#please universe Make this job interview quick and easy

[needle-noggins]

I’ll do a little self promo/guide to my fics today for fanfic appreciation week if I have time 🫡

[moonxknightx]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : FALLING FOR THE SPOTLIGHT (PT.1) : :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Hugh Jackman x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Fluff!!!

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: RPF

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: None!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: You interview for a personal assistant position with Hugh Jackman over Zoom. Despite initial nerves, Hugh’s charm and playful teasing create a connection, making the conversation feel both professional and surprisingly personal. By the end, you sense a special chemistry and eagerly await his decision.

Next Part

YOU SAT AT THE SMALL DINING TABLE IN YOUR APARTMENT, tapping your fingers against the edge of your laptop as the screen glowed faintly. Across the room, Zoë, your best friend and roommate, was lounging on the couch, casually flipping through her phone. She glanced up at you, smirking as she noticed your nervous energy.

"How are you holding up?" she asked, her voice teasing but affectionate.

You shot her a nervous smile. "Barely. I mean, it's Hugh Jackman... Hugh freaking Jackman. What am I supposed to do with that?"

Zoë laughed, sitting up and tossing her phone aside. "Oh, you’re going to do great. You’ve got this. You just graduated with a degree in media, you know your stuff. And besides, he’s going to love you."

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered, staring at the blank screen, your mind still whirling. "You didn’t have a massive celebrity crush on him for, like, half your life."

Zoë grinned knowingly. "True, but that’s exactly why you'll nail it. You’ve been preparing for this moment without even realizing it."

You gave her a mock glare, but deep down, you appreciated her confidence in you. It was a dream scenario—working as Hugh Jackman’s personal assistant. When you saw the job posting online, you didn’t even hesitate to apply, though you never imagined you’d get an interview, let alone one scheduled so quickly. And now, here you were, waiting for a Zoom call with the man himself. The idea of seeing Hugh in real-time, talking to him, hearing his voice directed at you, was enough to send your heart racing.

The laptop chimed suddenly, breaking your thoughts. The screen lit up with an incoming Zoom call.

Zoë jumped up, wide-eyed. "That’s him, isn’t it?"

You nodded, trying to steady your breathing. "It’s happening. Oh God, it’s happening."

She scurried over to stand behind you, giving your shoulders a quick squeeze. "Good luck! You’ve got this."

You took a deep breath, clicked to accept the call, and the screen shifted to show none other than Hugh Jackman. His face appeared, smiling warmly into the camera as he adjusted the angle. He looked even more handsome than you’d imagined—salt-and-pepper hair, sharp features, and that trademark grin that could melt a million hearts. The casual blue T-shirt he wore only added to his approachable charm.

“G'day!” His voice was warm, rich, and effortlessly charming. “Can you hear me okay?”

You smiled nervously and nodded. “Yes! I can hear you perfectly. Hi, Mr. Jackman. I mean, Hugh. Sorry. Hi.”

Hugh laughed softly, and the sound of it eased some of your nerves. “No worries at all. And please, just call me Hugh. ‘Mr. Jackman’ makes me feel old.”

You giggled despite yourself, the tension in your shoulders loosening slightly. “Okay, Hugh it is.”

His eyes twinkled with amusement. “So, how are you today? I know interviews can be a bit nerve-wracking.”

"Just a little," you admitted with a sheepish smile. "But I’m excited, too. It's a really amazing opportunity, and I’m just happy to be here."

"That’s the spirit," Hugh replied, leaning forward slightly. "Listen, I’m not one for formal interviews. I’d rather just have a chat, get to know you, and see how we vibe. I hope that’s alright?"

“That sounds perfect,” you said, your heart pounding a little less now. The casual nature of the conversation was starting to help you feel more at ease.

“So,” Hugh began, tilting his head, “you just finished university, right? Tell me a bit about that. What did you study?”

“Yeah, I graduated not too long ago,” you replied, feeling more confident. “I studied media, so I’ve done a bit of everything—social media management, content creation, production... I’ve always loved the idea of working behind the scenes. I guess I’m just looking for a job where I can put all that to use.”

Hugh nodded thoughtfully. "Media, huh? That’s perfect. I need someone who knows their way around that stuff. I’m hopeless with social media." He chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "If it weren’t for my team, I’d probably still be figuring out how to send tweets."

You laughed, feeling the connection start to form. “Well, you’ve got a pretty solid Instagram game going on. But I can definitely help with anything tech-related.”

"Ah, well, that’s good to hear," Hugh said, leaning back in his chair. "And what about your interests outside of media? Any hobbies or passions I should know about?"

“Well,” you began, hesitating for a second. “I love movies—obviously. And I’m really into fitness, too, though I’m not quite at your level.”

Hugh raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Fitness, eh? Are you trying to take my job? Next thing I know, you’ll be Wolverine."

You blushed, laughing nervously. "I don’t think I could pull off the claws."

"Ah, you never know!" Hugh said, winking. "But seriously, fitness is a great passion to have. Keeps you grounded. Maybe we could train together sometime—I’m always looking for a new gym buddy."

Your heart skipped a beat at the casual offer, the idea of working out with Hugh Jackman suddenly flooding your mind. Was he joking, or…?

"That sounds fun," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "But you might have to go easy on me."

"No promises," Hugh teased, his smile never faltering. Then he leaned in slightly, his tone a little more serious. “But really, you seem like you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. I like that. You’re young, but from what I’ve seen on your resume, you’re definitely not lacking in experience. How do you feel about working in such a high-pressure environment?”

You thought about it for a moment. "Honestly, I think I’d thrive in it. I’m used to juggling a lot at once, and I’ve always worked well under pressure. I guess I’m just ready for a challenge."

Hugh nodded approvingly. "Good answer. I like someone who’s not afraid of a little chaos." He paused, then added with a mischievous glint in his eye, “And you seem awfully young to be my assistant. You sure you’re not still in high school?”

You blushed furiously and laughed, shaking your head. “Definitely not. I promise, I’m a fully certified adult.”

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to trust you on that,” Hugh replied, his tone playful. "You might just surprise me."

For a brief second, there was a comfortable silence. You could feel the warmth radiating from Hugh, and you found yourself smiling more freely now, your initial nerves melting away. The conversation felt easy, almost natural, like you’d known him for longer than just a few minutes.

Hugh broke the silence with a chuckle. "You know, I have to say, I think you’re going to fit in really well here."

You blinked, caught off guard. "You think so?"

"I do," Hugh said, his expression softening. "I’ve interviewed a lot of people, but you... there’s something about you. You’ve got a good energy. I like that."

You felt your cheeks heat up again, but this time, it was less about nerves and more about the undeniable connection you felt growing between the two of you. Hugh Jackman, your long-time celebrity crush, was complimenting you—on more than just your qualifications.

"I... wow, thank you," you said, a little flustered but genuinely touched. "That means a lot coming from you."

Hugh smiled, leaning back in his chair with a relaxed air. “Well, I’ll make sure to let you know in a few days, but between you and me, I think you’ve got a pretty good shot at this.”

You grinned, trying to hold back the excitement bubbling up inside you. "I’ll be waiting by my phone."

“I’m sure you will,” Hugh replied, his voice laced with warmth. He glanced at the clock on his screen and sighed. "I’ve got another meeting to run to, but it was really great chatting with you. I’ll be in touch soon, okay?"

“Sounds good,” you said, your heart still racing. “Thanks again, Hugh. I really appreciate it.”

Hugh gave you one last smile, his eyes twinkling. “No worries at all. Have a great day, and I’ll talk to you soon.”

The screen faded to black as the call ended, and you sat there for a moment, staring at your laptop. Your heart was pounding, your cheeks still flushed with the warmth of the conversation. You couldn’t help but smile, replaying every word in your head.

Zoë appeared behind you, her eyes wide with excitement. "So...?"

You turned to her, grinning. "I think it went really well."

Zoë's eyes lit up with excitement, and she grabbed your shoulders, shaking you slightly. "Oh my God! Spill! What did he say? How was he? Was he as charming as he seems?"

You laughed, pushing her hands away gently. "He was even better. Like, ridiculously charming. He made a joke about me being too young to be his assistant and then—" You paused, recalling the moment he’d complimented your energy, your stomach fluttering. "—and he said he thinks I’d fit in well."

Zoë gasped dramatically, bouncing in place. "That’s basically a ‘you got the job’ in celebrity-speak! Oh my God, this is huge!" She practically danced across the room, grabbing her phone and immediately typing furiously.

“What are you doing?” you asked, still in a daze.

“Texting the girls! I have to tell them you just interviewed with Hugh Jackman, and it sounds like you nailed it.”

You chuckled, though a part of you was still processing the entire experience. Had that really just happened? Talking to Hugh had felt so natural—like you’d known him longer than the fifteen minutes the interview lasted. He was warm and playful, but also professional when it counted, and you couldn’t help but replay the way he’d teased you about your age. Was that flirting, or was it just his way of putting people at ease?

Zoë interrupted your thoughts, practically vibrating with excitement. “Okay, but tell me—how did you not, like, melt into a puddle of goo? I mean, he was on your screen, in real-time, flirting with you.”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “I don’t know! I was nervous at first, but he’s so easy to talk to. It didn’t feel like an interview at all—it felt more like… I don’t know, like we were just chatting.”

Zoë waggled her eyebrows at you. “Uh-huh, chatting with Hugh Jackman, no big deal.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the counter, smirking. “And what’s this about working out together? Are you going to become his gym buddy now?”

You blushed, laughing as you recalled his casual invitation to train together. “I’m pretty sure he was joking. But who knows? If I get the job, maybe I’ll just casually bump into him at the gym.”

Zoë raised an eyebrow. “Girl, if you get this job, you’re about to be around him 24/7. You better prepare for that heart of yours. Crush or not, you’re gonna be spending some serious time with him.”

The thought sent a flutter of excitement through you. It was true—if you got the job, you’d be Hugh’s personal assistant, meaning you’d be with him constantly, organizing his schedule, helping with events, traveling with him... And you’d be doing all of that with a man you’d secretly crushed on for years. The idea of it was both exhilarating and terrifying.

“I know,” you said softly, biting your lip. “It’s kind of crazy to think about. But I also can’t let myself get too ahead of things. It’s still just an interview for now.”

Zoë rolled her eyes, waving a hand dismissively. “Please, that man was smitten. You’re going to get it, I can feel it.”

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed on the table. Your heart leaped as you saw an unknown number pop up on the screen.

You stared at it for a second before Zoë nudged you. “Don’t just stare at it! Answer it! What if it’s him?”

You fumbled with the phone, quickly hitting the button to accept the call. “Hello?”

A familiar deep voice on the other end made your heart race again. “Hey, it’s Hugh.”

You almost dropped the phone. Hugh is calling me? Already? You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “Hi! I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.”

Hugh laughed lightly, the sound sending another flutter through your stomach. “Yeah, I know. But I’ve been thinking about our chat, and I wanted to catch you before the weekend. I’d love for you to come in on Monday for an in-person meeting. I want to show you the ropes and see how you feel about everything in person.”

You blinked, trying to process what he’d just said. “You mean… like a second interview?”

“Sort of,” Hugh said, and you could almost hear the smile in his voice. “But mostly, I just want to make sure you’re comfortable with the role before we make it official.”

You tried to suppress the squeal threatening to escape your throat. “That sounds amazing! I’d love to.”

“Great,” Hugh said, his tone warm. “I’ll have my assistant email you the details—where to meet, what time, all that jazz. We’ll keep it casual, don’t worry.”

Your heart was beating so fast you were surprised Hugh couldn’t hear it through the phone. “Thank you so much, Hugh. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem at all,” he replied smoothly. “Looking forward to seeing you again.”

The call ended, and you stood there for a moment, phone in hand, staring at the screen in disbelief.

Zoë practically pounced on you. “What? What did he say?!”

You turned to her, eyes wide with excitement. “He wants me to come in on Monday. For a follow-up meeting, but it sounded more like... like he’s already offering me the job.”

Zoë screamed, grabbing you and spinning you in a circle. “I knew it! I told you! You’re going to be Hugh Jackman’s assistant!”

You couldn’t help but laugh as she danced around the room, but deep down, you felt a wave of excitement mixed with nervous anticipation. This was it—the start of something big. You were one step closer to working for Hugh Jackman, to being a part of his world.

And maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that this job could lead to something even more than you’d ever imagined.

🏷️: @oatmilkriver @khxna @hughverine @junnniiieee07 @stark-ironman @Marcswife21 @boomveronika @kellyxo1 @shiawaseorii @shybluebirdninja @mutilatedcupid @corvusmorte @iluvfanficsstuff @stickyunknownsubstance @miha080 @acescutejeans-1247 @ladydimitrescutlou @iwannadie07 @whimsiwitchy @bitchydragonparadisee

If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know!!

I am so hyped for this small series!!! Hugh needs more content on here. I absolutely love reading all of your thoughts on the chapters, so feel free to leave a comment!! And at last, Enjoy!!

I’m also thinking of writing some oneshots taking place in the same AU after i finish the series. You can read them as standalones or see it as extra content for this project!!

[wonlouvre]

more for forever | k. mg.

pairing: editor-in-chief mingyu x female reader genre: fluff, a little bit of angst, cliché (in the sense that mingyu is rich and likes to spoil his girlfriend) warnings: mentions of insecurity, food word count: 2.8k

💌: this is just pure indulgence and i really hope you all like this! please wait for wonwoo because i have something in store for him too ;) again, this is cliché please forgive me. please tell me what you think about it hehe i love reading your comments, feedbacks and tags! also a big thank you to @minkwans​ for sharing their ideas and giving this oneshot life! <3

The name Kim Mingyu didn’t ring a bell before. Not until his executive assistant reached out to you because apparently, the photographer slash writer read one of your blog posts and wanted you to take part for their sixth year anniversary issue. You know the famous magazine and publishing company, which is why you thought it was a scam or a ploy to steal your money. It’s a stupid assumption but you can’t blame your mind imagining the worse because you are not a fashion blogger at all. Why would a fashion magazine want you to write an article for them?

Sure, you regularly write and post blog entries on your website. But you write about your dog, your recently bought tea coaster and sometimes your skincare routine. Okay, maybe your occasional outfit of the day as well but nothing in detail. Again, why do they want you to write for them?

Kim Mingyu answered your questions and uncertainties when he personally emailed his contact details to you. You didn’t have to bite, but it didn’t hurt to confirm at the same time. You dialed the number and he indeed proved you wrong. He invited you for a meeting at his office and you accepted. 

Your visits to high-rise buildings, much more to the luxurious office of an executive, is rare to never. You were jaw slacked when your eyes took in the crisp architecture. The design, the furniture, the color, the everything was beyond what you could have imagined a publishing company’s headquarters could be. 

The meeting was nothing but short of an interview. He asked about your blog (which does not even have its own domain by the way), he asked what else you write about, he asked about your desk job (which doesn’t pay much but enough for you to get by), he asked if you have any background about fashion and one last question about your dog, Max, before talking about his proposal. 

To be honest, Mingyu’s offer was tempting. For one article, the commission would be enough for you to move out of your current apartment and move to a brand new and fully-furnished one. But you remained true to yourself and without thinking twice, you declined. 

You can tell that the editor-in-chief and his assistant, who stood beside him all throughout, was surprised by the looks on their faces. But Mingyu respected your decision and didn’t pursue any further. You took your stand from the chair and sincerely thanked him for the time and opportunity. You thought that would be it but when he followed suit with your actions and reached his hand out, it was your turn to be surprised. 

You didn’t hesitate to mirror him and shake his hand, firmly. After that, you’d figure that it’s the end and that you’ll probably get to see a glimpse of him only through your television or phone. But Mingyu proved you wrong once again when he sent an unexpected email three days later asking why.

What might be the reason why you didn’t accept his offer? 

You believed he deserved an explanation of your personal reasons so you disclosed them. And just like that the conversation on that email thread naturally progressed and eventually deepened. The professional emails became casual text messages, the text messages became phone calls, and the phone calls became actual face to face dates at late hours of the evening because he usually clocks out at 9 o’clock. 

The rest, as they say, was in the hands of history. 

Your first date with Mingyu was particularly odd. It was at a traditional Korean restaurant owned by one of his friends who introduced himself as Angel even though his real name is Jeonghan. You didn’t question him or anyone else why because that’s none of your business. But back to the date. It was odd because you have never been to a restaurant that’s completely empty and dead silent before (aside of course, from the typical music played in the background). You asked Mingyu if such an occurrence is normal and he just plainly answered that he rented the whole place all to yourselves. You have always known he’s rich. However, you didn’t believe that booking the whole restaurant was necessary.  

Nonetheless, that first date, in some way, was special for you because there were no distractions. You enjoyed his company and you can tell he enjoyed yours too because he’s quick to mention a second date and it didn’t take a heartbeat for you to say yes. 

But, by far, Mingyu inviting you to the behind the scenes of the making of the sixth anniversary issue that you turned down writing for is one of the most memorable dates the two of you had. It was out of the blue and you two were having difficulty in syncing your schedules. He was beginning to get busier and busier as the anniversary neared and the only way he could think of still making time for you is inviting you to his office. He called you and asked if you’re free to have lunch together. And you, being attracted to the handsome and tall man, didn’t hesitate to say yes. 

He was in the middle of ending his morning meeting when you arrived and you were almost caught off-guard when all eyes were suddenly on you, making you feel small. But Mingyu didn't care as his smile beamed, immediately standing up from his chair to walk towards you. The rest of his staff were still in the midst of walking out of his office when he grasped your hand to pull you inside and you have never felt so shy your whole life.

Since then, he made you tag along to the creative process and you witnessed how hands on he was with every article, every photo, every brand, every trend and every detail that goes to the magazine that he has built and loved with his blood, sweat and tears. He’s beyond dedicated in finding and doing what’s best for the magazine and most importantly, its loyal readers. 

You can tell that he really is deserving of everything that he has and is still receiving.

Mingyu being perfect also applies to your relationship. He’s always present despite being booked with fittings, meetings, photoshoots and business travels twenty-nine days of the month. He never fails to call, never fails to answer your calls. He never fails to offer the warmest hugs and the softest kisses. Well, he fails to be on time during your dates sometimes but he never once stood you up and his cuddles when he sleeps over are enough to apologize for the lost time.

The only flaw he has is that he doesn’t know how to take no for an answer. Most especially at times where he wants to shower his love in ways that cost more than your paycheck in a year.

Here are some examples:

You know that Mingyu pays attention to every word you say. Even if you just mentioned a passing topic, he will do his best to keep those in mind. With that being said, you mentioned once that you want to renovate the extra bedroom of your apartment and turn it into a study where you could work someday. Your boyfriend, being the rich man he is, offered to hire and pay a team that could help you bring the design you envisioned into life. 

That was during the first few months of your relationship and you were flabbergasted by how easy it was for him to do or much less say. Needless to say, you immediately turned him down and he respected that (but of course, he pouted about it like a child all throughout the day). 

But wait, there’s more. 

Do you remember how you mentioned that Mingyu travels frequently? Yes? Well, Mingyu always books an extra ticket for you just in case you want to join him. Sometimes it’s not even about the flight ticket anymore. It’s about him stopping by your apartment to pick you up unexpectedly as if France is only a drive away. 

It’s unbelievable, really. That’s why you always close the door on his face. But of course, you don’t forget to give him a long kiss and “stay safe” or “I’ll miss you” farewell. Mingyu, ever the good boy he is, lets you win and just return your kisses a little longer for the days he won’t be able to do so. 

Mingyu’s intentions are pure and you’re well aware that the man that you love is only doing this because it’s simple, he loves you. He wants what’s best for you, he wants to give you what you deserve. You can never blame him for being out of touch from reality at times, but you can learn and grow with him. Although of course, he still needs a scolding and a wake up call every now and then. 

Anything else? Yes.

You didn’t take into consideration that he’d remember, but one night while the two of you were about to fall asleep, you sleepily mumbled about your dreams of attending graduate school. It was a mere whisper in the late night against his chest and you even thought that he wouldn’t hear you at all because his eyes were already closed. You honestly didn’t expect that he’d send you brochures of different universities who offer various programs the following day. You had to calm him down as he excitedly talked you through it. You even had to shut him up with your lips and explain that you don’t have the time to study at the moment with your current job. He tried to encourage you with praises and admiration of your dedication, skills and knowledge. But no, you didn’t buy it and that’s the end of discussion. 

The gifts, however, are something that Mingyu is not giving up on. The first few instances he gave you gifts whether it be a high-end handbag, shoes, clothing, and even jewelry, you allowed him. Because there were only a few. But along the way, the gifts got bigger and more frequent. You had to sit him down to set limitations. It was a long conversation of him trying to get the upper hand. But you didn’t let him outsmart you with his hugs and kisses. It was either he was going to tone it down with the gifts or no gifts at all. 

Sometimes, as much as you hate to admit it to yourself, you can’t avoid getting insecure and afraid that the euphoric time you share with Mingyu is not meant to last. At some point, the fact that he's one of the youngest successful editor-in-chiefs of a multi-million earning magazine got overwhelming. You can’t help but feel that you’re no match for him. And again, you hate that your mind gets clouded with ideas that you’re just a charity case he enjoys spending his money on. Of course, you believe that he doesn’t look at you in that way.

It’s you who thinks so. 

“Hey.”

You release the bite on your bottom lip at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice. Your lost eyes shoot to the stove where he’s cooking and you notice that he’s about done so you should set the table. 

You didn’t even answer Mingyu’s call which concerns him. He wipes the sauce off his hands on the apron he’s wearing and holds your waist before you could even round the corner to the cabinets. 

His warmth snaps you out of your thoughts. Your eyes blink up to him and he just raises his eyebrows at you. 

“Is there something wrong?” He asks and lowers the heat of the conduction. 

“Nothing, nothing,” you lie, shaking your head, “Let me get the plates. I’m quite hungry.”

You try escaping his strong arms and gaze, but he doesn’t let you go. Instead, he wraps his arms around your waist tighter. Your palms automatically land on his chest and the lean muscles make you gulp. 

“I’m going to ask again and this time, I want you to tell me the truth,” he says in a serious yet gentle tone. “What’s wrong?”

You sigh and lean your forehead against his chest. Mingyu also sighs and kisses the top of your head. It’s better to tell him now because you’re not going to get anywhere if you’re just going to keep it to yourself. It will be unfair for him too and that’s not what you want. 

“I just don’t feel so good about myself over the past few days,” you finally voice out. You sound weak, but Mingyu can hear you loud and clear. “I feel like I don’t deserve you.”

Mingyu had to pull away and hold your shoulders to search your eyes, his frown showing disbelief and sadness both at the same time. “Did I do or say something to make you feel this way?”

“No, no,” you quickly say and hold his cheeks. “You did absolutely nothing. It’s just all in my head.”

Mingyu becomes silent and you wish you could just drop it because the regret and embarrassment is slowly dawning upon you. You wish you didn’t bring it up anymore because why would you burden him with your problems? 

But Mingyu proves you wrong once again by holding your hand and carefully tugging you to sit on the dining table, saying softly, “Come on. Let’s talk about it.”

And talk you did. You let out your concerns, worries, fears and insecurities. You bore it all without hiding or masking anything. A tear or two slipped once or twice and some words were interrupted by your hiccups, but Mingyu was patient. He listened and held your hand, promising you that it’s okay. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to be worried. It’s okay to be vulnerable in front of him. It’s okay to trust him because he loves you. 

Mingyu loves you and his words and actions assure you that it’s okay to love him too. 

When there were no more words left to say, the two of you shared a comfortable silence. The weight on your shoulders and the sick feeling in your stomach immediately vanished and you have never felt so relieved. You have never felt so free and loved. You can’t believe that Kim Mingyu is real. 

“I know that this is unwarranted,” Mingyu breaks the silence after a while, “but I want you to know that I don’t think of you in any of those ways. To me, you’re the person I love and I am happy with regardless of our different upbringings, different jobs. Those don’t matter to the time and love we share together.”

“I know,” you affirm and kiss his cheek. 

Mingyu nods and smiles against the palm of your hand when a memory suddenly pops in his mind. “I’m not sure if I have told you this already. But the blog entry of yours that caught my attention is about your first ever blog post.”

Your eyes widen at his confession. You have never heard of this before. “You mean the one where I talked about why I love writing so much?”

Your boyfriend smiles and nods. “That one.”

“Gosh. That’s so embarrassing,” you groan and palm your face. 

“What do you mean embarrassing?” He argues, taking your hand to hold again. “That post was one of the most genuine posts that I have ever read. You explained, word by word, your passion, love and dedication to writing in the most honest way possible. Who wouldn’t be moved?”

You pout and unbeknownst to you, that makes his heart squeeze in adoration. 

“It’s not that special,” you mumble, eyes on your intertwined hands. 

“It is to me though.”

Mingyu’s eyes are dreamy and glossy as you meet them again and you could never be more in love. He holds your arms, coaxing you to stand up to straddle his lap. You giggle when he protectively wraps his arms around your waist. His nose scrunches when it grazes yours, but upon meeting his lips you feel it exhale a breath of relief.

You kissed and kissed and kissed. But when Max barks at the two of you, reminding you of the dinner you’re supposed to eat and share with him, the two of you burst into laughter before reluctantly detaching from each other. 

“You doting over me with material things is a perk,” you humor him and he gives you his signature giggle. “But, I wouldn’t trade sharing the same bed, cooking meals or taking care of Max together over any of those.” 

Mingyu nods gives you one last yet long kiss, a promise that there’s more for later. 

More for forever. 

---

a/n 2: this was supposed to be the header/poster of this story but it was too big lol

[lostinthewiind]

Piss Off Your Parents - Part 1

Ukai Keishin - Haikyuu

Synopsis: freshly turned 18, you want to prove to your parents that you aren't a child for them to push around anymore. First, get a job at the local corner store. Second, use the store owner's 26-year-old son with piercings and a cigarette addiction to piss your parents off. Third, accidentally fall in love.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: none

Song → 18 by Anarbor

A/N: if you couldn’t already tell, I have planned this as a series/full story. I was torn between writing it on here or on Wattpad or something, but ultimately decided on Tumblr . . . but let me know if you would prefer it on another platform as well! Also, this series will eventually include smut/NSFW content but that will be tagged appropriately when the time comes. As always, I hope you enjoy. 

Next →Part 2

Slamming the front door behind yourself on your way out that morning, you quickly stuffed your earbuds into your ears and cranked your music as loud as you could to drown out the sounds of your parents yelling after you and, consequently, at one another after you had dropped the bomb about your new job on them seconds before you had left, giving them as little time as possible to shame you for it.

After graduating high school and turning 18, you had decided it was time to take your life into your hands, which wasn’t too easy while you were still living under your parents’ roof, but you had to start somewhere and that somewhere was getting a job at the local corner store, Sakanoshita Market. 

You knew that your parents wanted you to go to university and ‘make something of yourself’, but you also knew that you could never truly be happy under their dictatorship-like ruling, so you decided to get a job, no matter how shitty, save your money, move out as soon as possible, and go from there. 

It was definitely going to be a process, and not an easy one, but all you had to do was take it one step at a time.

Rounding the corner and seeing the market in the distance, you felt your nerves begin to bubble inside of you a little. Sure, you had gotten some part-time jobs here and there during summer vacation before, but you had never gotten a full-time job before and had never needed the money from a job like you did now. Before, the cash you made was for extra spending money during the summer and school year, but now the money you would be making would be funding your future. It seemed like a lot of pressure to put on a job that entailed stocking shelves, checking out customers, and cleaning. 

The lady who had hired you had basically explained that since she was getting older and her son, who had been maintaining the place previously, had gotten a new job, the store needed someone to learn the ropes and take care of the place on a daily basis; and since you were young, a fast learner, and didn’t have anything else in your life besides work, you were a perfect fit. 

As the shop doors slid open smoothly to welcome you into the store you had been inside countless times in the past, you suddenly felt completely out of place in the familiar market. Now that you were an employee instead of a customer, the atmosphere had completely shifted. Instead of heading right for the fridges to grab a drink like you usually did, your eyes shifted immediately to the front counter where a figure with its feet up hid behind an open newspaper.

Just like every other time you had visited while the store owner’s son was working, he did everything humanly possible to avoid interaction. Usually, you would have appreciated not being bothered while trying to scan the shelves, but since this time was different, the lack of acknowledgement was slightly unnerving. 

“Ahem,” you cleared your throat, hoping it was enough to catch his attention. It was not. Instead, he flipped the page of the newspaper and you watched as a hand emerged from behind the paper barrier to flick the ashes from his cigarette into an ashtray sitting beside the register. 

Eyebrows furrowed, you really wished that the shop owner herself had been there to greet you for your first day instead of her seemingly useless son. “Hello.” You stepped up to the counter, the feeling of not belonging sinking deeper into your bones. 

Slowly, the newspaper separating you from the man behind the counter lowered and the shop owner’s son glared back at you, eyes half-lidded as if he were seconds away from falling asleep and the cigarette from before hanging from his bottom lip. This was far from the first time you had interacted with him, but you would be surprised if he remembered you as a customer even a little. Whenever he checked customers out, you could tell he was running on autopilot. 

The man’s eyes drifted down to your hands, which were resting on top of the counter now. Noticing you didn’t have anything to purchase, he cocked a brow. “Need help finding somethin’?” 

“Ugh, no,” you answered. “I’m the new employee. I’m supposed to start today.”

His eyes scanned you once more, this time more thoroughly, and you swallowed hard. Feeling as if you were being observed under a microscope, you slid your hands off of the counter and stuffed them into your pockets self-consciously. 

As he inspected you inch by inch, you took the time to take a closer look at him as well. With dyed blonde hair, two earrings in his left ear, an apparent nicotine addiction, and a noticeably flippant attitude toward his job, he was the definition of the type of man your parents would kill you for bringing home. Somehow, this only made him more intriguing. You wondered if he really was as disinterested in everything as he seemed or if it was just this job he thoroughly hated and became someone a lot more interesting when he wasn’t behind a counter.

“How old are you?” he asked out of the blue, catching you off guard a little. While he waited for you to answer, he set the newspaper to the side, dragged his feet from the counter top, and patted out some of the wrinkles from the white apron he had tied around his bright orange sweatshirt. 

“I’m 18,” you responded, not sure why it mattered but also not seeing any harm in answering honestly. 

Seconds later, the door to the back of the shop and storage room opened and the familiar face of the woman who had hired you stepped into view. “Oh, Y/N!” she greeted happily; much more enthusiastically and welcoming than her son. “Sorry about that, I was just getting some last minute things together.” She eyed her son out of the corner of her eye and noted the fresh embers in the ashtray. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“No, I just got here,” you told her. 

“Good.” She smiled sweetly before turning to her son. “Well, you can head out now, Keishin. Thank you for watching the counter.”

“Yeah,” the man, Keishin, grunted as he untied the apron from around his waist, slipped it over his head, and hung it up on a hook behind the counter. “See ya.”

With that, Keishin left, leaving you and his mother alone. Wasting no time, Mrs. Sakanoshita, whom the store was named after, got right to work on teaching you the basics and gifting you with a white apron of your own to wear while on the job. Since it was the middle of the day and the customer flow was relatively slow, she introduced you to how the register and scanner at the counter worked before moving on to unpacking boxes.

Just like you had promised on your resume and during the interview, you were a quick learner and Mrs. Sakanoshita was more than pleased to see you picking up the job quickly and efficiently. 

By the time the after work/school rush of patrons picking up items on their way home had begun, you were feeling confident in your abilities and, with your boss by your side to answer any questions you may have, you checked out customer after customer, building up muscle memory for scanning items, collecting cash, opening the register, handing out receipts, and sending customers on their merry way. 

All in all, the job was quickly growing on you. You liked the fact that, for the most part, you were the only employee on duty, so when there weren’t any customers in the store, you could work silently on unpacking boxes without having to worry about making small talk or being friendly with any coworkers. In fact, as far as you knew, the only people who worked at the store at all were you, Mrs. Sakanoshita, and her son, Keishin. 

It seemed as though you had really landed a sweet gig. 

After showing you how to lock up, Mrs. Sakanoshita headed home for the night, leaving you to finish stocking the shelves and cleaning the shop before you would head home as well.

Now that you were truly the only person left, you walked over to the old radio you had spotted on the counter during training that day and fiddled with the dials, trying to get some music playing to accompany you during your evening chores. After some careful handiwork and enduring some horrendous static and high-pitched screeching while searching for a station, you settled on what sounded like some old instrumental music and got to work on stocking the remaining shelves.

Throughout your shift, you quickly learned that the store got quite warm during the day and you had needed to tie your hair up to keep the back of your neck from dripping with sweat. The night wasn’t much better either, especially since the lack of customers so late meant that the doors rarely opened, keeping the cold night air outside and the warm store air inside. 

After finishing the last box of supplies, you exhaled and wiped your brow. You were exhausted, that was for sure, but you still had to sweep. 

Deciding to take a quick break, you turned toward the floor-to-ceiling fridges at the back of the shop and pulled open the door, sighing happily when the cool air hit your skin. Exhaling slowly, you snickered when you saw your breath fog up in front of you face. 

“You’re letting all the cold air out.”

You shrieked when you heard a voice in your right ear and slammed the fridge door shut, jumping back in the process. Thanks to the music from the radio and the loud hum of the generator that kept the fridges cold, you hadn’t heard the front doors slide open or the footsteps of Keishin approaching you.

“Jesus!” You clamped your hand over your chest. “You scared the shit out of me!”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Sorry?”

“What are you doing here?”

Keishin glared at you. “You work here one day and suddenly act like you own the place?”

Realizing how rude your question had come across, you composed yourself and rephrased. “What I meant was, your mom didn’t say you were coming back.”

Pointing upward, Keishin sighed, disinterested. “I live in the apartment above the shop.”

“Oh.” Things started making much more sense and you suddenly felt pretty embarrassed for how you had reacted. 

“Yeah . . . oh.” He rolled his eyes, but it didn’t come across necessarily rude but more like he was exhausted and you were adding to said exhaustion. “Why were you standing with the door open anyway?”

As he spoke, he stepped toward you. At first, your feet felt cemented to the floor and you didn’t move. But when he persisted closer, you eventually stumbled back and Keishin opened the fridge door you had been standing in front of to grab a beer from inside. With drink in hand, he eyed you once again, waiting for an answer.

“It’s really hot,” you said, gesturing to his orange sweater. “I don’t know how you wear that thing in here.”

Looking down at his apparel, he just shrugged. “You’ll get used to it.” He turned and started for the counter, presumably to pay for the drink he had just taken. “In the future, stand outside if you’re warm.”

“Okay.” You nodded, mindlessly tailing him. You had to grab the broom from behind the counter anyway, but that was the furthest thing from the front of your mind at that moment. If anything, you were still trying to calm down a little from being startled and now being alone with your boss’s son. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” He popped the tab on the beer, settled into the stool behind the counter, and downed at least half of the drink in a few large gulps. 

You watched him, probably a little too closely, and as you did you found yourself reexamining the features you had taken note of earlier that day: the dyed blonde hair held out of his face with a thin black headband, the natural brown hair that peeked out from the roots, the two small silver hoop earrings in his left ear, the scent of cigarette smoke that clung to him like how the smell of rain clung to the air after a heavy storm. 

Noticing your gaze, which would have been nearly impossible to miss, Keishin quirked a brow at you and held out the can of beer toward you. “You want a sip?”

Startled from your thoughts, you shook your head. “I’m only 18.” You reminded him.

“Oh, right.” He withdrew the can and took another sip, this one much smaller than the first few. “Then why are you looking at me like that?”

Eyes wide, you thought quick to come up with an excuse. “The broom.” You pointed to the item behind him. “Can you pass me the broom?”

After handing you the broom, Keishin pulled a slip of paper and a pen out from his pocket and started writing and scribbling things down, sipping the remainder of his beer occasionally and ignoring you completely. 

Trying to avoid staring at Keishin anymore than you already had, you started sweeping at the far end of the store and left the area around and behind the counter for last. Eventually, though, you had worked your way back over to the the silent man and was forced to clean the floor behind where he was sitting, trying hard not to disturb him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of what he was so focused on; it looked like a crude drawing of a volleyball court. “What’s that?” you asked, the words leaving your mouth before you realized you were being rude again and snooping.

Keishin, however, didn’t seem angry or annoyed in the slightest. “Volleyball positions,” he huffed. It was clear he was growing frustrated.

“You play volleyball?”

He shook his head and looked over his shoulder at you. “I used to. Now I coach the boy’s team at Karasuno.”

“I went to Karasuno,” you said mindlessly, just trying to make conversation at that point. 

He hummed in response and turned his attention back to the sheet before him. “Did you play volleyball?”

“No. Soccer.”

“Do you still play?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Do you still play volleyball?”

“With a neighbourhood association sometimes . . . but not really.”

“Why?”

The corners of his mouth curling up into a smirk, Keishin looked back to you once more. “I asked you first.”

“It’s not a good answer.” You leaned against the broom handle and sighed. “Don’t have the time.”

“You’re young and just graduated high school. You’ve got nothing but time.”

“Not with this job.”

Keishin scoffed, folded the paper, and shoved it back into his pocket with the pen. “Speaking of which, why would you take such a boring job at a store like this?”

You just shrugged. “I need the money.”

“Don’t you live with your parents?”

“That’s the problem,” you said, noticing the confusion on his face. “I told you it wasn’t a good answer.”

“Do they know you work here?”

“Do they know? Yes,” you answered truthfully. “Do they like it? Absolutely not.”

Keishin grinned at that before finishing his beer and tossing the empty can into the recycling bin beside the front door. “So you’re one of those teens, huh?”

You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Trust me, kid, pissing off your parents just for the sake of it isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“You think I’m doing all this just because I can?”

“Aren’t you?”

“No.”

“Why then?”

“That story’s too long and convoluted for me to recite right now . . . especially to some old dude I just met today.”

Keishin chuckled under his breath, hands stuffed into his pockets as he headed for the door at the back of the shop so he could head upstairs to his apartment. “’Old dude’,” he repeated, clearly amused. “Don’t forget to lock up before you go home.”

As he turned his back to you, your curiosity got the better of you. “How old are you?”

Stopping in his tracks, Keishin pulled out a carton of cigarettes from his pants’ pocket along with a lighter. After placing the smoke between his lips, he lit it and inhaled deeply. “Too old for you, sweetheart,” he spoke while exhaling, smoke spilling from his lips as he smirked at you. 

With that, he disappeared into the back. You wanted to shout after him that you had told him how old you were without hesitation when he had asked, but you stayed silent instead. 

As much as his presence unnerved you and his superiority complex aggravated you, you still found yourself inexplicably drawn to him. Maybe it was because he seemed completely disinterested in you, or maybe it was because he was everything you were always told to stay away from. 

The one thing you did know, however, was that if everyone around you was going to keep trying to convince you they knew how you should live your life better than you did, you were going to prove to them just how they wrong they were one way or another. 

[ellana-ravenwood]

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

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

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

My masterlist : @ella-ravenwood-archives

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The Gap Year of Disaster

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Catastrophe. 

Proof that things could ALWAYS get worst. 

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

Did you leave it at home ?! Maybe. 

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

Damn it ! 

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

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

“Here, miss, you dropped this.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Here’s your change, m’am.” 

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

“Wow, thanks !” 

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

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

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

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

Him. 

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

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

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

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

“(Y/N) !” 

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

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

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

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

In this great moment filled with despair and awkwardness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You...You know Bruce Wayne ?!” 

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

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

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

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

“Honey, who are your friends ?” 

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

It was turning out alright ?! 

HOW ?! 

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

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

And that’s something Bruce caught. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My love ?” 

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

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

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

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

“Are you an angel ?” 

Ah yes. Your defense mechanism. “Humor”. 

He chuckles, and says : 

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

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

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

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

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

“Haha oh you have no idea.” 

“Glad I could help.” 

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

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

“Actually miss…?”

“(Y/L/N). (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

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

“…I am ?”

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

“What the...” 

“A paparazzi. Good timing, for once.” 

“Huh ?” 

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

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

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

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

“They’re not my friends.” 

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

“Ask me what ?” 

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

“What ?”

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

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

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

“And I’m the right person ?”

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

“…Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry if I offended you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I ?”

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

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

“I don’t really need a “reputation”.”

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

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

“Of course, I will pay you.” 

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

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

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

“And it would truly help me tremendously.” 

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

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

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

Briefing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something that DID NOT go unnoticed by his secretary. 

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

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

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

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

“I’m someone special to you.” 

“Exactly !” 

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

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

“Sorry for the wait.” 

“Oh no, I bet you’re a busy man.” 

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

“Yes.” 

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

“Sounds good, mister Wayne.” 

“Yes well first, please call me Bruce.” 

“Only if you call me (Y/N).” 

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

“Ok, then I thought we could-” 

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

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

Meeting the Little Buddy. 

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

And it was a needed step. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you be mine then ?” 

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

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

“Oooooh !” 

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

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

He had a knack, to notice how people felt. 

A “family” outing.

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

Today was one such small date. 

You could see Bruce was nervous, though.

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

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

“Ok, out with it mister, what’s up ?”

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

“I-Um...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, hey look !”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

First Official outing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh oh.

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

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

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

“I-I don’t know m’am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-”

“Shut up.”

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

“Are you ok, my little buddy ?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kiss me then, if you dare.” 

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

He couldn’t remember. 

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

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

As fake as it might be.

Your room. 

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

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

So Alfred settled a room for you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Build a Bear. 

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

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

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

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

“Build...a bear ?” 

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

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

“What ? It’s cute and intimate !” 

“Huh ?” 

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

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

Not that Alfred was going to tell Bruce anything. 

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

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

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

Instead, he said : 

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

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

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

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

And oh. Oh that boy was right. 

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

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

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

Conniving traitors. 

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

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

“Should we do anything ?”

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

“Which is ?” 

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

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

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

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

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

Rumors and Truth 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is something the matter ?” 

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

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

“Was just thinking about...Tabloids.” 

“Ah.” 

He frowns. For understandable reasons.

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

“What do you think is not true ?” 

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

“Do you want to know anything in particular ?” 

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

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

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

Crazy, right ? 

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

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

“How was college, for you ?” 

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

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

"Ah, I heard the rumors."

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

"Afraid ? You're a genius !"

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Day Batman saved you. 

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

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

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

He couldn’t. 

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

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

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

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

“Why are we spying on your girlfriend ?” 

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

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

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

“We’re not.” 

“Suuuuuuuuuure.” 

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

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

“Fake couple.” 

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

“Ooooooh !” 

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

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

“Stay here.” 

“What why ?! I wanna help her too !” 

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

“Oh...”

“Just stay still, ok ?” 

“Ok.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey pretty girl, can we talk ?” 

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

“Ah it is you, isn’t it ?” 

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

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

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

“I dont’ think so.” 

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

That’s when you see him. Batman. 

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

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

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

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

“Nowhere. Leave.” 

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

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

“OH MY GOD LOOK OUT !!” 

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

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

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

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

Bad move. 

Very bad move. 

In a matter of second, it was over. 

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

“Are you alright, (Y/N) ?” 

“How-How do you know my name ?”

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

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

“Oh, right, ok.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fake ?

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

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

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

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

It also scared you a little. 

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

And that wasn’t good. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I mean it you know.” 

His little voice brings your attention back to him. 

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

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

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

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

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

This was...bad. 

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

This was bad. 

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

Catch...

Catch those body shivering “feelings”. 

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

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

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

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

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

And it couldn’t happen soon enough. 

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

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

It hurt.

It hurt so bad. 

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

So not worth it...

The end...?

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

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

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

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

"Me, too."

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

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

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

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

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

But he knew.

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

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

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

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

"So you gonna run after her oooor…??"

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

“Mmm ?” 

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

“I do not look like a sad puppy.” 

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

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

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

Hope. 

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

“How long are ya gonna torture yourself exactly ?” 

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

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

“I cAn’T bE wITh hEr !! ...Why ?!” 

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

“And you saved her. Your point being ?” 

“Dick...”

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

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

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

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

His son. 

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

Success. 

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

“You did it, Master Richard.” 

“I hope I did !” 

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

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

It’s real. 

Back to square one. 

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

You already missed Bruce. And Dick. And Alfred. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

But there was no need for fights. 

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

“Bruce ?” 

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

“I was wrong.”

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

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

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

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

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

Towards Bruce. 

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

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

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

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

It’s not pretend this time. 

A real first kiss. 

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

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

A real one. 

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

Because it wasn't fake. It wasn’t. 

“I love you.” 

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

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

Bruce not even thinking about going out as Batman..

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

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

By the way, I’m Batman. Surprise. 

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

“Huh ?” 

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

It was particularly delightful. 

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

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

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

“I...Do.”

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

“Oh NO EWWWWWW !!!” 

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

“Get a ROOOOM !!” 

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

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

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

This was who you were. 

Right there. 

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

The end. 

_________________________________________________

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

[chaotic-jjk-fiction]

The Surrogate: Nanami Kento x Reader x Gojo Satoru

Please be warned that this piece is 4.3k words

I am willing to write a part two if you guys like it 

TW: Pregnancy, Artificial insemination, Morning sickness, Surrogacy   

You were tight on money, you couldn’t deny that. Sometimes you had to pick between paying rent and eating, but that was just how it was living in Tokyo. You had just graduated from university last year, and finding work wasn’t easy. One night when you and your friends were hanging out and one of them jokingly brought up the idea of becoming a surrogate to make some money. You all laughed at the idea then, but a few months after that conversation took place you found yourself googling the surrogacy processes and the money that could be made. While surrogacy was not actually illegal in Japan but it was still frowned upon by many, however, this wasn’t going to stop you.   

Now you were filling out your application to become a surrogate mother. You went through all of the agency’s testing and formal legal work and they told you that they would notify you if you were chosen by a family. All you could do now was wait and see. You had almost forgotten about your application when you got an email explaining that you had been selected by a couple and that a meeting needed to be scheduled so that both parties could meet and decide if they wanted to continue. You quickly replied with all of the dates and time that worked for you and internally jumped with joy that things were actually working out, much quicker than you had expected. 

The meeting time was also set quickly and you found yourself growing nervous as the day approached and you had to remind yourself that this was no different from any job interview you had ever done. Finally the day had come and you were headed off to meet the family that you would potentially be carrying a baby for. You dressed in your best clothes and did your hair in a way that you hoped would impress them, you knew that if they were able to afford surrogacy, they were probably of high status. The meeting was at the agency and one of their doctors would be there to explain everything to both parties and help everyone feel comfortable. When you made it to the agency you were escorted into an office type room with a desk and three chairs. Two of them were closer together, and the third was more off to the side and you guessed that one was for you, and the other two were for the couple. You sat down in the chair off to side your hands folded in your lap as you looked around the room. You jumped when you heard the door open and you turned around to see two men enter the room. One man was obviously the doctor and the other one you assumed was the husband in the couple. The doctor went and sat down on the other side of the desk, and you stood up and bowed to the man in a tan suite. He was pretty tall, and you weren't going to lie, he was making you feel a bit intimidated. He bowed back to you. 

“My name is Nanami Kento” he said very formally, “Thank you for meeting with us, and I apologize that my partner is late.” You were a little taken back by how formal he was, but then again it was what you were expecting. 

“My name is y/n'' your voice wavered a bit, “and the pleasure is mine.” You two bowed again, and then he took his seat and you followed. There was an awkward silence in the air and you just tried to focus on your hands which laid in your lap and not the intimidating man sitting in the chair a little ways away from you. Five minutes passed before the door slammed open and you jumped in surprise, whipping your head around to see who had busted in. A man with white hair and sunglasses stood in the doorway. 

“Sit down” Nanami said in a stern voice, “your late Satoru.” The man in the door frame made his way over to the chair next to him and sat down before turning to you, 

“The name’s Gojo Satoru'' he stated and then turned back around to face the doctor. You were a little shocked, but you also turned back to face the doctor. You noted the wedding rings on their hands and you realize that they were the married couple that you would be potentially carrying a baby for. It made sense, obviously they couldn’t have a child together, and it made you hope that this worked out. The doctor soon began his speech on how surrogacy works, explaining  how you would be artificially inseminated with a semen sample that the men provided. You would then be monitored closely throughout your pregnancy and updates would be provided for Nanami and Gojo. They would pay any medical bills that were related to the pregnancy, and how the three of you could work out specific details on which doctor you would see and which hospital you would give birth as you pleased. You just sat there silently nodding every now and again to show that you were listening to what was being said. The thought of actually carrying a baby inside of you for nine months was intimidating, but you really needed the money. After the doctor had finished his part of the meeting he then opened the floor to questions and open discussion. You really didn’t know what to say, and you were glad when Nanami pulled out a notebook and began asking the doctor questions and taking notes. You felt so unprepared compared to them. After he was done interrogating the doctor, he turned to you and you panicked a little about what he was going to ask. 

“Thank you again for meeting us here today” he started off formally “Would you mind if I asked you some questions?” You nodded, 

“Of course not.” He looked down at the page of questions decide which one to ask first, before finally deciding to start with your relationship status. You explained to them that you hadn’t been in a relationship since you were in your first year of university. He went on asking questions about family history and health, and other stuff along that line, you answered every question to best of your ability. You noticed that his husband, Gojo appeared to be antsy and trying not to start bouncing off the walls. You wondered how these two had ended up together. After Nanami had gone through everything he had to written down, he asked you had any questions for them to which you responded, 

“I only have one,” you paused a moment before continuing “What brought you two to deciding that you wanted a child” Nanami looked back at Gojo before looking back to you 

“Well” he started before getting cut off be his husband 

“Because we work with kids all day and seeing them all grow up and mature makes me want to have a kid of my own to help grow and mature” Gojo exclaimed “Plus babies are cute as hell” You couldn’t help but giggle at his last statement, Nanami however just shook his head. 

“Ok” you said “So far I’m feeling good about going through with this. You two seem like a wonderful couple.” Both of them looked at you smiling, and a grin broke out on Gojo’s face. Nanami nodded in a very business like manner, 

“Before we sign any papers” he interrupted “We have a few terms and conditions” you smiled and nodded and he went on

“We would like to be at most, if not all of your ultrasounds” he explained

“I think that’s perfectly reasonable” you chirped 

“We would also like to see your living accommodations, we need to know that our baby is being cared for properly, even before they are born” you paused for a moment before answering. 

“That can be arranged,” you said slowly. And just you were signing the legal papers that set your fate in stone, setting a date to get inseminated, shaking hands with Nanami and Gojo, and then you were on your way back home.    

Your appointment to be inseminated at the clinic was fast approaching and you were a tab bit anxious, but you were also pretty giddy. You were happy that you could give such a sweet couple the baby they wanted. Some time passed, and the next thing you knew you found yourself seated in the procedural chair, your legs in the stirrups watching a doctor pull on gloves before she took the odd syringe with a long thin tube on it and held it up.

“Ok” she said “I need you to try and relax as much as you can and just take a deep breath. '' You did as she said and tried hard not to pay attention to how uncomfortable it was. She slowly injected the liquid, which you knew was sperm through the tube, and you found yourself wondering which man's sperm it was. 

“I’m all done” she informed you as she moved to clean up “We’ll be seeing you in a week to see if an egg fertilized” you nodded as you redressed. Two weeks and few days later you found yourself back in the doctors office with Nanami and Gojo waiting to see if you were pregnant or not. The room was tense as the doctor looked over your blood work in his hands

“Your hCG level is at 21” the doctor stated. All three of you were on the edge of your seats, “Congratulations. You're pregnant” he said looking from the paper up to you. She let out a sigh of relief, you felt like a weight had been lifted off your chest. What you weren't expecting was to suddenly be lifted out of your chair and hugged, the action causing you to let out a squeak of surprise. 

“Put her down Satoru” Nanami commanded. You were then set down so that you were standing on the floor looking up at Gojo who had apparently been the one to pick you up. Nanami stood up and took your hand 

“I’m very glad that this worked out” he said a little stiffly “I look forward to what’s to come for all of us.” You nodded happily with a big smile on your face. He felt a smile tugging at his lips as he looked at your bright eyes and happy expression matching Gojo’s. 

“So, who is you obstetrician?” Nanami asked after the initial excitement had died down. You paused, looking down avoid eye contact

“I don’t have one” you said sheepishly. The two men exchanged glances before looking back at you, your head still down. 

“We can set an appointment up for you with one of our choosing if that’s alright with you” Nanami offered. Gojo quick budded in with

“And we’ll pay for it of course.” You looked back up at them, before you nodded

“That sounds great. Thank you so much”  

“It’s the least we could do” Nanami said with a soft smile on his face “You are carrying our child after all.” Gojo made his way to his husband's side and took his arm and pressed a soft kiss to kiss cheek. It made you happy to see the two of them so happy, you were feeling pretty good about your decision to become their surrogate. Two weeks later they called you to set up your six week ultrasound with a doctor they had picked in Tokyo, that when you looked her up seemed pretty high scale and you were glad you didn’t have to pay. All three of you set a date that would work, with the agreement that after the appointment they would come over to your house and check it out and you agreed. They also asked about how you were feeling so far, you explained to them that so far your breast had been pretty tender, you were definitely bloated, however, you hadn’t had any morning sickness yet. They seemed relieved to hear that you were doing good. You hung up after setting the date for your first ultrasound and the waiting process began again. Two more weeks passed until it was finally the day of your appointment. You had developed morning sickness around the middle of week five and you found it was mostly triggered by certain smells. Your breast, you were pretty sure had also gotten a bit bigger.

 You took the bus to the station closest to where the doctor was before walking the rest of the way to the building. You took a seat in the waiting room after filling out the patient intake form. It was a fancy office, that was for sure. Nanami and Gojo soon walked in and took a seat on either side of you so that you were in the middle of them, you felt so small. A nurse called your name and you stood up and followed her, the two of them close behind you. The room she took you to was pretty big, it had two chairs against one wall, an examination table in the middle of the room, and an ultrasound next to the examination table along with a rolling stool for the doctor. You laid down on the table as a technician put a little blue pee pad type thing on your thighs before pulling down your pants a bit and instructed you to pull up your shirt, which you did. 

“The gel will be cold” she warned you before squirting it onto your belly, it was indeed cold. She took the ultrasound wand and pressed it to your belly before starting to move it round, spreading out the gel. All three of you stared at the monitor with baited breath, and there it was, a fuzzy, little bean looking thing that was your baby. You looked over at Nanami and Gojo who were sitting in the chairs to see Gojo holding his husbands had tightly eyes wide looking at the screen. 

“I’m going to see if we can find the heartbeat now” she informed you. You looked back over to the monitor, watching the little bean. You watched as she moved the wand, and tapped some buttons, trying to capture the little beating heart she pointed out to you. You felt like you wanted to cry. You were actually carrying a tiny precursor to a human being, with its own, functioning, heart. There were a few more less enjoyable parts to your appointment, but you guessed you were going to have to get used to people looking at your “lady parts.” You walked out of the office with Gojo and Nanami at your side, Gojo was holding a file of your ultrasound, along with some pamphlets from the doctor about what to expect in the first trimester.

“Are you ready for us to go to your house?” Nanami turned to you and asked. You froze, you had completely forgotten that you’d agreed to that, you gulped, then nodded 

“I’m ready” you informed them. They led you to a car and Nanami helped you into it, although that really wasn’t necessary in your mind. You were surprised to find that the car had a driver, who was introduced to you as Ijichi Kiyotaka. He asked for your address and you gave it to him, although you felt embarrassed saying it out loud, and the silence in the car wasn’t helping. On the ride to your apartment you were seated in the middle seat, between Gojo and Nanami. About halfway to your house, Gojo opened up the folder and pulled out the sonogram pictures that had been taken, before going on a little rant about how cute they were going to be while looking at the image.   

Before you knew it, the car had pulled up in front of your hole in the wall apartment building and all three of you were getting out and making your way up stairs to your floor. The first thing the two men noticed was that the building didn’t have an elevator, that didn’t seem good as you would most likely have trouble with stairs later in your pregnancy, especially since you lived on the fourth floor. One they made it up to your unit you unlocked the door, but before opening you turned around to face them

“I apologize for any mess in advance” you said and then pushed the door open. All three of you took off your shoes before entering the actual living space. The thing that stood out most to them was how little furniture there was. You had a sofa and a coffee table in the small room, along with a bookshelf and a little rug but nothing else in your living room. The kitchen was practically non-existent. You had a fridge, a microwave, a rice maker, and a small gas stove next to an equally small sink. Nanami looked around skeptically and Gojo headed straight for the fridge, opening to find nothing but a few kinds of convenience store pickles. 

“What do you eat?” he exclaimed, obviously shocked at the lack of food, he then proceeded to go through the few cabinets finding a bag or rice and some instant miso soup mix. He looked at you in shock and you could feel your cheeks turning red with guilt. 

“Is this all you have?” Nanami asked, looking at you. You looked from one to the other, before letting your eyes rest on the floor. 

“Money has been tight recently,” you explained. Both of them looked from you to the other one, they seemed to reach a silent, mutual agreement before Nanami spoke. 

“You do know that this is not an ok environment to be pregnant in, right?” He looked genuinely concerned and it just made you feel so much worse. 

“I know it’s not ideal” you said, “but I can’t afford anything else.” There was a gap of silence until Gojo spoke up, 

“You could stay in our guest room” he exclaimed “we never use it, and it would allow us to keep an even closer eye on you” He was basically jumping up and down about his new idea. 

“I couldn’t” you stammered “I don’t want to impose on your life” Nanami thought for a moment before expressing his opinion. 

“Satoru is right'' he paused, “I would be better for you to stay with us, and it would be better for our peace of mind as well.” You were at a loss for words, could you really take their offer? Was that even an ethical thing to do? 

“Please” Gojo whined putting his face in front of yours. You took a moment before sighing 

“Ok” you said “it still doesn't feel quite right to me” you added. You looked from Gojo to Nanami, waiting to see their reaction. Nanami nodded, 

“I understand. But please do not feel as though you are intruding, we are welcoming you” he reassured. Gojo put his hands on your shoulder and pushed you forward from behind. 

“Go hurry and pack” he beamed, you staggered forward a bit before whipping around to face him. 

“Right now?” you gawked. Gojo just nodded and smiled before ushering you forward again. You looked to Nanami to see what he had to say. 

“I mean there’s no reason to delay your move” he remarked. And so it was decided, you were going to move in with them tonight. You went to your room and pulled out a duffle bag and began to pack the clothes you thought you would want most. Before you went back out to them, you also packed your favorite pillow and blanket, along with your toiletries. You made your way out back to the living room where they were still just standing in the middle of the room. Nanami took the bag, and Gojo took your arm, and you all walked back down to the car. Nanami placed your bag in the trunk and got into the car. The ride to their house was fairly long, and you found yourself drifting off, your head starting to fall on to Gojo’s shoulder. He just watched as you fell asleep, making no move to push your head off. 

“We’re here” Gojo announced, waking you up from your nap. You got out of the car and came face to face with an upscale apartment building the likes of which you’d never seen. You were in shock as they led you to the elevator and up to their floor, which you could only access with a key.

“We’ll make sure to get you a key tomorrow,” Nanami commented, before pressing the button for the fifth floor. You just nodded in awe. Once the elevator reached the fifth floor the two of them stepped out and into a little hallway type room with  the door to their actual apartment a few feet away. Nanami took out another key and unlocked the door, pushing it open to reveal a beautiful entrance room. You walked inside and took off your shoes before allowing yourself to step inside and marvel at the magnificent furniture and design of the living room. 

“Let me show you to your room” Gojo proclaimed as he took your arm and led you through the living room, which you could now see was connected to their kitchen, down a hallway and past a few doors before he stopped in front of one. He flung open the door to reveal a room as big as your old living room with a twin bed, a bookshelf, a dresser with a mirror, and a little sofa in one corner. The thing you found most amazing, was the huge window that allowed you to look out onto Tokyo. Nanami placed your duffle bag down on the sofa before turning to see you in a state of shock. 

“I hope you like the room” he said “your bathroom is right across the hallway, feel free to put your toiletries in there. Satoru and I’s bedroom is upstairs” You nodded at his words, internally screaming at the fact that the apartment had an upstairs. 

“We’ll leave you to get settled” he added “Please come out when you're ready and have some food with us.”

“Ok” you agreed and watched as the two men left the room, closing the door behind them. You flopped down against the bed and relished in how soft the mattress and sheets were. After just allowing yourself to process the events of today, you got up and started to put your clothes into the drawers before you laid your blanket and pillow on the bed. You took your toiletries out of the duffle bag and set them back down on the sofa, you then placed the now empty bag on the bottom of the bookshelf. You picked up the items off of the sofa and left your room and opened the door to a wonderful bathroom with a separate shower and bath so that one could wash off before getting into the tub. The toilet was also fancy. You put your bathing products on the shelves cut into the shower wall and set your toothbrush along other oral hygiene products and your hair brush into their respective places on the sink counter. After taking one last look around the room you made your way to the kitchen where Gojo was sitting on a high bar stool at the counter and Nanami was standing behind the counter cooking something. You took a seat one bar stool away from Gojo and looked at what Nanami was making. It looked like he was putting together rice with a fried egg, topped with, what you were guessing was salmon leftover from their dinner last night, and nori. It looked amazing and you were excited to be able to eat it, because, in all honesty, you were incredibly hungry. Nanami set a bowl in front of you along with a pair of chopsticks. 

“Itadakimasu” you and Gojo say in unison. You take your chopsticks, and pick up a clump of rice with salmon on it. Before you can place the bite in your mouth, you feel bile rising in your throat. You carefully set down your chopsticks and cover your mouth before hopping off the stool and speed walking to the bathroom where you promptly threw up the contents of your stomach. You looked up to see Nanami and Gojo standing in the doorway, a look of concern on their faces.

“I’m sorry” you apologized, your voice rough from the acid. You gagged again feeling more bile coming up your throat and you turned back to the toilet bowl and threw up once more. You were breathing heavy, your eyes were watering, and your face felt hot. It wasn’t until you calmed down a bit before you realized that Gojo was kneeling behind you with hand on the small of your back. He quickly supported you as you stood noticing how shaky you were. 

“I’m sorry” you apologized again, flushing the toilet. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it” Gojo chirped, “You're pregnant.” He helped you two the sink where you washed your mouth with mouthwash. You looked over to Nanami who was still standing in the doorway,

“Thank you for cooking dinner, I’m sure that it’s delicious, but right now I think I really just need sleep” you explained. He nodded in understanding

“Of course,” he said “I understand. If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask, Satoru and I will be staying up a bit later.” You bowed your head and thanked them again before going into your room, changing into your pajamas and laying down. You found it fairly easy to fall asleep thanks to how tired you were, and how comfortable the bed was.

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 13

Masterlist

Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit​ for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤ Make sure you read Roman Profile, set in the same universe!

Word Count: 6.7k

Recommended song: "Cupid’s Chokehold/Breakfast in America” by Gym Class Heroes

"I have to go."

"Can't you stay five more minutes?"

"I wish."

"Come on, just a few more minutes to cuddle." Pierre flings back the fluffy duvet and holds out a hand. "Please?"

"I have an exam," you say with a sigh but bend to press a kiss to his upturned palm. "I can't skip."

Pierre groans and slings an arm over his eyes. "What am I supposed to do all day?"

"I don't have a sim but I have an old PlayStation you're more than welcome to use. I think I still have one or two games."

"That won't keep me busy."

"I'm sure you'll find something. Just stay out of trouble okay? I'd like to get my security deposit back when I finally move out of this hellhole."

"Okay," Pierre grumbles, sitting up to give you a quick kiss. "What time are you getting back?"

"Four. We can go out to dinner or something." You smooth a hand over his hair, smiling lightly. "Or we can go for a picnic and take a walk through Saint James Park."

"Sounds like a plan." He turns his head to kiss your palm. "I'll be counting down the minutes."

You roll your eyes but your smile contradicts the sass. "I'll be home before you know it. Love you, champion."

"I love you too, mon coeur."

He was endlessly grateful for how easily the two of you had fallen back into each other. When he had shown up at your doorstep he had expected there to be awkward pauses and minutes of tense silence, but there had been blissfully little of either. As the days bleed into each other, your relationship only gets steadier, closer and closer to what it used to be. Maybe it was because you had been the one to break the silence or maybe it was because he had thrown himself into his career into someone's bed- whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. He was simply grateful to be welcomed back into your life. He didn't plan on leaving any time soon.

Pierre allows himself a half hour of lounging in bed before forcing himself to get up and shower. Off weeks were hard; all he wanted to do was rest and recharge but he still had to follow his workout regimen and sleep schedule or he risked falling out of the habit, making it that much harder to get back in the groove come race week.

First order of business: clean the clutter you had shoved in closets and the spare room prior to his arrival the day before. Folding the three baskets of clean laundry took an hour, washing dishes another thirty minutes, and vacuuming the entire flat took twenty. Once the counters are spotless and there isn’t a stray sock to be found, he takes stock of your pantry and notes what staples you were running low on.

Two hours later he trudges back up the three flights of stairs to your apartment, arms laden with reusable bags packed to the gills with food. His legs burn and he's slightly winded from the excursion; at least that could count as his work out for the day.

He's just about to start slicing vegetables for dinner when his phone chimes with a text from his PR agent, Sylvie.

You're supposed to be in an interview now. Where are you?

"Oh shit." He scrambles for his laptop which of course was dead. He manages to plug it in at the dining room table and angle it so the background is mostly neutral, just a band poster framed behind him. He checks his hair before logging into the interview.

"There's the star," the interviewer says, far too chipper to be entirely genuine.

"Sorry, I was having connection issues." He queues up his signature sweetheart smile that gets him out of any squabbles. It works, the woman's irritation melting into a more easy expression.

"Let's just get right into it. Since we're low on time I'll jump right in, if you don't mind."

Pierre leans back. He had an inkling where this was headed. "By all means, please."

"We just saw news of your deal with Christian Horner- if you take seventh in this year's drivers championship, it looks like you're at Red Bull Racing next year. How does that feel after being publicly demoted mid-season in 2019?"

A smirk tugs at Pierre's lips. He had known this exact question was coming. He had debated how to answer it without starting waves and still remaining truthful. If there was one thing he prided himself on, it was his ability to be diplomatic when others may have let their egos get in the way.

"Obviously I'm grateful that Red Bull has recognized the hard work I've been putting in at Alpha Tauri," he starts. "I think I've been able to push the car as far as I can but I still have pace in me, personally. So moving into the Red Bull would let me loose, so to speak, and give me a chance to prove that Red Bull is where I belong."

"Right, you have had quite a spectacular season so far with a race win under your belt and a few podiums for good measure. What do you attribute that success to? Why is it so different now in an Alpha Tauri versus that coveted second Red Bull seat?"

Pierre purses his lips. The answer he was expected to give wasn't one he was willing to voice. Instead he opts for neutral. "I've been able to focus and hone my driving this season. I've found a groove that works for me and with it has come an insane amount of confidence, which is something I struggled with for awhile after going back to Torro Rosso. I think it's really just that I'm finally comfortable in the car and with my team and that makes a huge difference."

"Thank you for that," the journalist says and Pierre nods. "Shifting gears, I have a few questions about your personal life if you don't mind."

This was the part he always dreads. Questions were often prying and he had to subtly skirt around them in a way that offered a satisfying answer without giving away too much. It was an art he liked to think he had perfected over the years but still didn't enjoy.

"As long as you don't mind me staying silent if I don't want to answer."

The woman laughs, the sound sharp and grating. "Of course. Unless I can bribe you into giving me an exclusive."

"Likely not. But you ask the right questions and we'll see."

"You've been seen hanging around a certain London neighborhood lately- that wouldn't have anything to do with you and your lovely lady, would it?"

He had been waiting for that one, too. When the two of you had returned from Red Bull headquarters he had noticed the man taking pictures across the street. He hadn't said anything to you at the time because really, there was no point in getting you worked up when he had a plan to handle it.

The question played right into his hand, in fact. 

Pierre sits forward, folding his hands in front of him. "Actually yes. We recently got back together and if you'll let me, I would like to make a request."

The woman leans back and checks her notes. "Well it's not quite what I had planned but please," she gives a flourish with a hand, "you have the floor."

"I know driver's personal lives are something that a lot of people are interested in and that's great. I don't mind sharing things with my fans or letting them get the inside scoop, but there's some things I would rather be left alone. My relationship is one of them. I know you all took note that she hasn't been around the past couple months and if I'm being honest, it's because of comments and press coverage that invaded her privacy. I think some people forgot she was more than just a name on a screen."

Pen poised to take notes, the interviewer prompts, "You said you had a request?"

He doesn’t stop to assess the damage he had already undoubtedly done. Sylvie was probably already on the phone doing damage control with every news outlet she could get her hands on, if her muted and black square at the bottom of the screen was an indication. 

"All I'm asking is that you leave her alone. If you have questions or comments you have to make, just direct them at me. Don't follow her around asking about me. Don't comment on her posts unless you're capable of being a decent human. Just… let her live her life in peace."

Maybe he was a love sick fool, but honestly he didn't care if he lost some support from fans. If they had such strong opinions on his personal life, he would be better off without them anyway. And his team could cut him and even if he was unable to secure a seat in Formula 1 after next season, he would survive. 

But if he lost you again, he would be broken. It had taken being apart from you for him to realize it and he'd be damned if he was ever disconnected from you like that again.

"That's quite the speech."

Pierre shrugs. "It was. She's the most important thing in my life, right up there with racing.” Now that he had started down the road of truth, he found it impossible to hold his tongue. “I lost her once because people couldn't be bothered to remember that their words have consequences. I won't let it happen again."

"So you see yourself with her for a long time then?" The woman's eyes glitter with the potential of getting an even juicer tidbit from him.

Pierre’s jaw sets, muscles feathering. "That's not something I'm prepared to discuss."

The woman purses her lips and tips her head to the side. There was clearly more she wanted to say. "Well, I have to thank you for what you've given me here. My boss is gonna love the exclusive. I won't push any further. Thanks for your comments, Pierre."

"Thanks for actually being respectful."

“We aren’t all monsters.” The woman shrugs. “I can’t say I haven’t had my moments but I try to be straightforward.”

“Right, yeah. I get that you have a job to do.”

“Anyway. I look forward to seeing what you can do the rest of this season. Good luck.”

He signs off and instantly anxiety washes over him. If she twisted his words he was screwed. Sylvie would be on the phone as soon as the article was printed, no doubt trying to soothe sponsors and investors. She'd give him an earful about being respectful and not poking the bear but he'd tune it out like he always did.

The sooner he got away from Red Bull, the better.

Instead of dwelling on it he busies himself with cooking. It was one of his guilty pleasures. He always requested a full kitchen when he was staying anywhere more than a few days so that if he had the chance to make a home-cooked meal, he had the option. For tonight he had selected his favorite recipe. Parmesan-Cesar chicken wasn't normally something you would ever touch with a ten foot pole but as long as he was making it, Pierre knew you'd at least give it a try.

Music blasting in the background, Pierre sings along quietly as he unpacks the rest of the ingredients and gets to work. He does a little spin between the island and the sink, rinsing the dishes and putting them right in the dishwasher as he uses them. A clean kitchen is the mark of a great chef, his mom had told him, drilling the phrase into him when he was young.

In the middle of cutting potatoes Pierre gets a call. He only has an hour until you're home so he doesn't bother stopping, just puts it on speaker and continues measuring spices.

"Hey Daniel."

"Heard you're in London," Daniel says, Australian accent thick. "And a little birdie told me you and your lady got back together."

"We did," Pierre says, a smile splitting his face. "Finally."

"Thank god, now I don't have to listen to your drunk woe-is-me rambling anymore."

Pierre laughs and sets aside the measuring spoons. "It's not that bad."

"Oh please." Pierre could practically hear the eyes rolling. "The number of times I had to send an uber to a bar after a grand prix is insane. Charles and I should be entitled to financial compensation with the amount of babysitting we've been doing."

"I can handle myself!"

"Not after a martini you can't."

He was right there. "Is there a point to this conversation?"

"Oh right- I'm actually in town today too, got some stuff to shoot for McLaren before we head to Austria for the race next week. You guys wanna come out with us tonight? We're heading to a bar or two."

"I actually had something planned-"

"She already said she's coming!" Dan's girlfriend shouts in the background.

“Well then why even ask me?”

“To be polite,” Daniel offers with a laugh. “We’re meeting at the rooftop bar at the Trafalgar hotel at seven. That give you enough time to do whatever you had planned that’s apparently more important than seeing your best mates?”

“We’ll be there,” Pierre says and hangs up. He finishes seasoning the potatoes and pops them in the oven, finally getting a chance to sit while they cook alongside the main course.

He's on his feet a few minutes later, decluttering the last bits of mess around your flat. It was clear it hadn't had a decent cleaning in quite awhile- hopefully you'd keep it tidy now that the effort had been made. The guys would tease him endlessly if they found out he was acting like a housewife.

You arrive home just as he’s setting the table. “God, it smells amazing in here.”

“Salut, mon amour.” Hands full with hot dishes, he settles for a kiss to your cheek. “I made dinner.”

“And you cleaned,” you observe. “You were a busy boy.”

“Pyry would kill me if he found out I was laying around all day. I had to do something.” 

You hang your backpack on the hook behind the door and take a seat at the table. “Well remind me to thank him again when I see him. This looks delicious.”

Pierre grins over his shoulder at you. “Me or the food?”

You throw your head back and laugh, loud and unrestrained. “The food, you goof.”

Pierre quirks a brow. "Is that the honest answer?"

"Okay, maybe both." 

The meal is filled with your ramblings about your exam and your new hobby- this month it was hiking. You went into detail about all the few trails in the city you’d been on as well as the more challenging ones that dotted the countryside. Pierre just nods along as you talk, already planning on staying up late to learn what he could about the topic so he could be a better conversation partner.

The pair of you work together to tidy the kitchen and put away any leftovers. “Did you bring something semi nice to wear tonight or do we have to make a quick trip to the store?”

“I’ve got some Tauri stuff I can wear. And not just team gear,” he adds when you groan. “You know that cream sweater you love? The one with the logo debossed on the front? I’ve got that.”

“Oh,” you say before biting your lip. Your eyes trail down his frame and back up like you’re imagining it on him. A tingle travels up his spine under your assessing gaze. If you kept that up, neither of you would make it out of the apartment tonight. “My favorite. Yeah, wear that. It’ll be on my floor by the end of the night.”

Pierre places his hands on your waist and grins. “Will it? And what will be on the floor from your closet, hm?”

“Your favorite dress.”

“The orange one?” He realizes half a second too late that you would never know how much he adored that dress from the gala. It had hugged your curves in all the right places and left your back exposed, which would leave him free to trace patterns on your soft skin whenever he pleased. He had missed out on worshipping you in it that night and he wouldn’t mind the opportunity to do so now.

You roll your eyes. “I can’t wear that to a bar.”

“Says who?” Pierre nuzzles his face against your neck, breathing you in. A light undercurrent of sweat from your walk home from classes mingles with the usual bright scent of you, only serving to rile him up further. Never in a million years would he have guessed that a simple scent could do him in, and yet here he was, completely wrapped up in yours. 

“Says me.” You sigh, tipping your head to the side when Pierre’s nose grazes your skin.

His lips follow until he reaches your jaw before he pulls back. “What one are you wearing then?”

“Does it matter?” You cross your arms, the smirk playing on your kissable lips tempting him.

“I have to mentally prepare myself.” And if whatever you chose was too sexy, he would need to get his handsiness out of his system before the pair of you met up with Daniel and his girlfriend. The last thing he needed was to be on the front of some seedy gossip column when his plan was to ease back into it. 

You smile up at him, broad and unrestrained as if knowing your answer would affect him greatly. “The cobalt blue one that makes you stutter.”

The dress in question was just as form fitting as the orange one, but shorter and decidedly more distracting. It fell mid thigh and the spaghetti straps left your shoulders exposed, which coupled with the low back displayed a downright sinful amount of skin. You had worn it at a Torro Rosso event a couple years back and he had scarcely been able to get a full sentence out around you all night. 

“That one’s a close second.” He follows you to your room, leaving you to hunt through the closet while he digs through his suitcase, thankful that he had the foresight to check out of his hotel on the way back from Red Bull and bring his things here.

Because there was no way in hell he was missing a second of being by your side while he was in town. Every moment had to count when he had no idea when he would be able to sleep next to you again, not when the season was nearly over and there were two double headers between now and winter break. When so many variables stood between him and you, he had no problem prioritizing you over a routine workout or a full night’s rest.

Pierre changes into the sweater and a pair of dark skinny jeans well before you emerge from the bathroom. He doesn’t bother responding to Dan’s text that includes an address and reminds him to be on time, instead opting to scroll through his instagram feed. He likes a handful of posts from his fellow drivers, including one of Max actually smiling at something off camera.

“Well?”

Pierre’s head snaps up at the sound of your voice. The phone falls from his hand when he drags his eyes over your body, head to toe and back again. 

Oh, he was so fucked. 

Maybe it was selfish, but with your hair done like that, the barest brush of makeup lining your eyes and in that stunningly blue dress, he didn’t want any other man to have the privilege of laying their eyes on you. 

No, you were all his.

The moment you’re within reach, Pierre places his hands on the back of your thighs, just beneath the curve of your barely covered ass. You chuckle and tap your fingers under his chin. “Close your mouth; you’ll catch flies.”

“Just so you know, if you wear that dress I can’t be held liable for my actions.” Up to and including scaring off anyone that wasn’t Daniel or his girlfriend. No one else deserved to be blessed with your radiance. Hell, he didn’t deserve it, and yet here you stood. 

“We’ll see about that.”

**********

Daniel and his girlfriend had already made their way through a round of drinks by the time you arrive. It wasn’t Pierre’s fault he couldn’t keep his hands off you and wound up getting distracted on the drive over.

"Late as always," she greets, kissing your cheek. "Dan got us here fifteen minutes early because he wanted the table with the best view."

"Like our names wouldn't have gotten us the table if we asked," Pierre says, wrapping Daniel in a one-armed hug before kissing his girl’s cheek in a traditional French greeting. "The view is pretty great though."

You were already leaning on the glass partition, hands curled over the edge and undoubtedly leaving behind fingerprints on the pristine surface, completely unfazed by the fact that the other patrons were staring. You had eyes only for the London skyline and Trafalgar square lit up below. The bar with its white marble tabletops and strict dress code was absolutely not a place that you should be standing on your tiptoes for a better view, but there was no way he could condemn you when your face lit up like that.

Pierre just places a hand on the small of your back and shoots a look at the bartender currently glaring in your direction, daring the smartly dressed man to say anything. He only raises a brow and resumes filling drink orders.

"You guys know how to pick a place," you say, "I could stand here all night."

"Right," Daniel's girlfriend says, rolling her eyes at Pierre who shrugs as if to say what do you want me to do? He was powerless to deny you anything that brought you a semblance of joy; your smile was everything to him. “Love, why don’t you come tell us about uni? You’re the only one of us currently enrolled, and I’m sure the boys would love to hear about all the drama.”

You and Pierre share a secret grin. You shake your head but allow him to guide you back to the cocktail table. “Drama? I’m an engineering major. The closest thing we have to drama is someone grossly miscalculating a structural load.”

Dan shoots Pierre a mischievous grin. “I heard Stroll might be moving next year-”

Both you and Daniel’s girlfriend groan at the same time. “No racing talk when we’re around tonight,” she says. “I’ve heard enough lately.”

“What’s new in the publishing world?” You ask, leaning into Pierre when he wraps an arm around you. He only half listens to her explain the so-called “top secret” project she’s currently working on, instead opting to get drunk on you. 

The light breeze filtering through the surrounding buildings ruffles your hair. You lift a hand absentmindedly to tuck it behind your ear in an attempt to keep it out of your face. Everything you do is amazing to him, snagging his attention even when he should be listening to whatever it was his friends were saying. Your gravity was simply too strong to bother resisting.

“Enough talk,” Daniel’s girlfriend says, waving a hand. “You need a drink, and I want to dance. Let’s go.” Before Pierre can protest, she’s dragging you away to the glass top bar. You throw an apologetic glance over your shoulder and Pierre just winks. He was fine watching you from afar for now.

Pierre’s gaze drops to your perky ass when you lean in to let the bartender know what you want, likely shouting to be heard over the music, your dress riding up a bit with the movement. For having such a strict dress code, this place sure did feel like an upper class club.

You hook your thumb over a shoulder, the bartender’s gaze darting to Pierre before the man nods. The only explanation you offer is a wink, followed by a note on a cocktail napkin and a beer delivered a few minutes later by a server.

This is supposed to be the best beer they have. Just try it.

Leave it to you to constantly push him outside his comfort zone. Pierre tentatively sniffs the foamy glass and shrugs before taking a sip. Not bad, but he still preferred his usual whiskey. 

Setting the glass down, Pierre turns back to Daniel. “Congrats on extending your contract with McLaren by the way. Should give you a decent shot at keeping up with the big boys and landing some serious points.”

“Seems like most of us are moving around, doesn’t it? Sainz to Ferrari, Seb to Aston Martin... The only one with any sort of long term commitment is Max and now me I guess.”

“And Charles,” Pierre adds. “He’s stuck in that red monstrosity for the foreseeable future.”

Daniel laughs, taking a swig from his glass. “And you’re moving too, huh? Austria should be interesting,” Daniel remarks, watching the girls at the bar nursing their own drinks. “What with the news of your new contract breaking and all.”

“Potential contract,” Pierre corrects. “Not for sure yet.”

Daniel scoffs. “Come on mate. You won’t have any problem getting up to seventh by the end of the season. Perez is slipping and the news that his seat is in jeopardy will only help your cause.”

Pierre takes a sip of his amber beer and nods. “I’m sure Perez doesn’t appreciate it, but he’s always been a good sport.” You catch Pierre’s eye and lift your fresh flute of champagne in a mock salute. Dan’s girlfriend drags you out on the dancefloor and immediately spins you. Your laugh is nearly audible, the memory of it fresh in Pierre’s mind as he watches you.

“Mate, have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Daniel shakes his head and drains his drink. “I really don’t know how it took you two this long to come together. You’ve been dancing around each other for years but neither of you would admit it.”

“I could say the same about you two.”

Daniel shrugs. “Fair point. At least we got it all worked out in a weekend though.”

Pierre rolls his eyes and shoves his friend’s shoulder. “Whatever. Not all of us can have a perfect love story.” 

The grin Daniel shoots Pierre is pure sunshine. “How long are you planning on waiting before you ask her to marry you?”

“What?” Pierre sputters, nearly choking on air. “Who said anything about marriage?”

“Oh come on,” Dan says, rolling his eyes. “We all know it’s coming eventually.”

Pierre would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. But he wasn’t sure if it was the time for a proposal, not when you had just gotten back together. The last thing he wanted to do was go through the pain of losing you again because he was too forward.

“One day at a time,” Pierre says finally, dragging himself back to earth. “I just got her back a few days ago. I don't want to scare her off by proposing just yet.”

“Right. Well you might want to get a ring on that hand sooner rather than later,” Daniel notes, gesturing to the two men who had approached the girls. “How long are we gonna let that go on before we step in?” Neither of you paid the men any attention, instead enjoying each other’s company, but the men’s eyes roaming over your body sets Pierre on edge.

“They can handle themselves,” Pierre remarks, shifting on his feet. The weak attempt at self assurance didn’t do much to negate the red tinting his vision. “They’re fine.”

“Her sharp tongue will hold them at bay,” Daniel says, winking at his girlfriend. “For a while at least.” Props to Daniel for possessing inhuman amounts of restraint, but Pierre’s muscles were coiled and ready to interject at the first sign of trouble. 

He has to pause to remind himself he doesn't own you. You could make your own decisions about who you spoke with and who you entertained as long as he was the one to take you home. He didn't care if you wanted to flirt; he knew it meant nothing and if you got a free drink out if it then so be it. But those were the rules: flirting, no touching. He'd step in if need be if someone took it too far.

But that didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

Pierre watches tight lipped as you politely chat with the man, your body language closed off and dismissive. Pierre hates that you even speak a word to him. He knows it shouldn’t bother him because he trusts you, but the stranger is a wild card. Pierre watches like a hawk as the man inches ever closer, slowly interesting himself into your personal space. He waits for you to take a step back, to grant him that silent permission to come over and insert himself in the conversation and get his hands on you, this proving you weren't on the market.

One of the men shouts something at you over the music and you leer back at him, clearly disgusted at whatever he had said. Whirling on him, you open your mouth, likely to snap out a profanity lined retort, when his hand latches onto your arm.

"Oh, fuck no."

Half a second later, Pierre is stalking across the dance floor, no thoughts other than teaching the asshole a lesson. His hands are already curled into fists, ready to swing if the man hadn't moved by the time he arrived. Tolerating someone hitting on you was one thing, but blatantly ignoring the clear dismissals and laying a hand on you? No way in hell was he standing by and letting that happen.

The resounding crack of your open hand hitting the man’s face has pride swelling in Pierre’s chest. That’s my girl. You’d solved the problem before he’d even arrived. You jab a finger in the man’s face, Daniel’s girlfriend right there with you to back you up.

“Fuck off,” you were saying as Pierre approached, “or do you need to go back to kindergarten and learn to keep your hands to yourself? Maybe next time you’ll think twice before laying a hand on a taken woman- or any woman, for that matter.”

Driving your point home, Pierre slips an arm around your waist and pulls you in until your back is flush to his chest. You crane your neck up, the tense muscles beneath his fingertips and the fury contorting your features confirming just how rattled you are.

The lines creasing your brow are soothed away when you realize who holds you. You open your mouth to say something but Pierre places a hand on your throat, thumb and forefinger framing your jaw as he cuts you off with a kiss, his eyes locked on the guy still standing off to the side holding his cheek. 

You taste like the champagne you’d been sipping all night. It’s the only thought in his head outside of the jealousy licking through his veins like wildfire as he claims you then and there in front of the crowd. Mine, his heart sings. He flexes his fingers, taking advantage of your surprised gasp to slide his tongue against yours. Mine, mine, mine.

Pierre lets you be the one to break away, lips curling in a smug, kiss-swollen smile as you address the men. “In case you still don’t get the picture, I’m not interested. And neither is she.” You jerk your chin, indicating your friend and Daniel, who had indeed followed Pierre and since mirrored his possessive stance, one arm wrapped tightly around his own girlfriend.

The two men reluctantly slink away after mumbling something unintelligible but undoubtedly indecent. It had been a week and a half since he had been on track and he had plenty of pent up aggression to get out. He didn’t normally opt for using someone’s face as a punching back as a stress reliever, but rulers were made to be broken. Your hand splayed on Pierre’s chest is all that stops him from following and asking them to repeat themselves.

“Just let me hit him,” Pierre says, voice far more level and put together than he had expected it to be. “Just one punch. That’s all I would need.” His knuckles smart like he had already connected them to the man’s face. 

“And let you throw away your contract? I don’t think so. The last thing you need is a blurry photo of you knocking someone’s teeth in hitting the front page of every gossip mag in the country. I’m fine, so you can cut the bravado.”

“Yeah, I hear you.” 

“I was wondering how long you were gonna leave us out here,” you say, trying to regain Pierre’s attention. When it doesn’t work, you grasp his stubbled chin and force him to look at you. “I didn’t expect to be stranded for so long.”

The eye contact is what finally calms his racing thoughts. Seeing the trust reflected in your face is enough to have his grip on your waist loosening to allow you to face him. “Someone convinced me you could fend for yourself. And while it seems that’s true, I couldn’t stand it anymore.” 

Your satisfied hum is swallowed by the pounding bass but Pierre feels it rumble in his chest. “Sometimes even a queen needs saving.”

Though his point had long since been proven, Pierre’s hand slides down your back to rest on your ass nonetheless. “I knew you going out looking like this would cause trouble.”

You tip your head to the side, feigning innocence as you press your hips to his. You grin, noticing the hard on that had been bothering him all night. “Looking like what?”

“Drop dead fucking gorgeous,” he says, accentuating his point by sliding his hand up your thigh and under the hem of your dress. “You know I’m tearing this off you the second we get home, right?”

“Why do you think I wore it?”

The sound that escapes him is primal and possessive. The presence of bystanders does nothing to prevent him from palming your ass and kneading the flesh. He presses his lips to your neck and mumbles between kisses, “To torture me.”

You push lightly at his chest, laughing although your eyes dart around the space in search of cameras. Old habits were hard to break. “That may have been part of my motivation. But you’ll have to wait. I haven’t seen Dan in forever and I would actually like to have a conversation with him before we sneak off somewhere.”

At least you knew he wouldn’t be able to wait until you got home to get between your legs. “Fine,” he grumbles, hands settling on your hips. “Only because I love you.”

You beam up at him. “Love you too.”

Arm still slung around your waist, Pierre nods at Daniel and follows the other couple back to the table.

After two more drinks, you and Daniel's girlfriend are singing along to the music in lilting, off key voices, simply enjoying the night air. A stray breeze catches your hair just as you turn to look at Pierre and his heart damn near leaps out of his chest.

To his credit, Pierre’s cheeks are rosy from more than just the charged glances you throw at him as the night wears on. He was on his fourth beer, far more than he usually drank these days, and the buzzing in his head was becoming increasingly hard to ignore. When he has to squint to tell the time on his watch, he figured that was enough.

"I should probably get going mate," Pierre says, turning to Daniel. "Early flight."

Daniel laughs and beacons for the girls. He kisses his girlfriend's cheek when she returns with you in tow. "Are we leaving already?" You pout, and Pierre had half a mind to stay simply have your smile make an encore appearance.

"Car coming," he murmurs, dipping his head to give you a proper kiss. God, you were stunning in that dress- he might not be able to string together words coherently, but he knew that much. 

"Fine." You cross your arms for a split second to convey your feelings on the matter before wrapping your friends in a hug and saying your goodbyes.

Pierre's hand is already on your ass before you're in the uber. Get a few drinks in the boy and he let his guard down. You laugh and pull out of his embrace to usher him into the sleek black suv. If he had been coherent, he probably would have chatted with the driver about the specs of the engine or maybe even racing if he was a fan. Instead the ride is filled with stolen touches and sloppy, wet kisses to your neck.

"I can't wait till we're home," he mumbles. "You're gorgeous. How did I snag you? You're so far out of my league. No way should you be with me."

"I have a thing for guys that go fast in circles on the weekends." 

"Really?" Pierre frowns. "Should I be worried?"

"No. You're the only one I have eyes for." His head is fuzzier than when you left the bar but your laugh breaks through, his stomach flipping at the melody of it. "And we are home."

Pierre blinks, realizing he does indeed stand in your kitchen, with no recollection of climbing the three flights of stairs between the street and your flat. "Oh. When did that happen?"

"After I half dragged you up the stairs." You bend over to undo the straps of your heels, giving him the perfect view. He lets out a whistle that ends in a hiccup.

"Take me to bed, lover," he says in what he thinks is a husky voice. It should be impossible for you to resist.

You roll your eyes and wrap an arm around his middle. "That's the plan. I'll take you to bed, strip you out of that sweater, and you'll be asleep before your head hits the pillow."

"Nnnnnno," he protests, hand sliding down your exposed back to settle at the base of your spine. "I wanna make the most of tonight. I leave tomorrow."

"You don't leave until noon," you point out. "Plenty of time to nurse your hangover and have fun before then, after you drink some water and get some sleep."

"But baby-"

"No buts. Do as I say or I'll send you off tomorrow without a goodbye kiss."

Even in his half drunken state he knew it was a swiss cheese lie, spotted with holes and completely stale. You'd never let him leave without a kiss goodbye because neither of you knew if it would be the last time. He was a race car driver after all, and that came with risks. 

But he sighs anyways and slips off the cream sweater, letting it fall to the floor. At least one of you kept their promises. 

After confirming he was settled into bed, you retreat to the bathroom. His heart aches at the absence, even though you're mere feet away with nothing but a thin door separating the two of you. He registers the sound of the tap turning on and your soft, off key humming of the last song he remembered hearing before getting out of the uber.

"Mon amour," he croons when you re-emerge in a set of silk pajamas. He reaches out his hands for you and you slide under the covers, immediately slotting your body against his. A leg hitches over his hip, tugging him closer until your middles touch.

"Mmm," he mumbles, nuzzling into your neck. "Je t'aime. Tu es l'amour de ma vie et nous vivons d'amour et d'eau fraîche."

"I have no idea what you're saying," you whisper, running your fingers through his hair. "But I like it. Feel free to keep going."

"Tes baisers sont du feu et je fond à ton toucher." He presses his lips to your neck before resuming his mumbled French. "Je pense toujours à toi. Je veux être avec toi pour toujours. Tu as mon cœur et je ne voudrais pas qu'il en soit autrement."

"I like the sound of that." You press a soft, sweet kiss to his forehead. God, that tenderness was why he loved you. That, and your personality, and your eyes, and your… everything. "Dormir, my love. I'll be here to listen to your pretty words in the morning."

The single word of his mother tongue on your lips has him smiling. "Oui, tu le feras. Parce que tu es à moi et je suis à toi."

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The Cover Story, Ch. 1

Greetings! This is a preview of my first chapter that I’m posting exclusively on my patreon. If you like it, I hope you follow along as I work on it there. I appreciate your time and thoughts and would love to hear what you think. 

Without further ado, or perhaps much ado about thing...

Lucy Madani was not going to cry. 

That was a lie. She might cry. She wanted to cry. She was known to cry very easily, but not without reason, and there certainly were more than enough reasons already for her to tear up as she stood on the corner and felt a wave of water from a bus going through a puddle splash her legs and skirt. It was only just after eight in the morning, and she was ready to crawl back into bed, admit defeat graciously, and sleep straight through to tomorrow. 

“I can’t talk right now, Baba,” Lucy muttered into her phone as she resumed her quick walk down the street. 

“You are mad, and we need to talk.” 

“Let me rephrase it. I don’t want to and I also can’t. I’m going to be late for my meeting.”

“Your big interview pitch. I wanted to wish you good luck, but you stormed off.” 

“Yes, that is what one tends to do when their father informs them that he is getting engaged,” she fumed, her anger coming over her once again at the thought as she darted across the street, waving her hand at the honking car. 

She was an adult, she tried to remind herself. A full, grown adult. An adult-adult who barely had a stable job, had heaps of student loans, and still lived with her widowed father. She didn’t throw tantrums and she wasn’t going to cry about any of it. Today was too important for that, and she was going to nail the pitch and finally move on from puff pieces for teen magazines. She was going to make the jump to serious journalist. She was going to be requested, by name. 

Today she was not going to cry. 

At least not on purpose. 

“Will you be home for dinner?” 

Luckily, he knew enough to sound sorry, though it wasn’t enough of a victory for her, only fueling the prickling behind her eyes. 

“No, I’m going over Laila’s. I’ll just stay there. Wouldn’t want to interrupt your time with her.” 

“Lucy joon, please talk to me. I know you’re mad-- you have your mother’s temper, but I think we should talk about this.” 

“I’m going into my meeting. We’ll talk sometime this week,” she offered, shaking her head. “Just… I have to go.” 

She didn’t wait for much of a reply because she knew he was playing low, dragging her mother into it. It only made it worse. Shoes sloshing against the tile of the lobby, she made her way to the elevator and decided firmly, once again, that she was not going to cry. 

Her phone chimed with a handful of well wishes and good luck’s from the group chat and she thanked them quickly before trying to find the meeting information from her calendar, head down and lost in her own world as she stepped into the elevator and right into a stranger. 

“I’m so sorry,” Lucy hurried, looking forward and then following the chest and then long pale neck up a few more inches to an amused smirk and eyes hidden by wayfarer sunglasses. 

“Not a problem. I was in the way.” 

The stranger ran her hand through a mop of curly copper hair atop her head, faded on the sides and shaggy on top, decidedly better put together than any tiktok boy’s. Her small smile pulled at bow-shaped lips and left dimples on both cheeks, and there were too many freckles to even begin counting. Lucy gulped before moving to the side and slinking to the back corner. 

Of course she would get into an elevator with the hottest woman she’d ever seen. Of course she would nearly plow her over in her hurry. Of course she would be sweet and smile like that and have an adorably shaped chin and face. Of course Lucy would do all of that while looking like something the cat dragged in after a bad night. 

But luck wasn’t with her today, and she was unable to hide too long, as no one else got on behind her and she heaved the heaviest sigh before looking down at her ruined stockings, spattered with mud and whatever else was festering in that puddle. Her skirt was soaked still and dripping and she was beginning to really feel it sinking into her skin. Phone clutched tightly in her hand, she felt the weight of it all and didn’t know what to do with it. 

From under her brow she looked up to study the back of the stranger, their long legs and black jeans, their primly tucked in black t-shirt that stretched slightly across her shoulders, and the softest looking hair in the most beautiful shade of red she’d ever seen. 

The elevator ascended approximately three floors before she started crying. Alligator tears slipped down her cheeks before she could do anything to stop them. And then the stranger cleared their throat and quietly turned around to verify what was happening, was actually happening, only making it worse. 

But she didn’t say anything, just turned back around, and with the smallest movement stretched an arm forward to hold the elevator between floors, and quickly, Lucy turned herself around and faced the wall. She took a few steadying breaths and wiped her cheeks, mentally preparing to leave everything else behind and focus on the moment-- when she would be selling herself to one of the largest companies of all time to be the writer of the profile of their Director of Creative Design before they went public. She’d prepared. She was ready. Nothing else mattered and she was a goddamn adult. 

The stranger, the kind, hot stranger pushed her sunglasses up into the messy curly hair and offered a smaller smile than before, the communal ‘it’ll be okay’ without saying anything. Lucy didn’t register much of it, just stared at the grey-green of her eyes, forgetting all else, and especially that she was a goddamn adult who desperately needed a payday to move out of her father’s place and away from whoever was moving into her mother’s side of the bed. 

“I’m not usually,” she began, but bit her tongue because she didn’t want to lie. She was usually like this, just occasionally less muddy. “Thank you.” 

“We can stay a few more minutes if you’d like. I don’t really want to go to work today.” 

For the first time all day, Lucy smiled genuinely and felt lighter. It was that quick and that easy. 

“It’s okay. I’m ready.” 

A curt nod led to a stretch again and the elevator started once more. Lucy leaned across and pressed the button for her floor, catching a whiff of a distinctly woodsy smell, like sandalwood perhaps? There was a hit of lavender? Maybe cedar? It was wonderful. She wanted to breathe in more of it, but retreated before she was the girl who cried and sniffed people in the elevator. 

The silence was oddly comfortable for a few more seconds until it dinged and she took the step out. The stranger politely held the door and offered one final smile, complete with just one dimple this time. 

“Good luck,” she winked before pulling back, hands clasped loosely in front of her before the doors closed forever. 

It couldn’t get better than that, Lucy decided, staring at the elevator doors and steadying herself once again. But she was hoping it couldn’t get worse either. 

XXXXXXXXXXX

Quinn Sullivan wanted to die. 

Not really die, but she might have taken a good coma. Just for like a week maybe. Or six months. Something long enough to beat out this hangover she was sporting, courtesy of her very thoughtful best friend, and if she was lucky, long enough to survive the offering and release of the new game. Maybe a year-long coma? Was that too much to ask for, honestly? Maybe the universe could toss her a bone, just this once, especially after the previous year of her life. 

But in lieu of a swift and merciful death and/or coma, she was just going to have to survive the giant hangover that was currently attacking her body. All she needed was a quiet day and an extra large piece of leftover pizza she was certain was waiting in the staff fridge somewhere. Maybe some birthday cake--

And then a five-five wrecking ball of a human barreled into her chest. 

The rest of her ride up, Quinn thought about the weird trip it’d been, and if she should have done something different. And then she beat herself up for winking. Who winked? Why did she wink? She’d never done it before. But she earned a smile from a cute girl, and there was a tiny flutter at the base of her rib cage, one she hadn’t noticed in a long, long time. She pressed her fingertips there for the rest of the ride to her floor. 

With a groan, she put her sunglasses back on as the elevator dinged to her floor and took a deep breath to prepare for her day, not allowing her brain to trace out an entire life with the cute, crying stranger where they bought peaches at the farmer’s market on Saturday’s and danced in the kitchen. Romance was dead and dreaming was forbidden. 

“Aspirin is already on your desk,” Jenny greeted her cheerfully. “With an egg sandwich and some fruit.”

“No leftover pizza?” Quinn didn’t pout, but she might have for that.

“Trust me, this will fix you up much better. I went to a state school, remember, MIT?” 

“We partied…” Quinn trailed off as she pushed open the door to her office. 

She hadn’t partied, but she was certain people had to have partied. It was college, and though it was many moons ago, she certainly couldn’t remember hangovers feeling like this. Maybe this is what almost thirty felt like. That thought didn’t help with the headache.

“All-night coding sessions don’t count. Eat the food. I’ll hold the wolves at bay as long as I can, but Chris and the Exlust team are adamant you have the meeting today to resolve story issues.” 

Quinn tossed back the aspirin before she even sat down. Maybe Jenny was her universal compensation. The shades were already drawn so her normally bright office was much more tolerable. Even the eggs didn’t make her stomach swirl, and she was grateful her assistant learned something useful while studying biomedical engineering.. 

“I just need like an hour to work something out. I had an idea last night--”

“Before or after the sangria?” 

“During. Definitely during, but still. I just need to work through it and then they can tear me to shreds. Can you add to my calendar a warning to never drink again?” 

Quinn was fairly certain she’d texted her assistant that at some point in the morning. Probably before the shower, but after the first cup of coffee. 

“Gladly,” Jenny smiled softly. “You doing okay? It’s been a while since you tied one on like this.” 

“I’m fine. Just celebrating with Darcy. No more sad drinking, I believe was the rule you came up with and I follow all of your rules.” 

With a roll of the eyes, files were placed on her desk and her assistant retreated to the ringing phones, which when the door was held open, were actual torture devices to Quinn’s brain. 

“Sadie wants your afternoon free. I think it’s another reporter.” 

“She’s relentless.” 

“Maybe you’re impossible?” 

“It’s genetic then,” Quinn sighed, munching on a grape and tugging open a notebook. “One hour, please?” 

“I got you, boss.” 

“Thanks.” 

Never quite sure how Jenny did it, Quinn chose not to ask any questions. But when she asked for an hour, she got it. And despite the headache and laziness in her muscles, the food and aspirin did help so that by the end of her allotted time, she felt like she had captured the breakthrough that appeared to her the night before. 

Before she could admire her work though, her team filed in and she was prepared to start her day, finally, even with the nagging idea of a reporter nipping at her thoughts through it all. 

Somewhere between her breakfast and lunch, Quinn felt better. She fired off a few texts to see how Darcy was handling it and received only pictures of a half obscured but obviously still in bed face and chuckled to herself. It was a slower day, and she wasn’t about to waste it with a hangover. She should give Jenny a raise, she decided, because the woman could cure hangovers. Maybe submit her for the Nobel for Science. 

“Sadie is here,” her assistant buzzed and Quinn lost all forms of motivation. 

Her head hit her desk dramatically as the door opened and her sister walked in. Slightly shorter, but older by two years, Sadie was nearly everything Quinn could never manage to be despite her best intentions. She had the MBA from Harvard and the doting husband that came with it, a cute brownstone near White Hill and the park, and her first baby on the way. But even past her resume, Sadie Sullivan-Hawkins was personable and charismatic. She was adored and shrewd, capable of disarming anyone and eviscerating the others. It all came so easy to her, to have people around, to talk and be listened to, to be loved. She was a shark in business, and at the same time warm and put people at ease. 

Quinn could barely tie her shoes and Sadie was running a marathon in life. 

“Want to talk about it?” Sadie smiled as she took the seat across from Quinn’s desk. 

“About what?” 

“Why you’re getting drunk with Darcy on a Tuesday?” 

“She got the job at Taylor and Vine. We were celebrating.” 

“So not about Chloe’s announcement in the Times?” 

Quinn played dumb, typing gibberish into her phone because she didn’t want to look at her sister’s kind and caring face. If she looked, then she’d have more feelings, and for the life of her, she just wanted the incessant tinnitus of the break up to disappear completely. 

“Nope, I caught that this morning though, so I was in the right physical and mental place to really wallow. I don’t care about her.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard.”

“I have these notes to get done for the Shadow Operation team before our meeting with design. I’m fine. My ex can marry whoever she wants-- God knows she didn’t want to marry me. Good luck to the next sap.”

This made her sister chuckle, and Quinn smiled quietly to herself. There was still a bitterness there that she couldn’t get rid of. It was masking potentially the worst hurt imaginable. She preferred the bite of the bitter though. Easier to navigate. 

“I have someone I want you to meet with.” 

“Oh, fuck off Sadie,” Quinn moaned, knowing full well what was about to happen. “I’m not talking to anyone. You’re the face of this outfit. That’s what you told me.” 

“You’ve run off three other reporters. Our public offering is going to underperform if there is no faith in the heart of our company,” she explained, sitting up a little straighter. “And that’s you. I might crunch the numbers and keep the lights on, but you are what people are buying.”

“Then you tell them about me. I don’t even have to be there.”

“If only that were true, my job would be a lot easier.” 

At a stalemate, the sisters stared at each other for a few moments before Sadie broke, making a face as she smiled towards her lap, running her hand over the smallest bump barely showing. Quinn shook her head and looked away. Anywhere else was better than the damn disapproving look leveled at her now. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Quinn finally muttered. “I don’t want to-- I can’t--”

“Chloe was an idiot. She broke your heart. Now, you barely exist, but I know that you’re still you. And we need this.” 

“I can’t. I really can’t. I wish you’d get it.” 

It hurt too much all over again. In a weird way, Quinn missed the feeling of the hangover because at least that was a useful ache. The dull throbbing in her chest and bones just felt hollow and haunting. 

“We have a meeting with her. I’ve already walked her through the contracts and final edits, as well as shown her around. Please just rip the bandaid off and get it over with. She’s good. I’ve read a few of her pieces and Donna recommended her to me.” 

Sadie had their mother’s eyes. It drove Quinn crazy, that she looked like she didn’t belong in her own family. It also meant it felt like her mom was staring at her and reminding her to do her chores. She rubbed the back of her neck, letting her head lull to the side. 

“I’ll… I’ll try.” 

“Yes! I knew it. Thank you. Seriously, Q. It’s going to be great. This is going to--”

“I said I’ll try. I didn’t say I’d do it.” 

“It’ll be great,” Sadie ignored the warning, hopping up from her chair and moving to the door to beckon the reporter in. “Come in and meet the genius of the whole outfit.” 

Quinn rubbed her face with her hands, digging her fingers into the corners of her eyes under her glasses before steadying herself. She could do it for her sister, she reminded herself, and that stupid niece or nephew she was incubating. 

Maybe it would be as simple as ripping off a band-aid. Maybe she could just let a stranger rifle through her entire life and being, except that she wasn’t sure there was anything there anymore. Everything felt like she was going through the motions, and it was terrifying to Quinn to let someone see that she was barely stitched together. How could she explain that there was nothing behind door number one? Let alone number two or number three. 

“Quinn, this is Lucy Madani. She’s a freelancer hired by New York Magazine. She did a great piece on the Attorney General last month and her article on the director who went on to win Cannes went viral.” 

There was still mud on her skirt, but her stockings had been disbanded, gone forever, but it was unmistakable the stranger from the elevator standing in her office. That felt like an entire lifetime ago, and yet Quinn tried to swallow. 

“You have longer hair, in the pictures I found of you online,” Lucy offered, overcoming her surprise much quicker. She stuck out her hand over Quinn’s desk and waited for her to shake it. 

She was a reporter. A reporter who cried in the elevator. A reporter Quinn had, if she were being honest, checked out. But foremost, she was a reporter. She wanted to dive into the deepest parts of Quinn’s brain for profit, mutual benefit and all. It sounded dreadful. 

The universe did not owe her anything, Quinn remembered, but the perpetual mocking was getting a little over the top. 

“Quinn Sullivan,” she shook the hand presented and tried to breathe. Lucy’s hand was warm and felt soft. She wasn’t sure how to let go. “How’s it going?” 

Fuck! Her mind blared as she dropped the reporter’s hand and mentally beat herself to a pulp. Who talked like that? And still, she could not answer, winked?

“It’s been a day,” she smiled, nodding to herself as she accepted the seat Quinn offered. “Your sister has sung your praises all morning though. I feel like I could write about your without even meeting you.”

“Great. Let’s do that.” 

Sadie laughed but gave Quinn a stern look. 

“I’m going to go grab you some passes and copies of the contracts,” Sadie smiled graciously at Lucy before turning to her sister. “Listen to her pitch.” 

“Seems it’s been decided,” she muttered to herself before plastering on a smile. 

“Don’t have too much fun. I’ll be right back.” 

And with that she truly was gone, and Quinn was left in her office with the reporter who had pretty eyes. They felt like syrup-- warm and deep brown, gooey and sticky. Her face was longer, her nose thin and long, her lips full and bitten-- and Quinn snapped herself out of her perusal and felt her chest warm too much. No, the universe didn’t owe her anything, and the punishment for thinking it did was sitting across from her in a muddy skirt and gentle smile.

For just a moment, Quinn held her breath and willed a coma..

[not-poignant]

I was lurking in the discord, but I was wondering what exactly about Ef would classify him as a "soft client" to Dr. Gary? Is it just because he recognized that Ef is incredibly capable of loving underneath his trauma? Or like because he hadn't had like extreme cases of violence for a period of time? Or is it just like a combination of everything haha

We’ll probably have to give some actual context to Dr Gary’s job here, which I know I’ve done before but I can’t be bothered looking for the ask/s so I’m going to do it here in more detail.

Just a heads up that there will be a frank discussion/detailing of very disturbing themes which will include the malicious rape and murder of minors. (I.e. things that we do not deal with directly in the Spoils of the Spoiled universe at all). Mentions of client death by suicide.

Dr Gary is a specialist psychologist who actually focuses in on the clients that no one else wants to see. That doesn’t include people like Efnisien. Dr Gary sees the teenagers who have been raping their parents or terrorising them for years because it’s fun, he sees the juveniles who have raped or shoved foreign objects into their toddler siblings and killed them through mass internal bleeding, and felt nothing else about it except ‘well I ruined that one and now I think I’d like to find another one.’ He sees teenagers that are resistant, usually hit every part of the Macdonald Triad, have often/usually killed already, or have certainly raped before in a malicious or serial fashion, and almost always express no or minimal remorse for their actions.

They are manipulative, pathological liars who have very little interest in respecting the mental health system or psychologists, they often don’t want to get better, or show minimal interest in getting better, and they have a high recidivism rate (i.e. rate of going right back out there and committing crimes). A significant percentage of Dr Gary’s clients have eventually gone on to commit suicide or end up in maximum security prisons.

But Dr Gary is - due to his own personal interests, and due to his set of skills - suited to specifically helping these people, and also, he has a strong belief that everyone deserves some form of assistance, and that no one should be refused genuine psychological help just because other people believe they should be, as an example, put to death or sent to jail forever. Especially - to him - when they’re teenagers or young adults. He recognises that just because people don’t want to deal with these teenagers, doesn’t mean they don’t exist, or they don’t deserve help. He recognises that most of society will wash their hands of them and pretend they don’t exist, and he will metaphorically push his sleeves up and get to work. He strongly believes that ignoring the problem doesn’t make it go away, and jailing the problem is rarely effective on its own.

This is one of the reasons why he falls back on ‘I don’t believe in good or bad people, I believe in good or bad actions.’ If he can reduce the rate of criminal activity, or change the action profile of these clients, even if they still want to behave maliciously, he considers himself on a successful journey. But it also means he works closely with juvenile detention facilities, created Hillview himself, and works closely with outpatients. (As well as in consultation, teaching, and sometimes working in court cases as a specialist). There’s a reason Mack has desk alarms and a sophisticated protection system and it’s not because of people like Efnisien; though Dr Gary wouldn’t see the most dangerous ones at his private office anyway.

I’m sure, when Dr Gary started out, he took more of a mix. But he soon distinguished himself as someone who was not only willing to take on those clients, but was actually more able to get results because his compassion is genuine (let’s be real, psychologists are only human, and a lot of them - despite their best efforts - are still going to really fucking resent someone who raped and murdered a toddler for the lolz), but so is his Take No Shit attitude. So after a while, he was only getting referrals for the most serious clients. And then he had so many of those, he had to assemble a team of specialists, and that was basically how Hillview was born.

In the end, his spectrum of clients were among the most difficult and some of the most dangerous. When Efnisien antagonised Dr Gary by saying ‘how have some of your clients not tried to kill you’ Dr Gary was probably thinking ‘oh, they have, they have.’ I like to think Dr Gary actually has a giant scar along his flank from a time when he was much younger, hubristic and under-estimated one of his clients, and that after that he got a lot more serious about his work and also his willingness to have security standing nearby when he’s working with the most serious ones.

Even his team of specialists take difficult and high risk clients, but Dr Gary is just known in the system as taking the worst of the worst (kind of like how Mikkel is known as being a public defender of domestic violence victims specifically). And these people do get known in the system. A lot of psychologists either won’t take on certain clients or do very poorly with them because they don’t want them or don’t have the tools to handle them or just are manipulated by them. So juvenile detention centres, lawyers, other psychologists and psychiatrists and facilities begin to get a bead on the specialists who will actually help, or at least try. And then they call them incessantly, forever. Dr Gary is a busy, tired man who tries to take at least two weeks off a year to sit on a beach and stare at the water lol.

Efnisien by comparison to Dr Gary’s other clients, molested people his own age - led to it by coercion, never raped anyone, and tortured animals. That’s still terrible, absolutely, but by comparison, he’s just not anywhere near the same calibre as any of Dr Gary’s other clients. He’s someone who is capable of remorse and demonstrated that before Dr Gary ever met him. He’s someone who literally has stopped hurting all animals and people by the time he’s placed in the hospital. And a quick interview with Dr Gary revealed he wasn’t a ‘psychopath’ as Gwyn thought he was, but someone with Pure O and complex PTSD who was exploited into acting on intrusive thoughts by an abuser (which we learn at the end of Spoils of the Spoiled, when Gwyn realises that Efnisien probably never would have grown up the way he did if it wasn’t for Crielle and it makes him very sad). As soon as Dr Gary realised that, he was like ‘oh no, turf him onto someone else, that’s too easy.’

The only reason he took him on was due to a complicated set of factors, including guilt and remorse that Efnisien was molested/sexually assaulted in Hillview by the psychologist that Dr Gary referred him to.

But being referred to Henton in the first place doesn’t mean Efnisien doesn’t have serious mental disorders (he does), and it doesn’t mean Efnisien doesn’t need serious care (he does), he just doesn’t represent the bulk of Dr Gary’s high risk clients. He’s an outlier. Efnisien feels his feelings and ultimately is a very soft person, not just a soft client. He wants to please everyone, he actually hates hurting people, he’s nervous and shy and fidgety, he’s sensitive and responsible and empathetic, and his biggest misfortune was needing to please a psychopath growing up that he was completely dependent on in order to live, who constantly reminded him that he was abandoned and that he’s only worth loving when he’s good (i.e. doing what he she wants), so he had no other choice. And his story or journey is literally the uncovering of his real self, or the self he is without being under the influence of Crielle. And he rebelled against that influence under his own steam, and she tried to kill him for it.

I also think Efnisien is helping Dr Gary realise that he maybe doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life working with ‘the worst of the worst’ just because no one else is equipped to handle them. Even if it can be rewarding at times.

These days he’s building a curriculum to educate more psychologists in aberrant psychology, and developing genuine compassion in the face of aberrant and malevolent behaviour and holding a centre in the face of that, and looking to spread the load a bit more, and work more as a supervisor for other psychologists who are learning how to deal with these clients. He’s realised that clients like Efnisien make him feel a lot more hopeful about the human race overall (not that he was ever a nihilist), and that maybe Efnisien shouldn’t be the only one. But we’re never going to learn that in the story, because it’s not a ‘Dr Gary story’ lol.

[spasmsofthought]

milk + instagram live (t.h.)

I traveled to London (and Oxford), England in March of 2019 for my spring break my sophomore year of university, so some things mentioned here are entirely from personal experience, so please don’t hate me if you’ve experienced something different! I stayed at a hotel in between West Kensington and West Brompton (a few blocks away from West Brompton Station) and one day some family members and I decided to attend a local showing at a cinema nearby and it was SO. DIFFERENT. than the theaters I had been to in the States. IDK, maybe it was just me. The entire experience was like culture shock again in the few days I had been there, so I had to bring that up in this little piece. Also the thing about milk is something I have genuinely wondered about, cause I’ve heard it’s different in England than it is in the USA, but I may be wrong. Let me know! Anyways, I have big love for London (and supreme love for Oxford, sorry) and I’m looking forward to going back someday soon! 

The reader is non-celebrity and American, so I’m sorry if that feels exclusionary to any of you, honestly! I thought this might be just a little fun jaunt because I don’t really write real person fiction. Just a bit of fluff. 

Sorry for this long intro. Enjoy and let me know what you think! xo  

Word Count: ~1.5k 

+ + + 

It’s some sort of exclusive interview for a magazine or something of the sort, you’ve been told; a collection of questions they want you to answer to publish somewhere, to print as something special for one of Tom’s things. That’s all you know. It’s just something you agreed to do after his publicist had asked a few weeks ago. It wasn’t like you did this for a living, so there was an attitude of nonchalance about it all because if they ended up not liking it one bit, they could scrap it all and no harm, no foul. 

“Now,” the interviewer begins, a man in his 40′s with balding hair and a slightly crooked nose, sitting in the chair across from you, “I know you just announced that you got married, so congratulations, firstly--” 

“Oh, thank you,” hands folded on your lap, smiling sweetly. You know people want their well-wishes to be heard and recorded, but sometimes it’s easy to imagine a completely private life, fame free, in which this isn’t the biggest news in the world (or just the biggest news for a day in the entertainment industry in the United States and England); a life where this is just a normal thing that normal people decide on, there’s a celebration, and that’s really it. It’s not splashed on newspapers and trending on Twitter, even though that can be a fun thing. 

“I’ve been really happy these last few months since we got married and was excited to tell all of Tom’s Instagram followers,” there’s a break for a small laugh from you, “There’s been such an abundance of well wishes from everyone and I’ve felt so incredibly lucky because I know not every woman who has been in my position has recieved such a reception.” 

The interviewer gives a move of his head in recognition of your words, but his eyes are already flying down the paper he holds in front of him, “There have been quite a few changes that have happened, I’ve been informed, and the first is that you decided to move to London!” 

“Ha, yes,” you begin, nodding, “Not only did I just completely intertwine my life with another person’s, but I moved to an entirely new country. There’s definitely a lot of culture shock that has happened these past few months.” 

The interviewer kind of chortles along with you, but the awkwardness has already settled in and you can feel it because you are the literal worst at small talk. And that’s all this interview is. 

“Any cons you’ve listed already about residing here amongst us?” 

“Oh no,” you groan dramatically, trying to lighten up the mood, a hand coming to cover your eyes for a moment, “you have to promise not to tell my husband, because I do have a few things actually.” 

“I make no promises, as this interview will be completely up for grabs,” The man holds up his hands and you’re a little disappointed that he doesn’t seem to want to play along with the joke. 

You brush it off, though, because he’s either nervous or he’s here for a few questions to be answered and then he wants to be out of here. You get it; you have a job, too, that sometimes squeezes the patience out of you. 

“Well for one, the local cinemas are just set up so different than the ones I went to all the time in the States. I still have to prepare myself for the experience every time,” there’s a little bit of an awkward pause. 

“We have different cinemas?” He asks, like he’s suspecting something more; something deeper. Maybe he wants something more scandalous? You nod along, though, smiling softly at his confusion. It has always felt funny trying to explain this. 

“And I miss people smiling at me in public, on the tube or in the more crowded public spaces where I don’t really know anyone. People are literally so lovely when they invite me into their homes to eat with them and stuff like that, but I’ve only got one reaction from someone for smiling at them. Most of them just stare for a second or ignore me entirely! I don’t know, maybe it’s just me.” 

He shrugs, not quite sure what to say to that, because he’s not at fault for it. It seems most people know what you’re talking about when you say this and you’ve garnered that it’s a cultural thing for the most part. You don’t fault anyone for it. 

“Also,” your hand comes to scratch at a place above your left eyebrow, “I know this is weird, and I don’t even know if it’s entirely true, but I haven’t drank milk in the months since I’ve moved here because I heard in America that milk is made differently here or something like that. I haven’t been able to gather up the courage to find out if it’s true or not, and I mostly drink water or juice or whatever else so my husband hasn’t bat an eye yet. I just don’t want to ruin my previous experience with milk,” You shrug your shoulders and laugh. Your hands come unclasped and you hold them out in a surrender-like gesture. 

Your final answer seems to startle the interviewer, because his laugh is surprised and maybe a bit shocked and leaves just as quickly as it came. The rest of the short conversation, lasting only a few more minutes, continues smoothly. After sitting around in the office for a little while longer, you are free from the place and from (hopefully) ever having to do this again without Tom. Your schedule is blissfully empty for the rest of the day, a Saturday, so you eventually make your way home. 

- - 

“What’s this I hear about your fear of English milk?” The door opens first and then the voice follows. 

Of course, that would be the first thing he says to you after a whole day of not seeing each other. 

“Good evening, darling, how was your day?” You quip from the couch, what’s left of your cup of tea gone cold on the coffee table parallel to it. “Oh my day was fine, Tom. I’m glad you’re the one who does the regular rounds with the press, not me, because I was so awkward today. How was yours?” 

You hear his keys clink against something, probably the kitchen counter, and then the rustle of a bag. It takes a second but then you see his hands grip to top of the sofa as he leans down towards you. There’s a quick kiss that comes before he rights himself. The marital bliss has not faded away yet given that adoring look in his eyes. It is the same look he gave you standing right across from you the day of your wedding, the same one you saw four months ago on your honeymoon, and the one he gave you last night while getting ready for bed as he brushed his teeth. 

“I got something from the shop on my way home,” He wiggles his eyebrows and you know some part of you saw this coming from a mile away. 

You know now that the shop means the grocery store because a few months ago you had asked him what the term meant (“it’s so vague, though,” “darling, I’m not going to waste my breath calling it the ‘grocery store.’”). (There are still many British terms you have yet to learn.) You allow yourself to sit up and then turn around to meet him as your knees come to dig into the cushions. Now you both are almost at the same height. 

“God, I hate you,” You chuckle, leaning towards him. 

“The ring on your finger says otherwise, love,” You roll your eyes but then press an elongated kiss to his lips. There’s a few moments where he gets some in down your neck and behind your ear before he pulls away. 

“C’mon,” He says, pulling your arms and almost vaulting you over the couch and onto the cold, hard floor, “to the kitchen we go! You need to drink some milk.” It takes a few more minutes for you both to actually get there, but then he grabs the carton from the bag and a glass from a kitchen cupboard. 

He pours a little at the bottom of the glass, not even filling it up a quarter of the way. Part of you wants to shudder, part of you is feeling adventurous enough to be excited. But then he pulls his phone from the pocket of his jeans and asks if he can go live on Instagram. For a moment you consider saying no, simply because you’re not sure if you want to open yourself up to the world of Tom’s Instagram followers watching you try your first taste of non-American milk, but then you decide “why not?” It can’t do any real harm, right? 

Tom hands the glass to you and you place it on the counter in front of you as you sit down at a stool. You can see the moment on his face the live video starts and a second later he quickly explains the situation. 

It does not take you much longer to become a viral internet meme.  

[justmickeyfornow]

A Smile for Hire

“I'm sorry Ms. But you just don't have enough experience to work at my shop.” the owner said, standing behind the counter and putting down Kara’s resume, flipping it around for her. 

Kara was desperate. Desperate was an understatement of how desperate for a job she was.

“B-But what I lack in experience I make up for in my social skills.” she explained, “I'm the friendliest walking thing you'll ever meet. I make kittens look like devils and puppies like monsters. I'm so friendly that there's an urban dictionary word in my name that means extremely friendly." she continued before frowning, "But please don't look that up."

“There’s just nothing I can do. I don’t have the spare time to train you nor do I have enough employees to do that.”

Kara deflated, normally she would plead her case for the next hour or so being annoyingly persistent until someone hires her. But she has had the same conversation with the same type of owners of several coffee shops, restaurants, pizza parlors (that one she had to walk out of there herself before the interview because she knew she wouldn’t be able to resist eating the place down to bankruptcy) and many other places.

Just as Kara was about to take her resume and leave, the door of the coffy shop opened and normally she wouldn’t have noticed something like that, but the scared expression of the owner tipped her off.

A woman with expensive looking sunglasses clad over her eyes walked in. Her hair was in a neat high ponytail and her expression was very much annoyed. She gave them a look, as she walked, though Kara wasn’t sure where she was looking with her sunglasses covering her eyes, and marched on high heels to a secluded table.

Kara looked back at the man who seemed to be contemplating his life choices of whether or not he should go there and take her order.

Kara sported a bright smile on, “Listen. If I can take that woman's order and get her in a better mood, would you give me the job?”

He gawked at her, “You do realize who that is? That's Lena Luthor. If she's in a bad mood, there's no talking to her until she's had her espresso. If you go anywhere near her, she’ll bite your head off, no matter how friendly you are.”

“What did I just say about the kittens and the puppies? What did I just say? I’m not just friendly. Friendliest than the word friendly.”

“Lena Luthor does not like friendly.” He muttered under his breath. But out loud he said, "Fine. You get her to order a full meal without lashing out at you and get her to smile then the job's yours. 

Kara fist bumped the air, “Yes!”

She quickly took off her coat, straitened down her black jeans and button down shirt and put on her best smile. 

As soon as Kara reached her table, Lena spoke without looking up from the tablet she was reading from, "Let's start with my double shot espresso. And then I'll decide on what I'll have for lunch."

Oof, didn’t even spare me a glance. Tough crowd. Kara thought hesitantly. She was beginning to think that this was going to be harder than she thought. How was she going to use her friendliest smile when the lady won’t even look at her.

“Umm, yeah coming right up. A-anything else I could get you to brighten your d-”

“Yes. You talk too much. Get me another waitress.”

Kara was taken back by that, “Well, that wasn’t very nice. I barely said two words to you.” she mumbled under her breath.

This was much much more challenging than she thought it would be. 

She shook away her negative thoughts and tried again, “I know I’m supposed to be serving you and not the other way around but could you maybe possibly do me a favor and smile?” Kara almost begged.

That guaranteed a look from the woman, and Kara was not ready to meet deep green eyes such as hers. “Excuse me?” she sounded offended

And Kara immediately realized how that sounded, “Oh no no. Not in the 'give me a smile, sweetheart' kind of way that men usually shout at women. At all. I respect women. I worship women. Women are the future. I'm surprised there hasn't been a woman president yet! I once told a woman to punch me in the face because I was in love with her.” That got a thoughtful look to be put on Kara’s face, “Though, maybe I was in love with the idea of her. I’m not too sure anymor-”

“I get it! Then what did you mean?”

Kara blushed, just now seeing that maybe she did talk too much, “I'm trying to get a job here and I kinda maybe sorta have a deal with the owner over there who's eyeing me that I could get you to order something without you sticking the fork in my eye. So, do you maybe think that's possible.”

A perfectly lined eyebrow raised up in question, “I don't know. That fork is awfully tempting.”

Kara smirked at that, because she clearly dug that hole for herself, but she could play this game, “Well, if you'll let me read you our lunch menu I’m sure you could find something else that might tempt you.”

Kara felt the woman rake her eyes up and down her body, before reciprocating an equally flirty smirk, “Maybe I already have.”

Kara’s eyebrows went up, “Wow, I feel extremely objectified right now but somehow I'm not complaining. It could be because you're really pretty and I'm a gay mess.”

The woman chuckled and Kara decided she loved the sound of it. And with a quick side glance, the small chuckle seemed to earn a shocked gasp from the owner over there.

“You seemed so sure of yourself when you were ready to read me the lunch menu.” 

“That's because food is easy.”

The woman sat back in her chair comfortably, “Well, then. How about you order for me?” 

“You'd risk that? A stranger ordering your food for you?”

“You're no stranger. I know more about you than I know about that man behind the counter whose cafe I’ve been coming over everyday for the past year.”

“How so?”

“Your name is Kara Danvers. You are currently looking for a job. You're gay- Oh, forgive me. You're a gay mess. And you have a charming personality.”

Kara sported a dopey grin, “You think I'm charming?”

The woman ignored the question with a smile, “You also graduated from National City University. With a degree in Applied Linguistics and a minor in Journalism.”

Okay, now Kara was confused, “Wait, how'd you know that? And how did you know my name, I'm not wearing a name tag.”

"Your resume was on the counter when I walked in and your name was on top in all capital letters. Would've been impossible to miss."

"Not to the owner apparently. He's called me Kieran twice in the 3 minutes of our conversation."

The woman smirked playfully, "Kieran suits you actually. It goes well with your hair."

Kara chuckled, bowing down dramatically, "Then, it is settled m'lady. I shall change my name to Kieran."

The brunette giggled at that and Kara again noticed from the corner of her eye the owner gawking. Must be a rarity then. It's a shame too, this woman had the most beautiful laugh. 

"I hate to press you, but I do need to take your order at some point or I don't think I'll be hired."

"Oh yes, right. I'll just have the Caesar salad with the dressing on the side and the avocado toast." 

"Right away."

Just when Kara was about to leave, she felt a soft hand grip her wrist. She looked back to find the woman looking hesitantly at her.

“I hope this isn't too forward, but I'm actually in the market looking for a new assistant. Is that something you would-" she paused, "-be interested in. I would understand if you have your eyes set on this place but I can assure you the job I'm offering would come with countless benefits and-”

“Yes!” Kara shrieked

“Oh, are you- are you sure?” 

“The question is, are you sure you wanna hire me?! I have no experience being someone's assistant!”

“Well, technically you'd be my second assistant. Sort of like-”

“I will gladly be whatever you want me to be!”

The woman blushed profusely, “Oh, well that’s unnecessary. You will get a job description of what is expected of you obviously.”

“Again! Whatever you want me to be!” Kara exclaimed, “I’ll be a foot stool if you want me to!” she then paused, “But not in like a sexual way or anything. Unless you...”

“No!”

[aspire-to-the-light]

A quick life update:

So I'm a super-early-stage startup founder now or something, I guess.

I'm regularly working until 6am, I'm throwing my life savings at a huge career risk, I have no safety net if I fail, and there's a very solid chance my startup won't make it because statistically most don't. Yet somehow none of that matters.

These past few weeks have been the most relaxed, confident and fulfilled I've ever felt, ever. Somehow this is the best my mental health has been in years - by a mile. I feel confident in saying I've beaten depression and I don't think it will come back.

I don't struggle with anxiety anymore because there's no point in feeling anxious; rather than wallowing around being anxious I should just fix the problem that's causing me anxiety. Of course, it's easy to say that, but in the past I've never been able to just do it. I think the difference is that I feel totally in control of my outcomes now. I'll get anxious about writing a report for a boss because it doesn't matter how objectively good or correct the report is - I have to figure out how to please my boss' subjective standards, and I can never really 100% know how to do that. Running a startup? I just have to be correct. I just have to win. I don't have to please any boss. So I don't really sit around being anxious or miserable any more - I just figure out what winning would look like, because I get to define that now, and then I figure out how to win, and then I go try my best to do that. I know it's irrational to have a feeling of absolute control over the outcome, when startups involve a huge amount of luck - but I just feel like I'm in control. So it isn't scary, really, no matter how risky it is.

I'm not really struggling with executive function, either, because I understand exactly how all my tasks need to be executed. There's never that feeling of knowing that I need to write my English essay, but not really knowing how to get started or what the first steps should be. I defined every task on my todo list. I know what the steps are, because the steps are whatever I say they are. I don't always get everything done, because I'm juggling a huge amount and I'm still pretty disorganised, but that ADHD paralysed feeling of just wanting to sit there and scroll social media and not start any tasks - that feeling is gone. Working until 6am doesn't feel painful or difficult. It feels satisfyingly exhausting, like the endorphin high after a good exercise session.

I keep encountering things that feel like they might be really difficult, but then I get this immensely comforting sense of... the best way I can describe it is that scene in Moana where all her ancestors are right behind her. Like recently I had to make a very big scary decision, and I wanted to find an adult and ask for advice and then I realised (in a big holy shit moment) that I knew absolutely nobody qualified to tell me the answer. I am the adult now. Everyone else who works on this project needed me to tell them what to do. And that was almost terrifying... and then I realised I've read about this exact feeling. I've read people describe that feeling in books, at TED talks, on twitter - that "holy shit I am the adult" feeling is probably a universal startup founder feeling. Thinking about it now, I just get this sense that I'm walking down a road I know from stories, that others have walked before me, that I am incredibly lucky to have a roadmap to.

There are so many new challenges and they're exciting. I've never really interviewed people for roles before. I interviewed candidates for 6 different roles for most of last week. In the back of the mind I've been running this constant self-evaluation process trying to figure out what the key skills are for interviewing, how I should get better at it, where I could look for resources... And that's a good feeling, too. I feel like I'm learning. I feel so excited to get better at this. I am privileged to be able to choose people to surround myself with who will give me clear, valuable feedback so I can actually get stronger. I feel ready to tackle whatever new skill I need to learn next week.

I am only a few weeks or months in, depending on how you define it, but I already know I will not regret this. Even if I burn out my entire runway and get nowhere and achieve nothing with this startup, this will have been the best thing I've ever done for myself. This enables me to be my best self. This feels so much like my best self that I take joy and pride in almost everything I'm doing, even the mistakes I'm making because I absolutely treasure how much I'm actually learning from every mistake. I never learned this much in years in school.

I don't think this would have been possible without me getting care. I'm disabled and sometimes I struggle with feeding myself. I used to go entire days just lying in bed feeling too weak and hungry to even make myself a meal. I have a carer currently, who comes round for an hour or so in the mornings to make sure I eat breakfast. It turns out that was all I needed all along - I can make myself all the other meals so long as I've got that energy from consistently eating at least one meal. And that revolutionised everything about my life and I've gone from being unable to hold down a job at all, realistically unable work more than a couple hours in the day if I was lucky, to.... this. I don't know how much is the startup vs how much is the care, really, but I reckon that's worth sharing in case it helps break the stereotypes of disabled people who need care. I'm disabled, I need care, and I'm also founding a startup and working sixteen hour days. I could not work these hours on anything else. My last job was an incredibly good job by the standards of working-for-a-boss jobs, but I can't work a 9-5. I have a sleep disorder. I can work a noon-6am and I'm doing it and I am the happiest I have ever been.

I did not think it was possible for an obligate extravert to be this happy and fulfilled in the midst of a pandemic that prevents me seeing anyone for months. Mental health is a weird thing, I guess. What I thought I needed - parties, hugs, money, security - turned out not to be as important. I need breakfast and I need to be in charge of my own destiny. And it turns out that if I have those things, I have the capacity to be incredibly happy. Not that I'm just sitting around feeling wirehead joy all the time, but more like - I feel excited, fulfilled, engaged, fascinated, motivated, confident, decisive, inspired. I might not feel good all the time but I never feel hopeless, helpless, angsty, directionless or meaningless. I'm never bored. I feel bad things sometimes but I don't get into spirals or traps where I just sit around wallowing in the bad things, because I feel empowered to act.

I keep talking to people who think I'm decades older than I am. Apparently I sound it. I feel like I've aged a decade in a year.

The best part is the certainty. It feels like I was meant to do this. It feels like all the foundations I've been laying for years and years are paying off. It feels like I always sort of knew I had to do this.

I'm not sure why I'm writing all this out, except to say something like - I don't think everyone should follow their dreams because I really don't think everyone would experience things this way, but if you're anything like me (and I don't know how to define "like me" yet but people have been telling me that I was meant to found a startup since I was a little kid), you should consider quitting your job (no matter how good and secure a job it is) and trying to take over the world.

I have found so much joy.

So yeah, that's my life update.

[fandom-necromancer]

You and me against the world

This was prompted by an amazing anon! The universe didn’t want this story written, but I summoned my inner Gavin and said phck the universe. I hope you enjoy! The lost version is better stylistically, but I still like it!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 (Warning: Graphic depiction of violence, Hank is OOC for the sake of having an antagonist) [Part2]

It should have been easy: Sit in a room, drink some water, look important, answer some questions and get back to work. Had Gavin known how it ended, he would have never agreed to do this stupid live interview about human-android relations after the revolution.

‘Hello! This is Joss Douglas from Channel 16, reporting live from the DPD’s fifth precinct where the very first android joined the police force. We have the unique possibility to interview not one but two human-android work partners. Let’s greet Lieutenant Anderson and Connor, who had worked here even before deviation, as well as Nines and Detective Reed!’ Gavin tried to keep up a neutral but nor intimidating face and hoped Hank to lead the talk. Their dislike was mutual, but at least they had managed to stay professional so far. He nodded his greeting after Connor and Hank answered with a polite hello. ‘Okay, then let’s jump in right away!’ The reporter announced flashing a well-trained smile that should calm as well as impress. ‘I guess the question most people out there would love to ask is how it is to work as a deviant with the police. During the revolution it isn’t too wrong to assume you had been opposing forces.’ The reporter looked towards Nines with it, but the android redirected it: ‘I believe Connor can say more to that. I’ve been activated after the revolution as a deviant from the start. I can only say that my human co-workers have been generally accepting and nice. We do face problems sometimes when we have cases involving deviants that suffer from trauma caused by previous actions. Though we hope to become better and change that.’ The reporter nodded and turned towards Connor. ‘Then let’s ask you then! How did your life pre-deviation influence you? Were you treated differently afterwards?’

Gavin listened to Connor being polite and diplomatic only with half an ear, instead focussing on how they all avoided calling names. No one said something about being a machine or robot. Well, he guessed it was better that way, although he still didn’t believe in seeing them as all human. He knew Nines very intimately by now and he had noticed himself how forgetting they were steel and plastic had caused unnecessary harm. But he came to the wise conclusion it was probably best not to say that on public television. Next the reporter asked Hank and him how it was working during the revolution and both answered mostly by telling the truth: That they had investigated the cases like any other, but were very glad not to be involved in trying to suppress the revolution. It would have felt wrong. That likely was the only topic he and Hank would ever agree on.

‘Without doubt there are a lot of challenges deviants as well as humans out there face figuring out this still new situation. Have you faced any yourselves?’ Connor was eager to answer, clearly the more enthusiastic to help androids make use of their rights, being part of the revolution himself: ‘There have been some challenges in the beginning, but after a few months, things started to change really quickly.’ The reporter seemed just as eager to jump on it. This clearly had been what he had wanted to talk about all along. ‘Oh, would you mind elaborate on that a bit? I believe quite a few androids face some kind of problems these days. I think it is time to face them together!’ Gavin had relaxed quite a bit from the initial nervousness. It seemed Connor and Hank were comfortable leading this whole thing, while him and Nines stayed in the backseat and answer with additions and different perspectives. At least until Hank spoke up, joking: ‘I believe, Gavin here could tell you a lot about that.’

Oh no, please, did the old phck really have to deal that blow? The reporter seemed just as confused, having read the natural feeling of their personalities. Connor was quick for an attempt at damage control: ‘Hank, I don’t think-‘ But the reporter had caught himself and apparently taken it for a genuine cue. ‘Oh, that would be lovely, Detective Reed.’ Gavin sighed, remembering they were on TV. He thought how to put this best without looking like the man Hank wanted him to frame as. ‘Well… you see… Me and Connor didn’t get along at first. When he was still a ma- Before he deviated, I saw him as one of these “robot-overlords” that were sent to replace us.’ He did think to quickly add air quotes to that. ‘I did things that… weren’t exactly nice, but I have since-‘ ‘You tried to kill him. Multiple times’, Hank interrupted.

Gavin gaped at him. So that’s what they were playing? He knew Hank didn’t like him and that he wanted to drive a wedge between him and Nines, who he saw as almost a son. Damn overprotective bastard, it wasn’t as if he had changed since then and- ‘You did?’, the reporter asked too shocked to remember doing his job. Gavin’s brain worked overtime trying to find a way out of this one, but when he had opened his mouth, Hank had already began. ‘Before the revolution he viewed them as simple machines that weren’t alive. As if deviancy was nothing but a bug. Roughing up an android suspect wasn’t out of the question.’ Nines sat up straighter, before Gavin could do something dumb on life TV. ‘May I add that Detective Reed never did and never would do such a thing and that the statement was meant as a joke at that time?’ Apparently the reporter realised his interview had been derailed and wanted to regain power over it, but Hank had other ideas: ‘Yeah, but he threatened him with a gun – I think twice - hit him and called him names.’ ‘Is this true?’

Gavin had managed to stay calm until now. But this was enough. What did the idiot think he was doing? So he did what he could do best: explode. ‘Yes. Yes, it is true. I was an asshole, am still, but me and Connor came to terms. We talked about it. I regret it. I have even fallen in love with one of these plastic pricks! And I talked about my ways with Nines and we are still together. Maybe you don’t understand it Hank, but it is like it is! So phck you and your stupid schemes! This interview is over!’

With that he marched out of the room and called himself a taxi home.

~

Of course, the live broadcast had been a disaster that had become famous for all the wrong reasons. At least the protesters outside had subsided a week later and Fowler had had his back by letting him off the hook with a disciplinary and Hank on patrol duty for his shitty behaviour. Didn’t mean life was back to normal. His favourite bar had thrown him out, as the android bartender had politely explained they didn’t serve robophobic fuckers like him there. Not that anyone in Detroit thought of him highly. Cases had become difficult as witnesses refused to speak with him or even became violent upon seeing him. It was surprising Nines still had his back. The tall android had stepped in front of him every single time, catching fists directed his way and explaining in his most intimidating voice that personal opinions would not advance the investigation. By now Gavin was happy to get the gruesome cases. The cases that involved dead bodies en masse without any ties to the living world.

But hell, this was not what he had wanted. Not at all. He was a detective, goddamnit! And he had changed, he had put real effort in too! And now all of that had been torn down by Hank phcking Anderson. Phcking hell… He stared at the screen without any ambition, tracing the specks of blood, overlying Nines’ analysis and the forensics’ data. It was likely a suicide after an overdose that had destroyed the woman’s ability to think clearly, but Gavin would be damned if he wouldn’t be thorough. Only that by now he was craving a cigarette. He had to relax, get his mind off of this whole shit-show. Maybe he needed a vacation. Maybe he should ask for a transfer. But for now, a cigarette would do.

So, he decided to call it quits for today. He would take some of his overtime for this. He grabbed his jacket and waved his hand half-heartedly at Nines. ‘See ya tomorrow, tin-can.’ Then he headed outside, a stick already on his lips fumbling to get the lighter on in the strong autumn wind. It had gotten cold far too early in the year. He finally ignited the cigarette and put his hands in his pockets, walking down the street. He had sat in a chair far too long already and decided to get home by foot for once. At least until he decided otherwise.  He took a few shortcuts through back alleys, trying to escape the sharp winds of the main streets, puffing out clouds of smoke and breath. He wasn’t really thinking about anything, letting his feet carry him on. Maybe that was how he couldn’t see the fist coming for his face and then his stomach.

He doubled over and saw the cigarette falling to the ground weirdly clear. All air seemed to have left his lungs as he knelt on the cold floor holding his middle. ‘This is the man, right?’ ‘Yeah. What a piece of shit!’ ‘Oh, this will be fun.’ Gavin groaned. How could he ever have thought androids and humans were different? Everyone was just full of the same bullshit. ‘Get up!’ Someone grabbed him by the back of his jacket and hoisted him up to his feet. Gavin stood face to face with an android, two more behind him. A woman and one that apparently chosen not to present their skin. Not that Gavin cared, the three were here to beat him up, that was all he needed to know. Phck, Fowler would hate the hospital costs. This still counted as an accident on the journey from work, right? God, he hoped it was. He didn’t have a beautiful face to begin with, but he really didn’t want another go at how phcked up do you want to look versus how much are you willing to pay.

At least these ridiculous thoughts left him as the android that had picked him up pushed him against a wall and pinned him while the skinless one threw the next punch to his jawline. Gavin felt tears prickling at the corner of his eyes and blinked them free, just to get the next strike to his sternum again and when he gasped for air, someone kicked his legs from underneath him. Unable to react fast enough, Gavin flopped to the ground, remembering his lessons to roll in his head to his chest and keep it there. The least thing he wanted was to get hit in the head and fall unconscious while the androids had their fun. There were better ways to die.

He rolled to his side as a boot connected with his shoulder and burrowed his head in his arms for protection. Maybe if he could get a good kick at one of them, he could roll over and escape. Maybe he could make it to the main street where people could help him. Not that he expected them to, but he couldn’t fight three androids on his own. But unfortunately, his foot didn’t hit a leg but a hand, as the woman grabbed and lifted his leg, turned him around and kicked where it hurt most. Gavin couldn’t suppress a whine as the pain paralyzed him. He once again rolled up into a ball and tried to protect his vulnerable areas. Maybe he should have fallen unconscious, he thought as boots and punches made his whole body light up in pain. Somewhere along the way one of his teeth got knocked loose and he tasted blood in his mouth. As he opened his eyes the next time the world was a blurry mess. Maybe they would stop soon. Maybe someone had called the police. But no, the only thing he saw was a fourth silhouette joining the three. Well, that was just his luck, wasn’t it? Who cared how much you changed? All that mattered was how the world saw you and in his case the world had made up its mind a long time ago. He pressed his eyes closed and braced for more.

But nothing came. Until there were hands on him. ‘No’, he begged. ‘Please, don’t.’ But the hands continued mapping his body and Gavin noticed they were gentle. They didn’t hurt, didn’t press down on them but simply examined him. He dared to relax a little and uncurl, but the tiny movement made everything ache. Apparently, Gavin had groaned, because the stranger spoke up: ‘Shh, it’s fine, Gavin. I’m here. You are safe.’ ‘Tin-can?’, Gavin slurred and made the effort to look up. It really was Nines and he threw him a soft smile. ‘Yes. You left early and you forgot your keys. Wanted to bring them to you, but you already left by foot, so I followed. I’m sorry I wasn’t here faster.’ ‘You are here now’, Gavin sighed and God, was he tired. ‘Hey, stay with me now. You don’t get to seep just yet, wait until you’re home and showered.’ Nines turned him around gently and finally nodded. ‘Aright. You are beaten up pretty badly, but it’s nothing serious. Minor wounds, but a lot of them. I’ll get you home, don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. You will feel better in no time.’

Gavin smiled and lifted his hand to lay on his cheek and Nines took it to hold there. ‘Why do you still stick around?’, the human asked. ‘After what happened I’m basically target practise. You’d have it easier without me.’ ‘I don’t want that’, Nines said, wrapping Gavin in his jacket. ‘Come on, if the whole world says I’m an asshole there has to be some truth to it.’ ‘I don’t care what the world has to say about you’, Nines said and snaked an arm under his back. ‘I love you’, he said with vehemence. ‘I know you. The real you. And that’s everything that matters to me.’

With that, Nines picked him up and pulled him to his chest, carrying the beaten human towards the street, where a cab was already waiting. ‘I’d say it’s you and me against the world’, he whispered as he sat him down on the backseat. But Gavin had already fallen asleep.

[>next part]

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 56 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Hiya loves! We're doubling up tonight to catch up to where we are on AO3. Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Violet returned to work, Raven made a career-changing decision and Pearl went out a window.

This Chapter: Gigi takes a chance, Courtney is distracted, Fame continues to be Fame  and Trixie struggles.

***

Bimini stirred a pot of quinoa in the kitchen, preparing her lunch after her midday trip to the gym, when she heard a yell sound throughout the apartment.

“OH! MY! GOD!”

Bimini turned around, just to see Symone come out of her room, her laptop in hand.

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god!” Symone was jumping up and down, a gigantic grin on her face, her hair in a high ponytail, the screen of the laptop shaking.

“Hello love-”

“I GOT OFFERED A MAGAZINE!” Symone screamed, happiness radiating from her and Bimini couldn’t hide a smile.

This. This was exactly why she still lived in a model apartment even though she was in her mid twenties. This was why she stayed even though she could easily afford her own place. This was why she didn’t mind when new girls didn’t wash their dishes or when they left panties in the bathroom sink.

Because she got to be part of moments like this.

“Congratulations,” Bimini grinned. “See,” She pointed her spoon at Symone, “I told you Sutan was brilliant.”

“Mmh,” Symone smiled, holding her laptop to her chest, squeezing it tight.

“What’s up with all this noise?”

Both Symone and Bimini turned, catching sight of Naomi and Gigi who had come out of the rooms, Naomi's hand on her hip as she looked around, Gigi’s eyes wide as saucers as she took in the scene.

“Symone got her first magazine,”  Bimini poured black beans over her quinoa.

“What?!” Naomi walked over to Symone, grabbing the computer from her hands. “Give me that!” Naomi's eyes ran over the screen, her hair spilling down her back, her long legs looking even longer in the tight leggings she was wearing. “Holy shit.”

“Congratulations Symone,” Gigi smiled, and Bimini felt a wave of fondness for the new girl who had literally flown in last night, Sutan asking to see her in person. She was obviously not a real redhead, her dye job not fooling anyone, but she had perfect eyebrows and a very nice smile, the way she moved filled with potential.

“This is so unfair!” Naomi groaned, shoving the laptop back into Symone's arms. “You haven’t even walked a proper runway yet!”

Bimini didn’t like to get in arguments, her personality type not one that looked for conflicts, so she wasn’t going to point out that Symone had literally just walked a showroom, which was a much bigger deal than anything Naomi’s agent had gotten her at L.A. Fashion week back in October.

“You Amrull girls have it all too easy.” Naomi sat down on one of the kitchen chairs, sighing heavily. “Fuck.”

***

“Ah!” Pearl grinned as she finally found her keycard, the lanyard shoved to the very bottom of her beat-up messenger bag, her computer safely inside. Pearl held it against the door, a little beep allowing her to step inside the design empty floor.

Pearl didn’t normally go home with Trixie, since part of her job entailed after-work schmoozing and cocktails and entertaining their ad partners and she was normally long gone when he ended his day, but Katya had texted that she couldn’t get ahold of him, and when Pearl had checked his work calendar, it had all made sense. Trixie was apparently spending the afternoon on attempting to find a new hire for design, and Pearl wasn’t envious in the least. Since she was still in the office editing their new web content, she went down to get him.

“Sugar butt!” Pearl held a hand up to her mouth, calling out for her best friend, the door to his office closed. “Time to go home!”

“Do you mind keeping it down?”

Pearl looked over, spotting Violet who was still sitting at her desk.

“Vivi!” Pearl grinned, letting go of the door to walk into the floor, her quest to get Trixie completely forgotten.

“Don’t call me that.” Violet huffed, but she didn’t protest as Pearl walked over.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever,” Pearl grabbed an empty chair, spinning it around to sit on it. “How’s the whole leg situation?” Pearl gestured towards Violet’s leg. She had already gotten the whole story from Trixie as they played Playstation and drank beer, the man working through his feelings by shooting people in Call of Duty.

“Annoying.” Violet raised an eyebrow. “Kinda like you.”

“Ah!” Pearl gasped, putting a hand on her chest. “Someone hasn’t gotten the good painkillers.”

“Please,” Violet sighed, rolling her eyes. “I’m fine, it’s just this stupid fucking paperwork.” Violet gestured to her desk, and Pearl looked at it, Violet’s desk for once not filled with the trinkets that usually defined her space. Instead, it was pages upon pages of legal documents.

“Damn.”

“Mmmh,” Violet signed another one, putting it on top of the rather large pile. “You’d think not pressing charges would be easier.”

“Hold on,” Pearl sat up straight. “You’re not pressing charges?”

“No,” Violet shook her head. “I don’t want to bother anyone.”

“Standing up for yourself isn’t a bother Vivi.” Pearl bit her lip, moving closer to her friend. “You deserve justice.”

Violet looked at her, her brown eyes searching Pearl’s face.

“Know what Pearl?”

It wasn’t often that Pearl blushed, actually, it almost never happened, but she could feel her cheeks heat up, the intensity on Violet’s face making her feel both small and like she was the center of the universe.

“Forget what I said,” Violet smiled, tilting her head. “You’re not that annoying.”

“Ha!” Pearl laughed, throwing her hair over her shoulder, the moment between them broken as Violet joined in. “Girl please.”

“I could sue, but, I honestly just want to be left alone, and to forget that this entire thing ever happened.”

“If you’re sure.” Pearl leaned back in her chair. It made sense with what she knew of Violet, a trail sure to be what she’d consider an unnecessary mess. “But just so you know, I’m punching Aiden in the face if I ever see him again.”

***

Gigi tapped her foot nervously, heart racing and stomach in knots from the three espresso shots she’d had this morning.

It was either that, or the fact that she was in way over her head, and couldn’t even figure out how she’d gotten there.

Less than two weeks ago, she’d been hanging out at the Venice Beach skate park with two of her friends, enjoying the sunshine and a scoop of her favorite banana chocolate chip bread pudding from Schulzies, when a woman with a labradoodle handed her a business card.

She’d called the number later, after getting home from her fashion design class at SMC, and now, here she was. Sitting in the lobby of Elite Model Management feeling like, at best, a mistake, and at worst, a complete and total fraud.

“Gigi Goode?” A dark-haired woman called out, giving her a warm smile as she stood up, smoothing down the skirt of the green dress her mother had made.

Gigi wished her mother was there with her, but apparently grown-ups don’t take their moms with them to job interviews--or whatever this was, and Gigi desperately wanted to be seen as a grown up.

“Follow me.”

Gig swallowed, following her down a long hallway and then into an open, bustling bullpen, full of chic New York professionals, all perfectly groomed, every movement with purpose.

They stepped up to a door labeled ‘Sutan Amrull’ and Gigi stopped cold, suddenly overcome with fear.

“Wait…” she took another deep breath, trying to calm her shaking nerves.

The woman turned around, a look of concern flashing over her face before she smiled again.

“Hey,” She reached out, touching Gigi’s arm. “Don’t worry… You’re gonna be great in there.” She gave it a quick squeeze before letting go. “And, if it helps at all… I promise that he’s incredibly nice.”

Gigi forced out a laugh, nodding. “It does help. Thanks.”

The woman opened the door and guided her inside, where the man himself sat behind a large desk, a pair of glasses on as he was typing away on his laptop.

It was weird seeing Sutan in real life, since Gigi had of course looked him up, and knew that he was the force behind some of the biggest supermodels in the last 20 years.

“Umh..”

Gigi bit her lip. She knew she was already signed with Elite in L.A., but apparently, Sutan had asked for her specifically and after talking to Naomi, she knew that meeting could determine the course of the rest of her career.

“Oh,” Sutan looked up, a smile flashing over his face before he closed his computer and pushed his glasses into his hair. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Gigi waved, her stomach doing a flip. “I’m Gigi.”

“And it’s great to meet you, Gigi!” Sutan stood up, quickly buttoning his suit jacket before gesturing towards the chair in front of him. “Come sit.”

Gigi did as he asked, the man shaking her hand before she sat down. She’d never been treated so seriously before.

“How are you doing?” Sutan sat back down. “Is the apartment okay? Girls treating you well?”

“Oh, yeah.” Gigi nodded. “Everyone’s been…really cool.”

Really cool was an understatement. Symone was probably the most beautiful girl she had ever seen. Naomi carried herself with absolute confidence, and Bimini was so amazing Gigi couldn’t help but hang on her every word.

“Wonderful.” Sutan smiled. “I like your dress.”

Gigi didn’t know if he was being serious, the suit Sutan was wearing obviously expensive, what everyone was wearing in New York obviously expensive.

“My mom made it.”

“She did?” Sutan looked surprised for a second. “That’s great, and a good edge to have.” He smiled, tapping the pen he had picked up on the desk. “If she happens to ever be in New York, bring her by.  Let me say hello to her and show her around the company so she knows what you’re going to be doing.”

“Really?” Gigi tried to hide how much that notion excited her, how much she’d love to share more with her mom than her nightly calls home. “She’d love that, and she likes coming to New York. She’s a costume designer. For theater.”

“Makes it all the better! I’m sure we could get some Broadway tickets for the two of you.” Sutan made a quick note, and Gigi wondered for a second if it’d be rude to make a request, her mom talking her ear off about how Jinkx Monsoon was finally going to be back on Broadway. “My girlfriend is actually a designer too.” Sutan smiled. “Though she only does boring old regular fashion.”

Gigi laughed, the promise that Sutan was nice apparently holding true.

“So.” Sutan sat up straight, adjusting his suit jacket. “Let’s cut to the chase.”

Gigi nodded, shifting so she could sit on top of her hand, her stomach suddenly tight with anticipation and worry.

“I’m very interested in signing you Gigi.” Sutan pointed at her with his pen. “You’re obviously gorgeous, but we all already knew that.”

Gigi had never heard anyone state how she looked with such absolute confidence, Sutan calling her gorgeous like it was a fact and not an opinion.

“I have to see you walk, and we need professional photos for a portfolio, so we have to do test shots which means we need to get you to a salon.”

Gigi had to force her hand not to fly to her hair, but she had apparently not managed to hide it well enough, since Sutan smiled.

“I’m not going to make you into a blonde or anything, but Elite girls don’t use box dye.”

“It’s actually-”

“Or henna.” Sutan had cut her off, but Gigi didn’t feel corrected or like she had done anything wrong. “I promise you’ll love it. Juju Sanderson is a master at what she does, and you can always say no.”

Gigi nodded, the nervous twisting of her stomach replaced with more manageable butterflies.

“All that aside… Today, I think you and I should just talk. Get to know each other.” Sutan leaned back in his chair. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.” Gigi smiled, finally letting herself be excited. She was going to be a model.

“So, Bimini told me you like roller skating?”

***

There were times when Maxwell was incredibly, deeply grateful for Trixie’s laid-back, supportive-dad style of management. Times when it was essential to have someone running the show who didn’t yell, who had perspective and encouraged them all to find joy in their work, to not get too stressed out about deadlines, reminding them that they were a team. Usually, in fact, Maxwell appreciated Trixie a lot.

Today was not one of those days.

In typical Coach fashion, Trixie had dragged the entire department out for a family lunch at a nearby Mexican restaurant, insisting that they were all getting way too anxious and uptight about the upcoming deadline for Spring Runway submissions. He treated them all to delicious food and several rounds of margaritas, got them all to relax and let their guards down.

Which is why, when they returned to the office, laughing and chattering, trading jokes and banter, no one was prepared for the sight that awaited them.

Miss Fame, in all her ivory-clad glory, standing in the middle of the design floor, tapping her foot and looking around.

Maxwell felt his heart literally drop straight out of his asshole, the panic of a drop-in visit from their CEO just as acute as if it was the first time.

Why hadn’t Courtney called to let them know she was coming? Usually, they would have at least had a few minutes of warning. And they all had their phones on them, so there was no excuse. What an absolute nightmare.

"There you are. I was starting to worry I was paying you all for nothing."

Maxwell exchanged a tense look with Alexis, the only other designer who’d been through this ordeal as many times as him, the trauma bond they shared always coming out in moments like this.

"Hi, Fame,” Trixie said, doing his best to save them all with a friendly grin. “Can we help you?"

"Knit."

Everyone looked at April, whose eyes grew about three sizes, and Miss Fame sighed.

"White knit. One of you showed me a white knit," she said, then folded her arms, clearly waiting for a clear and immediate answer, no one stepping forth, not even Violet who Maxwell knew was fluent in Fame.

"Umh," Blu raised her hand like an obedient second grader, and Fame gestured for her to go on. "Can you be a bit more specific-"

"No," Fame cut her off. "Now. Who has something of actual value to add?"

***

Courtney stabbed a tomato, wondering what time it was in Tokyo. It had to be late at night. Was Bianca out on the town, living it up and enjoying the Japanese nightlife? Or, maybe she was back in her hotel room, already tucked in bed. Courtney closed her eyes, wishing she was there with her instead of stuck in this dull cafeteria surrounded by suits.

If she really concentrated, she could imagine the feel of the cool sheets on her back, Bianca’s lips trailing down her collarbone. She squeezed her thighs together under the table.

“This seat taken?”

“No, go ahead,” Courtney replied distractedly, lowering her eyes once again, doing her damndest to conjure up the image she’d just had, feeling like she’d just been woken up from a delicious dream, trying desperately to fall back asleep quickly--but it was gone. She sighed, dejected.

“Deep in thought, huh?”

Courtney looked up to see that the voice belonged to one of the suits, a generic square-jawed bro smiling at her from across the table, apparently trying to be charming.

“Um…” She was in no mood for this today. She glanced over at her phone to check the time, eyes bulging and stomach turning over when she realized how long it had been, and that she had three missed calls from the office. Miss Fame was obviously back from her own lunch, and Courtney was in deep shit. “Fuck!”

She jumped up from her seat, snatching up her things.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck-”

“Everything okay?” asked the suit, but Courtney didn’t have time to indulge his bullshit, simply grunted a ‘yeah’ and raced to the elevator.

When she got to the office, she realized to her dismay that Fame was nowhere to be found. She woke up her computer and quickly figured out what happened. She must have gone down to design...with no warning, if the frantic messages from downstairs were any indication.

She slid into her seat, taking a deep breath and picked up the phone, dialing Kandy’s extension. She answered immediately, quietly reporting, “Yeah, she’s still here. Everyone’s ready to kill you.”

“I know, I’m sorry! I thought she was still at lunch, but...what can I do to make it better?”

“We like pastries and alcohol,” Kandy said, and then abruptly hung up, Courtney dropping the receiver with a groan.

***

Sutan grabbed a handful of hangers with polo shirts, putting them into the clear plastic bin he had fished out from the bottom of his closet. The dry cleaning had been hanging in the hallway when he had gotten home from work, Violet’s things mixed in with his own, the apartment as always spotless after the visit from his housekeeper.

Sutan took another handful, putting it in the bin for storage. Violet hadn’t asked him to clean out the summer side of his wardrobe, the clothes she hadn’t yet used still neatly packed up in the beat up suitcase they had gotten from her place, but Sutan wanted to do this for her, wanted to make sure that it was easy for Violet to get to her things while she was staying in his apartment.

He put the lid on the bin, actually hauling it to the empty walk-in closet in Raja’s old room a task for another day since he wanted to get done before dinner arrived, an order of Italian food on it’s way.

Sutan didn’t actually know if Italian was what Violet wanted but it seemed like a safe bet, his girlfriend asleep on the couch when he got home, her shoe, jacket, crutches and purse making a trail from the hallway to where she had obviously crashed the second she came through the door.

He admired her work ethic, but a small part of him couldn’t help but worry if she was pushing too hard too fast, Violet’s afternoons spent with her sketchbook open to do her part of the spring fill ins, even though he could see that she was so exhausted she could barely hold a pencil.

Sutan tore into the plastic, ready to put the clothes away, when he heard the door to the bedroom open.

“Sutan?”

“In here!” Sutan poked his head out of the closet, a smile on his lips when he saw Violet in the door, his girlfriend leaning against the frame. “I got you a penne vodka for dinner.”

“That’s fine.” Violet was wearing her work clothes, a pale lilac wrap dress hugging her body, but she was rumpled from sleep, the fabric askew so he could see her bra, matching lilac lace peeking out.

“Fine.” Sutan nodded, a fine from Violet just that. A confirmation that it was fine, which Sutan was still trying to get used to.

“Do you have Raven’s number?”

“... Yes?” Sutan looked at Violet, only now noticing that she was holding her old and clunky iPhone in her free hand, the other holding the one crutch she prefered to use at home. “Why?”

“So I can text her?”

Sutan snorted, the dry reply really what he should have expected.

“I figured.” He fished his own phone out of his pocket, his notifications telling him that a text from Gigi had ticked in, the young girl asking him if she could bring some reference photos for Juju to look at.

Gigi was only 19, but his gut feeling had been confirmed the moment he saw her, her weird but charming little laugh, great jaw and intense eyes exactly what he predicted everyone would be looking for in the upcoming seasons. She was a little bit boney, but she’d hopefully grow into it, a pound or three more and some guided trips to the gym rounding her out.

“There.” Sutan pressed send on Raven’s contact, a ding from Violet’s phone telling him it had arrived.

“Thanks,” Violet smiled, and Sutan had expected that he’d be left to continue unpacking, but she was still leaning against the door, now fiddling with her phone.

“Everything okay lovely eyes?”

“It’s just,” Violet looked unsure. “The spa thing Fame sent with the flowers. It’s for two, and I wanted… I thought maybe Raven would like to go with me, but…”

Violet trailed off, and Sutan had to bite down a smile. He had sensed that Raven and Violet had gotten closer but this was a development he hadn’t seen coming.

“I think she’d love that.”

***

“So, these are my top three candidates at the moment,” Trixie said, handing over an iPad to Raja, and a folder to Fame, who always preferred to look at physical copies, the three of them in Fame’s office.

Raja swiped through the photos, trying not to judge the candidates too harshly, while Fame sifted through the folder.

“Trixie…” Fame paused, looking up, “what am I looking at, exactly?”

“Well, uh… One of them is a recent Parsons graduate, the other has been working at Calvin Klein for a few years, and the third-”

“This is garbage, Trixie. None of this work speaks to the Galactica brand. None of it.”

“Well, but don’t you think those blue pieces are-”

“Trixie.”

Raja felt for Trixie, she really did, but she had to agree with Fame on this one. She could see why he’d selected the designers, their work technically good and creatively interesting, but it was all wrong for Galactica.

“Look, I know they’re not the most exciting portfolios we’ve seen, but this is a tough time of year, and this was the best of the bunch. Fashion week will be hard without an extra person, and Violet’s been doing great work, but her injury is really slowing her down, and-”

“Why don’t you expand the search? Maybe go international?” Raja suggested.

“Yes, try that. And please do not waste our time with any more sub-par candidates.” Fame closed the folder, then called out, “Courtney!”

After a beat, she sighed and tried again. “Courtney!”

It seemed that the progress Raja thought Courtney was making had been stymied a bit, Fame’s exasperation clear as she raised her voice, something she hated to do, calling out to her for a third time.

“Courtney!”

“Yes Miss!” Courtney finally came racing to the door, standing breathlessly, notepad in her hand, waiting for Fame’s instructions. Fame held out the folder in her hands, and Courtney stepped forward.

“This is garbage,” she said, handing over the folder. Courtney took the folder, pausing for a moment, as Fame looked at Trixie and pointedly repeated, “garbage.”

Courtney looked slightly confused, but nonetheless dropped the folder into the trash can beside Fame’s seat on the sofa.

“Is there anything else you need, Miss?”

Raja stifled a laugh, knowing full well that this moment had lost the dramatic punch that Fame intended, could see the cross look on her friend’s face as clear as day.

“That’s all.”

[honeydots]

200. “He loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it.” ~~ This has some Vibes and I kinda like them so? I'd like 2 humbly request your take on this w/ shukita or akeshu if it's ok to ask for!! -- dorky-arsene (a sideblog)

“He loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it”

Hello no I didn’t forget about these I am just slower than a little baby turtle!!!!! Anyway

Summary: Goro’s new job leads him to discover that dealing with both a crush and an idiot while flipping burgers is, unarguably, the worst turn his life could’ve taken.

cw: sexual themes (+p5r spoilers)

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(ao3 link)

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“Hello! Would you like to try our Big Bang Special Combo Shot-Straight-Through Promotional Meal for ‘Thy Father of Corruption 2: The Daughter of Rejection’ for ¥850?”

Goro wanted to quit. 

You need this job. You need this job. He’d repeat to himself each time a customer decided they were feeling peckish. You will have no money if you quit and then you will have no home and then you will drop out of college and then you will die. 

He’d left the police department after graduating. With his past plans of an 18-year life expectancy having slipped down the drain, he hardly had a reason to stay. High school had been an uphill battle with cases of murder and robbery breathing down his neck, and he’d hesitated to even make an attempt at trying to juggle his priorities in university. Dropping the detective gig meant dropping the media attention, too, which gave him breathing room he certainly knew he needed, but never really had. 

The problem was, after three years of fading out of fame and living off his savings, he realized this wouldn’t stretch as far as he’d predicted. He hadn’t accounted nearly enough for the expenses that came with the unwelcome enforcement of trying to live as a proper human being. His bank account was growing meager. If he wanted to keep living (which was arguable) in the way that he was (which he did) he’d need an income. Almost anything would do, as long as it would bend and break to his schedule. 

And, all things considered, he technically had connections here. And ever since… that, the pay had actually increased to a respectable amount. The management had rehired, retrained, and improved. It was fast food, but it was livable. Nothing shameful about being livable. 

And god fucking dammit he had already done three interviews with no hires and he needed food other than half-cooked ramen noodles and bread slices. 

“Can I get you anything else, sir?” 

That didn’t mean he didn’t loathe every minute.

It was bad enough that he had a job at Big Bang Burger. And, bad enough that he’d been desperate to get it. It was bad enough that he had to bring in his homework like some anguished used-to-be honors student now getting barely passing marks. And christ, it was bad enough each time a customer would walk in, a hamburger-shaped icepick would slam itself into his frontal lobe, forever ingraining the memory of his premeditated brain murder of the former CEO of this very restaurant. 

All of that, and he couldn’t stress this more, was bad enough. It was entirely shitty all around. Completely awful, and damming, and humbling, though he hated to admit it. He’d like to say it couldn’t get any worse. That this was the end of the line, get off the train before it turns around, don’t get stuck in the never ending cycle of beef patties and sesame seed buns. 

But, god, of all the coworkers. 

“Ya know,” said Sakamoto, leaning down on the front counter after their customer had left,  “I dunno if clenching your teeth like you’ve got peanut butter stuck in there counts as ‘service with a smile.’” 

Sakamoto Ryuji. The boy who had the opposite of a filter, and more like a megaphone spewing recordings of every profanity in the Japanese language. He, who had walked in on Goro’s second day and loudly declared, ‘I thought I smelled something, what’s this a-hole doing here?’ Really, who else could he tolerate spending eight-hour shifts with; greasy stoves, piss poor customers, and the ruthless scent of lysol on tile included?

Ah, right. Anyone else. 

Goro pressed his lips together. “Hm. Well you know, I was almost certain that elbows on the counter was a fireable offense.” 

Sakamoto snatched himself up in a second, elbows up high. He hung there and looked around the empty restaurant. 

He pouted. “Not cool, dude. That’s only when there’s customers.”

Goro raised his eyebrows. He was really just going to stand there? He looked like an idiot, or a chicken. A hybrid that, if anyone could pull off, would be him. He was making a great show of it, too. 

Sakamoto narrowed his eyes. “Unless you’re a snitch.” 

Goro spoke in his most syrupy sweet voice. “Are you implying then, that your job is in my hands? An entertaining thought, Sakamoto.” If it were only that simple to really get him fired. Unfortunately, their manager seemed to love his enthusiasm. Every moment he spent enthusiastically mopping floors and singing into the handle was a moment Goro could’ve been writing soliloquies of his growing and newfound hatred for Carly Rae Jepsen. 

Sakamoto folded his arms in a huff. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about, man! Look at that fake-ass smile.” He shook his head. “And I get customer service blows and stuff, but you use it for everything. Lighten up dude! Take a break.”

Sakamoto said things with such confidence, such surety. It made his teeth grind. 

“I’d prefer to keep my job,” Goro said, and gave him the sweet smile Sakamoto was arguing against. “Though, if you’d like to pay my rent for me, you’re more than welcome.” 

He acted like he hadn’t even heard him.“Maybe it’s ‘cause you’re so gloomy all the time, your face just doesn’t know how to work it. Look it, check me out.” Sakamoto pointed his thumb at himself and flashed a toothy smile. “Just like that! All natural, bro. It’s easy. Come on, you really try it this time.” 

Goro very clearly did not. He stared with his most obsolete and ‘stop-trying-to-have-a-conversation-with-me’ look he could muster. He’d communicate it telepathically, if given the chance. 

“That doesn’t look like trying to me,” Sakamoto said expectantly. 

Couldn’t they just sit in silence and wait for their fabrication of getting-along time when the next inevitable customer came in? “Perhaps, and please let me know if this is too complicated, I simply have no intention of trying, because I don’t believe there’s anything to fix.” 

“Nah, that’s not it,” replied Sakamoto, as if he was being thoughtful.

Another reason why he was completely obnoxious was because the longer they knew each other, the less that Goro’s flawless stone faced looks worked. Sakamoto kept spewing hot air. He’d gained some kind of tolerance, and it was tedious to work around. 

Sakamoto leaned back down, previous elbow warnings forgotten. “I bet you’re the kinda guy who’s super ticklish, so you act all boring so no one suspects it.”

“I’m not,” Goro snapped. 

“Quick reply there, buddy.” 

Goro didn’t answer to that. He didn’t owe it to him. This was pointless; why did Sakamoto find such pleasure in talking about pointless things? 

He slouched further down. “So it’s silent treatment now. You’re checking all the boxes over here.” He waved his finger through the air. “Check, n’ check, n’, check.” 

Goro was getting a headache. “I don’t want to talk about this.” 

“Betcha you’re super ticklish. And like, one of those cry-laughers.” 

“Sakamoto, did you hear what I just said.” 

He stretched up from his position on the counter. “Like if I poke you in the side, I bet it would make ya jump.” 

“Do not.” He could just try it. Goro would bend his finger back so far it’d break. He wondered if that would be a viable option to get him to stop talking sometime. 

“Didn’t say I was gonna.” He rested his arms behind his neck. “You’re just proving my point more, though.” 

Sakamoto was annoyingly stubborn at times. Once he found a niche with Goro, he’d hack his way in and grab on like a tick. Bother him like it was his last chance he’d ever get, as if they didn’t work shifts together four times a week. He was bound to get lyme disease at this rate.  

Goro felt like a very frustrated pair of tweezers.“Can we talk about anything else, please?”

Sakamoto went quiet. He was just looking at him now. Goro tensed up. Was he really going to try and poke him? He meant it, he’d break his hand. 

“Ya know, there is something I wanna talk to you about,” he said.

Goro did not like the sound of that. “Oh really.” He tried to sound like he was just told he was about to be given a lecture on the intricacies and details of lentil soup. Which, perhaps could be more interesting than whatever topic Sakamoto was about to pull out of his ass. 

Sakamoto sniffed. “Yup. It’s about Akira.” 

Oh, he really didn’t like where this was going. “Sakamoto, I—” 

“When’re ya gonna like, confess.” 

Goro visibly winced. Dammit. He knew he’d bring this up one day. He was absolutely infuriated Sakamoto knew about that, and he hadn’t even told him. He’d been making guesses and Goro had been just tired enough during his shift to let a hint of a sigh out, and Sakamoto had taken that to new heights. Another example of conversations being had that Goro would’ve just about died to get out of. 

Sakamoto was still staring at him. Didn’t he have anything better to do? Goro knew they didn’t at this good for nothing job, but what was so hard about just acting like you’re busy. You’re pretending then, at least, and that’s something. 

“Well, dude?” asked Sakamoto. 

Any conversation is better than that one.

Mother of fuck. 

“I…” Goro started, adjusting a piece of his hair, “I suppose I am a little ticklish.”

Sakamoto’s face lit up. “Dude, for real? Called it,” he said triumphantly. Had Goro not known him as well as he did, he’d think the divergence in conversation was a trick to get him to admit he was a bit… touchy. But he did know him, and he wasn’t one for games like that.

“Most people are, it shouldn’t be a surprise. It’s skin sensitivity, nothing more.” 

Sakamoto shrugged. “Still funny you admitted to it.” 

Sure. Very hilarious. Yet another fact Sakamoto now knows about him that he’d really have rather not shared under any circumstance. 

“Satisfied, now?” Goro asked, but it wasn’t really a question. He didn’t plan on expanding, this was embarrassing enough as it was. 

“Nope,” he replied, “cause that’s great and all, but I really gotta know the game plan.” He leaned in close to Goro, and he in turn leaned farther away.

“There’s no ‘game plan,’ Sakamoto. Please don’t get so close to me.” 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry.” He moved back, obviously not finished. “Come on, though, you gotta have something.” And back down on the counter he slouched. 

‘Something,’ he’d said. Yes, and that something was to keep his mouth shut and go about his life keeping each and every one of those mortifying feelings to himself. It was humiliating enough that Sakamoto knew. Telling Akira? He didn’t even want to imagine it. He’d rather face Okumura-san herself and ask her to buy one of their Shot-Straight-Through combo meals. 

“There’s nothing. And I don’t plan there to be anything. And, it’s not really much of your business, is it?” Goro could feel himself growing irritated. 

Sakamoto melted further into the counter. “I just don’t get why you’re not gonna ask him out if you like him. You might as well, man, it’ll be fine.” 

What simple ways of thinking. Do this, get that in return. Black and white, and right and wrong. Spill your fleeting moment of vulnerability and try not to think about the extensive hole of commitment you’re burying yourself in. One turn of phrase, one word, one misplaced breath to Akira would forever rupture the sorry excuse of acquaintanceship they’d been flip flopping through for the past three years. Akira was a blank slate and simultaneously the person he knew best. He knew him, but didn’t really, and he could never tell what he was thinking. Suddenly he was gambling again, and this time it came entirely unwelcome. Risks you face before death and risks that you’ll keep living through no matter the outcome tasted different. One was tangy and sweet and thrilling, the other was bitter  shit. Not to mention that Akira was too kind to him for his own good. He couldn’t even tell what was a lie. 

But, Sakamoto didn’t need to know all that. “You say that like there’s nothing to consider. As if I’ve never even given this thought. You do not belong in my head, Sakamoto. And I do not need to give you, an obvious outsider on the entire dilemma, any sort of justification for why I’m going to continue to abstain on something as trivial as a confession.” 

Sakamoto huffed at him. “What if I said that I gua-ran-tee he’s not gonna say no to you.”

Goro was already sick of this. What, had Sakamoto expected his heart to skip? His pulse to rise? That just the very thought of mutual feelings would send him into some flustered mess? Please. He told the tingling feeling going up through his legs and down his arms and up the back of his neck to shut the fuck up. 

He couldn’t stay quiet for long. Sakamoto could and would get ideas. “Then why doesn’t he just tell me that himself? Why are you playing wingman for him?” 

“Cause he’s not gonna say anything cause he’s got to be worried that he’s gonna freak you and your crazy attachment issues out!” 

Of course, there it was. The blind bet. Sakamoto’s one-way thinking at it again, and Goro would not have it. “I’m not going to start playing some game with him about the complexities of whatever idea of consent he has in his head. I don’t need his sympathy, and I am certainly not looking for it. I don’t have time for something messy and half-assed. I don’t want that, and surely he doesn’t, either. If he feels any way about me, he’d ought to tell me, because then maybe we’d find some kind of leeway. But I will not let him sit there and wait for me to make the first move, like a key element in his plan. This is not some teenage romance, and I am not a caricature of his love life. He can wait patiently all he’d like, but I’m perfectly content as I am now.” 

Sakamoto seemed a little stunned. 

“Man, he’s just…” He trailed off. They sat in silence. 

So ways still existed to get Sakamoto to stop rambling on. He was sure he’d regret saying this later, for a multitude of reasons. He didn’t hate Sakamoto, even saying dislike felt strong, but he always talked about things that Goro had no interest nor inclination to discuss. Maybe silence was for the best between them, for now. 

“He loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it. That’s all it is, dude,” said Sakamoto. 

Goro inhaled. So he wasn’t done, then. “Love… is an entirely different conversation.” 

“Okay, fine, you want me to say he ‘like-likes’ you like some fifth grader? Cause he does.” 

Goro didn’t reply. He’d made his point. 

“He isn’t playing one of your weirdo mind games,” Sakamoto continued. “I think you’re thinking too hard about this. He’s just a guy. He just wants to make sure you’re all comfortable and shit. Cause it’s not like we don’t all know the bullshit that was goin’ on for you.”

“I am not looking for his pity.” A fine thing to say while working at a Big Bang Burger in a bright yellow shirt and starred apron. It didn’t matter. He didn’t wear this with pride, per say, but he wouldn’t ask someone to feel sorry for him.

He didn’t exactly want to be seen, either. Especially not Akira, but of course he’d make habits of visiting. That was just like him, and it was just like his pity, too. 

Sakamoto looked frustrated. “He ain’t pitying you, man! He’s tryin’ to respect you! He knows you got things to go through on your own and he’s trying to give you space and everything.” 

Goro clicked his tongue. “If you know that’s his tactic, why are you trying to pressure me into this?” 

“Cause I don’t care, dude!” Sakamoto said, and then stopped himself, and promptly looked very guilty. “Well, okay. I do care. Like, I do. But sometimes…” He looked like he was trying to pick his words out carefully. He had an idea, just no way to form it.

He settled. “Sometimes, you just gotta get laid, man.” 

At this point, Goro found himself shocked that he wasn’t banging his own head against the counter. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You’re twenty one years old! Dude, I know you haven’t gotten any,” Sakamoto argued. “Your gay ass with emotional problems? Get outta here.” 

“This is not—”  

Sakamoto put his hands up nonshalontly. “And like, yeah, no judgey stuff, take your time if you gotta. But have you considered it? Tell me. I betcha you haven’t.”

Goro opened his mouth, expecting to reply with an incredibly well thought out ‘fuck off,’ but the automatic doors slid open, and suddenly Goro was all smiles and greetings, so what came out instead was, “Hello! Welcome to Big Bang Burger! Would you—ah.” 

Sakamoto snorted loudly, and Goro wanted to kick him so bad. 

And actually, what was stopping him? Sakamoto had earned this, and it’s not like this customer would care. 

Because, who else could’ve been just about summoned by the trouble than Kurusu Akira himself; strolling in so casually through the doors, like he hadn’t just become the most unpleasant topic of conversation Goro had ever had with Sakamoto. Speak of the devil was an understatement, or perhaps he was the devil himself. 

“What the eff, man!” 

“Hey you two,” said Akira, hands in his pockets and clearly bagless. He didn’t even register Goro’s kick, like that was just some normal occurrence. Somehow, that made him angrier. 

“Yo,” said Sakamoto, recovering annoyingly quickly. Goro wondered if he should’ve considered breaking his finger. 

Sakamoto reached out to Akira for a fist bump. “You don’t have the cat with ya?” 

Akira bumped him back. “Nope. Just me today.” 

“Sweet,”  Sakamoto replied, a smile growing wide. Goro hated the look. It was the hungriest and most dastardly shit-eating grin he’d ever seen him dare to make. So, knowing Sakamoto and his terrible poker face, he had thought up some idiotic ploy. 

“What’s up with you?” Akira asked, and thank god it wasn’t directed at Goro. Sakamoto’s obviousness did not go unnoticed. 

“Oh nothin’, nothin’,” said Sakamoto, entirely conspicuously, “I gotta go, though, grind never stops. Super secret stuff in the back.” 

Goro glared at him. So now he would pretend to be busy? 

“Burger secrets,” Akira said, and Ryuji gave him a finger gun in reply. He walked off without a word, but apparently felt the inclination to jerk his head back at Goro, as if he didn’t know what he was doing. 

He sighed. No amount of alone time would ever compel Goro to confess at a Big Bang Burger, of all places. At least Akira tended to be a little more bearable in conversation. He hoped he’d be an in and out customer. “Can I get you anything?” 

Akira looked at him for a moment. “You look flustered.” 

Goro felt himself twitch. He wasn’t flustered, like some preteen who can’t hear the word genital without bursting into laughter. If anything, Sakamoto had caught him off guard with his stupidity. He obviously was not one to be so affected by such a topic. He was an adult, and a professional. He would again not think about the fact he was wearing an orange visor right now. 

“I’m positive that isn’t a menu item,” he replied, keeping his pleasant smile plastered on, keeping any stray annoyance from showing. 

Akira examined him closer. “Do you have a fever or something? You look red.”

Goro drummed his fingers against the counter impatiently. What was he supposed to say? Sorry, Akira, Sakamoto just decided to kindly push the image of you railing me as a form of twisted therapy into the forefront of my consciousness. Would you like any drinks?

“I’m fine. I’m not the type to go to work sick,” he decided on instead. 

“Really?” He didn’t seem convinced. 

Goro folded his arms. “While living in a society where health is determined by the trust of the majority, I have no plans to spread my germs to an unsuspecting businessman, in that I expect the same from him.”

Akira considered that for a moment. “So you’re embarrassed, then.” 

Goro’s expression turned sour. He was not in the mood for a debate. “Everyone seems to be presuming things today, have I missed a memo?” 

Akira didn’t miss a beat. “Ryuji said something?” 

Goro dragged his fingernails into his palm. He was hardly being that obvious, he wasn’t a bumbling idiot who couldn’t keep a straight face. Akira was just acutely good at reading people, (namely, reading him) and it drove Goro up the wall. It was unfair, for one thing, since Akira continued to maintain blank expressions in the face of clowns and hookers, keeping his inner thoughts kept behind lock and key. And, as of more recently, he was the one person Goro really desperately wanted to hide every wandering emotion from possible. Just his luck, fall for the bastard who analyzes people as a side job for his savior-complex living. 

This was making him more frustrated. “Would you just order?” 

Akira looked at the menu, but Goro knew it was bullshit. He ordered the same thing every time— a shake and a burger, no tomatoes. He certainly already knew what he wanted, but was just causing trouble in the meantime. What an annoyance. Goro punched it in, and made no moves to go and cook. If Sakamoto was going to have his “business” in the back, then he could stay there and do his job. 

“Sit over there, we’ll bring it to you when it’s done,” he said, and Akira silently obliged. He gave a small smile before he turned, leaving Goro completely alone with his thoughts as he sat at his table and scrolled through his phone. 

He couldn’t believe the timing of Sakamoto’s distasteful comment to Akira’s unseasonable entrance. Things always seemed to fall into place with Goro, just not the right places. The right place, but a little down, and to the left, the left, he said. He wished Sakamoto would mind his own business, let him quietly pine until his untimely death; which kept getting put off, might he add. 

Sakamoto emerged from the back end of the restaurant. He was holding the bag of presumably Akira’s food, and his shake. He waved them enthusiastically. 

“Go on, dude,” he smirked. 

Goro was blunt. “No.” He’d pissed him off enough today. He wasn’t going to walk over there and serve the food. Sakamoto’s little idea of love, romance and marriage in a burger joint would have to wait. Ideally, it would get itself stuck in wet concrete, and drown way down under where no one could see it and where the light of day would never reach. 

Sakamoto seemed to catch his drift. “Jeez, fine. Huffy, huffy.” 

He walked over to Akira with a spring in his step, and they started chatting idly. Goro couldn’t hear. In all honesty, he was trying to tune them out. His headache was growing worse. Pounding in his head, every light too bright and repetitive music blurring together his thoughts. And of course there was the elephant in the room, who was whispering to him Sakamoto’s crude suggestions, and the irritating notion that maybe he was right, just a little bit.

He needed to get himself together. He was acting like some horny teenager. Get fucked, you raunchy elephant. 

Sakamoto left to let him eat, and made a show of going back to the other end of the restaurant, all while wiggling his eyebrows at Goro. In turn, Goro made a show of rolling his eyes and planting himself facing away from Akira. It made Sakamoto laugh, for whatever reason, and Goro just ignored him. 

He watched the door idly and tried to relax. He’d been clenching his teeth, and his jaw ached. He tried to focus to get his headache to fade into obscurity. He couldn’t find much to concentrate on, was his issue. Other than the obvious, which he would ignore without remorse. He wanted to go home. No lights too bright there, no sloppily cleaned windows, and especially no crush (the word left a bad taste in his mouth. Boy who has left him emotionally compromised after giving him no reason to deny he had worth in the world and keeps him up at night thinking about the way he really tried to will him back into existence when he could, god, have anything else in the world, and he wanted him. Was that a better option?) sitting out of view, chewing quietly and doing absolutely nothing to draw so much attention to himself.  At home he could drown it all out in a cold bath, and let himself think of nothing but his numbing toes and pruning fingers. 

“Hey, catch,” Akira said, suddenly there and startling Goro out of his bathlike daydream. He tossed something onto the counter. Goro did not catch it. 

It was a napkin, all folded up in a careful way. It didn’t hold the shape well, but the intention was pretty clear. “Um. A crane?” 

“Yup. Present for you.” he started, rubbing his neck, and he had the nerve to look bashful. “I got bored.”

Goro hadn’t noticed him making it. Which, alright, did make sense, he was purposefully keeping his neck away from that entire half of the restaurant. “Sorry we aren’t quite the height of entertainment here.” Goro lightly touched its head. He didn’t know Akira knew how to make these. “Well, thank you, I guess.”

Akira pushed his glasses further up his nose. “You’re welcome to name him.”

“I think that I won’t.”

“That can be pretty trendy, too,” he replied. “I’ve gotta go. Class. Tell Ryuji I say bye.” 

“Bye, dude!” Sakamoto shouted from the back. There was that tiresome enthusiasm again. 

It made Akira smile.“Nevermind, then. See you.” 

Goro just barely lifted his hand by the wrist to wave. “Bye.” 

Akira turned, gave him a small trill of his fingers, and left. Sakamoto did not return to his exit, and Goro savored the moment. It was just him and the crane, now. 

It was pretty shoddy. Unfolding, and barely standing up on its own. Cheap paper napkins were not the ideal material for origami, it seemed. He watched it slowly fall apart, wings losing shape and the head relaxing into its neck. Akira had hardly stayed long, so that meant he was probably pretty good at this sort of thing. He wouldn’t have guessed. 

…He thought about how it might look on proper paper. The creases sharp and crisp, the ends pointed and still. What would Akira’s hands look like while they worked? He could hear the sounds of the folding, and the wedging, clean paper being bent and rippled. Delicate fingers, working through, meticulously checking every last inch. Sometimes a pinch, just where it’s needed. And then finished, folded tight, wrapped together in itself. Very quick work, with the touch of a hand. 

“The heck is that?” Sakamoto said, getting an actual jump out of Goro. 

“What?” he gasped, and took a second to collect his thoughts. At work. Sakamoto came back. In a Big Bang Burger. Headache present. Good fucking god. “It’s just…” He pressed his fingers into the side of his temple “It’s a paper crane. Akira made it.” 

Sakamoto let that sink in.“You tellin me you were just sitting here staring at the thing Akira made you?” 

“I wasn’t,” Goro replied, trying desperately to catch his breath as casually as possible. 

“Uh, you literally were.” Sakamoto got uncomfortably close to him again. Goro physically moved away, because now was not the time. 

It didn’t deter Sakamoto whatsoever. He put his hands on his hips and gave an annoying grin. “Bro, you gotta tell him… You’ve obviously got it preeetty bad.” 

Goro was fed up with this. This conversation needed to end, or he thought he might explode. “I don’t ‘have it bad,’ Sakamoto, stop bringing this up.” 

Sakamoto smirked at him. “You so do though, is the thing.” 

“I don’t. Leave me alone.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and kept his mouth shut. He was acting so haughty, like he’d won the argument. Which, he hadn’t, for the record. 

That stupid crane. All it’d done was make things worse. And what was it even doing? Sitting here crumbling away into uselessly folded paper. A cheap napkin made of other recycled cheap napkins. Clean and crisp paper was a long sought after dream, a fantasy and nothing more. 

You know, this was just it, really. This is what he meant. Akira would try and fold him up and he’d inevitably fall back down. He didn’t know just what fantastic method he’d try, but it wouldn’t matter— he was made of what he was made of, and nothing would hold him up. Trying was pointless, risking for naught, it would be better for everyone if he stayed just how he was and didn’t overstay his use. 

He would not fit into Akira’s plans or his pities. He couldn’t. 

“…Bruh. What does that even mean.” 

Ah? “What?“ No. He had not said that out loud. Sakamoto did not just hear all that nonsense. 

Sakamoto was giving him a funny look. “You’re not a napkin, man.” 

God, shit. Shit shit shit. “I— I know that, this is just—“ The unpleasant feeling of blood rushing to his face was just as intolerable as it was unpreventable. 

“For real? Cause you sure sounded like you were calling yourself a napkin.” 

Absolutely unbelievable. How unruly was he that he’d just spouted all that like it was nothing? He couldn’t believe he had to explain himself now, but letting him get ideas was undeniably worse. “It’s supposed to be… symbolic, Sakamoto.” 

He could practically see the gears turning in his head. That wasn’t something difficult to understand, you dunce. Every second of this humiliating scene felt like a knife turning in his back. 

“Why does your brain work in such effed up ways. You gotta work on that,” Sakamoto said, not letting up his judgemental look.

He crossed his arms, trying to make his mortification appear like annoyance. “Don’t you start with me. As if you ever have something useful to say. At least I’m— I’m thinking, here.” 

That riled him up a bit. “I’m thinkin’! I almost flunked literature so maybe I’m not so good at this analysis stuff, but you know what? Hear me out.” Goro did not want to hear him out. He continued despite that. “I get it, you got your problems. But I really don’t think you callin’ yourself some shitty crane is fair, you know? Like, you’re a whole guy.”

He did not appreciate how genuine Sakamoto was acting. It was odd, and it felt awkward coming from him. He didn’t want to feel guilty for being rude to him earlier, either. Just another topic to bother him to sleep. 

Sakamoto went on. “Gahhh, it feels weird sayin’ this but like, you’re not a napkin, okay! And Akira doesn’t think so either. You’re more… complicated. Napkins don’t pay taxes or anything.” 

Ah, alright. So it was mostly bullshit. He could ease the guilt away in one fell swoop. 

Goro’s disinterest seemed to show itself well to Sakamoto. “Just, okay. Lemme get my thoughts here. You gotta like… be your own first step. I didn’t get my own shit sorted out until I actually tried to. And I’m not sayin it’s easy to do. But Imma tell you right now your first step is gonna be to stop thinking you’re a napkin or a bucket or a plate of green beans or whatever else you come up with. And I mean it, man.”

Goro knew he had things to say to that. He had thought out replies and phrases that Sakamoto would need more headspace to begin to understand. But none of them came to him. So he decided to stay threateningly quiet. 

It was well received. “Okay okay, you’re gettin’ mad, I can tell. I’m gonna take my break,” Sakamoto relented, and turned on his heel. “I ain’t really trying to tell ya what to do but give it a thinking about, alright? ‘Least for Akira’s sake,” he said over his shoulder, and left Goro almost more alone than before. 

It wasn’t even Akira’s sake Goro was worried about. Not in the way Sakamoto seemed to think. And he didn’t need to be told he wasn’t some inanimate object, he wasn’t that out of mind. 

Any sort of sensible argument would have to come to him after the fact, apparently. To tell him this wouldn’t be a “first step,” more like a hundredth. How many paces did crawling out of the hole he’d buried himself in count for? How many miles had he gone by now, barefoot and bleeding all the way. 

Such a stupid conversation. Needless, too, since for whatever reason his filter decided to leave him to fend for himself. Just another addition to this embarrassing excuse of a shift today. 

The paper crane sat still on the counter, though it hardly resembled one anymore. He almost felt bad. He had his typical pit in his stomach, but nothing exactly to pinpoint it on. Was he wallowing in that much self-loathing? 

Perhaps. 

Goro adamantly refused to have any more dramatic revelations at his part time job, so any introspections would have to come later. 

He put the crumpled crane in his pocket. It was certainly not going to be a crane once he took it out again, but he didn’t really know what else to do with it. Throwing it away felt wrong, to him. Though he wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to do with it when he got home. 

Akira hadn’t given this to him in hopes of causing some mental anguish. Or at least, he assumed so. Sakamoto had said he didn’t play mind games, but if not those, what was he doing? It felt better to know it was a game, in that way there was something about Akira’s mystery of a consciousness he could pry through. 

Was he reading into things? For sure. Reading too deeply into anything had been a talent of his for as long as he could remember. It had saved his life before, many times and in the most difficult of times. 

This crane wasn’t life threatening, but it felt like it was. Not in the thrilling way, but in the shitty way. 

His shift was over soon. Which reminded him, Sakamoto had surely already taken his break. He was a dip, but Goro preferred his own thoughts to any conversation they’d had today. And that was saying something, since getting out of his own head was a much needed relief that he’d take almost any chance he got. 

He was overthinking, and there was nothing he could do about it. He would continue to overthink until someone stole his brain and dunked it in acid. Where was the enjoyment otherwise? It was all he knew how to do. 

And even he didn’t overthink this— if Akira had given this to him in earnest and in playfulness, and if Sakamoto hadn’t been overtly pulling his leg through their shifts today. There wasn’t even anything remarkable about it. If there was a chance that maybe things were just okay, and getting better, and he wasn’t a living metaphor for a tissue. Oh just, say he invited him out for coffee, and Akira surprised him with a new little creation, less spur of the moment and made something almost sweet. He’d never drop his pride so low as to ask for a lesson, but if he did, maybe he could learn to make something, too. And maybe he wouldn’t hate every moment of it, and maybe he’d like getting so close, and maybe he’d appreciate the mistakes as much as the praises. 

…Hm.

That was just a fantasy, of course. And surely, nothing was all that great about it. Anything could go wrong in any number of ways, his own interventions just one category. 

Maybe it was the headache, or the dragging on shift, or the terrible lights, or the distant humming of his coworker, but Goro must’ve been caught off guard today. Because otherwise, why else would he have thought, not long and not convincingly, but still a thought as present as can be, that maybe, despite everything. 

It could be nice. Just for a little bit. Maybe that didn’t sound quite so bad. 

Not so bad at all. 

[dalamjisung]

just in case ❊ mark tuan

word count: 2324

genre: fluff

pairing: reader x mark tuan

description: he accidentally leaves with one of your shopping bags. could it be fate?

“Y/N, please,” Your friend begs, hands clasped together and pouty lips. “I promise this is the last store. I just want to check their winter collection. I need new sweaters now that it’s getting cold!”

“What’s wrong with your old sweaters?” You groan, allowing her to drag you by the hand inside the store that looks exactly like the ones before. 

“Exactly that, they’re old.”

If you could kill Chae, you would. You’d been shopping for hours now, and once she ran out of hands to carry bags, you stepped up, leading up to where you are now, sitting down in a comfortable chair, surrounded by bags, waiting on your friend. The people checking out clothes would place at you and giggle, pointing at the bags and whispering to each other. It isn’t like you care about your public image, but even you got embarrassed; this was just too much. 

“Don’t worry,” A voice called from beside you. “You’re not alone.”

You turn your head to the side only to find a smiling boy, also sitting down, also surrounded by shopping bags. Your brows shoot up, mouth hanging open. He had almost twice as many bags as you did. 

“How did you carry all of that?” You gasp, looking at his sheepish smile.

“I have long arms,” It’s all he says. “And my friend is a compulsive buyer. He’s a pro at this.”

He nods with his head to the boy grabbing sweater after sweater from the rack and pilling it up on the helpers trembling arms. He laughs at something the store clerk said and shakes his head, handling her more clothes to try on. 

“My friend is not much different,” This time you are the one nodding towards your friend, but instead of looking at clothes, you find her flirting with the worker, laughing at something he said. “Although I think she got a little sidetracked…”

The boy next to you laughs and you can’t help but laugh too; you couldn’t ignore the fact that this person is incredibly attractive, and when he smiles you can’t help but notice his sharp canines. That is oddly endearing, you think. 

You two talk for a few minutes more, until one of you hear a loud thud. At the same time, both of you look for the source of the sound.

“Oh shit,” You whisper once you notice your friend arguing with another woman, both their hands on a pair of jeans. You know where this is going and you are quick to grab all of the bag, saying a quick goodbye to the cute guy before running to your friend. You apologize to the people in the store before dragging her out of there, lecturing her about manners all the way back to the car. 

“Ah, alright, alright, I’m sorry,” Chae pouts, crossing her arms like a spoiled kid. “All I’m saying is that I grabbed the jeans first.”

“You bought three pairs just like that one!” You laugh, patting her head as you drive down the street. 

“Yeah, yeah, but those were faded black,” She explains, as you park in front of you guys’ building. “I had a dark black, a dark blue, and a faded blue, but not a faded black.”

“I see,” You say ironically. “A complete necessity.”

“It is!”

“I waited for almost forty minutes for a faded black jeans that you didn’t even buy,” You giggle. “Doesn’t seem like a necessity to me.”

“Ah, but you weren’t alone, were you?” Chae pokes you with her elbow and winks at you. “I saw you chatting with that cute guy.”

“Yeah, he was pretty cute,” You smirk, feeling a boost of confidence surging through your veins.

“Did you get his name?”

“No,” You sigh with a frown. “Because someone got into a fight.”

“Ah, I’m sorry babe,” Chae winces, while rummaging through her bags. “Hey, have you seen the bag with my new sunglasses?”

“I’m sure it’s in there, somewhere,” You shrug moving to the kitchen and grabbing a beer. 

You sit on the couch, drinking, and watching your friend desperately look for the tiny bag, when her phone starts ringing. 

“Hello?” She asks softly, staring ate you with wide eyes. “Yes, this is her. What?! I was just looking for it… yes… ah, okay– not it’s no problem, thanks for calling! Yes, tomorrow is perfect! Thank you… you too!”

You raise an eyebrow. “What the hell?”

“Apparently,” You friend chuckles while glaring at you. “Someone was too busy flirting with cute guy, and forgot my bag.”

You choke on your beer. “No way! I’m so sorry, Chae!”

“Oh, but that’s not the best part,” She smiled wide. “I think cute guy got the bags confused and took it by accident. He called the store and asked them to contact me, and voila!”

“You got the glasses back?” You exclaimed excitedly.

“Nope,” She climbs onto the couch with you, leaning closer. “But you will. Tomorrow at 5PM at the store, bring the glasses this time, please.”

You actually spit some of your beer on her shirt. 

“Sorry, what?”

“You were the one that mixed the bags up,” She shrugs. “And I have a huge interview tomorrow for the magazine’s next edition, so I wouldn’t be able to go anyways.”

“Chae,” You groan. “You are just trying to set me up.”

“And what is so wrong with that?” She laughs, going to the bathroom. “I’m showering first!”

You just mumble something in return and make a bee-line to your room. If you had to go anyways, you’d at least look good. 

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

“I’m going to be late,” You wince at the phone as you run out of your office and into your car. “Call the store and let them know that I’ll be there in 20!”

“Goddammit Y/N,” Chae sighs. “You’re making cute boy wait!”

“I know and I feel bad as it is,” You bite back, frustrated at everything and everyone thanks to your awful day at work. “Fucking Jisoo gave me another spec commercial to work on…”

“I hate your boss,” Chae exclaims. “But I’m sure cute guy will understand and wait for you.”

“I hope so,” You bite your lip nervously. “I’m on my way there. Talk to you later.”

You turn off the phone and drive as fast as possible to the store you were on the previous day. The guy would probably leave the glasses with a worker if you took too long, and for someone reason that bothers you until you make your big entrance, sweat dripping down your face and hair pointing to all directions. You could only find a parking spot a few blocks away, so you ran to the store, hoping to still catch cute guy in there.

“Oh, hello!” One of the workers greets you by the door. “You are here for your glasses, right?”

“Yeah,” You smile sheepishly. “Did the person come by already?”

“Yeah,” She says and you can’t help but let your smile falter and frown. “But he’ll be back anytime, now.”

“What?”

“He got here a few minutes ago,” She chuckles, winking at you. “And we told him he could just leave the glasses at the cashier, but he said he wanted to return them personally.”

You blush, and laugh with the girl, feeling your hopes come back at full force. You too engage in small talk for a couple of minutes before you feel someone poking your shoulder.

“Hi.”

And there he was. Cute guy; looking even cuter. He had that same wolfish smile you were so endeared by, and you feel like you could melt. 

“Hi,” You say, turning to face him after noticing that the store worker was already gone. Silence follows the greeting only for a short moment. “I’m sorry.”

“I think I’m the one that’s supposed to apologize,” He laughs, and gives you the small bag with your friend’s glasses inside. “I’m sorry, I thought they were BamBam’s, and I must’ve just grabbed it without noticing.”

“It’s nothing, really,” You smile, looking straight into his eyes. You could hear how guilty he felt, and you just wanted to hold his hand and reassure him that everything is alright. “Thank you for bringing it back, though. You could’ve just dropped them here and–“

“But then I wouldn’t be able to see you,” He smiles, and although you don’t miss the blush in his cheeks, you could swear you’ve never seen a man wear his confidence like this man. “I wasn’t expecting you, to be honest, but this is an incredible surprise.”

“Well,” You cough, trying to get yourself back together. “In that case, fancy a cup of coffee?”

“I was hoping you’d ask.”

“What if I didn’t?” You tease, guiding him out of the store and down the street, where you knew of a nice coffee shop. 

“Then I would’ve,” He shrugs, and smiles shyly. For someone with so much confidence, he often looked a little shy. “But I’m glad you did; I didn’t want you to feel obligated to go just because I returned your glasses…”

Isn’t this why he’s coming?!, you wonder, mind suddenly going off. If he wasn’t coming as an apology, was he coming because he liked you? You smile at the thought and instantly warmed up to it– it wasn’t that farfetched. 

“No,” You say after an awkward pause. “I definitely want to go have coffee with you.”

You had never been this forward in your whole life, usually saving up the confidence to present your final projects to clients. Working on a Publicity firm was not an easy job, and it ended taking up most of your free time and personal energy, but there was just something about this boy that made you think that it was all worth it.

It’s only when you two order your coffee that you look at each other with glee and giggles, having just found each other’s names.

“Mark, huh?” You ask with a teasing smile. “Suits you.”

“Y/N,” He tries it out. “I like that.”

You two talk for a while, and it is a wonder that you two haven’t met yet. Mark is a marketing director at one of your firm’s competitors, and you two laugh about the project they stole from you last month, and the project you stole from them this week. You find out that you two went to the same university at the same time, even if he was a senior when you were a freshman; and not only that, Mark also knew fucking Jisoo.

“She’s the devil,” He sighs. “But she’s the best out there for what we do.”

“She really is,” You agree, laughing. “But damn, she tires me out. I haven’t been able to relax like this in a long time…”

You stop talking after you realize what you’ve said. Your face heats up and you stammer an apology, looking down at your coffee. When you hear him laughing, you bit your lip, nervous to look at him. “Y/N,” He calls. “Y/N, come on, there’s no need to be embarrassed. I haven’t been this happy in a while, too.”

At this, your brows shot up. “I said relaxed.”

“And I said happy,” He smiles. “Does it matter?”

And it doesn’t, really; not when he’s looking at you as if you were the only thing he could see; not when he was smiling at you as if he already knew that you’re the one– the only one,– for him. The connection with Mark was instant, and you would be damned if you let him go. 

“Can I–“

“Would you–“

You two talk at the same time and giggle as if you’re teenagers. It felt so good– to feel your age again, to not have the crushing weight of deadlines and spec presentations, and work, and you boss, and bills, and just enjoy the company of someone you liked, and that liked you back. 

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” Mark asks with blushed cheeks and shimmering eyes. “I wasn’t expecting to see you and I was ready to ask your friend for your number. The fact that you showed up today could have only been…”

“Fate,” You say, smiling and pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “That’s what you were going to say, right?”

“Got me there,” He nods. “So?”

“I’d love to have dinner with you,” You say softly, and pulling a pen from your purse, you write your number down on a pice of paper and give it to him. “Text me the details later?”

“Y-Yeah, I’ll text you later,” His voice is so soft and mellow that you find yourself getting a little hotter. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Thanks, Mark,” You say, already gathering your things.

You two walk in a comfortable silence, throwing random comments at each other until you reach your car. 

“Do you need a ride?” You ask, walking to the driver’s side as he opened the door for you. 

“No, my car is just a block away,” He leans towards you, arms propped on the roof of your car and head a little above yours, making you look up at him. “But thanks. Here; don’t forget this again.”

He holds the sunglass’ bag to you. 

“Keep it,” You say with a smile, kissing his cheek, and pushing him a little so you can close the door. You roll the window down just so you can giggle and say. “Just in case you forget to text me.”

“Definitely not a possibility,” He laughs. “But if it gives me more of a reason to see you again, even better.”

“See you soon, Y/N.” 

“See you soon, Mark.”

Your friend is ready to kill you once you show up at your apartment without her glasses, but you don’t mind; you’d get it back soon enough. 

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

anddd here if my first fic of 2020! I wanted to thank you all for the endless support and love ❤️ you are amazing! now, I hope you enjoy this fic :D let me know!