You hoped for that sort of peace someday soon.

You had been in the studio going on six hours, and when he’d taken a break from recording so you could go over the tracks he’d managed to fall asleep in that short period of time.

You let him sleep while you packed up the equipment, putting things back into their assigned places, and didn’t bother waking him up until you were 100% ready to go.

“Harry,” You said softly, shaking his shoulder lightly, “Harry we gotta go.”

His eyes opened and he blinked a few times to adjust himself to the light.

“Huh?”

“We only had the studio booked until six, we gotta go.”

“Oh,” He sat up, stretching his arms and cracking his neck that had went into a cramp, “Sorry, don’t even remember falling asleep to be honest.”

“Don’t worry about it,” You shrug, “We got enough done today anyways. You deserve a rest.”

There were only three days left until the day Harry had said you were leaving for his parents place, and you had skipped over the subject every time he’d tried to bring it up. You didn’t really want to think about it because you were dreading it so badly.

“I’ll give you a ride home.” Harry said as you left the studio building.

“No, it’s alright.” You say, “I’ll just get an Uber.”

Harry glared at you, “Y/N, just get in the car.”

You glare back. But it had been a long day so getting a free lift wasn’t so bad.

“So.” He said, starting the car. “We gotta go over some things.”

“About the album?” You play dumb.

“… No.” He rolls his eyes, “Stop pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m not pretending.”

“Love, you gotta tell me some stuff about you. My parents are gonna ask me shit and I don’t have a clue what to tell them.”

You groan. You should’ve stuck to your gut and got an Uber.

“Like what.”

He shrugs, “What’s your favourite colour?”

“Purple.” You reply.

“Mines is blue.”

“I know,” You reply.

“What’s your favourite song?” He asked.

You laughed to yourself a little.

“Jet black heart,” You grin, knowing you’d get some sort of reaction out of this answer, “By 5 Seconds of Summer.”

“5 Seconds of Summer?” Harry scoffs, “They’re punks!”

You roll their eyes, “They turned to pop music and half of them are married, they’re hardly punks.”

“You know one of them dated my sister, right?” Harry groaned.

“Yep,” You grin, “And wrote a banging tune about it as well.”

“Don’t remind me.” He muttered.

“Look, you asked me a question and I gave you an honest answer. You can’t complain.”

“I know, I know.” Harry said, “You got any exes?”

You raise your eyebrows, “What?”

“This is the kind of stuff I need to know! Like I dunno if I’m your first boyfriend and all that.”

“Harry… I’m 24 years old. You’re not my first boyfriend.”

You said it almost as if he was your boyfriend. It sent a chill down your spine. This was going to be a long few weeks.

“Good to know.” He said.

He dropped you off outside your apartment.

“I guess the next time I see you will be for when we’re leaving, yeah?”

You nod. There was no studio session booked until after his vacation to Cape Cod, where his families beach house was, so he was right. The next time you see him would be at the airport.

“Flights at seven.” He says.

“Got it.”

The next few weeks were going to be hell.

part two coming soon…

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[the-witchhunter]

DP x DC Fake Dating

In my head the episode “Masters of all Time” is where this timeline diverges so before Vlad cloned Danny, because let’s face it that’s really where his character went from understandable though still an ass, to full cartoon supervillain and where his writing went downhill.

So Vlad is now cool with Danny and the Fentons. After seeking their help curing his ecto-acne, he had plenty of time to reconnect with Jack while recovering. Maybe the cola tainted ectoplasm is what was causing his extreme moods and obsessive tendencies in the first place, or maybe he just saw the error of his ways and has been in therapy since then

So Danny, a bit older and no longer dating Sam after an amicable breakup, now has a well meaning Vlad Masters trying to set him up with various rich socialites. A lot of them are being pushed by their parents because of Danny’s connection to the Masters’ name.

It does not go well

Tired of all Vlad’s well meaning efforts, Danny decides to fake a relationship to get him off his back, at least untill he forgets about the whole thing. 

Who’s he going to “Date?”

Tim? A fellow insomniac, lover of coffee, similar aged and sharing his sense of humor? His connection to the Wayne and Drake names would certainly appease Vlad’s insistence that Danny deserves only the best partner

Kon? Those two would get on like a house on fire. clearly I’m talking about classic punk leather jacket and a million piercings Kon. Maybe he picks him because the punk bad boy look annoys Vlad, maybe just because Kon would find it funny. Maybe Vlad knows about Kon’s connection to Luther, or he doesn’t and seriously is questioning Danny’s choice. Maybe Tim and Kon are Dating on the down low and Tim is just lending Danny his boyfriend because they both think it’s funny, and it may or may not end up with all three dating

Jason? Age Danny up a but more and boom, Jason is a valuable option. The black sheep(acording to presses) of the Wayne family. From crime alley, leather jacket and motorcycle bad boy that would drive Vlad crazy(he’s better and not evil but he’s still vlad) but he can’t protest because he is a Wayne after all. 

any variety of DC characters honestly. I’m a sucker for the fake dating trope

[bunnyswritings]

Fake dating prompts (with a twist)

Fake dating x enemies to lovers trope: A is a famous actor/actress who gets caught up in scandal one day, with rumours claiming that he/she is gay / sugaring minors etc (something controversial). Cue B, who is a (poor rookie) lawyer part of the law firm that represents A's agency. But it just so happens that B has crossed paths with A already, though they aren't on good terms over something petty. However, A is always seen with B due to work. To mitigate the situation, A's agency drafts up a dating contract, convincing B to take it up for the obscene monetary reward.

Fake dating x forced roommate trope: A's landlord informs them they their new roommate, B, will be moving in soon. To A's surprise, B turns out to be her high school best friend, whom they have lost contact with all these years since graduating. To make matters even more frenzied, A's ex is back in town, trying to get back together with them. Desperate to ward off A's ex from causing further emotional wreckage, A and B embark on 3 weeks of fake dating, given the already perfect set up of roommates. Only that those 3 weeks might just be the catalyst for something more.

Fake dating x exes to lovers trope: It is the holiday season and A goes back to visit her family house. It all seems like routine to them, until A realises that their entire family has no clue that they are no longer together with B. Unbeknownst to A, A's mother had already invited B to their annual holiday family gathering; much to A's surprise, B actually shows up. They spend the week walking on eggshells around each other, and simultaneously pretending to still be in love in front of A's family. Will this one week reignite the spark between them?

Fake dating x wedding meet cute: When A gets an invitation to attend her university friend's wedding, they know that they will be bombarded by millions of invasive questions (from those judgmental acquaintances) around work, family and the most dreaded of all, their love life. A bites the bullet, however, given that it's a good friend's wedding. To A's surprise, they meet B, an old university crush at the wedding venue, who senses A's uneasiness. B boldly suggests that they act as A's partner just to spite those nasty 'friends' of A's. Could this lead to them catching feelings for each other?

Hope someone finds these helpful! I'm just starting out with this blog, but my ask box is always open for requests - feel free to drop any!

[scottishaccentsareawesome]

I just realized that Cinderella and the Prince are perfect for a Fake Dating/Fake Engagement AU.

They’d meet at the ball...

Prince: “Oh wow, you’re beautiful...”

Cinderella: “Thanks, but I’m not interested. I’m just here to have a good time and get away from being a slave to my stepmother and stepsisters for a while.”

Prince(thinks about how his dad is pressuring him to find a fiance): “...Just how badly do you wanna get away from your stepmother and stepsisters...?”

[bitchin-beskar]

the taste of scotch and cigars - chapter one

Rating: M

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!Reader

Warnings: fake dating trope, propositioning a stranger in a bar, drinking/mentions of being tipsy (minor), intense makeout in public, hints of exhibition kink, hints of voice kink, absolutely fucking douchebag of an ex, mentions of cheating, I think that's it for this chapter? Most of these will be expanded the further into the story we get, and more warnings will come hehe.

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: this is one of the au ideas I've ranted to @catsnkooks about (there are many) and I wanted to schedule the first chapter drop during my vacay because it's been sitting in my wip folder and I wanna get opinions to see if people like this idea/wanna see more. (I mean, I'm gonna post it regardless but I still wanna see if people are into the idea). anyways, enjoy this fun spin on a fake dating trope :)

The burn of cheap vodka as it slid down your throat did little to soothe the ache in your chest. Coming here was a mistake. You should’ve let sleeping dogs lie, let your past stay where it belongs. Instead, you’re submerged in old memories and familiar hurts, the waters of time washing over your head and threatening to drown you in melancholy and diffidence.

The noise of the packed pub pressed in from all sides, buffeting you and keeping you off balance, loud enough that you were barely able to hear yourself think. You’d managed to avoid interactions thus far, but the likelyhood of that dwindled with every second you lingered, waiting for…

Well.

God only knows what you were waiting for.

Draining the last dregs of your drink, the thunk of your empty glass on the wooden bar as you sat it down made you frown and debate waving over the bartender for another refill. You thought for a long moment, before you decided otherwise. If you were going to be interacting with others tonight, you’d prefer to have at least some of your wits about you, and the vodka you’d consumed was enough to take the edge of your sorrow off. Any more though, and you couldn’t be held responsible for what might happen.

You turned around in your seat, scanning the crowd. In the back corner of the pub, you saw them for the first time that night since you’d walked in. The group seemed to be concentrated in the back, thankfully. You’d done a perfunctory greeting with the hosts of this little reunion, and then beelined for the bar and had been sat there since. Honestly, you’re not entirely sure why you even came.

Unfortunately, right as you were looking over at the group, you made eye contact with Christian, the one person you’d been hoping to avoid. He’d been looking in your direction, and when he saw you, he smirked and stood up, beginning to try and make his way through the crowd.

“Fuck,” you muttered as you spun around again on your stool, regretting not having ordered another drink. “God fucking dammit.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you began to wonder if it was possible for you to make a quick escape in the crowd, when your panic was interrupted by a deep and deceptively smooth British-accented voice to your right.

“Everythin’ alright, love?”

Turning your head, you made eye contact with the older man sitting next to you at the bar, and immediately your mouth went dry. How had you not noticed him yet?

He was absolutely gorgeous, with clear, intelligent blue eyes and thick dark brown hair that you wanted to run your fingers through. His cheeks and upper lip were covered in that same dark brown hair, shaved into mutton chops with stubble on his lower lip and chin. He was dressed in a light blue henley that clung to his torso, a hint of a ball chain disappering into the vee of the neckline, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and showing off his forearms. One hand was wrapped around a glass of scotch, and dangling from the fingers of his other hand was a lit Maduro cigar. He had on dark, well worn blue jeans that were moulded to his thighs, and black, slightly scuffed up combat boots.

He looked like the kind of man you’d spent many a shameful night fantasizing about back in high school, fingers ducking below the waistband of your sleep shorts as you clasped a hand over your mouth lest you wake your parents sleeping down the hall.

Those bright blue eyes were focused on yours, and you felt your cheeks heat under his surprisingly intense yet soft gaze. Something deep inside of you, fueled by the vodka, whispered that this was the kind of man you could trust, the kind of man who maybe, possibly would be willing to help a perfect stranger out of nothing but the kindness of his heart.

Maybe it was the alcohol, and you were drunker than you thought. Maybe it was the way he was looking at you, this gorgeous, dangerous man who managed to pierce you with such soft, kind eyes. Whatever it was, you lost control over your brain-to-mouth filter, and words began to spill forth.

“My ex is here, he just saw me and is coming this way, and it’s been years since I last saw him, and… god, I don’t have the strength to deal with him tonight, he never fucking takes no for an answer, would you be willing– I mean if it’s not too much trouble, and I could pay you back, but could I ask you–”

You managed to reboot your brain, but not quite fast enough to stop the spew of words from escaping you, and physically biting your own tongue was the only way to prevent you from making an even bigger fool of yourself. Immediately you averted your eyes, tearing yourself away from his piercing gaze as you shrunk in your seat, dread and shame roiling in the pit of your stomach and mixing with the alcohol to make you feel sick.

Jesus H. Christ, what the fuck were you thinking? He just asked if you were alright, he didn’t ask to have your entire life story dumped on him at the drop of a hat. He had to be at least ten years older than you, if not more, you were likely barely more than a silly little girl in his eyes. Shit, he’s probably got a stunning wife and gorgeous kids at home, and here you are, practically propositioning the poor man. Your mama always said you were a no-good, simple-minded child, and here you are, not even ten years outta her house and proving her right once again.

So lost in your self ruminations, you don’t notice the pensive look on the handsome stranger’s face, until suddenly there’s an arm wrapped securely around your waist and you’re being tugged off your barstool and onto a thickly muscled thigh, leaning against against the warm length of a heavily muscled torso. You somehow manage to not leap out of your skin in surprise, even when you feel the brush of his lips against the outer shell of your ear, his voice a low growl, gravel grinding against pavement.

“I’m more’n willing to help a pretty lil’ girl like you, love. No debt necessary. ‘Sides, a man who doesn’ understand the word no? Princess, that ain’t a man at all.”

Dreaming. You’ve gotta be stuck in some kind of alcohol intoxication induced fever dream, because there’s no fucking way that this is your life right now. Shit like this doesn’t happen outside of cheesy romcoms and trashy dime store novels. Let alone at random pubs in fucking Liverpool.

You’re not given the time to delve more into the ramifications of dreams induced by too much imbibed alcohol because your ears are abruptly assaulted by a reedy, nasally voice that you wished you could forget, but was burned into so many of your adolescent memories.

“Sweetcheeks! Goodness, it’s been awhile! You know, I wasn’t sure I’d see you here, we were all pretty surprised you showed up.”

The stanger-who’s lap you were perched-on turned at the interruption, his hand sliding from your hip across your belly, palm hot through the thin fabric of your shirt. He hooked his finger in your belt loop, fingers pressing reassuringly into the meat of your hip as his forearm felt like a bar of iron against your abdomen. The positioning was oddly possessive, like it meant more than him making sure you didn’t tip off his thigh and onto the dingy floor of the pub. His glass of scotch was abandoned on the bar, the arm not holding you streched out on the wood, cigar dangling from his fingers. You turned your head to look at the last person in the world you wanted to see, although you were distracted slightly from your ire by the slow drag of lips along the length of your jaw, the bristles on your stranger’s beard tickling the sensitive skin. It was an act that was surprisingly soothing as it was intimate.

Schooling your features, you looked at the face of the man who’d held your entire heart in his hands and shattered it on the ground without a second thought. Half a decade hadn’t dulled the pain, although you did a remarkable job at covering it up.

“Christian. Wish I could say it’s a pleasure.”

He pouted, an altogether unattractive look, although years ago it had been one to tug at your heartstrings. “Awe, don’t tell me you haven’t missed me, at least a little bit?”

You fixed him with a glare, even as fury began to burn low in your belly. “Why exactly would I be missing you, Christian?”

He rolled his eyes, as though the answer was exceedingly obvious, and he thought you dumb for even having to ask. “Awe, babes, you’re not still hung up about that little incident, are you? Even your momma thinks you’re overreacting, sweetcheeks.”

You cocked an eyebrow, even as you subconsciously sank further into your stranger’s embrace, his hold on you soothing and helping to keep you grounded. The admission that he still talked to your momma stung more than it should have, but then, she’d been heartbroken when you divorced who, in her eyes, was the most perfect embodiement of a son-in-law to ever grace God’s green earth. Figures she’d refuse to cut contact with him, even though you had.

“Hung up? Little incident? I came home to find you fucking Paisleigh, my best friend, in our fucking bed. And then I find out it wasn’t just the once, but practically every single week of our relationship, with about three dozen different girls over the years. I would say I have every right to still be pissed at you, Christian.”

“Well, that’s hardly my fault, is it? Men have needs, babes. I was just doing what I needed to, since you certainly weren’t fullfilling ‘em. You hardly needed to move halfway across the world cause you got a lil’ upset about it.”

It took every shred of self control you had to refrain from launching yourself off of your stranger’s lap–and dear sweet god, you’re just now realizing you don’t actually know his fucking name–and strangling the idiot in front of you. Honestly though, it was probably less about your self control and more about the way his arm tightened around you, his fingers hooking tighter around your belt loop. He brought his other hand up to take a slow drag off his cigar, the richly sweet smoke curling around your body as he exhaled, his chest pressed comfortingly against your back. He let his hand drop, resting it on top of your thigh, fingers carefully keeping the cigar away from the fabric of your pants.

You felt the movement of his head as he gave Christian a look, glancing up and down before scoffing darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. He only held you tighter, even as he opened his mouth, and the rich smoke of his voice filled your ears, deep and dripping honey, sending sparks straight to the fire in your gut.

“You’re no man. You’re barely more ‘n a immature little boy, a waste o’ space n’ air. If you’re not willin’ to stay faithful, then ya shouldn’t be in a relationship. If you weren’t satisfied, it certainly wasn’t somethin’ she was doin’ wrong.” He punctuated his words with a kiss to your temple, and dammit if it didn’t make you wanna melt into a puddle on the floor.

Christian puffed up, looking extremely offended, albeit ridiculous considering he was skinnier than a stick. “Do you have any idea who I am, old man?”

You’re trying very hard not to panic, because you didn’t have time to tell your stranger anything before this conversation, but you shouldn’t have worried, because he simply replied with a shrug of his shoulders, and a short, clipped, “Nah, should I?”

Dammit, you thought, trying to hold back a laugh. You didn’t know he was funny too.

If anything, that only pissed Christian off more. “Sweetcheeks, you didn’t tell your little friend here about your husband?”

“Ex-husband,” you hissed, eyes narrowing and body tensing at the way Christian spoke, all amusement draining from you at the sound of him acting so damn dismissive, it made you wanna claw his eyes out.

“Shh, is alrigh’, love,” your stranger whispered in your ear, and to your surprise, the tension bled back out of your limbs, the low timbre of his growl soothing the fury boiling inside you. Unfortunately, Christian rudely interrupted.

“And just who are you supposed to be?”

Your stranger chuckled, the vibrations rumbling pleasantly against your back. “Nah, I’m nobody special. Jus’ the one who took advantage of your colossal fuck up and married the sweet thing you let get away, ain’t tha’ right, love?”

It took every ounce of control you had to stop the surprise from showing on your face at his declaration. This was so far beyond anything you could’ve ever hoped for, you didn’t quite know how to handle it. There’d been no hesitation on his part, no awkward pauses or stuttering. Just a steady declaration that he was apparently your (fake, fake you reminded your brain) husband.

Christian’s cheeks were turning a ruddy color, nearly incandescent with rage. You should’ve realized that this little charade was gonna push him too far, especially when he bared his teeth and snarled.

“I pity you, sweetcheeks, you’re such an obvious charity case I should’ve known. No way is another man willing to settle down with you, especially considering the fact that you’re used, broken goods. Did’ja tell him that, before you trapped him, babes?” He growled, spittle flying. “Quieter than a doormouse in bed, she doesn’t even know how to properly pleasure a man, else I wouldn’ta needed to find someone else, isn’t that right?”

Ok, that was it. You were going to deck Christian here and now. You were done letting him have all the power, letting him walk all over you like he had for the entirety of your relationship. Just as you placed your hands on the forearm around your waist to push it off you so you could fight your fucking ex, a firm hand on your jaw distracted you, turning your face to the side and tilting it up, then slightly chapped lips were covering yours.

Oh.

Your eyes fluttered shut as calloused fingers smoothed over your jaw, cupping your face as your gorgeous, dangerous-looking stranger slowly pried your lips open and plunged his tongue into your mouth, stroking the length of it alongside your own tongue. You followed his lead, opening up beautifully beneath him, letting him kiss you deeper as he plundered your mouth, growing more heated, more passionate with every brush of his lips against yours. His beard scratched gently at the sensitive skin around your mouth, but beard-burn was quite literally the last thing on your mind. The entire world faded away, until it was just you and your stranger, and the deep, possessive way he kissed you.

He claimed you with his mouth, there was no better way to describe it. He drew back slightly, only so he could bite at your lower lip, teeth pulling at the darkened skin and making you let out a surprised moan before he dove back in, open mouthed and messy. He sucked on your tongue, making you whimper softly, which only spurned him on even more. His fingers tightned on your jaw, keeping you steady against his onslaught, stealing kiss after kiss. He stole the very breath from your lungs, every time you pulled back to gasp for breath he simply chased you, greedily depriving you of precious oxygen.

He tasted like scotch and cigars, the smooth burn and sharp bite of sweet smoke mixing to create something so uniquely him that you honestly couldn’t imagine him tasting like anything else. You wondered if he tasted the vodka on your tongue, or the coconut of the lip balm on your lips. Whatever your taste, he couldn’t seem to get enough.

A loud cough broke the bubble you’d found yourself enveloped in as he kissed you, but even still, he didn’t let you jerk away, pressing one, two, three kisses in quick succession against your swollen and tender lips, glossy and slick with spit.

Your eyes slowly opened, finding him already staring at you, his pupils blown wide, inky black surrounded by a pale, thin ring of blue. His fingers stroked the skin of your cheek, almost reverent as his gaze flickered between your own wide eyes and your ravaged mouth.

Incoherrent sputtering drew your attention away from the man who’d just kissed you–a fucking stranger–like you were the only two people to exisit in the world and not just at a pub in the middle of Liverpool, and you slowly slid your eyes from his to look at Christian.

You had to fight the urge not to laugh. Christian somehow managed to look equal parts dumbfounded and embarrassed as hell. Considering the way you’d just been kissed felt like it had to break some kind of public indecency law, you weren’t too surprised at the mix of emotions on his face, although they were quickly giving way to anger once again.

He didn’t get to interject, however, as your stranger spoke, his voice barely more than a growl. “If you’d been any good in bed, then maybe you’d have some kinda idea about all the pretty sounds my wife can make, but somethin’ tells me you weren’ ever enough to earn those, and like hell am I ‘bout to let you learn how she sounds when she makes ‘em now.”

Abruptly, he stood, easily hoisting you off his lap to stand on the ground, although his arm stayed secure around you and not letting you take even one step away from him.

“Hol’ this for me, love?”

He handed you his cigar, before digging in his back pocket to pull out a wad of cash, throwing it on the bar and making a quick gesture at the bartender to indicate that he was closing your tabs.

He turned back towards your ex, making eye contact even as he wrapped his fingers around your wrist and brought your hand up to his mouth so he could take a drag from his cigar still gripped between your fingers, breathing in deeply before exhaling, chuckling at the disgusted look on Christian’s face.

“My wife ‘n I are leavin now, cause I’ve been deployed too damn long and I don’ feel like wastin’ another second with bloody pricks who mattered so little in her life that she doesn’ even mention you.”

With that, and a gentle nudge, your stranger began to steer you out of the pub, sliding his arm from where it was still wrapped around you, instead slipping his hand into the back pocket on your jeans, cupping your ass and giving your ex a little show, and causing your heartbeat to race. The cool air hitting your face as you stepped out onto the streets of Liverpool felt like being reborn, as you felt the tension that had been gathering all of the last few weekes in preparation for today just… fade away.

The two of you walked a bit away from the door to the pub before your stranger slid his hand out from your back pocket, leaving you immediately missing the security and warmth he’d provided, even with just that little touch. You turned to look at him, silently offering his cigar back, which he took, but just let it dangle from his fingers. His expression was sheepish, and he rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand. It was endearing, and you found yourself having to violently squash the part of you that said to just go for it and kiss him again, just to see if he’d still react the same way without an audience.

“I do apologize, ma’am,” he offered, and you blinked, thrown a bit. Why on earth was he apologizing to you? Shouldn’t you be the one apologizing, for even asking a total stranger a favor like that in the first place?

“I might’a taken things a bit far back there, but no one should be talkin’ to ya like that, love. It don’ matter who they were or what they used’ta mean to ya.”

To your horror, you felt your eyes begin to burn with unshed tears. You were so used to being the one blamed for the failure of your relationship, being the one told that you must’ve done something wrong to force a man like Christian to seek someone outside of your marriage, that to have someone tell you that it wasn’t ok for you to be treated that way was like a balm on an old wound you didn’t realize had ripped back open.

You had no idea how to respond to what he’d said, and at a complete loss for words, you blurted out the first thing to come to your mind.

“I don’t even know your name?”

His laugh was deep and warm, and you desperately wanted to take it inside you and hold it’s comfort there for the rest of your life. He smiled at you, eyes twinkling, and held his free hand out.

“Captain John Price, British SAS, at your service, love.”

You took a deep breath even as you placed your hand in his, trying not to show how the sound of his title falling from his lips sent a heady rush of arousal through you. You’d thought he might’ve been military, and the confirmation was doing unspeakable things to you.

“I-, uh, sir-” you started, only to be cut off as he brought your fingers up to his lips, brushing them across the backs of your knuckles and making your knees go weak with the look he leveled you with.

“Love, not to be crass, but I’ve had my tongue down your throat and my hand on your arse. I think you can call me John.”

[toowildintheseventies]

Trade Mistakes

Chapter Three: Fire and the Thud

A/N: Unsure how I feel about this chapter but desperately needed to write & publish something!!!!

Pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

Word Count: 6.6k

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

Warnings: none (?) annoying yearning ?? minor family trauma maybe.

Tag list: @midnightmystic @doetic @toowildintheseventies-fan

— —

Waking up in Wayne Tower should’ve shocked you. Your placement in his bed, wrapped up in charcoal-colored sheets, should’ve terrified and confused you immensely. But, in the light of the diminished afternoon sun, your presence in Wayne Tower felt painfully familiar. 

 It only takes you a quick moment to determine where you are when you first wake up. The room hasn’t changed in seven years, with its antique gothic furniture and dark-painted walls still leaving you uneasy. In the center of the room, an ancient-looking fireplace burns weakly, illuminating the hidden corners of the dark, almost empty room. The curtains, which hide large, glass windows, are pulled closed loosely, letting in the last remaining evening sunlight. As you watch the sun filter through, you try to mentally calculate how long you’ve been asleep, knowing you must’ve been sleeping throughout the entire day. Your body’s weak attempt at detoxing whatever terrible sickness invaded your body.  

You stretch out weakly, noticing the cold, empty sheets around you in the large bed. Once upon a time, the sheets were warm from another body that spent the night pressed up against you, in the same sheets and the same room. Now, your body shudders with the memory and its contemporary absence. As you fold into yourself and close your eyes again, you note the way almost every muscle burns painfully from the smallest movements, and you slowly feel the beginning of a long, painful headache starting at your temples. 

After a few, short moments of secondary rest, you hear the wooden door creak open as someone steps inside. You open your eyes quickly and sit up against the pillows, watching as the figure steps out of the darkness of the doorway and into the sunlight near the foot of the bed. 

You will yourself to be angry as Bruce steps closer to you, handing you a glass of water. You take it hesitantly and move further away from him, and you watch as the corners of his mouth turn into a quick, slight frown. The two of you are silent for a moment, as you attempt to look anywhere but him. 

“You’re awake,” he finally murmurs, “Good.” 

You nod, unable to speak. You know that if you were to say anything, your words would come out cruel and evil – half a decade’s worth of hurt falling from your lips. Instead, you wait for him to say something else, watching the way he shuffles from foot to foot, more anxious and unsure than you had ever seen him before. He looks exhausted, with deep-set worry lines around his brow and the remnants of black eye paint left on his eyelids. 

He speaks again, this time handing you two, pink pills, “What they drugged you with has worn off by now, almost completely,” Bruce mutters, “You might feel groggy for the next few hours, though. Those are for the headache that’s obviously already begun. Overall, though, you’re fine besides a few bruises.” 

This time, you frown. You’re unsure how he knew about your headache, but you have an inkling it has something to do with the way you keep squinting your eyes and reaching for your temples absentmindedly. You’re disturbed for a multitude of reasons. Your initial fears from the night before had been true, and your drinks throughout the night had been laced with something that left you lightheaded and irresponsible. It’s the first time something like that has happened to you. Usually, you’re much smarter and refuse any drinks from strangers, even if you watch Bella make it right in front of you. Your unusual shitty day probably had something to do with your carelessness. After last night, though, you doubted you ever wanted to step foot inside of Iceberg Lounge again.  

You finally find your voice to speak, “What am I doing here, Bruce?” 

Your question comes out more wounded than you initially intended, with your voice laced with hurt and fragility. But by Bruce’s reaction, with his eyebrows raised in quick shock, your tone seemed to strike a hurtful cord. 

“I’m not sure exactly what you remember,” Bruce begins, suddenly sounding halfway annoyed, “But you did indeed pass out in my arms in the corner of some scummy, dark alleyway. I wasn’t going to leave you there.” 

“Why not?” you ask, “You could’ve just left me there and ignored the entire ordeal. Or dropped me off at the nearest Gotham hospital. You had many options other than bringing me back here. And by the way, I remember everything, batboy. So unless you have some sort of bat-memory-wiper machine, you’re out of luck.” 

“I knew you’d remember,” he responds softly, “And I know you’re not going to like this answer, but I do feel somewhat of a responsibility towards you.” 

“You left me before, Bruce. I could’ve handled it again.” 

He shakes his head and fumbles with something in his pocket without responding. You use this as an excuse to swing your legs off the bed in an attempt to get up. Sitting up on the bed, you notice that your initial bar outfit, a cheap, black skirt, and a cropped white tank top, has been covered up with an oversized Joy Division t-shirt. It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes. 

When you look back up at Bruce, his arm is outstretched, handing you a small, magenta-colored cardboard box. 

“Still smoke?” Bruce asks, his voice so quiet you have to strain your ears to hear his question. 

You let out a quiet sigh. “I’m trying to quit.” 

That’s a lie. You work in the goddamn restaurant industry and spend most of your evenings in a shitty bar drunk out of your mind. Quitting is essentially impossible if you’re going to continue with that lifestyle, and you’ve quietly come to terms with the fact that you’ll be dying of lung cancer at the age of fifty-two. You started smoking when you were sixteen, and specifically remember Bruce hating it. It was a nasty habit, in fairness. But like most of your bad habits, not one you were willing to give up. He never pushed you to quit any of your bad vices, knowing if you gave up one sin it would only lead you to another. He never once offered you cigarettes though, and you’re shocked that he remembers the exact type of cigarettes you used to smoke. Some sort of twisted, dirty peace offering, you guess. 

He shrugs, leaving his arm extended in the offering, “You had a tough night,” he says, seemingly seeing straight through your bullshit lie. 

You quickly grab the box out of his hands and slink back into the pillows, keeping your eyes on him as he shoves his hands back into his pockets. 

“I don’t plan on ruining your life, Bruce. Even though it would be fun,” you say, “I’m not going to tell anyone, if that’s why I’m still here.” 

He shakes his head, eyes blown out in shock as if the idea you presented is so absurd, “I already told you why you’re here. That has nothing to do with it.” 

“Alright, then,” you pull out one of the skinny, pink cigarettes and put it towards your lips, “You’ve defended my honor and nursed me back to health, which probably makes you feel a lot better about leaving me blindsided seven years ago. Are we done here?” 

Bruce makes a quick step towards you, pulling a metal lighter out of his shirt pocket and bringing it to the cigarette that now sits between your lips. You hesitantly lean towards him, watching the cigarette end as the flame catches. You don’t miss the way his wrist muscles flex and fingers shake as he pulls away from you. 

“I have an arrangement to offer you,” Bruce says, “If you’ll listen.” 

“An arrangement?” you repeat, “Ah, so that’s why I’m here.” 

“Stop it,” Bruce demands quickly, which makes you smile. Noticing your reaction, his voice softens as he continues, “This is something I thought of just now. Well, I thought about it before. It hadn’t been important then, but you’ve reminded me.” 

You nestle yourself deeper into the pillows and raise your eyebrows, motioning him to continue. 

“Gotham’s getting suspicious. They don’t like that I’ve just disappeared. Nothing has been connected yet, and I don’t expect anyone to find out the full truth – but I can’t risk it any longer. There are too many things at risk here, and I can’t take any chances. The new mayor is begging for some sort of philanthropy work, I get countless invites to stupid galas and faux-charity events, and Alfred has been begging me to at least make one public appearance for years. As much as I hate to admit it, something has to change–” 

Bruce is rambling, which is unusual for a man who usually sticks to quick, one-worded responses or almost zero verbal communication. He’s nervous, and you notice it. 

Halfway through his sentence, you interrupt him, “What’s your point?” 

He sighs, finally stops pacing, and sits on the corner of the bed, “The media, Gotham citizens, journalists, everyone — they loved you. And you were a genius at perfecting an image and playing their game. If I have to make a reappearance, I need you at my side.” 

You should laugh in his face and walk out. It’s a ridiculous, almost insulting request. And for some reason, it makes everything hurt more than ever. A reminder that what you once had is completely gone, yet no one will ever let you forget. You know that if you agree to whatever it is that he’s proposing, you will live in almost constant pain, every day of your life will be a constant, brutal reminder. 

“Are you seriously asking your ex-girlfriend to play pretend with you?” 

He winces, “Yes? That makes it sound awful.” 

You laugh bitterly, “It is awful.” 

“I’ll take care of you. Whatever you want. And we will do it completely on your terms, you’ll be in charge.” 

You hesitate for a moment, weighing your options. This may be an offer that could work for you. A chance to restart your life, and give up the parts of it that make your existence forgettable and dull. You may never have to step foot in the lounge again, work doubles, or live in a shitty apartment in the worst part of Gotham. As much as you hate to admit it, you may need this gimmick as badly as Bruce does. 

“We’ll need to set up some sort of standard. Have guidelines and rules,” you answer finally. 

He nods, “Of course.” 

“ I’ll have conditions. This arrangement will take up the majority of my life. I’ll need to be compensated.” 

He nods again. “Of course,” Bruce repeats. 

“And,” you begin, “I have a lot of questions. I want them answered, eventually.” 

“I’ll tell you everything.” 

You put out the cigarette on the nightstand, and swing your feet off the bed to stand up in front of him, “Okay,” you agree, “Fine.” 

You watch as the corners of his mouth flip up in a small, almost unnoticeable grin. You do your best to ignore it, attempting to walk past him toward the door. Before you get away from him, he stretches out his hand in front of you, waiting for your handshake. You let out a small laugh, noting how absurd this entire ordeal is. 

“Deal?” he asks. 

You take his hand in yours and feel your entire body tense up as he touches you. His hands are cold and familiar, his grip still strong and sure. Even after years of living away from the spotlight, Bruce remained the polished, skilled son of his politician father. 

“Deal,” you agree. 

Moments later, you’re sitting in the backseat of an SUV outside of Wayne Tower. Bruce stands in front of you, leaning against the door of the car, watching you with careful eyes. You’re sitting in the middle, still in your short skirt and his Joy Division t-shirt, clutching your broken heels to your chest, waiting for him to say something to you. The sun had almost completely set behind you, leaving only the glimmer of city lights and car headlights to brighten your vision of the man in front of you. 

Bruce seems nervous. He kept looking around anxiously as he helped you into the car and now stood before you anxiously swaying back and forth. It was as if he was impatiently awaiting something, or like you were a waste of his time. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then.” Bruce finally says, gripping the SUV door and leaning in towards you. 

You nod sheepishly, fiddling with the broken strap of your heels.“Yeah, be prepared. It’s been a long time, Bruce.” 

You notice a small smile appear as he answers. “I know. We’ll be fine.” 

You hate his arrogance. For a man who is usually depicted as quiet and unbecoming, he’s always been slightly cocky with you, as if he knows you better than you like to believe. Which may be true. But after years away from him, you hate the way he has so simply fallen back into place with you, the way his original personality seems to peak through only in your presence. 

You reach for the door handle as Bruce steps back, “I’ll be fine. I don’t know about you.” 

You don’t allow him to respond, fearing his answer. Instead, the door shuts and the SUV drives off into the busy, nighttime traffic. You look behind you as the SUV turns away from the tower, and you can see him clearly through the dark-tinted windows, still standing where you left him, his hands at his sides. 

—

Bella is walking out the door of your apartment when you walk up the steps. She’s wearing her normal nightclub attire, a short, black dress, and her long, blonde hair tied up in a sleek ponytail. You’ve always envied the way she refused to hide by faux wigs and dark makeup, unafraid and uncontrolled by her past. She always appeared exactly the way she was. You could never afford that luxury, always attempting to hide from the media that still hounded you and important figures that recognized you from Wayne’s sponsored events. Now, though, it seems that your hidden persona is paying off. When you eventually rejoin the world as Bruce Wayne’s fake girlfriend, you won’t have to worry about the girl you’ve made up for the last seven years making an ugly appearance. 

Bella recognizes you almost instantly, dropping her purse and keys onto the hallway floor and running up to you, pulling you into a suffocating hug. 

“Oh my God,” Bella whispers into your hair, “I thought you were dead. If you didn’t show up tonight, I swear I was going to file a missing persons report. You scared the shit out of me.” 

“Sorry,” you squeak out, attempting to pull away from her to get some air, “I’m fine.” 

Finally, she pulls away from you, “Did you go home with that guy from the bar? You never leave with anyone.” 

You don’t answer. Instead, you follow her gaze as she looks you up and down, and you watch the way her face brightens as she notices the oversized t-shirt.

“Okay,” Bella says with a laugh, “There’s no way that bastard owns a band t-shirt. Where the fuck did you go last night?” 

You smile, reaching towards her to smooth out the wrinkles that form on the front of her dress. 

“You’ll find out soon enough. Check the news tomorrow morning.” 

You walk away from her towards your front door, and you wait to unlock the door until you hear the familiar clicking her high heels on the steps. You hadn’t meant to wave her off so arrogantly, but you didn’t have the energy to unpack everything that happened last night and into this morning. Honesty, you weren’t exactly sure how to feel about it yourself, and you knew Bella would have some of her own opinions that you couldn’t stand to hear. 

Your apartment is cluttered and dark, the overhead lighting rarely on in an attempt to save on the electricity bill. Your furniture is sparse and cheap, and every surface of the kitchen and living room is littered with discarded makeup, cheap clothes, and old takeout boxes. The two of you are rarely home, and when you are home,  you’re typically sleeping in between shifts and nights at the lounge. There isn’t much time to decorate the apartment or try to make it more like home. Instead, the walls are decorated with photos from the sparse trips you and Bella have taken as friends, antique paintings from your family home, and random items the two of you have picked up from street corners and thrift stores. Your room isn’t much different, mostly decor that you kept from your university dorm room, thrifted bedding, and the closest full of clothes you’ve kept since high school. 

You immediately get to work after changing into new clothes and climbing underneath your covers. First, you pull your old college laptop out of the bottom of your desk drawer and search through endless articles about Bruce and yourself, trying to remind yourself exactly how they once talked about your relationship. In the beginning, everyone was obsessed. Two young, glamorous lovers with tragic pasts, never straying too far from their home city. Gotham had always been obsessed with Bruce Wayne, considering him royalty since the day he was born. Both sides of his family had essentially founded Gotham, and his long list of ancestors had created all of the beloved parts of the city. His father was the most important man in Gotham and arguably one of the most important men in the country. Bruce was once his little shadow, following him to all of the important events and politician rallies around the city, with matching ties and mimicking smiles. Bruce was Gotham’s bright future. 

His parents’ murder only solidified Bruce’s position as Gotham’s perfect prince. The city fell into great mourning after their death, and everyone pitied their young son. The media followed him everywhere and reported on every single important life milestone, like high school graduation, his acceptance into college, and eventually, his romantic history with you. 

Your family was Gotham’s history, but not nearly as important as Wayne and Arkham’s checkered past. Your father was a fresh-faced State senator, and your mother came from an influential political family in New York City. Both sides of your family had a long, glamorous history, but were consistently overshadowed by the Wayne’s. Not that it mattered to the three of you, though. Your father was more than happy to focus on politics and only bother with the media during campaign trails, and your mother was satisfied staying home with you, essentially retiring from her once prominent social life. 

When your parents both died in a plane crash, coming home after an overseas trip to celebrate your birthday, the media talked about it for only two days. Less than a month later, your father’s position as Senator was replaced by someone that many people believed bought his votes. Your extended family stopped calling, and everyone refused to raise you. Instead, you jumped in between boarding schools for the rest of your life, where you eventually met Bruce Wayne, another Gotham native and orphan.

The two of you made perfect sense. Everyone loved you, and you were only fifteen when the media started talking about the prospect of marriage. At first, it was easy to ignore. The two of you stayed at school for the majority of the time, and you rarely followed Bruce home on the weekends. You were more eager to forget about Gotham and focus your time on anything outside of the city. The media coverage became obsessive when you first started visiting Gotham on weekends away from university, and that’s when you began developing the part you loved to play. At the time, it felt like you were doing something important, and that you were solidifying a promising future as a Wayne. 

At that time, you were only concerned with Bruce. You thought you were doing what was necessary to stay with him, and played the part that was particularly assigned to you. You wanted to be good for him, the same way he was so good for you. The hounding media and obsessed society hadn’t been everything, only a piece of the puzzle that made up your loving relationship. Bruce hated every second of it and refused to see the importance of it. Still, though, his actions as Gotham’s prince were natural and unforgettable. Now, though, Bruce seems to be finding the importance. He wouldn’t have asked you to return if he hadn’t. 

You don’t let yourself look at any articles after your breakup. You remember the lies and chaos that the media had spun to make meaning of the end of the relationship. The rumors were cruel and nonsensical, and at one time you couldn’t stop yourself from reading them. Now though, you knew better. And in a few short hours, you were going to prove all of the rumors wrong, even if the revival of your relationship was entirely fictitious. 

The next step of your plan was something you dreaded, and something you never had to do before. You pulled up a list of popular media sites and paparazzi phone numbers and called almost every single one. You were careful to disguise your voice and gave them the exact restaurant and time that you had decided on with Bruce that evening. At one time, they followed you and Bruce everywhere, and you would have to call and beg for them to leave you alone. Now though, they needed a little push. No one expected the prince of Gotham to make a sudden appearance, and everyone had silently decided that the only time he’d venture out of his home was if something damning happened to the city, as it had only a few months earlier. You were forced to tell him that their prince was back. 

Lastly, you searched in your closet for the outfit you’d wear the next morning. In the very back of your closet, you found a dark, floral dress that you had worn a few times during your first year of college. You particularly remember Bruce loving it, and you had worn it on his twentieth birthday. It was the only dress you kept from your dates with Bruce, after dramatically burning everything that reminded you of him a week after your breakup. 

There was one more thing that you kept, too. At the time, it had meant too much to you to give up, and it stayed a constant reminder at the bottom of your jewelry box for seven years. A gold necklace with a small charm, and a cursive letter B. It was a Christmas present, your first Christmas together, and notably, the first holiday you spent with someone in five years at the time. 

You had worn it for years, never leaving your neck even in the shower or to bed. It felt permanently connected to you, and it felt as if you were ripping the skin off when you first unconnected the clasp after the breakup. It felt like you had lost a part of yourself. 

Now, the dramatics were back. As you clasped the necklace back around your neck you swear you felt the metal burn your skin. It felt like playing this part was a sin against your old self, who was once destroyed and heartbroken over the man who gifted you a stupid fucking necklace. You hated the way he had such an effect on you, the way he could make ancient emotions come back with a violent force. 

You could see the hidden glimmer of the bat signal from your bed after throwing yourself back under the covers. It was something you rarely paid attention to before, something that was almost as constant as the moon overlooking Gotham. You hated the reminder that right now, Bruce was racing through the streets of Gotham, simply looking for danger. That was the only explanation you could come up with. Bruce was searching to get hurt, and he was hungry for faux justice. 

The thoughts of him down below in the worst parts of Gotham kept you up all night, staring at the signal in the sky, willing it to go dark. 

```

The next day, as you’re walking down the stairs to meet the driver parked in front of your building, you receive a phone call from Bruce Wayne, a number you had deleted for upwards of five years. Your number had been blocked since the first day of breakup when he first stopped answering your phone calls. It took you a few more years to gather the courage to forget his number and delete his contact – even after you gave up calling. 

You answer almost immediately. “When did you unblock my number?” 

You heard rustling on the other end of the line. “You’ve been unblocked for years,” Bruce says. 

It’s hard to conceal your initial surprise as you respond, “And when did you add your number to my phone?”  

“When you were sleeping,” 

“Creep,” you mutter, pulling on the ends of your dress and fixing your hair in the reflection of a window. 

He ignores your insult, “Are you coming? We’re going to be late.” 

You drop the phone away from your ear and hang up as you walk towards the car in front of you. Before you open the back door of the black SUV, a quick honk pulls you away. 

Parked behind the SUV is a black Corvette, with Bruce sitting in the driver’s seat, his phone still pressed against his ear after you hung up. 

“A little much, don’t you think?’ you ask, walking up to the passenger side door. 

 Before you can open the door, Bruce jumps out of the car and walks towards you, opening up the passenger door himself. As he walks away, you pull him back towards you and look at him. He’s wearing a charcoal-colored sweater with the sleeves pulled up on his forearms, with dark, black pants and shoes. His hair is cut and styled, a brown almost so dark it matches his clothes. He takes off his sunglasses, and out of instinct, you reach towards him to wipe away the remnants of black eye makeup from the corner of his eyes. 

“Jesus Christ,” you scold as you pull away from Bruce quickly, “Have you even slept?” 

He puts his sunglasses back on and returns to the driver’s side, “No. Have you?” 

You don’t respond, and Bruce turns onto the main street, the SUV parked in front of you quickly following after. The city is dark and gloomy, promising rain in the next few hours. The streets are busy and lively, many Gotham citizens venturing out in the early morning after the initial prospect of danger went away as the sun came up. 

The ride is quiet. You don’t mind, though. You’re content with silently watching as Bruce grasps the steering wheel, staring straight ahead at the morning traffic and cloudy sky. You spend the ride imagining how the conversation would go, silently listing all the things you wanted to say to him, and all the things you wished you’d confessed. You came up with a list in your head, of questions, rules, and ridiculous conditions that Bruce would rightfully refuse. You’re finally deciding on that list as the Corvette pulls up to the boulevard and is greeted with a swarm of cameras. 

Bruce is quick with his response, showing little signs of unease in front of paparazzi and cameras and instead, his worries are only visible in the small, almost unnoticeable ways. Like the way his eyes grow darker as he looks down at you when he opens the passenger side door, and the way he grips your hand as he helps you out of the car. Otherwise, Bruce is calm and quick. He leaves it to you, like always, to smile and greet. As you morph into the familiar role, Bruce pulls you along into the restaurant with a firm hand on your back, barely acknowledging the cameras like he’s been trained to do. 

You sit at a table near the front windows with Bruce across from you, with his sunglasses still on. You motion for him to take him off, but he ignores you – instead picking up a menu placed in front of him and flipping through it carelessly. 

Two white mugs of coffee are placed in front of you in a quick moment, and you watch as the dim light of the restaurant casts soft shadows on Bruce’s tired features as he orders two of the same entrees for the both of you. 

The air is thick with tension as you wait for Bruce to begin, your fingers tapping absentmindedly on the white ceramic coffee top that the waitress had just set down in front of you. 

After a few moments, you realize Bruce is refusing to begin the conversation, and you begin carefully, “Okay,” you say slowly, clutching the cup, “Questions or rules or first?” 

Bruce adjusts in his seat, his expression hidden behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses, “Questions.” 

Your mind races with the thousand of questions you have for him, trying to decide exactly where to begin. This situation is so much larger than the two of you, and it seems that Bruce is more than willing to let you navigate it on your own. It’ll be your first job to set up the pieces of this tricky, particular game. 

You decide to stick with the basics, “How’d you know I’d be at the Lounge last night?” 

“I didn’t,” he replies calmly, “I had no idea where you were. I was dealing with something that had nothing to do with you.” 

His response surprises you. You had come up with the decision that he had been following you all of this time, keeping silent tabs on you for the last seven years. It was the only explanation that made sense to you, narcissism and self-obsession aside. Initially, you always assumed he wanted nothing to do with you, and had essentially forgotten you existed. But as soon as you saw him in the alleyway, with his bright eyes scanning your face, you concluded that he followed you. You just had no idea why. 

Even if his response makes you uneasy, there was a quick sense of relief knowing that he hadn’t been watching you struggle all these years without him. 

“What was it?” you press further, unable to stop yourself. 

Bruce’s lips curl into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “Unimportant. Next question.” 

You couldn’t help but wonder how much he was willing to reveal about himself. Bruce was always hidden in dark mystery, especially during the end of your original relationship. Even though you knew about his darkest, most hidden secret, you sincerely doubted he’d share anything further with you. It didn’t hurt to try, though. 

“How long have you been doing this?” you inquired. 

“A long time,” he answered. 

You turn to look out the window to your left and are suddenly reminded of the crowds of reporters you had called the night before. They’re close enough to make you uneasy as if you’re in some hidden danger. They’re watching the two of you carefully, with smirks of gross accomplishment and their hands gripping their cameras tightly, waiting for the perfect shot of the prince of Gotham. The overbearing presence reminds you of something wicked, all of the terrible lies told about you and the ridiculous rumors that are still brought up years later. You’d never escape the hideous things said about you. All the things that would’ve disappeared by a simple word or appearance by Bruce. 

With that brutal reminder, you decided to become a little evil with your questions and push him further. “Seven years long time?” 

Bruce is unphased by your insinuation, “Give or take.” 

You’re already close to giving up or walking out the door. You begin to wonder if the gain is worth the loss of your fucking dignity. 

Okay,” you say with a hint of resignation, “Why?” 

Bruce leaned forward slightly, finally removing his sunglasses and placing them on the table carelessly. His eyes show terrible tiredness, with bloodshot pupils and deep lines. 

His eyes lock onto yours, “Complicated. Next question?”

Your mind is still frozen with the familiar reminder of hurt. You know he’s waiting for you to ask the ultimate question, the question every ex-girlfriend who was dumped and left alone wants to know. You refuse to ask, though. You’re not sure you ever want to know. Instead, you’re perfectly happy pretending it never happened. This is a new, false beginning. You don't need to be reminded any longer. 

“I’m not going to ask the obvious one.” 

His response is surprisingly straightforward. “The answer is simple. I’ll tell you.” 

The quickness and simplicity of his answer intrigue you. For a moment, you hesitate in an effort for him to continue. When Bruce stays silent with his eyes still locked on yours, you make up your mind and respond. 

“I’m not asking.” 

Bruce’s gaze softens, and he quietly admits under the noise of the cafe, “I hadn’t meant to hurt you.” 

The sincerity in his voice is unexpected, and you find yourself momentarily frozen, forgetting your next steps. 

“I didn’t ask. Rules now,” you declare finally, shifting the focus of the conversation, “Number one. I need to be paid. I’ll have to quit my job, and I have to pay rent. I need at least as much as I have been making.” 

Bruce nods in agreement, his expression reflecting hints of understanding. “Done. Just tell me how much.” 

With a sense of quickly escaping relief, you consider your next condition, one you assume he’ll refuse. “I want to go back to school, too. Finish my degree. I’ll need to do something, I’m not going to become a stay-at-home fake girlfriend.” 

“You haven’t graduated? What happened?” Bruce inquiries, genuine curiosity coating his words. 

You think back at the first few months after the breakup, how every other aspect of your life suddenly turned to shit, as if you experienced a great cosmic shift. The phone call late one evening when your bank account was completely drained, the phone call with Alfred that followed shortly after as you cried and panicked to his silent ear. The meeting a week later with the dean of students at your small university after you withdrew. Or, finally, when you moved into your small Gotham apartment, and everything began to make sense again.

“Long story” you began, a bit of vulnerability in your voice, “Short answer, I lost everything. I couldn’t afford to go back to school.” 

Bruce’s response was surprisingly supportive. “We’ll get your priority registration. I’ll make sure it’s paid for.” 

You feel an obvious surge of gratitude, but you attempt to stay forced and professional. “I need you to listen to me. If I think you should go to something, you go. If I want you to do something, you do it. You told me I was a genius at these things. I want you to remind yourself of that before ever saying no.” 

With a nod and a small smirk, Bruce acknowledges your terms. He takes a sip of coffee as he quickly glances out the window, just to immediately glance back over to you, watching as you continue. 

“The specifics, then. We go out twice a week,” you outline, “Once, like this. Breakfast or dinner. Something casual where people will see us. The other time, something disgustingly high society. A gala or fundraiser. We can do that for a few weeks, and then stop for a while. But for right now, we have to play the game well.” 

You understood the practicality of these conditions. The agenda alone is a copycat version of what the two of you once did causally, without the rigid rules. Bruce seems to be on the same page. 

“I only have two conditions, he explains after a beat, his tone growing more assertive as he continues, “First, I want you to stay in Wayne Tower. I don’t want you in that apartment anymore. I want you there with me. It’ll be easier to make sure you’re safe and ultimately will make more sense-” 

The thought of living with him was strangely terrifying, something you hadn’t even done when you were in a legitimate relationship. Ignoring how you had felt safer and more at ease waking up in Wayne Tower than you had in months, you couldn’t imagine staying with him at all times. It felt wildly inappropriate, and contilling. 

You were quick to voice your concerns, “I don’t think that’s entirely appropriate-” 

“Secondly,” Bruce continues, undeterred, “I’m not expecting you to do anything behind closed doors. Our game is only public, which means you don’t even need to speak to me if you don’t want to. You’ll have your room at home, you can have your floor. I don’t care. I just want to know you’re there.” 

“Those are your only conditions?” 

“That’s all. Everything else is entirely up to you. You already know my reasons for all of this.” 

“Alright,” you finally agree, “Fine.” 

Bruce takes the last sip of his coffee, and you look down at the two plates in front of you. Neither of you has eaten anything, and you barely touched your coffee, instead opting just to feel the warmth radiating from the mug. You don’t feel like eating, anyway. 

“Do you want to leave now?” you ask Bruce, “Go get some sleep?” 

He shrugs as he places the sunglasses back over his eyes, “You’re the boss.” 

You quickly place your napkin over your plate and grab your purse from the seat next to you. You look outside the window again at the group of reporters waiting outside for you. The crowd had dwindled, only leaving the few loyal reporters behind on the streets, still clutching their cameras against their chests. 

You sigh, “Let’s go.” 

In a quick moment, Bruce pays the bill and pulls you out of the restaurant in the same way he directed you inside, with his hand against your back and his cold hands helping you into the vintage car. The street is busy, and you watch as passersby stop in the tracks and watch as the two of you get into the car and the reporters’ cameras flash. The attention isn’t as fun as you remember. You begin to realize that the only attention that mattered was his. 

It isn’t until Bruce pulls the Corvette into the garage underneath Wayne Tower that you realize he isn’t going to take you back to your apartment across the city. Instead, he took you back home. You’re quick to panic, thinking about Bella when she finally wakes up in the afternoon, or all of your belongings that you left behind in your small bedroom. You make a mental note to retrieve your things later in the evening and call Bella as soon as she wakes up, but your panic quickly turns to peace when you’re brought back to the familiar living room in the heart of Wayne Tower, exactly as you had left it. 

Your home, until this game you’re playing ends without a winner.

[thepenultimateword]

Fake Dating Prompts (Heroes and Villains)

Yesterday, I read a lot of glorious fake dating prompts written by @creativepromptsforwriting and it inspired me to make my own fake dating prompt list, but it’s heroes and villains style.

I recently succeeded in taking over the city, but ruling is not going as I planned. The public loves you; can you pretend to date me to soften my image? I promise dating the city’s overlord comes with perks.

I know I’m just a sidekick, and our relationship is strictly professional, but Villain is stalking me, and they’re scared enough of you that maybe if we pretend to date they’ll leave me alone.

My parents hate that I’m a villain, but they’d probably get off my back if they thought I was dating a hero.

I’m a villain, but I told my parents I’m a hero so they won’t worry about me. I went a little overboard and also told them I’m very popular amongst the other heroes. They want me to bring someone to dinner, and you’re the number one hero and their favorite. Could you pretend that we’re dating to impress them?

Hero is my ex, and they won’t stop trying to flirt while we fight. Henchman, could you pretend to be my new significant other so they finally get it through their thick skull that I’m over them?

My friends have been bugging me to get a date for this event, but since I’m 100% dedicated to my hero job, I don’t have a social life, and the only person I ever really see is you.

We’ve temporarily teamed up to stop a greater threat. We’ve gone undercover, and you panicked with our cover story when we were questioned. I guess we’re a couple now.

I’m a villain, and I broke into your house to hide from the heroes, but when they track me down, instead of turning me in, you pretend I’m your spouse.

I’m one of thousands of henchman, and I’ve been lying to everyone that I have a very powerful significant other so I can rise quickly in the ranks. When it’s about to come out that I’ve been lying, you (Supervillain) step in and pretend you’re the significant other I’ve been talking about. I’m not sure why you’re doing this, but currently it’s better than being dead.

I’m a reformed villain with A LOT of enemies. Pretending that my new colleague, Superhero, is my significant other may keep them at bay long enough for me to figure out what to do next.

Sooo, remember when Villain put me in charge of immobilizing you last week, and you were actually too sick to leave your apartment? I may have lied to everyone that the reason you didn’t obliterate me is because you like me. Could we keep it up just for this one henchmen work party? I mean I did make you soup…

I was recently demoted at the agency for false fraternization charges, and I’d really like to stick it to my colleagues by dating a villain “for real”.

[leajdh]

ALL CHAPTER OF MY Satoru Gojo x Reader Fanfiction (will Update this post whenever a new chapter is available)

SUMMARY: He was just a few more steps away from becoming a living legend. Already praised by the media as the honored one, he made a grave mistake which not only put his Ice Hockey career on hold, it disappointed even his most loyal fans so much so that his reputation sank to an all-time low.

Then he meets you; a retired figure skating champion who is now trying to find her purpose in life after her triumphs, all while still being loved and cherished by the media and public likewise.

Satoru Gojo sees his chance to not only get back unto the rink, but also to regain his former popularity.

But he soon realizes it will be a lot harder to get on your good side, because he's everything you despise combined into one person.

Will you give him a second chance and allow him to redeem himself, or is this going to be the match for your life time?

Gojo Satoru x reader (first person narrator)

Ice Hockey AU

FAKE DATING TROPE

Enemies to lovers

English isn't my first language, so expect some grammar errors

18+!!

Chapter 1:

Chapter 2:

Chapter 3:

Chapter 4:

Chapter 5:

Story also available on wattpad and ao3 (username: leajdh)

[just-1other-nerd]

Fake dating/marriage of convenience trope: no one does it like them

"I never planned to but now I've adopted a child" trope: no one does it like them

Slow burn trope: no one does it like them

They each have a big secret and are afraid of the other one resenting them if they ever found out trope: no one does it like them

Shout out to Twiyor

[thewritersline]

Person A: “So basically, I need you to pretend to date me. Obviously if you don’t want to I can try to find someone else, but--” Person B: “I’ll do it!” Person A: *surprised silence* Person B: “Uh, I mean, it’ll be fun, right? Funny, I mean. Pretending date you will be funny. So you don’t need to ask anyone else.”

[man11c]

Can you please make a xavier x Reader BUT it's like the fake dating trope because he wants Binaca to leave him alone but he acts like he hates it but later on it turns into something real? THIS IS MY FAV TROPE

Follow the plan - Xavier Thorpe x Reader

Plot : Xavier asks you to get into a fake relationship to avoid confrontation with Bianca. Will this fake relationship stay fake? Or will one of you catch feelings quicker than expected.

Warning(s): small amount of drinking, very few swear words here n there.

Word count : 3,342

"So I heard you are Xavier are a thing now." It was obvious who was talking to you, it was no other but Bianca who sat crossed-legged and held a thin pen in her hand. If it wasn't for her tone, you'd be able to tell by the sour expression she wasn't happy. "Aha, yeah it's a long story." Yeah right, there was no story at all - the two of you weren't even a thing. Xavier was just fat to desperate to get Bianca to leave him alone. Awkward. You received an unsure look from Bianca as her eyes skimmed you up and down. "Unbelievable." You heard her muttering under her breath while rummaging through her stuff. This was the worst you think to yourself, chewing on the tip of your pen to try reduce the amount of nervousness that brewed inside you. It wasn't easy going around lying about some relationship you had with some guy you were only 'pally' with.

At least Xavier was committed to the role as your fake boyfriend. He came up to you after class, proceeding to reach out to your hand and hold it with a bring smile on his face. His acting wasn't half bad. "I can't wait to get to my dorm." Xavier muttered through his plastered smile. You tried to resist the urge to roll your eyes at his snarky comment. Trying to get out the site of people was hard when Xavier had to stop, like millions of time to talk to a whole assortment of people. Eventually, after what you thought was hours you reached his dorm. Not even a moment after the door shut, your hand was dropped back down to your side.

"Xavier If you hate the idea so much then why the hell did you ask?! You keep complaining even though this was YOUR idea might I tell you." You ask slightly frustrated, rubbing your hand off your blazer to wipe away the thin coat of sweat that has accumulated while you held Xavier's hand - his hands were always so warm. That's beside the point. Xavier was busy dumping his stuff besides his bed, trying to quickly take off one of the many layers he had on. You still stood there like an idiot waiting for some kind of response. But you weren't the patient type, your brows clustered together. Skin folding over as your brows furrowed in sheer annoyance. "Xavier don't avoid the question." You decided to speak up once again, but it only seemed to irritate Xavier more. A loud huff came from him as he threw off his hoodie and turned to you - finally willing to talk.

"Look I have no other option. There's no one else this would work with and this was my last option. Obviously I'm not happy about it." Xavier sneered while looking through his stuff, his voice sounding so sarcastic as if he expected you to know this already. It infuriated you. Gritting your teeth for a brief moment, grounding yourself with a deep breath you became calm once again. "Boohoo, I'm sorry you aren't happy with your own ideas. Maybe if you talked to Bianca-" you talk childishly eyeing Xaviers rigid movements. Xaviers voice overlapped yours. "I have tried talking to her. If you used your common sense you'd think that's the first thing I did."

Biting down on your tongue, keeping down whatever nasty words you had lined up for him. You take in a deep breath. "You make it very hard to act like your partner when you kick off like this." You left the room before that conversation could escalate any further, knowing Xavier's temper that would be highly likely.

"(Y/n) wanna come to my birthday party later on the week, your boyfriend will be there...so you are sorta obliged to go." Ajax's voice cheery as ever, half-lidded eyes staring at you waiting for a reply of some sort. Pondering about it, you weighed out the pros and cons of the situation as you looked off into the blank white wall that was a little too bright. "Sure, sounds good to me." You settle on a decision with a glistening smile on your face. Xavier sat a row behind you, listening carefully to the conversation. Eyes narrow and averted from you but he was all ears. His pencil placed against the untouched page underneath his arms. Since your small argument with him from the week before, he seemed to have changed his attitude towards you.

Staring back into the mirror to see a miserable face staring back at you, was it really a good idea to go to this party? Loud people, incoherent music that just blasts uncomfortably, all sorts of smells mixed to make a perfect concoction of overstimulated. What was there not to love right? You got yourself ready despite all the thoughts rushing through your hair. Adjusting small things before leaving, phone clutched in hand. You looked out of the thin planes of glass, it was already getting dark outside. In attempts to distract yourself.

A few steps into your walk, someone joined your side. Hands shoved deep in their pockets with hair up. It was no other but your quote on quote - boyfriend Xavier. "It would be weird if she showed up at different times, so It's good I caught you now." His voice was low, slightly husky as If he'd just woken up. "You have a fair point I suppose." Xavier slowed down his steps to not outwalk you to the party, you were just strolling. The place where this party was hosted wasn't far from the college you both worked at, thankfully; the walk was painfully silent. Neither of you talking between each other but you could just faintly pick up his shallow breathing. "So, did you get yourself for Ajax? He's your best friend after all." You speak up, breaking the awkward silence that sat like a thick wall between you. Xavier scoffed slightly. "He's already gotten his gift, he's definitely not getting another one from me." A small laugh was forced out of you, it made your shoulders relax and drop naturally down your back.

You weren't even in the building and you heard the music blasting through the walls of the building that was accompanied by nauseating bright lights. Xavier shoots you a quick glance - wishing you luck before you welcome yourself into the noise. "Hey! You both came, and I assumed you weren't going to show up. We are gonna play a few games later on, so go ahead and grab yourself drinks and food." Ajax spoke loudly over the music, trying to out-compete the volume of the music. He looked over to his best friend and Xavier walked away with Ajax into the crowd of people. "Well fucking great." You mutter under your breath, taking a quick glance around to see where you could take shelter. Some familiar faces go by you - Enid and some other people you saw around her before. You greet them with the same generic smile but Enid being Enid... she rushes after you, trying to compose her giddy nature as she approached you.

"Soooo, is it true?" Enid creeps up on you, her bubbly tone matching the sweet look on her face - As always, her outfit was amazing. It took you a moment to muster a reply with the loud music crashing over your thoughts. "Well, yeah if you are talking about me and Xavier." You respond as genuinely as you could, but your mind set on the drinks bar not far from reach. Enid glued to your side, holding your arm in excitement as she squeals. As per usual, she was more excited than you were. "Oh my god! I'm so happy. Do you know how long he's liked you for? Like crazy long! If it wasn't for Binaca getting in the way he would have totes asked you out sooner!" Enid rambled, sounding so relieved by the end of it. She stood there smiling at you, ear to ear. Her white teeth poking from her lips. Don't act surprised. Don't act surprised! You yelled at yourself, slightly freezing after she finished talking.

Your face twisted in a funny expression as you forced out a laugh, grabbing a drink. The glass was so cold against your skin. It helped you cool down. "Aw he never told me that... he must have been so embarrassed to say to." You answer slowly as you peer over the heads of many people, trying to find the tall lanky man. You narrowed your eyes - nitpicking the crowed but he wasn't too far away. Xavier felt eyes on him, he looked up and met eyes with you. A smile appearing on his face as he looked away again from you. "You guys are so sweet, I'm gushing over it." Enid cosied up to your side, wrapping her arm around you pulling you in for a hug. Her fluffy coat brushing against your face, slightly tickling you while you gave into the affectation hug. "Now we both have boyfriends... ohmy! We should go on double dates (y/n)!" Enid gasped as she thought of the idea, her whole face lightly up as she jolted away from you. And all you could do was nod and laugh, pretending like you didn't hear what she said earlier.

Easier said than done, you couldn't forget what she said. Sipping on the same drink for twenty-odd minutes, the glass had gone warm in your hold. You stood on your own by the drink bar where Enid left you after going on and on about all the things you guys should do as a couples. You almost jumped out of your skin when Ajax was suddenly in front of you. Started, you look at Ajax wide-eyed for a few moments. "Jeez... you can't jump up on people." You sigh, sinking back into you'd skin. "Join in the game of truth and dare with a few shots? Each one you miss you take one." That was too many bad ideas.

You shake your head reluctant on the idea scrunching up your nose slightly. "Ehh... I think I'll pass you on that one Ajax." You gave him a weary smile for compensation. Ajax looked at you with a pleading look on his face. "Oh come on, it's my birthday! Have some fun." He didn't give you a choice. Ajax took hold of your arm before dragging you back to the crowed. "Hey!" You call out surprised, but that stopped no one. You were pushed next to Xavier, bumping against his side. Ajax smirking at you. "Thanks for leaving me not even five minutes in." You said while looking up at Xavier. His eyes pierced down on you as the hue of his eyes changed to the flashing lights. He replied with a smug look on his face. It was no use talking to him. You look back down to the ground, slight disappointment brewing in your expression. Eyes picking up the small details of the floor that was slightly shiny with a coat of varnish that was properly not put on that long ago. Without saying anything, Xavier's arm weaved around your waist - bringing you closer to his body. He didn't look at you. But his hand placed comfortably on your hip where he began to draw small shapes with his fingertip. His nail brushing against the material of your outfit. It was slightly ticklish.

You felt your face heating up... you didn't remember him being this affectionate infront of people. Looking up at him, gazing at his sharp jaw defined by the lighting above us. His lips trying to hide a grin from you. But as you looked at him, tracing his side profile with your eyes - you thought to yourself of all the things Enid told you earlier about Xavier and most of all...was it true?

Most of the questions that went around were all about you and Xavier. You stayed on the safe side and kept picking truth. "Is it true Xavier asked you out first?" Ajax wiggled his brows at you with a stupid drunk grin. You sigh momentarily as this was yet another question about you guys. "Yeah, he was shy about it as well." If you were gonna make stuff up about your relationship, why not make it fun? Xavier looked down at you unimpressed. Xavier had more balls than you, he wasn't scared to pick a dare occasionally though... most of them were stupid. But it was his turn right after yours. "Xavier truth or dare?" Ajax asked him with a dawning smirk on his face, he was planning something. "Hmmm... dare." Ajax's face lit up with joy he quickly placed his glass down 6 the table. "Kiss (y/n) we haven't seen you kiss yet despite being in a relationship for a while." Ajax looked back and forth between the both of you, adjusting his beanie - pushing it back.

Xavier taking a moment to process what was asked of him, mouth slightly parted in disbelief but the same went for you. There was no way Xavier would do this - oh you were proven wrong. "Alright." He shrugged his shoulders a lot calmer than before he turned his body towards you. His gaze laid upon you. You weren't ready for this, not in front of everyone?! Trying to take a step away from Xavier, in slightly hesitation of what was coming but he locked his arm around you bringing you back closer to himself. "Come on don't get shy now." Xavier said that on purpose to make you go even more red as he leaned into you. You couldn't do anything, you were a deer stuck in headlights. Whole body frozen and giving into the control of Xavier. His hand hooked under your jaw, adjusting your stiff neck to look towards him instead it directly ahead of you. You met his eyes, there was something about them. His lashes that curled away from his eyes, leaving that slightly greeny colour to enchant you.

Taking in a deep breath, you could smell his cologne. It wasn't bad. Xavier didn't waste any time kissing you, and it seemed like you didn't care if it was in front of everyone. His hand was still tucked under your jaw which he had a firm hold on as he pulled you in closer. The taste of tangy alcohol was shared between you, it slightly burned at your lips but... in a good way. You built up the courage to move your lips against him, holding onto his arm. Clutching onto the soft fabric between your fingers. "Okay wow! You can stop now we didn't ask for a make-out sesh!" Ajax butted in, grabbing Xavier's arm to jerk him away from you. Your lips broke apart at that moment, but his eyes still fixated on yours. Embarrassment flushed all over you. Cowardly you broke the immense eye contact first. "Jeez get a room." Ajax rolled his eyes, he was a big hypocrite. "Gosh stop complaining, you literally asked to see it." Xavier spoke up in an unimpressed voice, he raised his hand to his hair pushing the loose stands away from his face. For a moment he looked at you again.

You couldn't face him, no way! Not after that. So you retreated to the hidden away table that faced away from everyone. A nice quiet space with nice fluffed-out couches. "Pffh" You puff out, finally being able to hear your thoughts. The comfortable cushions embraced you into their hold, the tension leaving your body now that you leaned against the pillows. For the rest of the time, you scrolled on your phone zoning out from the rest of the world. Everything for a slur of words, it all blended in the back as the bright screen faced you. Quite a while passed and still you were left unbothered - well so you hoped so.

"Great of you to run away after our first kiss." Xavier sat next to you, putting his arm around the back of the couch. His hand dangling down. "Well, what did you expect sherlock? We aren't even a thing which makes it worse. You could have said no, Bianca wasn't even here." You went on, picking at the skin around your nail beds. Your eyes strictly averted from Xavier. You felt yourself shrink into the couch in his presence. "What if it didn't want to say no?" Xavier scratched the back of his head, talking casually with little care behind his tone. "Don't take the fucking piss, Xavier." You say putting your hand down, placing it underneath your leg. It was warm and after a few moments, your hand went numb. You could hear a faint sigh leaving Xavier's mouth while he moved up closer to you. "What if I'm not taking the piss either?" He spoke up again, his hand finding itself on your shoulder. Dragging his fingers across the solid bone. You tut in disapproval, jumping your shoulder to rid of his arm before you turned to face him. His face was so much closer than expected, you forgot all your words for a moment. "How much have you drank?" You push out, because there was no way he was acting like this normally. "I'm not drunk (y/n) just listen to what I'm saying instead of ignoring it!" Xavier put his head back in frustration, his brows screwed up. Seeing him this frustrated, you wanted to hear him out.

"Well what is it? What are you trying to tell me, Xavier?" You sounded eager to hear just what in the world he wanted to tell you. You watched as his brows unfolded and he stared at the ceiling. "What I'm saying is... that maybe this fake dating thing shouldn't be fake."

"What the hell are you saying, Xavier?" You ask in utter denial while you push yourself up on the couch fixing your posture. Xavier mirrored what you did. Sitting up - his body towering over yours immediately. His daunting figure looks down at you with a serious look in his eyes. "I'm saying that I fucking like you and I like this little thing between us. What are you not hearing (y/n)" Xavier said it word by word to make sure you definable heard him and what he was saying. Even then, you were at a loss for all your words. You stared back at him with confusion written all over your face. Xavier grunted as he turned his face away from you. "You are so slow." He muttered, the music overlapping his quiet voice.

"No I get what you said... but you were literally complaining about this? About this whole dating thingy and now you are saying this? Xavier make up your mind!" You told him in disbelief, shaking your head slightly at his frustrating behaviour.

"I have. I have made up my mind. And I want to be with you, actually. Not as some gimmick. I was complaining because I was annoyed that I was actually wanting to be with you. That's why I picked you of all people to go ahead with this." Xavier let it all spill. So, Enid wasn't messing around when she told you everything. A slight grin tugged at the corner of your lips. "Maybe If didn't keep all of this till the last minute, then you wouldn't have been so frustrated." You shrug your shoulders, reaching for his hand. Taking it into yours. It made him turn back to face you, his sharper expression melting down with your touch.

"So, is that a yes?"

"Maybe." You replied with a slightly laugh after you spoke. "I take that as yes." He leaned into kiss you again. Holding his hair out of the way while he leaned into your face, both of you slightly giggling. "But hey... we still can't tell people that it was fake in the first place." Xavier told you before he pressed his lips onto yours.

I loved this fic the trope was so good... and I liked the idea of a little truth or dare moment. I hope you like it anonymous! 🫶🏻💞

[obsessedasusual]

Just for Today - Happy Lowman

Summary: When Happy turns up with a woman on the back of his bike, his mother is delighted

Warnings: swearing, speeding, lying (lol)

Note: 2.1k WHY DID WE NEVER GET TO MEET HAPPY’S MOTHER?! There was a whole episode where she was just chilling inside near a mess of pancake batter! This is always gonna be one of my favourite tropes. Also somewhere along the way did the fandom just headcanon that Happy was Hispanic? Or was it mentioned in SOA? I can’t remember seeing anything but literally every fic I’ve read has him as Mexican, rolling with it!

Happy glanced at you briefly as he continued his phone call. You had no idea who it was or what it was about but judging by his expression, which in honesty was subtle but spoke volumes for a guy like Happy, it was important.

You took the time to admire the gas station parking lot Happy had parked up in, it wasn’t much. The chance to stretch your legs was a welcomed opportunity. You had only been riding for two hours but for someone that wasn’t well versed at riding on the back of a Harley, your back was killing.

Happy snapped his phone shut and strode back to where you were standing by his bike, “We gotta stop in Bakersfield.”

“What’s in Bakersfield?” You stared up at him, squinting in the sun. He took his helmet from the handlebars and put it back on, you followed suit assuming you were about to take off again.

“My mom.” Was all he said before taking his seat and starting the engine. You couldn’t help the way you jumped at the noise, sure you were getting used to the sound now that you were around the club more, but you still had a way to go. Deciding to ignore Happy’s slight smirk you climbed on behind him, securing your hold around his waist.

“I get to meet Mrs Lowman? I hope she has embar- shit!” Happy speed off from the carpark, cutting off your teasing in the process, “asshole.”

Riding with Happy was… an experience. When you found out that it was him that was tasked with getting you to the San Bernardino charter, you had been hesitant to say the least. You’d even put up the argument that it was a waste of resources, sending him with you, and you would be absolutely fine driving your car down yourself. The club disagreed. It wasn’t safe, they argued. So take the scariest guy we have, you had mocked. You’d made it your mission on this trip to get him to crack a joke, a smile even. So far you’d had no success.

It wasn’t that you disliked Happy. You just hadn’t had much to do with him before. You’d never had a full conversation with the guy. He didn’t joke around like Juice and Tig. He didn’t tell you stories of ‘the old days’ like Chibs and Bobby. He was just there, always observing. Maybe he just hadn’t warmed up to you yet, you’d only come on as SAMCRO’s lawyer five months ago. It kept you busy, busier than you thought it would. But the compensation was worth it.

Happy rode fast, and what should’ve been a 90 minute ride to Bakersfield, definitely wasn’t. You soon found yourself cruising down the streets you could only guess Happy grew up in.

Pulling into the driveway of an older house with an immaculate garden, Happy cut the engine and signaled for you to get off before he followed. Shaking your legs out you took in your surroundings, “Did you grow up here?”

You were fishing for any morsel of information you could get about the man acting as your chauffeur, rolling your eyes when you received a grunt in response. Before you could push for a verbal answer the front door opened and an older woman hobbled out, excitement clear on her face.

Happy made his way to her immediately, gently taking her by the arm to keep her steady, “Ma, slow down.”

She slapped his hand lightly before reaching for his neck and pulling his taller frame into a hug. You smiled at the sight.

It didn’t take long for her to notice you standing back awkwardly, and she looked to Happy for an explanation.

He barely got your name out before she was walking over to you, arms wide open ready to wrap you up in a welcoming hug much like she had done her son.

Catching Happy’s eye over his mother’s shoulder you noticed his face was pulled into a scowl, you raised an eyebrow at his expression.

“Welcome, mija,” she pulled back to smile at your still surprised face, “Come in, come in! Lunch is still hot.”

She turned then and made her way back inside, no doubt to start dishing up the meal.

You walked a few steps to close the gap between you and Happy, “Your mom is the sweetest person.”

Happy nodded in response, the corner of his mouth curling up into an almost smile. He tipped his head to the house signalling for you to head inside. As the two of you walked in you whispered, “What’s her name?” In the rush of the initial meeting you hadn’t even thought to ask.

“Maria.”

As soon as you stepped through the front door you felt… welcome. The walls were decorated with an assortment of picture frames, each containing a different snippet of Maria’s life and loved ones, music was playing quietly from the radio, and a mouthwatering savoury smell filled the air.

You paused in the doorway to the kitchen as Happy stepped around you, gently moving his mother out of the way to get the plates she was trying to reach. Maria patted his arm affectionately, turning her gaze to you she motioned for you to take a seat at the table.

Soon a delicious looking soup was placed in front of you, and the Lowmans flanked you on either side, “Thank you, Maria. This smells amazing.”

“Don’t thank me yet. You might not like it!” She joked as you took your first spoonful, as expected it was delicious. Maria smiled as you voiced your praises.

As you ate quietly, Happy and his mom made small talk catching up, mainly about her health. As spritely as she was, you could see Maria was on the frail side. Happy obviously worried about her.

“You need home help, Ma-“

“I need no such thing, Happy. I’m fine.” She turned her attention to you, cutting off her son, “And what do you do for work, dear?”

You flicked your eyes to Happy briefly seeing his scowl at being interrupted, “I’m a lawyer, ma’am. The boring paperwork kind.”

“A lawyer! Smart girl, Happy. How did you two meet? You never said anything about a girl!” The smile was still on her face as you quietly choked on your mouthful of soup and Happy froze in his seat.

“No, Ma-“ The Son’s explanation was interrupted.

“You know, he’s never brought a girl home before. I worry about him. At home by himself.”

You and Happy locked eyes for a second, before he tried for a second time to explain, “Ma, it’s not-“

Again he was cut off. You had to let out a small giggle as he tipped his head back in frustration.

“You should’ve told me, mijo! I would’ve tidied the house up. Made a good first impression.” Maria looked ecstatic. She looked every bit the doting mom.

“Ma,” he placed his hand flat on the table top to make a point, “We’re-“

“We’ve only been together a few months.” It was you cutting him off this time. You could feel his glare as you stayed facing his mom, “I told him to tell you, but… you know what he’s like!” That made Maria laugh in agreement. Yeah, she knew what he was like. She raised the man. You however, had spent only a few hours with the guy, and that had been in silence on the back of his bike.

The home phone began to ring from the living room, Maria pushed herself out of her seat to answer it, leaving you and Happy alone.

You turned slowly to face him, “Okay-“

“What the fuck are you doing?” His glare hadn’t changed, his tone was accusing, but also curious.

“I’m sorry! I don’t know! It just came out. She sounded so excited, Happy.”

“Not your place.”

“I know,” you sighed, “You saw her, she just wants you to be happy. What do I say now? How the hell do I take that back?”

Your attention was pulled from the man beside you back to his mother as she returned to the table, still smiling brightly, “Julie from down the street. Wanting to gossip. Anyway, what were you saying, dear?”

You swallowed thickly, trying to work out how to break the truth, “Um, actual-“

“Met through the club,” Happy’s gravelly voice was doing the interrupting now, “She was doing some work for TM, went from there.”

You turned to him in shock. What the fuck was happening right now? Instead of meeting your gaze he focused his attention on the bowl of soup in front of him.

“I knew you’d find someone!” Maria grabbed your hand gently, drawing your attention, “He works so hard you know? Always working when I call. He needs someone to draw him away sometimes.”

That you knew. From your limited exposure with the club, you knew they were always working on something. Long nights, often without sleep.

Clearing your throat you nodded your agreement, “I try my best, ma’am. He can be incredibly stubborn though.”

Maria laughed knowingly while her son grunted beside you.

“I know all about that, dear! Keep at him. He gives in eventually.”

You let yourself relax with the current situation, “That’s good to know.”

After lunch and a million more questions about your relationship, which Happy had so kindly left to you to come up with answers for, Maria shooed you away to the living room to relax while she and Happy cleaned up. You had tried to protest but you had quickly learned where Happy got his stubborn trait from.

Sat on the couch flicking through an old photo album that Happy had tried to snatch away from you, only to be scolded by his mother much to your amusement, you found yourself tuning into the conversation between mother and son in the kitchen.

“She’s beautiful, mijo.”

Happy grunted.

“And nice! She’s exactly what you needed.” It was silent bar the splashing of water as the dishes were washed, “You be good to her.”

“Don’t worry about it, Ma.”

“I mean it, Happy. Treat her right. I want her around for a while.” A small smile found its way to your face.

“I know, Ma.” This is not how you saw your day going.

“Do you love her?” You heard him clear his throat awkwardly.

“Shit-“

“Language.”

“Uh, yeah. She’s great.”

You had to bite your tongue to stop the laugh that was close to escaping. You’d never heard Happy speak so softly with someone before.

“I’m happy for you, you know. She’s good for you. Bring her around more.”

“Maybe.”

Footsteps rounded the corner and Happy came to a stop in front of you, staring down at the photo album.

“You were the cutest kid,” you teased, “look at all your hair.” Lifting the book to show him.

“I was there.” He took the opportunity to take the book from you, snapping it shut and putting it back on the shelf, “We gotta hit the road.”

You pouted, wanting to spend more time getting all the juicy details of a younger Happy from his mom, but at his glare stood without argument.

“Heading out so soon?” Maria questioned as she joined the two of you in the living room.

“Gotta get to Berdoo.” Happy answered.

Maria sighed understandingly and turned to you, “See what I mean? Always working!”

Your eyes flicked to Happy briefly, seeing from his expression that he felt bad, “He has an admirable work ethic. I’m guessing he gets that from you, you’ve raised a good man, Maria.”

Maria pulled you into her embrace, “You’re too kind. Keep him in line won’t you?”

“Of course.”

Pulling back from you she turned to her son and repeated the action. It was almost comical, seeing a large man like Happy being pulled down to his mother’s height, “Remember what I said. I want to see her again.”

You should keep a tally of how often Happy responded with a grunt over a verbal response.

“Be safe on the roads won’t you? I love you.”

“Love you too, Ma.”

The love between the two was clear. Happy was the apple of Maria’s eye.

They ended their embrace and Happy moved to stand beside you, taking you by surprise when he hooked a finger through one of your belt loops and tugging lightly, signalling it was time to head out.

“It was lovely to meet you, Maria. Thank you again for lunch.”

She waved off your thanks, “You take care, mija. I’ll see you next time.” She spoke with a wink.

She walked the two of you through the kitchen and waved as you continued out the door.

You waved back enthusiastically, “Bye!”

Happy led you down the path toward his bike, hand barely grazing the small of your back.

“I can’t wait til she’s my mother in law.”

“Put your fuckin’ helmet on.”

[theweirdymcweirderson]

Till death do us part - Dean Winchester

Author: theweirdymcweirderson

Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

Relationships: Dean Winchester×Reader

Word count: 1247

Warnings: Teasing, fake dating, bit of anxiety, kissing, Reader is lowkey a bitch to Sammy

Summary: Posing as Dean's fiancée for a case. Nothing could ever go wrong, right?

Notes: English is not my first language, soooo ehehehe, please don’t judge me too harshly. Feel free to let me know your thoughts about it, I always appreciate constructive criticism.

Enjoy :)

______________________

“We’re going to a wedding?”

The chair squeaks as you turn to stare at Sam, eyebrows raised in an obvious question as you try to quickly chew and swallow the food in your mouth. Maybe he’s right, you should take smaller bites.

“Come again?”

You nod your head, pointing at Dean for putting your thoughts into words, still staring curiously at Sam.

“I just found us a case. Three different weddings, three brides dead.”

Sam walks to the table, grimaces as he pushes the remnants of your late breakfast/early lunch and sits down, partially turning his computer screen so that you and his brother can read the information he’s gathered.

“So, listen to this…”

________

Your hands smooth down the dress, running over your tummy and then your hips, as you turn around and stare at your reflection from every angle. Running is gonna be a fucking bitch in this. You move your legs around, testing the fabric’s resistance, right as Dean emerges from the bathroom.

“Well, look at you, sweetheart, you sure do clean up nicely.”

“Ha, ha, very funny. It’s 2022, why the hell can’t I wear pants?”

Right on cue, Sam walks in with what you assume is your early dinner because his “We don’t know what’s killing these people, what if the food’s poisoned?” ass, thinks it would be better to eat before heading to the reception.

“Cause you don’t own any wedding appropriate pants? Now would you, please, stop? You’ve been complaining ever since I told you about the case.”

He hands you a shoebox as you roll your eyes at his words, only to open said box and choke on your saliva.

“I’m not wearing heels, Samuel.”

“Well, you sure as hell can’t wear those old, scuffed, hunting boots either, can you?”

The box lands unceremoniously on the dusty motel bed as you stare down the younger Winchester, hands automatically going to your hips. He stares right back, holding his ground and yeah, maybe he has a point, but still…

“I can’t even walk properly on those, let alone run! How the fuck do you expect me to hunt if I risk breaking my neck on every step I take, huh?”

“Uhm, she got a point there, Sammy…”

You thank Dean for his support, eyes still locked on Sam’s as he sighs his defeat and steps back out only to walk back in a couple of minutes later with a pair of white, basic sneakers. Your lips stretch on a smile, a peace offering of some kind, because you know you’ve been a bitch to him about the case, but you can’t help it. You need something to keep your mind from thinking about being Dean fucking Winchester’s date.

Sam had, unfortunately, questioned the wedding planner, Mr. Plafond, so to him he was Agent Wedge Antilles; which left you and Dean to play the happy couple who wanted to see the planner’s work before starting to organise your own wedding. Mr. Plafond was more than willing to show you a glimpse of the final product. And, well, you were more than willing to stab yourself with a fork before having to hold hands with Dean.

You practically inhale your food, earning yourself concerned glances from your boys, but you can’t focus on that, not when your mind is obsessing over the fact that you’ll be the focus of Dean’s attention in about half an hour.

How is your fickle heart supposed to survive that when just hearing his gruff voice or witnessing his cute chuckle, has your chest constricting and your breathing quickening. Oh God. I’m so fucked. Phone in hand, you scroll mindlessly through your fake social media account as you miserably fail to calm your nerves down.

Ten minutes later, the boys are dressed to kill and you slip your gun in your thigh holster, fix your dress to make sure the knives in your bra aren’t showing and grab your purse. Going on a hunt with a fucking purse. A fucking “clutch”! I’ve become a fucking joke.

You review the plan one last time and then Sam is telling you to stay safe before he slips behind the wheel of his rented car, agreeing with Dean to meet him there a couple of minutes later to avoid raising suspicion.

Twisting your necklace around your fingers, you rest your back against the side of the car, patiently waiting as Dean checks the trunk to make sure you’re forgetting nothing.

You jump lightly when his hand envelopes yours, stopping you from further distressing the necklace.

“You seem nervous, sweetheart.”

“What? No. I mean, maybe? A little...I can’t act for the life of me, what if I mess things up?”

Dean hums his acknowledgement, a smile on his lips as his fingers find your chin and he tilts your head up for your eyes to meet.

“You trust me?”

“You know I do, Dean.”

He moves closer, so close that you can feel the keys of the Impala snug in his left pocket and digging in your side. Oh sweet baby pandas.

“You’ll do just fine...”

And then his hand, roughened by years of hunting, is caressing up your cheek, fingers then tracing the shell of your ear and for a second, an excruciatingly long, damned second, your lungs forget how to function.

“...I’ll take care of ya, sweetheart.”

It’s wishful thinking, you know that, because the heart wants what it wants, so your brain is tricking you, but damn you to all circles of hell if his voice doesn’t sound just a tad bit rougher and more strained than it usually does.

And what’s worse is that, it’s doing things to you, to your body, that you’ll have to deal with later on. I should’ve booked a room for myself, damn it.

You shouldn’t indulge, but his eyes hold yours captive and before you can force your body to pull away, his tongue pokes out, just barely, and your eyes are there, following the damn motion.

One moment you’re fantasizing about his lips and the next, those same full, pillowy, sinful lips of his are pressing to your own and stealing what little breath you have left.

All thoughts dissolve from your mind, and your body takes over, wasting no time in responding. His shirt is now fisted in your hands while your head tilts back to give him more access.

With your eyes closed, you relish in the feeling of his left hand moving from the hood of the car and sliding along your side to find your hip, turning your body to better fit his needs. A sound pushes through your throat and then you can’t take it anymore; your tongue teases the seam of his lips and takes advantage as soon as sweet, rewarding entrance is granted.

Your body melts, every muscle releasing its tension and Dean seems pretty damn okay with supporting your weight. Just as your lungs start to burn a bit too much for comfort, he pulls back with a quick, dirty nip to your cupid’s bow, leaving you blindly, stupidly, chasing after his mouth, silently asking for more.

“You see, that wasn’t so bad now, was it?”

No answer comes to you, and even if it did, you doubt you’d be able to voice it with the way his thumb is still running over your swollen lower lip.

“You just gotta follow my lead, sweetheart.”Oh yeah. I’m so utterly fucked.

Find more stuff here :)

[plantsucc]

you know fake dating AUs and fics? when it comes to infinity train, you can just create a Fake Dating Train Car! rather, The Soap Opera Car, since the TV head denizens treat passenger lives like long-running TV series to which they want satisfying conclusions. they’ve seen passengers’ tapes and when they arrive at this car, they wanna see them act out something they think is fitting the passengers, some obvious development that should’ve happened long ago, something that gets a good rating from their whole bunch, a score of 6/10 at least. it’s sort of uncreatively meta.... listen. I’m indulging here....

anyway they think it’s obvious that Ryan and Min-Gi should go ahead and get married right now, since it’s where their very intertwined lives seem to be heading. 

Min is freaking out because 1. he’s only like 19, he’s NOT ready to get married and he KNOWS Ryan isn’t either. 2. this would be legally void because they’re both men. 3. it’s giving him a massive heartache bc Ryan isn’t taking it seriously. for a few reasons. maybe he WOULD like marry him. eventually. but for that there needs to be honesty and it’s not like HE’S gonna open up first to find if these feelings are mutual. 

Ryan is taking it easy because 1. it’s not real. 2. seriously, it’s a fake marriage on a pocket dimension train, why think about it too hard?? homophobia doesn’t even exist here? 3. he’s slightly enjoying the attention and putting on a show and was hoping Min-Gi would too. he’s heard it said that “being in a band IS like being married, in a way.” so it’s probably nothing new right?

[spicywhenspeaking]

Moodboard mania for star-crossed connection please 💜

Of course bestie!

Master post here for Star-Crossed Connection