#i have soooo many thoughts but I'm afraid they wouldn't come out right
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i think a lot of the discourse in iwtv wouldn't happen if people who didn't like Loustat's relationship stopped watching the Loustat's relationship show, as simple as that
#i have soooo many thoughts but I'm afraid they wouldn't come out right#loustat#sometimes you just watch vampires doing something awful and go fucking hell and move on cause it's a show#and don't harass people#lestat de lioncourt#louis de pointe du lac#interview with the vampire#amc iwtv#sorry I'm mad again it's not that deep#yes guys!!! it's not supposed to be good representation!!! fucking hell!!!
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Fateful Beginnings
XXV. “Mr. Wayne”
parts: previous / next
plot: debuting a new playboy persona, Bruce banks on a moment of reprieve that never comes. after saying goodbye to a friend, you make your way to city hall for a final meeting that leaves both you and the billionaire in a haze.
pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader
cw: 18+, anxiety, romantic tension, infidelity/flirting, mention of sexual harassment, mention of illness
words: 7.4k
a/n: a treat of a chapter for everyone 🏹 thank you for continuing to show fateful so much love! adoring the comments and reblogs, it's so fun to see your reactions ✨ soooo much more to come <3
It'd been long enough of occasional high-profile, low-commitment public escapades as Bruce Wayne. With the candidates coming, he felt it deep in his gut he had to show out and perform. He put on his best suit, had Alfred do his hair. He ordered the most expensive cologne he could find (that didn't seem to be oversaturated on the market like Baccarat Rouge; he knew Bruce would need to keep ahead of the trends) as well as the watch. He spritzed Guerlain Tobacco Honey on his wrists, chest, and neck before getting into his Bugatti. He spent so many millions in one week Alfred had checked if this was some sort of mental breakdown. He assured him it was 'only necessary' and 'only temporary', and that these items would eventually make good money at a charity auction.
When he arrived (after making a showy tip to the valet), he made a beeline for the cocktails. He asked the steward to give him a mocktail, quietly, and with a successfully deceiving martini in hand, he moseyed about the room and made small talk in a booming voice. Rich guys aren't afraid to take up space and well, as the richest man in the room...
He sipped his martini as an incredulous man's gaze lingered on his wrist. A moment of hesitation and the man appeared mere inches from his glass. "Mr. Wayne, I couldn't help but notice your Patek. Is that the Philippe Chime?" Hook, line, and sinker. He nodded, as if it were confusing the man would even approach him. He had a split second to deliberate on an asshole persona or a charming one. An easy decision, remembering his family image needed all the support possible after the antics of Edward Nashton. "Ah, a man with good taste."
They chatted for a moment about different watches and stocks (thank god Bruce had remembered to talk to Alfred to get a refresher), until a tall woman in a red silk dress tugged on his elbow. After a small laugh and excusing himself, he turned to face the blue-eyed blonde. Her smile was sparkling white and veneered, and her face didn't move a wink. "Mr. Wayne, excuse me if this is too brash but, I need to know the name of that cologne." She smiled bigger, flit her lashes, and whispered to him. "If you can't tell me, I might just have to replace you with my husband."
Oh this was going to kill him before the night was out. He grinned wider, flashing teeth, and performed a rehearsed laugh; he lowered his voice to match her evocation. "We wouldn't want that, now would we?" He winked, internally cringed so hard he thought he'd turn to diamond, and watched as she gave him a once over and walked sultrily back to the man she'd so brazenly been willing to abandon.
He knew he couldn't be seen standing around, and moved swiftly over to a gaggle of men with their martinis delicately in their left hands, positioned just below their breast pocket. The chandelier to his right kept twinkling in his periphery like an omniscient presence.
"Mr. Wayne, this renewed presence of yours..."
This was gonna hurt. "I'm glowing, right?" He flashed a bright smile and all the men grinned and rolled their eyes, their wives blushing demure side glances amongst themselves. Am I going to have to keep this up forever? Good God. He shook his head and leaned his weight on his left hip. Sip, absentmindedly. Look as if perusing through a scrapbook of memories. "There's this spa in Dubai, it does wonders for the spirit. And the body." He laughed again, feeling like he was shoving out the very last oxygen from the deepest well of his chest. "This past Spring I jetted over there for a few week-long stays, nothing crazy."
"Playboy bootcamp, hmm?" A woman in a midnight blue dress stood by Mr. Gavenstein, a popular investment broker on the Northwest side of town. Gavenstein glanced hard at her for a split second before interrupting her seduction. In all honesty he couldn't blame the ladies, remembering from a few summer camps that many upper-class Gothamite girls were raised to marry wealthy—and to lend no concern to things as trivial as loyalty to men who were probably cheating on them anyway.
As Gavenstein talked to the group (but mostly to Bruce), it became difficult to hide his increasingly strained attempts at mellowness. Bruce's first night at one of these city hall meetings a handful of years ago had led to the one and only time he'd gone out with these men, and every single waitress and bartender who served them that night got a side of sexual harassment from the husband himself. The ring his wife wore looked like it'd been longer than a few years since they gave their vows, corroborated by the same subtle chip in the gold of his wedding band. Bruce had made a small comment about the 'strange lack of respect people had for staff', and tipped the servers a few thousand each on the way out. He made it a point to lay as low as possible from that point on.
The man in the same white linen shirt interrupted the reverie by opening the door to the conference room with an announcement. "The meeting will convene in two minutes, but tonight we have an intermission at half time for the candidates to prepare their initial statements."
This schtick wasn't easy, but it was easier now that you weren't here. With the conference room's opening and you nowhere to be found, it left him no choice but to know with surety you'd left back to Washington and cut your losses. He bristled at the thought, but paid it no mind. No one here knew this wasn't the real him; no one here would be scanning to see if his hand was clenched in his pocket to try and metabolize the anxiety of performing. And if someone did notice, he would be able to effectively lie that he'd hurt his hand playing polo. Bridgit wasn't here either, and he let his shoulders relax knowing he wouldn't be grilled until he walked into the foyer of Wayne Tower.
He followed the men into the room with its sturdy, polished mahogany table set, making sure to chatter with the people at his side—until Convoy shot him a confused look as he struggled to control the din and start the meeting. Be annoying, but never rude. Feign innocence, seem to mean well. As embarrassing as it was, he had binged a smattering of critically-acclaimed films all week to prepare his psyche only to realize upon stepping back into this lion's den he'd already studied these men enough to camouflage.
Dr. Vry had been suspiciously apologetic upon your return to her office to grab supplies. She gave you the 'very best' voice recorder, a sparklingly new leather-bound notebook, and 'only the finest' 'Italian' fountain pen. As you hurried out the door she told you to keep everything but the recorder, and 'not to worry' about the price. Her Hermés Birkin bag sat bright and pink in the corner, making a mockery of whatever 'expensive' ink lie in the pen.
While she had largely been unhelpful, she had told you ahead of time that this city hall meeting would be inundated with candidates and their teams, meaning there would be an intermission halfway through meeting time. At seven sharp you'd be in the lobby waiting to whisk him to a room she'd already secured for the fifteen minutes between sessions. The key glimmered on your keyring under the shimmering streetlights as you walked to city hall.
On the way you stopped at Rai's. The store wafted with the familiar warm scent of a perfectly spiced, decadent deli, and he beamed at seeing you again. You grinned and pulled out your wallet to get a container of tabbouleh. Rai, with his deep, reverberating voice, teased you as he took the bills. "Strange woman you are, no lettuce boat! Straight 'bouleh."
"I like the tartness, what can I say?" You watched him scoop up a double helping than the cash you'd given, and felt a pang of sadness. He's the only one that's been consistent my whole time here. The only person that seems to genuinely enjoy my presence. If the two of you hadn't known each other better (coming off of a night of particularly hard partying at Mora's your first term) you might have thought he was simply schmoozing a loyal customer. But Rai had patched you up after icy falls on the way for snacks, chatted with you about early dating troubles, and you'd given him advice on how to care for his sister's elderly cat. When his grandfather had been in the hospital, and he'd received the call as you were checking out some Nutter Butters, you'd covered the rest of his shift without question. You'd had to pull an all-nighter because he'd left the keys on his keychain, but nonetheless.
"Getting ready for another school year?" Rai handed you the tabbouleh and a to-go spoon. You averted your eyes, lost in thought. "No, I'm moving home actually." The statement reminded you that Mar had yet to get back to you officially about moving things tomorrow.
His face fell, his brows pulling together. "Gotham has plenty jobs available." Now he was standing right across from you at the register, his arms crossed around his chest so he could rest closer on his elbows. "Don't tell me this is permanent!"
Anxiety was rising in your chest because you didn't want to say goodbye to him, he was possibly the only good thing in Gotham. C'mon, just uproot your entire family and move your business to nowhere Washington. "My mom is sick, actually." The truth spilled out easily for him, and thankfully no customers came in during your retelling with the tears beginning to streak your cheeks. After a few anguishing moments talking over her prognosis, he walked around the counter to wrap you in a hug. His hand was firm and soothing against your back. "Make sure you do what is best for you. If that means leaving the city, leave the city. But you must take a summer here at least once! I will feed you and your family for free."
You hoped Rai's would still be open if you did ever visit. He was the kindest man you think you'd met here, and it was a blessing he was still open—whenever someone was hungry, he'd feed them. He practically ran his own soup kitchen on the weekends, when the houseless would line up to pick some meals from his deli. As far as you knew he relied wholly on catering jobs to make the bulk of his rent. Do I even want to come back? It felt like Bruce owned this city; as much as you'd pushed back when he'd said Gotham was his, it kind of... was. His family's shadow was cast over every street and alley like a weeping willow; but that wouldn't stop you from visiting Rai. "I'll make sure of it, thanks." You grabbed your tabbouleh and spoon, and walked to the doorway with its little signs and small wind chimes. He smiled and waved at you from the register. "Thanks for being a friend, Rai. See you around!"
"I'm only saying, none of these candidates seem to actually want the best for the city."
"Well we gotta pick one of them, right? Unless one of us wants to run."
The candidates hadn't set foot in the conference room yet the space was alight with debate. Convoy had precipitated the intermission by rallying off the candidates' stances in small blurbs. "Ms. Grange is in favor of tax cuts, Mr. Hady wants to tax the churches, and Mr. March wants to increase taxes on... all of you."
"Can you believe that guy," Gavenstein was two to Bruce's left, and nudged the man closest to him. "Thinks he can waltz in here and empty our pockets." His graying hairs were sculpted fashionably above his ears on either side of his head; Bruce wondered if he painted them on to appear wise.
"The only person in this room left with a decent account would be Wayne." The man to his left chuckled and glanced at Bruce, then leaned back in his chair. Christ. He would've rather watched paint dry, then chipped off a mansion's worth of said paint with a single thumb than hear that noise again.
Bruce wanted to stay out of it, he actually wanted to leave this room forever and never come back, but that wasn't his new M.O. "At least he had the guts to say it to our faces." He got a few shrugs and murmurs before the next guy spoke.
"Grange wants tax cuts, now there I'm willing to listen."
"Hady, an attack on the churches? Isn't that unconstitutional?" The man to Bruce's right spoke like he'd never said the word before, and he stifled a laugh at how blatantly they grasped at straws to sound informed. Like a cold glass of water, Convoy announced it was intermission and to find the lobby for the next few minutes. "Our caterer has prepared ample appetizers for the break. Please enjoy!"
Lincoln... how to avoid him... As he walked out Bruce braced himself for being bombarded by the man, his opponents, and excess reporters. Never spoken to them before, don't have to speak to them now... or did he? Next week. Or the week after. He'd have more than enough time to be interviewed and photographed during the rest of this election cycle. It was already enough for him to burst simply talking with the usual suspects that didn't have a recorder on their person. He'd read up a bit on the candidates in the moments between marathoning movies and deduced a small amount about them, though the blurbs on their campaign sites seemed hastily written. Grange was indeed wanting to cut as many taxes as she could get away with, Hady was set on making sure churches paid equal tax while simultaneously cutting taxes on the elite (seemed personal), and March... well, he just wanted all the rich people to be less rich. Bruce had yet to parse if he was only not bothered by that because he had more money than someone could ever tax away.
The lobby was shockingly crowded. Three individual, large clusters splayed across the room supported the candidates, their teams swarming like flies. Reporters stood with their mics and recorders throughout, some with point-and-shoot cameras limp in their bored hands. The very second he was out of the doorframe, all eyes snapped his direction. This has to get easier eventually, right? Right? He walked to grab another mocktail, counting each step to force his nervous system to regulate. He waited behind a blonde reporter after effectively sussing out whether it was Bridgit back for revenge. He closed his eyes and took some deep, slow breaths. In, out. Innn, outttt, nose, mouth... palo santo? He'd smelled that warmth before.
"Bruce."
He spun around to see you standing with your same recorder, a different notebook, and the same slight reflection under your eyes as when you'd come out of the bathroom the night you'd gone missing. A nauseating blend of relief and anxiety displayed brightly across his face. "Y/N."
Bruce looked as he usually did now, with his perfectly slicked hair that fell just slightly askew across his forehead to look like he'd woken up that way. Only now instead of a suit he donned a dark gray cashmere sweater; it read as fancy as one, due to how expertly it had been fitted to his torso, and the same went for his slacks. You admired the fact he didn't seem wholly catering to the people here, or he'd be decked out in some starchy suit. The only way you could tell he wasn't replaced with a robot was how his face turned up looking at you.
The clock was ticking, and the room was just across the hall. You hadn't thought it would be this busy with reporters—how were you going to get him into the room without suspicion? You adjusted the PRESS badge to be loud and clear across your back, since that's what they'd be seeing. You let the notebook slip slightly to take up more real estate on your silhouette, trying to look as official as possible. "I need an interview with you. I got us a room." You strode past for him to follow in tow, knowing otherwise he'd overwhelm you with questions that would only waste the clock. Heavy footsteps behind you (how was he the picture of stealth in the heavy suit?) alerted you to his compliance.
You messed with keys on your keyring and jammed it into the lock, which was stuck. You expected him to gaff and make a snide comment, but nothing interrupted the silence. A few moments later and the door opened cleanly to a dark conference room about half the size of the one he'd just came from. As he made his way quietly in and shut the door behind him, walking easily to his seat, you grew increasingly suspicious and frustrated. He pulled these emotions out of you so easily it was almost clinical. His compliance frustrates me? I almost want to call him out on it, but we don't have time. In, and out.
The notebook slid across the heavy glass with a small squeak. First page was clean, and you pulled out the insert you'd tucked into the middle. The other half of the table was so silent you had to monitor your periphery to see if he hadn't somehow made a getaway. Unfolding the beige paper in the middle revealed your printed question sheet. You cleared your throat to give the customary announcements you'd role played so much in intro journalism. "I'm with the Gotham Gazette, and this interview will be transcribed and published in next week's paper, both physical and digital." You glanced up to see him sitting nicely with his hands rested together on the table top. Through the streaking in the glass you could see the ghosts of where he had first placed his hands. You drew a deep breath. He makes intimidating eye contact. "Feel free to decline answering any question, all I ask is that you answer things as honestly as possible. Though I may cut answers short if they run long. As this is your first interview we would like things to be as comprehensive as possible, outside of what is already known via public record. As soon as I ask the first question I will hit RECORD." You clicked your pen ready and hovered above the switch. Your hesitation combined with his silent acceptance of this made the room drop twelve degrees. "Is there any topic off limits, Mr. Wayne? You and your team will not be able to edit your answers after the fact."
Mr. Wayne? He clenched his fingers against the backs of his hands. His eyes narrowed, but your eyes were fixated on the ruled paper beneath you. You must've cried on the way here, your tear troughs were still slick. Bad news at home? Scared of him? You'd rather get fired than be in this room talking. What could've brought you back? He shook his head. "Not that I can think of. I'll let you know."
So cordial. You clicked RECORD after landing on an acceptable first question. "Mr. Wayne, this is your first public interview. Why did you choose to break the silence now?" You readied your pen to jot any additional questions that spurred from his answers.
He'd anticipated this question months ago and had an immediate response. "The timing finally feels right. For so long I hid, still feeling trapped by my parent's murder. Now that I've hit 30, well... I realized I need to make myself useful. You could say I finally figured out I didn't have to die with my parents."
Jeez, that's rough. You pressed on with the follow-up without obvious sympathy. "I'm sure many are wondering why the timing was not right after the historic flooding? Gotham was in dire need."
"I didn't want anyone to mistake my intentions. I figured if I were to do public-facing work, it would read as opportunistic. I don't want to capitalize off of tragedy. I spent my time working on the back side of rebuilding."
Hmm, convenient. But you couldn't say that on tape. You still refused to look at him, buried into your notes. You'd seen him in the doorway, how he'd transformed from a recluse to an unapologetic schmooze overnight. On your way to get him at the snack table you'd heard some women talking about flirting with him at the meeting's front end. Was he genuinely as good as he seemed? His intentions only the purest and brightest? You struggled to believe it.
"Speaking of rebuilding, at Gotham University's commencement you announced a desire to invest in Gotham city. Any sneak peeks for your Spring 2025 rollout?"
In truth, he hadn't started. He figured he'd speak to Alfred, get a board meeting set up, meet with his investors, and within a month there would be a budget drawn up for his funds. He figured he could start it early in the new year, but your delicately tamed tongue nor floundering public opinion would be charmed by the honest answer of 'I've put it off'. "Pass."
That bristled you, and for a half-second you seriously considered stopping the tape; but this wasn't personal. It couldn't be.
Why aren't you looking up? So... stoic. Guarded. Sitting down here had happened so quickly, with no fuss or snide commentary. Did Vry outfit you with a shock collar and a mic? As much as he hated your rustling, the stillness was more uncomfortable, eerie even. It was like you had a moat between the both of you, with armed guards ready to fire.
The LED lighting was causing an ache in your temples. Your feet were cramping from walking halfway across town in heels through cobbled streets, and being in a closed room with Bruce was choking out your oxygen. Every time you saw him he grew larger, and tonight was far from the exception. You'd been smacked with his cologne at a ten foot radius, he was actually taking up social space in the foyer, he'd worn well-tailored clothing for once... next question. Ask it. "With efforts towards rebuilding a better Gotham in your near future, we have come to know the business side of you far more than the personal. What brings you joy in your everyday life, away from the cameras?"
These questions were far kinder than he'd anticipated from you. Did Vry... threaten you? He refocused on your question to try and rid of the thought before he blurted it out to you. He didn't know what brought him joy, but it didn't seem the type of question to skip. His heart fell into his chest as he continued to come up empty-handed, no matter how deep he sifted into his memory.
It'd been thirty seconds and still no answer. He'd forced your hand to look up at him, and his face was pale. His eyes moved from left to right as he peered at the center of the table. Does he ever feel joy? When do I feel joy?
If this were any other reporter he would lie. Say he loved meeting with people in the city. Loved traveling. Loved sports. Maybe he woke up every morning with the songbirds, a cup of coffee in his right hand and the daily stock exchange pulled up on his MacBook. Maybe his muscles were from a home gym, playing polo, sparring with his butler. That won't fly with you. But this wasn't about you. Even still, as he tried with utmost desperation to sink it into his skull, he couldn't get the words to form in your presence.
Do I ask him if he heard me? Clarify? "Mr. Wayne," He met your gaze and it constricted your chest. You were afraid. Afraid of him and his influence, afraid of writing a good enough essay, afraid of the time running out, afraid of your mother's condition, afraid for your father if she passed, afraid for yourself and this debilitating loneliness that sat like a brick in your gut.
He spit the word out. "Pass."
God that was sobering. You swallowed a hard lump in your throat, and the room went stale in the silence. A dissonant sensation of camaraderie fluttered between the two of you. You drew a sharp and deep breath. You'd had cramps this morning, your period was on the way. You'd have cried if a dog looked at you the wrong way; this new sympathy was environmentally influenced. Next. Question. "What motivates you?"
He stared at you, blank-faced. When would this facade break? Almost imperceptibly you narrowed your eyes in response. "My parents. I want to make the city safer so no one else has to lose anyone. My parents believed in Gotham. I want to make them proud."
If only they knew their son was an infamous vigilante. Next question. You didn't have this written down, but followed off his last answer. "You speak very fondly of your parents, even after what Riddler said of them. Two months after the tragedy, Commissioner Gordon made a statement on behalf of Wayne Enterprises. Is there anything you'd like to add to it?"
If his response hadn't been succinct and wholly accurate to his feelings, he might have regretted spitting something out without thinking. "My father was a good man. Everything in the statement I gave Gordon can be corroborated. It wasn't right what he did, trying to bribe a reporter into silence, and I do not support that in any circumstance. But that is all that he did. Falcone is the one who decided to threaten and murder an innocent."
You might strike that question in editing, as he didn't add any additional information outside of what was already public record. Glancing at your phone showed that five minutes had already passed. You pressed on. "Speaking of your parents, what positive memory stands out when you think of them?" This would be the last question related to his parents; you gathered it was a kind segue between what was known to the public and comfortable to Bruce, and more personal questions.
Except, it wasn't that easy. Bruce sat in silence again, unable to stir up positive memories. This combination of questions was making him dizzy from shame. How the hell could he not remember a good memory with his parents? He knew he had good memories, he knew there'd been beautiful times with his mom, his dad. He knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt. Yet... "Pass."
You shut your notebook and turned off the recorder. He watched it like a hawk. "If talking about your parents is off-limits, tell me."
Bruce shook his head, a bit too fast and a bit too hard. "My mind is cloudy tonight."
"Finally gave in and drank on the job?" He certainly hadn't been in line for the food.
He shot a glare at you, a glare that caught the light for a brief second, exposing you to the rich blue of his irises. "Thinking about it." He sat his head in his hands. You were left stunned, looking at the back of his head across the table. Tower Bruce would've said something brutal back to you, maybe even accused you of being an alcoholic. He was unarmored. It was unnerving.
You let the silence sit. He stayed with his nose nearly touching the table, his hands massaging the back of his neck, slowly, thoroughly, painstakingly. For the first time since knowing him you felt like you were sharing space with an actual human... nah, not quite. He still stalked my family. When he looked like this though, this was his greatest defense against being found out. Batman didn't read as sensitive or lost in troubled thoughts. The same muscles rippled down his shoulders and back, but the bullets had been removed from the gun.
The silence went on, and it must've been another two minutes passed staring at him. You could've color picked his hair at a Home Depot you'd been so well acquainted with its hue. You remembered you hadn't truly responded to him when he'd told you why he paid for your parent's debt. You gripped the sides of the chair and broke the extended silence. "Was it true what you said about your, motive?"
He roused, barely. His eyes were tired, his body limp like a ragdoll. More hair had fallen across his forehead, and after the impromptu neck massage his clothes looked a bit haggard, wrinkled in new places and scrunched up just below his ribcage. He wanted to clarify what you meant about motive, but he didn't want to give you the glee of knowing he had no idea what you were talking about. His body was melting in front of you, relaxing until he became one with the chair, but his mind was frantic and frayed. Motive about Batman? Motive about wanting to help Gotham? Why weren't you asking him more interview questions? Why were you here?
The silence had been too long and you already regretted asking him. You flicked the recorder back ON. "Mr. Wayne,"
"Y/N."
OFF. "That's not professional,"
"I never officially agreed to this anyway."
"What do you mean? Dr. Vry said—"
"What did she say?"
"She told me you'd only talk to me."
"Why would I only talk to you?"
This felt strangely reminiscent of when you'd awoken in his bed. Anything that connected the both of you was tossed aside like a rotten, wormy apple by the billionaire. You hoped he felt too accosted to recognize the hurt in your tone. "She said you asked for me, Bridgit said,"
He rolled his eyes. "I couldn't tell them I was worried,"
"Why?"
"You left in the middle of the mission."
"I left a note."
His scoff echoed off the whiteboard. "I'm supposed to trust that?"
He pissed you off so easily. Leaving me alone in an alleyway, expecting me to just stay put? After he'd effectively bribed me? "You're lucky I left anything at all."
"Lucky..." He laughed as he shook his head. The guts of you.
The nerve on him. You tucked your chin up and away from him. "What tech did you use to find me?"
This again. "Nothing."
I'm supposed to believe that? "Sure."
"I waited until the next meeting. When you didn't show,"
"You asked where I was, okay, I get it." There was a part of you that believed Bruce, or at least wanted to; a part of you that begged to turn off your brain and naively believe all the pretty words from the pretty man so you wouldn't have to feel so on edge. If you believed him, you weren't supposed to listen to the frustration, the lashing out, the way he spit his words at you graduation night. You were supposed to kindly follow him into the dark and abandoned streets of Gotham night life. He'd only accidentally seen your texts, looked you up, found your mother's doctor, and put his card on file, and all out of the kindness of his heart. It had nothing to do with you knowing information that could land him behind bars. He didn't do bribes. He was just another upstanding citizen who spent his nights breaking people's jaws.
"How dumb do you think I am?" If this was really your last night here, he really had no answers, and he really wouldn't hurt you, nothing would come from a little hotheadedness.
He struggled to size you up. "What are you talking about?"
"Yeah, my mom's sick. But I don't think you're out here filling up GoFundMe's—why me?"
"I don't know."
"How could it not be a bribe? Do you regularly pay other people's medical bills?"
You'd backed him into a corner... or maybe he had. "I felt compelled."
"Because I know confidential information about you."
You weren't not making sense, it just wasn't what had happened inside his head. He didn't know what happened in his head, besides his snaring, insistent fixation on how quickly you'd found him out. "I don't think that played a part."
"This is why I asked if you think I'm an idiot, because? You 'don't think' it did?" Your fingers made air quotes for good measure.
"I don't have a good answer for it."
"That's not the same as not having one."
He loathed to admit it, but you had a strong point. When you put it so frankly it begged suspicion. "Maybe I believed you more than I thought. A thank you instead of bribery." Your blank face compelled him to speak again. "Saying you wouldn't tell."
"Then why were you so mad at me that night? When you found me?"
How could he navigate away from this conversation as quickly as possible while evading your suspicions? What would he do if you asked why he'd needed your help? "I was having a rough time."
"You seemed to really not believe me."
"I was in my head."
"So what's it now?”
He barely heard you through cascading thoughts. He liked being seen; he hadn't internalized it, maybe because he couldn't fathom accepting it even months after the fact, but it felt relieving to be known. Well... equal parts relieving and terrifying. What if you knew the only reason he was here right now was because you found him out? He shrugged, a move that was too casual for you. "I hope you won't."
You glanced at your phone again and saw it'd been over ten minutes. Any moment now someone could come looking for him and your window would be gone. If he were any less analytical, you might have thought he read your mind. "The meeting resumes any minute."
"Then let's use what we have." You slammed open your notebook and tried to find a question that wasn't related to his parents, childhood, or any positive emotions. You paused before pressing RECORD, begrudgingly asking for consent to interview, since apparently Dr. Vry hadn't cleared it with the man. "Are you fine with doing this interview?"
What choice did he have? He feared Vry would never lay off of him (or you, if it mattered) if he were to deny you. And if he were being completely honest, who would he be at all willing to talk to outside of you? You were aggravating and abrasive, but because of that he was allowed to turn 'off', even if just a bit. As his mouth opened to say a begrudged yes, he came to a peculiar standstill—in that he realized he might have deflected interviews all this time as a coping mechanism. Maybe he didn't have a personality outside of the Batman, and Batman himself was only borne of tragic grief. He didn't know what propelled him to honesty, but he averted his eyes and did just that. "I don't think I have answers."
The tone in which he said it brought back the earlier sympathy pang tenfold. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, feeling a desire to poke fun and steamroll past the palpable despair in the room, but you were finished fighting. You'd be home tomorrow night, and soon the only thing on your mind would be making a life for yourself away from Gotham. This place had served its purpose, turning black and burnt as you further overstayed your welcome. This city was so big and you so gone from it you could crash into a building and abandon the car in Kansas without being caught; what meaningful consequence could come from being temporarily kind to someone who would forget you in the next five years? He didn't have answers, and that was... fine. "You have a good reason to feel that way."
He knew you were talking about the murder of his parents, and suspected this was some sort of personal comparison. After some deliberation, he went for it. "And you don't?"
You wanted to retort something about how he didn't know anything about your relationship with your parents, your life, or general wellbeing, so much so that it sat on the tip of your tongue like a yellowjacket freshly landed on its target. You cooled its vice grip by considering just how fucked up you'd feel if you'd seen your parents get shot to hell lying in a pool of their own bloody excrement. "My parents didn't get murdered in front of me."
His eyes narrowed. "I don't want pity. I've had enough of it."
"No, I'm saying it makes sense. Grief is..." You shook your head and sighed. "Strangling. All-consuming."
Shit. He'd expected you to say 'just get over it'. Thankfully he didn't have to scramble much before a hard KNOCK took the space. Foregoing polite hesitation, Mr. Convoy entered. "Mr. Wayne! We thought you might have flown the coop." A watery grin. "Please, the candidates are settling into the conference room." He glanced for a moment around the smaller, darker room you three stood in. "Well, the main conference room."
Convoy held the door open wide and a hand out to mime leaving, obviously anticipating Bruce would simply follow orders and stand to attention. No acknowledgement of you. He didn't like that. When he rose, following a squick of the seat, Convoy stepped just outside the doors in waiting. The door was wide open, and by the way his eyes tracked the floor in front of him he was very much still listening. He maneuvered round the table and hovered at your side, facing the door that was to your back. He spoke quietly, but loud enough that Convoy wouldn't think he was listening in on a secret. "Next week. Should have more time."
You'd gotten yourself into this mess by opening a can of worms. Frustrated and kicking yourself, you groaned. "This has to be in by tomorrow at 9am." Once again he was filling your periphery; you tried not to breathe through your nose, suspicious that the warmth of the honey could subconsciously warm you to him. His brows knit together as they so often did, and you felt a jump in your gut.
"Mr. Wayne?" Convoy peeked his head in and startled Bruce, whose fingers clenched momentarily, reflexively moving toward a fist. God, he's so Batman. "They'll be closing the doors soon."
"It's fine, I'll talk to Dr. Vry before I leave. It's my fault, I'll rip the bandaid off." You stood up and gathered your things. She's gonna hate me for this, but I never have to see her again. I never should've lied. I never should've felt entitled, I could've done anything and I chose this fucking mess. You could already tell you were going to have a miserable rest of the night, but at least you didn't have to type up an interview anymore.
Leave? He glanced down the hall to see the doorman looking befuddled in his direction, but there were still a few stragglers making their way in. He calculated he had about thirty seconds before attention was glaringly drawn to his absence.
You pushed your chair in and it slammed against the corner of the table, smashing your pointer and middle fingers. Bruce tracked the movement, like he always did, and you noticed it, like you always did. "She'll be angry."
Now it was your turn to shrug something off. "Can't get fired twice." Vaguely aware of Mr. Convoy's presence, you held out your hand and forced your eyes to make contact with his, the motion as heavy as lifting a slab of concrete. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Wayne."
His hand was warm and strong. He pulled some vetiver from your perfume. His eyes were such a gentle, crystalline blue that for a nanosecond, you forgot they were his. If they weren't, you could've stared into them all night. And your eyes, they were enchantingly bright and equally deep. For no longer than a brief moment, a single split hair, something sacrilegious flickered in your eye and reflected back in his.
Quick breath in, arms back to position.
Walking out of the room felt like a hard reset. The ping-pong game of emotions Bruce had just pulled out of you was erratic. Frustration, anger, sadness, camaraderie, helplessness, defiance, sympathy, and... You barely remembered what either of you had said at all. It felt... weird. You felt doused in a blanket of sticky emotional sweat, the most peculiar, offputting sensation you'd ever felt. Mr. Convoy led Bruce towards the foyer, and by the time you finished locking up he'd been swarmed by women who pet his forearm with their long, delicate fingers. You noticed his left hand tucked away into his slacks, tense and clenched. He glanced back and caught your stare at his pocket, and deja vu grabbed him by the throat.
You took the back exit, but he couldn't linger on it. He strolled into the room and sat down, this time not by Lincoln, who was standing third in line by Grange and Hady. He flexed his hand beneath the table, his left hand absentmindedly tracing the inside of his palm; slow, swirling zigzags painted across the high points down to his wrist. He tapped his foot impatiently, revved up and jittery.
Grange was first up, standing at a haphazardly placed podium. Her assistant adjusted the mic and handed over a folder, presumably filled with projective data and other persuasive elements for the bored elitist crowd. As much as he wanted to tether himself to this conversation, echoes of his dad's voice tempting him to cling to every word said by the candidates, his mind was with you. In a few minutes you'd be long gone, never able to be contacted again. Every second he sat in this stiff chair was a foot's more distance between the both of you.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for hearing me tonight." Her midwestern accent only pushed the words further out of active listening territory. His foot tapped anxiously, each sentence increasing its fervor. You could be in an Uber by now. Already at your hotel room.
"I differ from the other candidates in my distinctive approach to city taxes. I'll be passing around a chart showing..." Her voice completely left his head as her silver cufflink glinted off the fluorescents. The insignia taunted him, its beak and feathers embedded under his epidermis, just searching for a vein to latch onto.
Fuck. He stood so abruptly the security nearly lunged at him from the doorway. His chest was heaving and there was nothing he could do about it. His brow beaded with sweat, and there was nothing he could do about it. He stammered a response to save face. "Excuse me, I need to use the restroom. Carry on, please." He was already out the door.
Frantic eyes traced the perimeter of the room; reporters whipped their heads up, and a quick glance to the entry revealed a steady stream of paparazzi fighting for the sliver of window. You'd left through the back. He sped toward the hallway in a desperate haze, his good sense rapidly falling by the wayside as he turned the corner to the emergency exit. The instant mildewed, cool air smacked his cheek he broke down the alleyway; a paparazzi had been looking down a side alley from the front of city hall and noticed Bruce's rush. His name shouted behind him, then a cacophony of scuffling feet and metal. He broke into a sprint, the slick soles of his dress shoes struggling against the wet pavement. He careened down side streets, cloaked in shadow from ill-wired streetlamps, his eyes busy with a constant scan for your silhouette. Universe willing, he would—found you.
#the batman#batman#battinson#batman x reader#battinson x reader#romance#battinson x yn#angst#enemies to lovers#fanfic#battinson fic#batman imagine#dc batman#dc bruce wayne#bruce wayne x reader#bruce wayne#romantic tension#gotham#angst with a happy ending#fluff#eventual smut#ao3 fanfic#ao3#writing#fateful beginnings#imagine#imagines#multi part fic#enemies to friends to lovers#x yn
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Vampire Yandere San?
Vampire Ateez also owns my black ass, soooo I got a little cared away~
Warnings: Smut, Yandere san, Unprotected sex, light degradation, use of pet names, mirror sex. let me know if I missed anything.
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"Look at yourself Slut. And you dared tried to run away from me? When I'm the only one who can make you feel like this?"
"You say you don't want me anymore, but here you are falling apart on my dick again. Do not deny yourself what you want darling."
A choked moan left your mouth as San bounced you on his cock, your hands were bound behind your back as a punishment for trying escape him. You were trying to tell him that you two were simply toxic for each other, that your two did not need to be together anymore, especially with him being a Vampire and you a mere human.
San on the other hand did not want to let you go. He had become attached to you and claimed to love you more than ever. He even refused to drink blood from you because he was afraid to hurt you. But now, you think he could care less.
San had you riding him in front of a mirror, as he whispered filthy things into your ear. His cock was abusing your pussy in all the right ways, and you couldn't deny the way he was making you feel, the sounds in the room were enough to prove his point.
"See, Listen to how you're moaning Darling. You don't want to leave me, we just need to talk things out my little human." He grunts out softly, his grip on your hips tightening. "You were my good little thing..why did you wanna leave me, hmm?" He asked leaning his head in the crook of your neck.
You whimpered as he stopped so you could answer the question, his dick brushing up against your g-spot. "i-i..I thought you wouldn't need me..i'm just a hum-ah!" You screamed out as he suddenly started back with a brutal pace.
"How many fucking times to I have to tell you that you are mine. I am yours. I don't want anyone else. No one else can treat me like you do. No one!" He yells, and you nod as a chorus of moans leave your mouth as your start to fall apart on his dick.
"And you know what, to prove that I only want you and that you're mine." You gasped as you felt his fangs brush up against your skin before letting out a yelp as he bit down on your neck.
You let out a near pornographic sounding moan as he drew blood from your. You felt dirty as you came harder than you ever did before, letting out a loud cry of his name as your rode out your high.
San groans as he feels you clamp around him, his own orgasm coming shortly after yours as he holds you in place, filling you up with his cum. "F-fuck darling. Take it all.." He grunts out.
The two of you are left panting heavily as he finished and you lean against him, jumping at him suddenly putting a hand on your throat, squeezing.
"If you ever try to leave me again. I won't go easy on you darling. I will do something you won't like. Got it."
"Y-yes sir..."
"Good, now let's get you untied so we can wash you up."
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taglist:
@wooyoungsbae @yungisstar1117 @jonghoswhore @beomnoi @blessednhighlyfavoured @do-you-actually-care @soft-teddybear @captainjoongiekissme @hijirikaww @staymiracle @joti17 @lee--felix @abiaswreck @sunshinee0-0 @serialee @violetwinters @mingissoggywaffles @soobinshouseplant
#ateez fanfic#ateez x reader#ateez fanfiction#ateez fanfics#ateez smut#ateez smut fanfic#ateez smut fanfictions#ateez x reader smut#ateez smut fanfics#yandere san#yandere san x reader#choi san smut#ateez san smut#san x reader#san x reader smut
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Ok, I feel calmer now.... *sigh*
First of all I have to say that I've had to tell my husband the whole series so far so he could tell me his thoughts and help me calm down.... It's been a wild ride I have to say. 🥴
As @my-arietta has done an amazing job analyzing the whole chapter I will focus only on the parts that provoked emotions in me... unbearable emotions....
Rie saying:
“We’ll be fine together, 'Toru. We’re happy together before this, right? We just have to bring it back to the way it was. We just have to forget, babe. No one’s stopping us.”
I was like... Damn, girl, this shit is all about Satoru and Y/N and how they're gonna handle healing from a 5 year relationship breakup and somehow u manage to do everything around you... the audacity.... my sorority can't stand Rie anymore...
In a matter of seconds, they were out of the office of his restaurant. He could hear his girlfriend calling out to him, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop.
Wow, Satoru really went berserk there, it was so satisfying to read that part
“I am doing this,” Satoru spoke through clenched teeth as he emphasized his every word.
That was also soooo satisfying
“It’s none of your fucking business-” Satoru could tell that Suguru’s clenched fist was about to rise,
My heart flipped when I read this, I even read it in Tom Hardy's voice and accent, I don't know why. I loved it, I didn't see the last part coming at this point, so nahive.
You cling onto his best friend’s arm as you look up at him with your pleading gaze and surprisingly dry eyes. You’re really getting better now, and he thinks you look more beautiful than ever.
“Suguru, it’s not worth the trouble.” You shook your head to Suguru before looking back at Satoru with nothing but indifference in your eyes.
I felt like... if we readers were in a movie theater, that part was like watching Andrew Garfield's appearance in No way home, I even stood up from my chair and screamed.
And finally, the climax of the chapter...
I can't quote anything, not only because there isn't a single line that doesn't provoke me emotions, but because it's too hurtful, too angsty that I had to spend all these hours reflecting on it. This is definitely the epitome of angsty fics and you are the queen of the genre, no point to discuss.
But man... the pendant part, all the thoughts of y/n and Satoru carve me so deeply that I teared up a lot (which made my husband worry about me).
Who could say that a single piece of jewelry can make such... a mess... ahg I really can't describe how the two parts of the story about the pendant made me feel at the time and how it makes me feel even now.... *sigh*.
I can understand why some readers don't like the idea of Satoru cheating on Rie with y/n, I didn't love that part for many reasons, but I think a lot of the readers' reasons are about how "y/n isn't" vengeful and would never do that (like we know the character better than the author, heh) I didn't spectate it either, but I think Rie's relationship, and revenge was the last thing on y/n's mind at the time.
I personally don't like it because I feel like if I did the same thing I wouldn't be able to keep it as a "last time stand" and after everything y/n has been through and how broken Satoru left her, no matter how much he said how much he loves me or how he would never stop loving me, I would feel like he's not really for me and wasn't to begin with, and, Even if he said he would never do that again, I would constantly think about when will be the next time he finds his true other half and leave me again (not because he's a cheater (which he is) but because he's already shown me that I'm not enough and he's only with me because he's afraid of losing me by seeing me with someone else). And I personally don't think that's a decent basis for any relationship, so no matter how much a redemption arch grows Gojo, their relationship isn't meant to last
That's why I was so into SuguruxY/n, not just because I'm biased, which I am, but because starting something with him will represent something new to try, that has never been broken nor lessen, a brand new beginning, healthier I would say.
As someone who has been forgiven for the same thing (and I remember one anon who said they forgave their partner) I know I may sound harsh on Satoru, but the circumstances of his with both girls are very severe and not to be taken lightly.
Aaaand the final part. I'm not angry with Rie anymore, I'm afraid of her, I'm afraid for my life. 🙂
This is the longest ask I've ever posted, but the longer the story, the deeper the emotions and feeling it provokes in me and I had to explode. >.<
Also, I don't understand why some readers take on Gojo so personally, I learned to separate it from canon!Gojo and headcanon!Gojo since chapter 2, people need tochill out and enjoy/cry the ride.😎
I know i'm very late, i just hope i made it in time before chapter VII is released :((
awwwwww Kai we love you so much, have a good day/night too! and please take care of yourself, drink lots of water, and get plenty of rest
Lots of hugs and kisses😚😚😚💚💚
yesss rie's line, she was so scared that satoru would break up with her that time, she was literally panicking inside bc satoru showed hesitance when she asked him if they were fine. when she saw how satoru reacted at the mention of yn's name, she was terrified !! i fangirled about suguru while writing that 'almost brawl' moment LMAO whatever he do, he's just so hot😩 and yeah, i agree on the severity of satoru's damage on both rie and yn, it really brought chaos even to the people around them :(( and now the situation turned around and it's like they're back to square 1 again 😭but omg i understand the need to explode, i feel like this chapter is the most frustrating one yet 😭 anywayss thank you so so much for thatttt💕 i really appreciate it, i love u guys too !! a lot !! and please take care of as well and i hope you're having a wonderful week <33 here's my hugs and kisses too🤗😘
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MBTI✨Emotionally Blind as a Bat🦇
(follow up to A Small World)
intj (the architect)
x
enfp(the campaigner)
couple
+
intp (the logician)
best friend
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[monday, midday. intj & intp re-painting intj's private office space]
intj: *takes a deep breath* intp. do you have to paint genitalia all over a wall before you paint it?
intp: *gasps* it's not ALL genitalia, that ones a UFO 🛸!
intj: [looks at giant odd shape below UFO] what is that suppose to be? a malformed penis with... teeth? 🧐
intp: what?! it's a Carnotaurus 🦖! A theropod dinosaur from the Late Cretaceous Period resembling a tyrannosaurus with a frontal cranial horn. [looks at art work that looks like a five year old did it] rawr.
intj: *camera looks*
[office door opens, enfp enters with coffee]
enfp: heyyyy 😁
intp: [not looking up, splattering paint on wall like a three year old] ollo!
intj: *glaring at intp as enfp comes up and kisses them on the cheek* hey, [grabs coffee] oh thanks i really needed some caffeine.🙏
enfp: mmhmm 🥰 [looks over at intp's chaotic horrible drawings] oh my god what the hell is that? a vagina with horns and... claws??
intj: [laughs] 😄
intp: [rolls eyes] 🙄 ugh! it's a Carnotaurus! you two and your dirty minds bunch of perverts. [shakes head]
enfp: [hands intp their iced coffee]
intp: oo! thanks! [keeps splatter painting]
enfp: no worries 😌 [points to drawing above intp's head] what's that one? a flower? 🌹
intp: huh? oh that's a vagina.
enfp: [looks at intj with a smile]
intj: [closes eyes and shakes head]
enfp: [goes and sits on plastic tarp covered desk and crosses legs] soooo intp, someone really liked you on saturday night 😁
intp: oh god, how?! it was so awkward between me and esfj. 😣
intj: [starts laughing] when they put the healing crystal around your neck and started explaining how essential oils are more effective than vaccines [dying laughing] you can't buy that kind of entertainment. 🤣
enfp: [chewing on straw laughing too] the way your eye started twitching 😂
intp: HOW IS PEPPERMINT OIL GOING TO PROTECT YOU FROM POLIO! I- *takes a deep breath* nope nope nope, not worth it, intellectually deficient minds *takes another deep breath* are not worth the energy. [starts painting normally]
intj: yeah that was uh ahaha really terrible ahhh [starts painting with roller]
intp: [turns toward enfp] exactly thank you so how could esfj possibly want anything more?
enfp: oh no esfj actually went home that night with estp.
[at the same time]
intj: what?!
intp: what?!
enfp: *giggling* i know right i was whattt okkkkuuurr ahaha!
intp: wait then who are you talking about?
enfp: oh entj! obviously, aha!
intp: [silent panic triggered by human emotions sets in] entj... really?
enfp: ummm yeah it was pretty obvious they were super into you. 😄
intp: it was?? [actually confused]
enfp: ummm yeah! they were flirting with you so hard! are you kidding? how did you not get that??
intp: i don't know!? i just thought they were being friendly and joking around!
enfp: [utterly stunned at intp's emotional blindness] 😦 intp. entj ate the cherry out of your drink while maintaining full eye contact...
intp: i just thought they really liked cherries!
intj: [laughing, shaking their head]😆
enfp: they tied the cherry stem in their mouth and gave it to you!
intp: i once saw a drunk frat boy eat a cheeseburger out of the garbage! you never know what effects alcohol will have on the brain!
enfp: ohhh myyy godddd intppppp!
intj: [crossed arms, laughing hard, shoulders bouncing up and down]
enfp: they gave you their phone number! AND asked for yours!
intp: i thought they were being polite! i don't know i didn't want to assume anything!
enfp: [face palms] 🤦 oh my god. *takes a deep breath* well annnyyywayyy, entj really liked you. 😁 they told me they're gonna text you asking to grab coffee with them this week. [raises eyebrows in an enticing manner as they sip their iced-tea]
intp: 😳 [more panic sets in] wha- what- why- why would they do that?
enfp: because they like youuuuu...
intp: why?
intj: *laughs* [teasingly] yeah why?
enfp: [gives intj a death glare] you shush! intp you have so many great attributes why wouldn't someone want to go out with you?!
intp: no i know. i mean what do they like about me. i need at least some evidence to back up this claim of "liking me".
intj: [painting] Error 404 Not Found. [snorts holding in a laugh]
enfp: [throws unopened pack of soft paint roller rolls at intj] look intp, if you wanna know that you're just gonna have to go to coffee with them and ask em yourself 😏 [sips tea ☕️]
intp: 😳 [looks back and forth in indecisiveness] coffee? are you sure they didn't just mean like as friends?
enfp: ugh! intp! entj said and i quote: "i'm gonna text intp and ask them out, what'dya think lil coffee date"?
intp: oh...
enfp: what's the problem? do you not like them or something?
intp: [without skipping a beat] no! um i mean i don't dislike them. i mean i don't know them!
enfp: that's sort of the point of going on a date. but you did like them when we hung out on saturday night right?
intp: i found their opinions and persona- um intelligent, humorous and... refreshing.
enfp: and hot, right? [raises eyebrows]
intp: well, duh, i'm not blind!
enfp: [laughs a little as intj walks next to them to organize paint tools] soooo?
intp: soooo??
enfp: are you gonna say yes?! 😆
intp: umm... i don't know, i'm not really good at nor fond of the whole interrogation ordeal that accompanies first dates. it always feels like i'm on a really boring but difficult gameshow.
enfp: [wraps arm around intj's waist] ughhh c'mon intp!
intj: [fake coughs] coward!
intp: [gives intj furrowed brow] 😠 wha-?!
intj: oh sorry i said, coward.
intp: how-?!
intj: [cuts intp off] you're using this weak theory about the awkwardness of first dates, which most people feel, you're not special, to justify the fact that you are just nervous to go on a date with entj, because you're not only physically attracted to them, but you also have a genuine emotional connection with them, which you preceive as being illogical due to the brief time you've spent with them, and you're confused about having human feelings for someone for the first time in a long time and you're afraid you're going to fail or mess it up in someway, so you make excuses to avoid the whole illogical and messy ordeal all together.
intp: 😐
intj: and in some ways, or most ways i suppose, i completely understand that. [looks at enfp] but, i've learned that sometimes you have to stop being a coward and jump in the mess and see what turns up.
enfp: awww 🥰 [hugs intj tight with one arm around their waist]
intj: 🙄😏 [puts arm around enfp's shoulders]
enfp: plus you'd be a total idiot not to go out with someone as hot as entj.
intp: [taps finger on chin with squinty eyes] you're absolutely right enfp!
intj: [throws arms in air] 🙄
enfp: yes!
#mbti#16 personalities#mbti memes#mbti humor#intj#intp#enfp#intj x enfp#infj#infp#enfj#entj#entp#esfj#esfp#estp#estj#istj#istp#isfp#isfj#16 personality types#intp things#intj things#enfp things#intj x enfp couple#enfp x intj pairing#intp x intj friends#enfp x intp friends#mbti friendships
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Hiiiiii so me and my guy are hanging out tomorrow and I’ve got no idea what we’re doing yet. And seeing as we’re in the honeymoon period we’re really keen on each other physically and like it’s really hard to hold that back as I’ve been enjoying it so much but I’d really like to get to know him better if you get me?? Like I don’t want to get six months into a relationship with him and realize I don’t know shit about him! I mean that’s a bit dramatic but you get the point. Another problem with that is that I find that I’m quite a boring person. I don’t have much going on in my life right now to spark conversation and I have a hard time consuming media so not much to talk about. Do you and B have much in common when it comes to interests? Because I feel like me and him don’t really have that many common interests but I’m always willing to listen to someone who wants to speak about theirs and he seems like the type of guy who would do the same for me (although I’ve not got much to talk about lol). But do you think that’s enough? Like being willing to listen and learn about another’s interests and not having prior knowledge or interest in it? I guess I’m just kind of afraid and insecure that he’s going to realize I’m not as cool as he thought I was and that he won’t be into me anymore. Haha sorry for the rant and as always thank you for the help ❤️ - age gap crush anon
I mean thing is you probably are more interesting than you think you are for a start. What music do you like? What was the last bit of media that actually caught your attention?
A thing me and B have in common is that we're both ridiculously behind the times when it comes to pop culture. Neither of us have watched all of stranger things for example. I never saw squid game. Me and B do have some shared interests, we're both into music (and there's some crossover in our taste but like, he likes soooo much and I'm really fussy, he likes hip hop and jazz and idk funk, and I like indie and shoegaze and old motown stuff, my favourite bands are Roxy music and Slowdive, and B knows like one Roxy album and thinks slowdive are boring)
Again with TV and films and stuff, B has never seen Lord of the Rings and doesn't think he has the attention span, but they are my favourite films. He does say hell watch them with me one day though. He likes Twin Peaks and I had never watched it, so we've been watching it together recently.
I love reading and writing and B literally does not read and doesn't understand literature at all. If I show him my poetry or writing he's like, I don't get it but I support you you're very talented. And I know he hasn't understood it one bit and doesn't know what to say haha
He's fucking obsessed with stats and really likes to talk to me about data sets, but I don't understand that shit at all. I still like listening to him talk about it though.
But the love and support is there ya know and that willingness to get to know someone's interests and stuff. You don't have to like everything the same and actually j think it's good to have bits of yourself that are yours and that you don't share because it helps you hold onto your own identity within the relationship. You're two different people who fit together well. Think of it like the yin and yang symbol right, to yins wouldn't fit together. You need those differences.
Try not to be too para about getting to know him and stuff, the more time you spend together the more you'll get to know of eachother naturally but also you should just talk about your week and like what you have done. Even if that stuff is fucking dull.
You can also bond over the fact that you don't like stuff. Like me and B hate a lot of the same stuff but like different stuff and actually I think that works really well.
You can ask this guy if he's watched anything good or read anything interesting or whatever, and if he's super busy ask him about what he's been doing like, you can say how was your week and let him talk. If he's a talker he'll probably just naturally tell you loads and then within that you can respond to it and talk about stuff back, or ask him questions and all that ya know?
I think it's easy to get para about it but you're probably just over thinking stuff.
If you're worried though you can say it to him, you can be like I don't know much about you, and do it in a cute way idk, tell him you wanna get to know him or whatever, like I'm sure hell want to get to know you too. You can totally say you don't even know what you like or something haha.
Honestly I'm sure you'll have stuff in common and also, you can bond over disliking something he likes and the other way too. Me and B bond a lot over him teasing me over my music taste or me just bejng like wow u nerd, or point blank saying I have no idea what he's talking about. Like we tease eachother about our uncommon ground all the time.
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Soooo, I wasn't going to read The Road not Taken. I wasn't. The snippets were amazing and I absolutely adore all your works, but coming together after past relationships fics are always so so soo painful for me that I promised I wouldn't do that to myself again. Like, you know, I do not pay for the Internet for it to make me cry, and coming together after ten years of no communication and after something happened all those years ago and while being madly in love (and it's Sirius in Remus, I wasn't expecting anything less than madly in love) certainly felt like the fastest way to break in tears. And then I started reading.
I felt like crying by the middle of the first chapter.
I was reading while being in public and I thought: "Wow, it wouldn't be thaat bad, I can keep my cool". No, I can't. I was starting crying, closing the phone, picking it up in ten minutes cause "Wow, I'm sure now it won't make me cry AGAIN" read one more sentence and feel the tears in my eyes.
It's just.... I can't even imagine how you do that, how you make your worlds and your characters so real and make every word you write so precious. I've been rereading each paragraph right after reading it cause I just needed to bask in their emotions longer. What these two idiots have, that is what makes me believe in love.
I've concentrated on the saddest chapters in the beginning, but the last ones are absolutely as good and it was such a pleasure to read them (and now I'm just afraid of what is to come cause it's just the middle and they are already talking to each other (thank gods for that!!!) and like, I like pretending we'll get four more chapters of fluff and them being adorable and everything, but who knows what is waiting for us out there...)
Also technically Euphemia wasn't actually in this fic, but that one scene mentioning her made me sooo happy (and teary, but okay, it doesn't seem to happen rarely now). Now I just want more Euphemia content😅
So overall I'm really really happy I'm reading this fic cause 1. It's amazing and 2. It's amazing! And makes me feel so much, and reminds me why I love the marauders so much and makes me want to treasure every word, savour it for the pleasure to last longer.
Thank you so much for writing it! I can't wait for the new chapters and I'm not really sure how am I supposed not to explode while waiting (I suppose I'll just go reread Show Me Everything I Missed because apparantly, I do pay for the internet for it to make me cry)
OH FRIEND 🥺🥺🥺🥺
I'm so sorry!! I know what you mean. This fic is somewhat autobiographical for me (though it wasn't a ten year period in between) so when I was writing a specific scene (yet to come, SO SORRY 😫) with Sirius feeling the weight of reuniting with the person he loves after so long and trying to reconcile it with the hurt that he's lived with all this time, yeah it got me real bad (AGAIN I'M SO SORRY OH MY GOD)
BUT I'm so glad you like it anyway, despite all the feels and, while there are still a few sad moments in the chapters to come, there are SO MANY MORE happy moments and fluff and tension and all of the things we love about romance fics. ❤️❤️
#I got an ask!#Thank you friend!#And also#OH MY GOD I'M SO SORRY.#This fic isn't as angsty as SMEIM#So I thought it wouldn't hit the feels as hard#BUT SOMETIMES IT DO
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