Save Me

It’s Ok

IMAGINE: Dating someone can get a little hard when someone doesn’t like your boyfriend. But you and Bucky can get through it, right?  WORD COUNT: 3.6k  WARNINGS: Trauma, a little cliché but hey you’re a teenager in most of this

"What the hell is wrong with you dad?" You spit at your father. "Bucky was hoping he could come over to the house one fucking time and have a civil conversation, and you had to ruin it!"

"I don't like that boy." He responded, crossing his arms as he glares at you.

"DOES IT LOOK LIKE I CARE? I LIKE HIM! HE MAKES ME HAPPY!" You retort angrily, quickly glancing out the window. You watched the dust continue to settle where Bucky had driven away.

"Hello, sir." Bucky greets your father, straightening himself the moment he saw the older man as walks into the house.

"Barnes..."

At that moment, you walk out of the kitchen. "Hiya, dad." You say nervously. He wasn't due home for another thirty minutes. He had caught you in the middle of preparing an enjoyable meal for the three of you.

"What's going on here?" He asked, zeroing in on your boyfriend.

As Bucky struggles for an answer, you step in. "We're making (Favorite Dish)."

"Why?"

"Well sir," Bucky begins. "Y/N thought it'd be a swell idea to throw a dinner and just have a friendly conversation."

Your father walks past the both of you, stepping into the kitchen and taking in the food being prepared. You and Bucky approach him nervously.

"I suppose."

Long story short, the dinner didn't go as you thought it would.

Your dad kept asking embarrassing questions, then bringing something up from Bucky's past. It was hard not to scold your father. Whenever Bucky got irritated or embarrassed by a certain subject, he'd reach for your hand underneath the table and grip it.

This happened a lot.

Bucky left quickly after the food was gone, giving you a small kiss on the cheek before leaving in his dusty old pickup truck Steve's parents lent him before they died.

"You didn't have to be so rude." You whisper once you finally calm down. "You know how Bucky is with his father and the army. Why did you have to bring it up?"

"Because a true man can handle the harsher things in life."

"You're just saying that because you want him to feel weak!"

Growing tired of this never-ending fight, your father shut it down. "Enough! I don't want to hear another word about that Barnes boy. I expect you to end things with him. He's a troublemaker." And that was that.

Or so your father thought.

You and Bucky would always meet up in town, spending the day together before you'd go your separate ways. Your father would get suspicious, but you'd come up with the cleverest lies and convince him otherwise. It wasn't until Bucky's twentieth birthday, several months after the dinner; your father finally connected the dots.

He dragged you over to Steve's apartment where Bucky was staying, hell bent on kicking his ass. You and Steve tried stopping them, but it was useless. Like beating a sumo wrestler with a twig kind of useless. It wasn't until Bucky showed your father an application to join the army. It stopped him from attacking Bucky, but terminating your relationship with him.

It was hard for you to see him after that. He had already finished high-school, and it left you finishing senior year by yourself. Your father was strict with your rules about seeing Bucky, but he let it slide when it was time for him to go.

He had gotten accepted and now it was time for him and his squadron to be shipped out. Your father, out of what little kindness he had left in his heart, allowed you to say goodbye. It was hard letting him go. You broke down in silent tears the moment you took in his sharp uniform.

-

"Hey, doll." He smiled sadly; drinking in the sight of you. He didn't know when it would be the next time he'd see you again.

"Why are you doing this?" You ask him, grabbing his shoulders. "Is it for the money? Why? Why are you leaving me?"

Bucky gently removes your hands and holds them against his chest. "Y/N, baby. I ain't doing this for the money." He brings his lips against yours and kisses you sweetly.

"I'm doing this so I can prove to you, and your father that I can make something of myself. That I can be that guy who made a difference. That one guy who isn't labeled a troublemaker or a brainless oaf." He squeezes your hands encouragingly. "By the time I come back, I can prove to everyone here in this small little place, I can be the good guy. I can be the one to take care of you."

"But you don't need to do this!" You tell him, pulling your hands away to wipe your tears. "If anyone can't see how amazing you are, they can go screw themselves. I love you for the sweet man you are. You don't need to join the damn army to prove shit!"

"Y/N..." Bucky watches as you grow quiet. He wraps his arms around you and holds you close.

"I don't want to lose you out there," you mumble into his chest, most likely staining his uniform with your tears.

"I'll make sure he doesn't die out there," someone beside you says.

"Steve?" You say, lifting your head from Bucky's torso. "You're going with him?"

The short blonde smiles gently, watching as you pull away from Bucky to give him a hug. "Who's better than me to keep him out of trouble?"

"That's my line," Bucky says, drawing you into one last embrace. Your dad watches from afar as you two kiss goodbye.

-

Everything was all right at first. Every Friday, you would receive a letter from Bucky (And Steve!) talking about what had happened in the past week, not forgetting to mention how much he had missed you.

With the occasional joke here and there, he would always express his love for you in simple poetry. Then you would quickly send your own letter, equally expressing the love you shared and reminisced about the memories the two of you had.

For six months, things had gone smoothly. Then the letters slowly stop. For weeks on end, you wouldn't get a single letter. And when you did, it was quick and to the point.

Bucky and Steve had to go somewhere, and they couldn't send as many letters as they wanted to. Buck continued to say he loved you with all his heart, and he couldn't wait to come back home.

Weeks of silence had turned into months. It broke your heart to come home from school on Friday and receive no letters. Prom came around and you ended up going with your cousin, not wanting to ruin your relationship with Bucky just to have a romantic prom night. Graduation follows shortly after, and it saddens you to think you can't celebrate with James.

It's horrible. But then it happens.

Around the third week of college, almost three years after Bucky left, you came home to your father speaking with someone on your front porch. The soldier quickly spotted you approaching and ceased his conversation.

"Y/N?" The stranger questioned.

"Yes?"

"It's me!" The man carefully takes off his service cap and tucks it underneath his arm. "It's Steve!"

Warily glancing at the tall blonde, you think of ways to yell at him for being an asshole until you look into his eyes. The same blue beauties that belonged to your best friend.

"STEVE!" You're quick to engulf him in a hug but quickly retract. Blood roars in your ears as you become excited. If Steve was here, that meant Bucky was too.

"Where's James? I know he's hiding around here somewhere. If this is a ruse to scare me, I'll kick your ass, Rogers."

After looking around, you finally look to Steve, who at the moment doesn't look so excited. "Steve...?" Then you think of every horrible way a person could die in a war. None ease your worried mind as you ask your friend a single question.

"Is Bucky... Dead, Steve?" The gentle giant shakes his head but doesn't lose the solemn expression.

"No."

Your worry turns into confusion. "So where the hell is he?"

Your father, who you had forgotten about at the moment, spoke up. "We think it'd be easier to just show you..."

-

You stare through a large window. On one side, you stand with Steve and your father. On the other, a nurse hovers over a limp body lying in the hospital bed. She checks the respiratory ventilator and the tubes that go along with it. Once she finds everything in its place, she adjusts his IV line and leaves.

Walking out of the door, she catches your eye and gives you a sad look. It lasts only a moment until she leaves, but you know what just happened. She's seen this before. And it rarely ends well.

"How long has it been?" You ask quietly, returning your gaze to Bucky's figure.

"About a week." Steve replies, observing you. Your body tenses up as you close your eyes.

"What. Happened. To. Him?"

He explains how he and Bucky were traveling through Germany to pick up their mark holding government secrets when the train they were riding was shot at. Bucky had fallen out as he and the rest of the men started shooting back.

"It was a long fall." Steve choked out, letting out a few tears himself. "When the gunfire had stopped, we went looking for him. He lost a lot of blood when we found him."

Your shoulders steadily rise up and down as you attempt to stifle your cries. Your dad sees this and goes to comfort you. Just as his hand reaches your arm, you snap.

"YOU DID THIS! THIS IS YOUR FAULT! YOU MADE THIS HAPPEN!"

Both of the men look shocked as you yell. Hospital staff glances at the three of you but don't make a move to stop it. They've all witnessed it before.

You bring your hands down on your father's chest, weakly beating him. "HE WOULDN'T HAVE LEFT IF YOU HADN'T PUSHED HIM TO DO IT!" Steve has to pull you away, but you don't put up a fight. The moment he grabs you, all the fight leaves.

"I'll take them home, Mr. L/N," Steve promises, pulling you into Bucky's room. Your father soon leaves, taking a quick glance at you before scurrying over to Buck before leaving. Maybe it was his fault.  

You don't notice him leave. Your only concern was Bucky.

You note the thin, straw-like tubes sticking out of his nose connecting and watch as his chest slowly moves up and down. You note the differences from when you last saw Buck.

His hair was longer and much stringier than before. He wore a trimmed five o'clock shadow that suited him nicely. He had a few light scars across his cheeks, but none that ruined his look. Gently running your fingers through his hair, your arm brushes against the left side of his body.

Something feels off. "What else happened to him?" You whimper.

Steve takes a deep breath through his nose and approaches his friend. His arm brushes against yours as he reaches for the edge of the blanket. He hesitates for a moment, before pulling the thin material back.

The lights shine off it for a second, blinding you momentarily. "What the...?" The metal prosthesis replacing his arm glints underneath the weak lighting. A red star painted on his shoulder. It matches its peer perfectly.

"He lost it in the fall."

The tears fall like rain as you reach out for Bucky. Steve rubs your back, but it doesn't calm you down much. Only James could help you relax. Finding your tears had somewhat subsided, you grab your boyfriend's flesh hand and squeeze it tight.

"Do they know when he'll wake up?" You croak, your voice scratchy from all your crying.

"Doctors say because of the blood he lost and the stress they put him through, it'll be four weeks at the most." You glance at Steve, showing him your red eyes before focusing on Bucky.

"I'll wait for you."

-

Turns out, you didn't have to wait long. Around a week after receiving word that Buck was in the hospital, he woke up. And you were right beside him when it happened.

The doctors allowed you to stay the past few nights while he recovered. Steve visited every morning and evening to bring fresh clothes and make sure you ate properly. The nurses greeted you in the afternoon as they changed the bedpan and checked his vitals.

While waiting for him to stir, you would talk about what happened. You knew things had changed with both Steve and Bucky.

They differed from the reckless young adults you originally knew them as. Steve was obviously bigger and taller than before, and Buck was more physically defined.

"They gave me a series of experimental drugs," Steve told you on the third day. "One doctor there took a liking to me and convinced the commander to 'work' on me. He gave me this special cocktail that he made from an assortment of chemicals and it changed me."

"What about Buck? Wouldn't you guys have given him a regular prosthetic? Why a metal one?" Steve watched as you played with Bucky's metal fingers, rubbing the cool knuckles as you watched him sleep.

"It wasn't actually us who found him first." He explained. "The Russians got him, patched him up. Hence the red star. We got him back by trading a prisoner we caught that was involved in one of our previous assignments."

You couldn’t imagine the pain he must have gone through. All alone with the enemy, spending his days behind enemy lines getting tortured. At least he was home, safe from the danger.

“It’s ok now,” you whispered, gently pressing a kiss to the prosthetic palm. “You’re gonna be ok.”

-

When he finally awoke, you weren't exactly prepared. Neither was he.

Bucky woke up gasping, unable to breathe. His lungs felt like they were on fire! He had been having a nightmare; he was falling from a great height. When he landed, these people found him and started experimenting on him.

They poked and prodded at him with knives and such. So much pain, so much screaming.

Falling back onto the bed, he drank in his surroundings. The smell of lemon disinfectant, the sight of colorless food, the feel of a paper gown. Bucky knew exactly where he was. Just to make sure, he glanced at his arm. The metal limb proved his theory.

"It's not a dream..." He muttered, closing his eyes. As he started reaching for the assist button, he finally noticed you, sleeping in a chair resting in the corner. "Hey, there doll." He called out softly.  

You stir, but don't make an intention to get up. "Get up doll." He says louder. This time, you open an eyelid. At first, you don't react. You calmly close your eyelid before you quickly reopen both your eyes.

"BUCKY!" You shout happily, jumping up from the chair. The soldier braces himself for impact.

Your arms are quick to wrap around his neck as you pepper his face with kisses. He stops the attack by grabbing your hands in his own and squeezing them gently.

You're slightly surprised he can move his prosthetic arm like his original, but you don't think about it too much. "Calm down. I'm right here. I'm with you." The shock turns into happiness as you cry.

"You're here, you're actually here!"

"I am," Bucky responds, softly running his thumbs across the back of your hands. He removes one to cup your cheek. "You got more beautiful than the last time I saw you." His grin somehow stretches wider as you blush. "How the hell did you do that?"

"You're imagining shit, Barnes."

Bucky's large brown eyes take in your worn face, and he worries. Then he calmly slides over in his bed, mindful of all the wires and tubing, and pats the cleared area.

"Lay down with me, darling?" Bucky asks politely.

The way he asks and the sudden urge to sleep overcomes you, you can't say no. He lets go of you, allowing you to climb in next to him. His arms are quick to ensnare you once more, pulling you into this warm sanctuary.

"Sleep. I'll be here when you wake up. Then we can talk."

"You sure?"

The long-haired brunette smiles down at you gently, softly kissing your forehead. "I promise. I ain't leaving again for a long time."

-

The hospital was reluctant on letting Bucky go after a week of him waking up. Both of you had a sneaking suspicion they wanted to check out his new arm, but you luckily got him out of there.

Against the wishes of your father, you had started seeing Bucky again. It differed from before, I should add. He wasn't the same solo rebel you had grown to love.

He was more self-conscious about his figure now, always wearing jackets even when it was warm out. But his caring attitude stayed the same. Buck still loved you with all his heart. Your father still had a hard time accepting this.

You had moved out of the house a couple months after Bucky woke up, and the two of you bought an apartment together. To celebrate, your father had invited you over to have a nice dinner. After being convinced by Bucky, you had accepted.

The dinner started off smoothly. Then you excused yourself to go to the restroom. After washing your hands, you reached for a towel, only to find there was nothing. Not wanting to ruin your new shirt, you carefully leave the bathroom to grab a dish towel from the kitchen. To get over there, you needed to pass through the dining room.

As you approach, you suddenly hear your father speaking in a hushed tone.

"The game's up, Barnes. You're back home now. You don't have to put on a show anymore."

"It's not a show, sir," your boyfriend replied truthfully. "I love them."

"So why are you here then?" Your father demands. "If you love them so much, what are you trying to prove? Why do you need to seem like you're this perfect boyfriend?"

"Because I left them!" Bucky seemed to shout in a hushed voice. His voice drops to a harmless whisper: it's so soft you have to strain your ears just to hear.

"I left them all alone. I made Y/N suffer through hell and back because of a decision I made. I left so I could seem like a better man to you, but apparently it didn't!" He exclaimed quietly, not wanting you to hear.

"But thank God Y/N was still here for me. I honestly thought they would get fed up after waiting years for me, but they didn't; unlike you, they had faith that I was coming back to them, dead or alive. So now I'm done trying to please you, to stand up to your ridiculous standards. I thought me appreciating your child would be enough for you, making them happy, was enough, but apparently not."

His speech immediately gets you all riled up; there's an urge to yell in your dad's face. You hear a fork clinking against a plate before your father clears his throat. The action makes you wait.

"So you'd do anything to keep my little (Nickname) safe?" He asks Bucky seriously, clasping his hands together. Unbeknownst to you, Bucky was staring your father straight in the eye, clenching his own hands.

"Sir, I don't think you understood me at all." He looks to the direction of the bathroom before looking back at your dad. "I'd die if that's what Y/N wanted me to do. If it made them happy, I'd do it in a heartbeat."

There's silence until it's broken.

"Then I guess you can continue the relationship with my blessing."

It's then where you make yourself known. "Hi, guys!" You say cheerfully, pretending you hadn't eavesdropped on their conversation.

"What'd I miss?" You continue taking your seat next to Bucky. He smiles as he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. He quickly presses a kiss against your lips before looking to your dad.

They share a look. "Nothing much, darling."

You never ask about the conversation, figuring it was none of your business. But honestly, it didn't matter. Your father finally accepted Bucky, Bucky loved you, and you were all happy.

It didn't matter what other people thought about the two of you anymore. Bucky was safe at home with you. That's the way it was meant to be.

me when I reach the angst part of the angsty fic that I specifically chose for the angst

Coming to you soon...

Daydreaming about my book:

Writing my book:

Content

IMAGINE: On nights like these, private NCIS agent Gibbs would rather be down in his basement working on a project. He wasn’t one to go out to bars or spend all night playing some game online like his coworkers. Tonight, however, thanks to a bit of liquid courage, you show him another way to enjoy the night. WORD COUNT: 767 WARNINGS: Fluff with our favorite hard ass agent, mentions of heavy alcohol intake

Gibbs can’t think of the last time he felt this content. There were moments he’d prefer to hide in his dimly lit basement; working on his projects and sipping on his bourbon.

This time he was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter sipping on tepid coffee he found lying around. It would’ve been a shame to let it go to waste. 

Unfamiliar music played softly in the background, tempting him to shut it off, to enjoy the silence. But from past experience, Gibbs knew that if even tried shutting it off, he wouldn’t live to see tomorrow. Instead, he settled for enjoying his rapidly cooling caffeine boost, successfully hiding his grin behind his mug.

There weren’t many things that could convince him to ignore urges like that; his coworkers could count on one hand what could.  

“Are you just going to stand there all night or are you going to join me?” You teased from across the room, slowly swaying along to the music. 

Not even Tony would ever guess that his stone-faced boss would ever be put in his place by a lover. 

“I’m fine with just enjoying the show,” Gibbs replied. 

“You’re no fun, Jethro,” you pouted. Before he could say anything, you swiped up your own mug from the kitchen table, loudly drinking down the contents. You pulled away with a whine, signaling you finished it sooner than you liked. 

“Is that from that bottle Tobias tried bribing me with?” Your boyfriend questioned. “I thought he knew better than that.” 

He pointed to the dark bottle left on the table, squinting to see how much was left in it. 

“Honey.” It wasn’t often that Jethro used pet names, so this sudden use caught you off guard. “That damn thing is almost empty, I think you’ve had enough.”

Maybe that was true. On your second glass, you had spilled some wine on your shirt, prompting you to replace it with one of the oversized navy sweatshirts Jethro kept around. He had yet to comment about you stealing his shirt, but based on his smirk, he didn’t mind. 

“Finish it with me then,” you pleaded. 

“I’ll stick with my joe,” he assured, lifting his mug to prove it.  

Rolling your eyes, you reach for the wine bottle, almost knocking it off the table. It didn’t click in your head how fast Jethro moved; first, he was next to the fridge and now he was by your side holding the bottle you had almost knocked to the floor. 

“Thank you for proving my point,” he grumbled, begrudgingly pressing a kiss to your forehead before looking around for a stopper. 

“I was gonna put it away,” you grumbled back. 

You paid no mind to Jethro’s complaints, choosing instead to slide across the kitchen floor in time with the music. Your sock covered feet drifted smoothly against the linoleum tiling, sending you into the counter that your boyfriend previously occupied. Unfazed by the crash, you gracefully take a seat on said counter, ignoring the fact you almost fell over attempting to do so. 

“Don’t go too crazy there, I’d rather have you in one piece,” Jethro chided. He kept an eye on you as he stuck the bottle in the fridge. Before he could even shut the door properly, you started tugging on his shirt, silently begging him to come closer. 

“What are you doing, huh?” He asked. 

“I wanna dance,” you mumbled. 

“You want to dance?” Jethro repeated. He didn’t bother hiding back a smile this time as he watched you thumb the buttons on his collar. “May I remind you you’re pretty drunk at the moment? Do you think you’re up for the job?” 

Eager to prove him wrong, you hop down from the counter (With Gibbs subtly steadying you) and pull him close. 

“Oh, this means you want to dance with me?” He asked cheekily.  

At this point the music became a softer tune, encouraging Jethro to join you. What else could he do but oblige? 

The two of you began to sway, holding each other close. Neither of you spoke, choosing to simply lean into the other and enjoy the moment. 

Gibbs couldn’t think of the last time he felt this content. Having you here in his arms, not having to worry about Tony and Ziva bickering like children or Timothy getting picked on by said agents. He could just relax in the privacy of his own home with you. 

“Thank you,” he whispered in your ear. 

“For what?” You drowsily teased, feeling the effects of the alcohol slowing hitting you. 

“For being you.” 

the first time i cried in thunderbolts was when they all worked together to save that woman from the chunk of a building

superhero movies are about people who have the ability to help people and choose to do so

that isn’t all there is but i think the mcu has gotten so focused in the weeds of the multiverse and inner group politics and whatever that they forgot that the reason we watch superhero movies is because we want to watch good guys fight bad guys, but more importantly, we want to watch them help people because that’s why they fight the bad guys in the first place

Turtles helping each other in times of need 

(Source)

The Fun Process of Imprinting

IMAGINE: You are the adopted child of the Cullens and you learn the hard way you are Paul Lahote’s imprint.  WORD COUNT: 4.1k

“You coming Y/N?” One of your brothers yells at you.

Rolling your eyes, you say goodbye to your friends and turn around. Your third oldest brother smiled as you made your way over to him and the rest of your siblings.

“You guys are really impatient, you know that right?” You tease Emmett, softly slugging his arm. His wife, rather, one of your sisters, grabbed you by the hand and led you into the car.

“Carlisle wants to see us right away. Esme called us and said it was an emergency.” 

Your eyebrows immediately scrunch together as you pile into the family’s car. Alice starts up the vehicle as the rest of you try not to worry about what your father wanted to talk to you guys about.

“It’s probably nothing,” Jasper tried to soothe you. 

Your emotions were coming off strong as you tried suppressing your fear. He leaned across Emmett (Both your sisters sat in the front as Rosalie called shotgun!) and took your hand in his.

Despite him having problems with blood and humans, your brother taught himself to familiarize your scent ever since you were a child. It didn’t affect him as bad as Bella did or the others did.

Seeing that you were still stressing out, Jasper manipulated your emotions until you felt calmer. Sending him a smile, you nod your head in thanks.

“Let’s see how much trouble we’re in now,” Emmett muttered as Alice pulled into the driveway of the house.

“I have to what?!” You ask your father incredulously. Carlisle sighed as he repeated the news.

“Bella,” he began, gesturing to Edward’s girlfriend, “has talked to Billy Black about our… Situation. The pack has taken it into their own hands and has asked to talk to you.”

The first time you heard it, you flat out refused. The wolves already brought trouble to your family. Jacob Black, an old friend of Bella’s had gotten pissed once he found out she was dating your brother. He was ready to tear your family apart.

“No!″ You stated firmly. “If they’re worried that you guys turned me into a vampire, can’t Bella just tell them that I’m still human?”

Carlisle shook his head. Running a hand through his blonde locks, he stared you down with his golden eyes.

“Y/N, we don’t have much of a choice. Sam Uley has demanded your presence. It’s for the best that we respect their wishes.”

After a small stare off, with you glaring at Carlisle as he pouted silently, you finally gave in to your father’s puppy-like gaze and huffed. 

Turning to Bella, you begrudgingly asked, “When did they want to do it?” You watch as she and Edward share a wary glance before spitting out an answer.

“Now.”

Bella’s truck purred underneath you as she drove to the reservation. The two of you were quiet as she drove down the road. To say you were mad was an understatement.

You were livid!

What were those mutts thinking when they demanded that you were brought before them? They acted as if the Cullens had no say in the matter, and it pissed you off.

To keep your mind off of what was to come, you gaze out the car window and watch the scenery roll past. The blurred trees reminded you of your childhood, and you gleefully lost yourself to your memories.

Your ten-year-old self stumbled through the forest as you climbed over a fallen tree. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a familiar blonde peeking out from behind a tree.

Several hundred yards away, you hear Esme call out to you. “Run little deer!” She laughed. “Don’t let Rosalie catch you!” A giggle escapes your lips as you run even faster.

Out of nowhere, dainty hands wrap around your waist as you’re suddenly lifted into the air. You can’t help but shriek with glee as you make eye contact with Alice.

“Got you, you little monkey,” she teased as she tossed you into the air. The other Cullens suddenly crowded the two of you. They all greeted you with smiles as they complimented you.

Surrounded by people who cared about you, feeling genuine love and care. You were glad that you found the Olympic Coven. You were one with the Cullens, despite your mortality. Life could never be better.

Bella gently tapped you on the shoulder, breaking you out of your trance. “We’re here,” she explained, pointing to a wooden house. 

It looked cozy and if you weren’t living with the Cullens, you’d be interested in getting a house like this. But knowing that it was home to shape-shifters made your skin crawl in a way that it shouldn’t.

With a groan, you exit the car and walk to the front. As Bella sided up to you, she sent you a reassuring smile before leading you to the door.

As if sensing her presence, the infamous Jacob Black stepped through the open sliding door. “You’re here!” He said incredulously, not believing his eyes. His gaze between you and Bella constantly changed, switching between total adoration and deep skepticalness.

“Look,” you suddenly state, surprising both teenagers. “Neither of us wants me to be here so lets cut to the chase. Take me to your pack leader or whatever and say what needs to be said. I can feel my family pacing back at the house and it’s driving me up the wall.”

Jacob raises an eyebrow but gestures for you to follow him. He leads both you and Bella into the kitchen where you see a woman busying herself with food. Your friend quickly recognized her and wasted no time in giving her a hug.

“Emily!” Bella greeted her happily.

“Bella!” Emily replied in the same tone. As the two parted, you finally got a good look at the girl who embraced the loner of Forks. 

The scar lines did not faze you, but it raised your ever-growing fear of shifters. You knew how dangerous they were, and this sight did not help.

“You must be the Cullen’s special child,” she noted, offering a hand. You take it politely, not wanting to seem rude. 

Growing under Carlisle’s hand had its effects on your mannerisms.

“That I am,” you confirm, giving her a firm shake. After the two of you properly introduce yourselves, you ask the girl about the pack’s whereabouts.

“Oh, they’ll be here in a bit,” she assured you. “The boys always go out for a run this time of day and they’re starving. Just give it a minute.”

It doesn’t take long for the boys to pile in but by then, you, Bella and Emily have gotten into a pleasant conversation. It quickly ends when you hear an obnoxious voice complaining about a repulsive smell.

“Great, another leech lover roaming around here. Since we’re getting so cozy, why don’t we just invite the damned things over and be done with all this bullshit?”

Turning around, you see a handful of dark-haired males make their way to the door. Emily smiles as she made her way to greet them. One man detached from the group as he pulled Emily into a loving grasp.

The other males walked in and made their way to the kitchen, immediately ransacking it of any food they could find. You look to Bella in disbelief, to which she only shrugged. Shaking your head, you quickly stand up and clear your throat. All eyes quickly find their way to you.

“Look, I know you guys aren’t in a big rush but I’ve got school tomorrow and my dad is going to kill me if I miss a class. So can we just cut to the chase and get this over with?”

The man who previously had busied himself with Emily, nodded as he carefully pushed past his girlfriend. “Sorry for calling you on such brief notice,” he told you. “I’m Sam Uley, this is my pack.”

You glance at each of the wolves. Most of them seem as disinterested with you except for one. His dark brown eyes burn into yours as your stare meets his.

He freezes for a moment, but you quickly brush it off and return your attention to Sam. This mutt has probably never seen a girl that wasn’t born on the reservation.

“What has my family done to piss you guys off now?” You ask calmly.

“Nothing,” Sam promised you. “It’s just, our ancestors and the Cullen’s have made a treaty with them. They can’t-”

“I know all about the treaty,” you interrupt. “My family can’t harm humans or cross into Quileute land. I may not be a shape-shifter like you guys, but I’m not a dumbass. Even if you think I’m just a leech lover.”

You watch the pack leader send a quick glare to the mutt who couldn’t keep his gaze off of you. It quickly softens, making you curious at the sudden expression change.  

Looking back, you see that his eyes haven’t left your figure. The only difference this time, you see his lips pulled back in disgust. 

“Got a problem, pretty boy?” You snarl at him.

The wolf looks taken aback by your snarkiness, but quickly replied with his own comeback. “I just don’t see why the hell you’re even here on our territory. I guess you’re human, which means we can’t kill you, but if it was one of those bloodsuckers…”

Everyone was quiet as you marched up to the man and pressed your finger to his chest. You heard the girls gasp (And even a few of the guys) but you paid no attention to that.

“Listen here, you little shit,” you told him sharply. “I don’t give a damn on what your views are on vampires but let me set one thing straight. You will never disrespect my family ever again! Do I make myself clear?”

He quickly smacked your hand away as he leaned in closer.

“Paul…” Sam warned with a growl. “Don’t do anything you might regret.”

“It’s not my fault she comes from a family of monsters,” Paul shot back, not breaking eye contact.

“The Cullens aren’t the monsters here,” you spit at the wolf. “I’m standing in the presence of a certain snot-nosed dog who has never heard of a nose hair trimmer.”

You watched as the shirtless male snarled; his nostrils flaring as he struggled to control his breathing. A pang of fear flashed through you as you watched him slowly lose his temper. One wolf noticed and quickly grabbed your hand, attempting to pull you back.

Paul had not taken this lightly.

“Quil, remove your hand before I do it for you!” He barked, baring his teeth like a pissed off animal. The wolf quickly lets go of you, sending you into a spiral of confusion.

“Sam?” Bella asked out of nowhere. “What did Y/N do to Paul?”

The pack all shared a look before most of them dog-piled the angry shifter. Sam ordered Jacob to take you and Bella home. As Black hesitated, Paul shook more and more as his anger took over him.

“NOW JACOB!” The leader screamed before joining the pile.

Wasting no time, Jacob grabbed you and Bella by the hands and dragged you out of the home. All three of you scrambled into the vehicle as Jake stole the keys from his friend and started up the car. As it roared to life, you peeled out of the driveway and hit the road.

“Call them,” Jacob commanded Bella. “Gather the Cullens and get them as close to the reservation as they can. Y/N needs all the protection they can get.”

“From Paul?” You ask. “What the hell is even going on?”

Bella looks to her friend in realization as it hits her. “He couldn’t have… It’s not possible!”

“Anything is possible,” Jacob replied. You watched as the numbers cranked higher and higher on the speedometer.

“Would you mind telling me what’s possible and what it has to do with me?”

It was as if you were invisible. Both Jacob and Bella knew what was going on with Paul, but they left you in the dark. This is why you preferred vampires. They always said what was on their minds. Most of the time at least.

A loud howl breaks you out of your thoughts, making Jacob stiffen. "What is it?" You ask him worriedly. 

"Paul's pissed," the wolf muttered. Without another explanation, he forced the Chevy pickup to run even faster, causing it to emit several groans under the stress. 

"Carlisle is sending Edward," Bella reported. 

Her friend slammed his palms against the steering wheel. "He needs to bring all of them! Call him again!" 

"I can't!" She replied. "He's already on the way!" 

"Would y'all just calm the hell down and tell me what's going on?" You scream at them, tired of being ignored. 

And just as it seemed like one of them was finally going to answer your questions, something heavy slammed itself against the back of the truck. 

The car went flying as it skidded across the road. You and Bella held onto the dashboard as Jacob struggled to keep the truck from flipping. The car came to a sudden stop when the same weight latched on and forced it to slow down. 

Bella looked over her shoulder and paled at the sight. "What is it?" You ask her, not wanting to see whatever was keeping you back. You knew exactly what it was, but you preferred not dying if Paul was still angry. 

"Stay in the truck," Jacob ordered as he quickly left. He left your line of sight as he headed towards the back. Bella quickly ignored this as she noticed her boyfriend approaching the scene. 

"Edward!" She cried, throwing off her seatbelt and running into his arms. Giving her a kiss, he spared a glance towards Jacob and Paul before looking at you. 

'I'm fine,' you told him mentally. 'Just get me out of here before Paul rips out my throat!' 

Just before you can even think about getting out, you hear a series of growls and snarls before the sound of crying catches your attention. You quickly whip around and see two giant wolves fighting each other. 

The shifter who had cried out had been the chocolate brown wolf with the limp. The back legs were matted with fresh blood and his coat covered in dirt. A gasp escaped your lips as you watched him struggle to fight back. 

The other wolf was different. 

Its fur was silver and gray, and it shined in the darkness. The mouth seemed to be covered in red as it snapped at the other animal. Despite being smaller, it fought with more ferocity than you thought it had. 

As you scrambled out of the car, Bella cried out as she watched the fight. "Jacob!"  At the name, the chocolate wolf turned its head in your direction. The silver shifter took this chance and tackled him. 

Fear hit you as you realized that this was Paul. 

Edward focused on him as Bella rushed to you. "Stop him!" She told you. "He'll kill Jake!" 

"What do you expect me to do?" You asked her. "It's not like he'll listen to me! Didn't you hear him call me a leech lover?" 

"Just do it," Edward said. "Paul imprinted on you Y/N. He can't resist you." 

Before you could ask what he meant by imprinted, your brother pushed you towards the wolves. Automatically, Paul focused his attention on the vampire behind you. He bared his sharp teeth angrily as he snarled. 

With another shove from Edward, you gulped silently before approaching the wolf. He paid no mind to you as he stared your sibling down. 

"Say something to him," Bella offered after you struggled to distract him. 

"Paul?" You shakily called out.

The wolf let out a growl as he spared a glance at you, but otherwise did nothing. 

"I know we just met and all," you try again, taking a hesitant step towards him. "But I think I know when to say you need to take a chill-pill or something." 

Still nothing. 

"You need to encourage him," Edward instructed. 

As you turned around to look at him, you heard Paul snarl angrily. Snapping your head back in his direction, you try something different. 

"Paul, I need you to calm down," you tell him. Two more steps. "I can't have you hurt any more people. I don't know what you're going through, but I'm not worth it." 

This had caught Paul's attention. He tore his attention away from Edward and Jacob as he settled his gaze on you.

Another pang of fear hit you as Paul slowly approached you. His sly movements reminded of how a hunter goes after its prey. The fear worsened as you realized you were the prey.

As if reading your thoughts (Which he probably was) Edward spoke up. “He won’t hurt you. He’d rather die than do anything of the sort.”

Proving the point, Paul gently prodded his large snout against your hand once he was close enough. You flinched at the blood that soaked into his fur, but otherwise froze at his presence.

He tried poking you again before he let out a whimper.

“He thinks you’re rejecting him,” Edward explained. “You need to show him you aren’t.”

With a shaky breath, you slowly place your hand on top of Paul’s head. His giant ears twitched, making you freeze. It wasn’t until he whimpered again that you moved. Your fingers run through his fur eagerly. A low moan left his muzzle as he leaned into your touch. Once you were sure that he had calmed down, you faced Bella and Edward.

“Get Jacob out of here,” you tell them. “Paul’s stable now, but I can’t say the same later. Go now. Take the car.”

Bella goes to argue, but your brother took her by the arm and shook his head. They make their way towards the wolf. As you watch the girl try to coax her friend to come with them, Paul catches your attention once more.

He ran his giant tongue across your open palm, which you quickly recoiled from. Only after hearing his sad whine did you apologize.

“I’m sorry. I just really don’t want you to bite off my hand or anything. I know you don’t like my family, so...”

Paul growled angrily, making you jump back like a frightened cat. The shifter realized his mistake and whimpered. Tired of not being able to talk to you properly, he slowly backed away before he changed.

You winced at the sound of bones snapping and arranging themselves in a different order. The thick fur seemed to melt away as the silver wolf disappeared into Paul.

You had gone to say something before you realized that he was very nude. 

Especially down there.

“Y-you’re um... You’re not really... Covered,” you mumble, keeping your eyes glued to his face. You can feel your face burning up as he glances down to see that nothing was covering his area.

“Sorry,” he told you sincerely. “But I don’t really have anything to cover it up.”

Without a second thought, you shrug off your plaid and hold it out to him. Paul sends you a grateful smile as he takes the shirt. Quickly tying it around his waist, the shifter then scratched the back of his head nervously.

“I didn’t mean to scare you back there,” he told you honestly.  “It’s just- I’ve got problems with anger and- You’re my soulmate and it doesn’t help that your family are vampires and- There’s so much on my mind right now.”

You barely make eye contact with him for a second before you quickly look away.

It’s not that you feared him. I mean, you were terrified, but the things that were coming out of his mouth were terrifying. You were soulmates... With an angry shifter who hated vampires.

Things didn’t look so bright for you.

“We should probably go check up on Jacob and the others,” you tell him quietly. “Bella called my dad and my family is probably worried by now.”

As you walk back towards the reservation, Paul grabbed your hand. You jumped at his touch but calmed down when he gave you a reassuring squeeze.

“Why won’t you look at me Y/N?” He asked quietly. “I know I’m not exactly what you’re used to, but I’m honestly trying here.”

“I... I know you are. But it’s just a little hard. This is just so sudden.”

Just as you go to say something else, you stumble over a sudden dip in the road. If it hadn’t been for the shifter’s quick movement, you were sure you would’ve fallen on your face.

Paul had grabbed you by the arm and pulled you into his grasp. Once you had been close enough, he then scooped you up into his arms, far off the ground. On instinct, you wrapped your arms around his neck and clung to him like a baby koala.

“You all right?” He asked you quietly.

“I-I’m fine,” you stutter. “J-just having a b-bad day, apparently.”

Paul made sure you were all right before he continued to make his way back to Emily’s house. You were content just staying there in his hold, but something felt off.

You did just meet this guy an hour ago.

“Are you going to set me down?” You ask Paul quietly. The shifter glanced at the road before he shook his head with a smug grin. He only held you closer as he carried you back towards the reservation.

“Set him down there,” Sam commanded Edward. With a nod, the vampire helped a newly shifted Jacob onto the couch.

“It was my fault,” Jacob groaned suddenly. “I was stupid enough to separate Y/N from Paul. That’s the worse thing you could ever do.”

Edward took a step back as the other shifters surrounded their brother. They all joked about how stupid he was, but anyone knew that they were just happy he was okay.

“I can’t contact Paul,” Sam confided within Edward, away from all the fiasco. “I know he’s somewhere out there but-”

“He’s right outside,” Edward interrupted, looking towards the staircase.

Sam took a single whiff of the air before he bolted down the steps. Edward gave Bella a swift kiss on the forehead before joining the shifter downstairs.

What he saw made him want to screw the treaty and rip off a shifter’s head.

Paul stood in the kitchen practically naked. The only thing that covered him had been a (Favorite Color) plaid around his waist and Y/N clinging to his chest. One of his arms supported their legs while the other held their body closer to him.

Edward took a step forward to check on his sibling, but the shifter had other ideas.

Paul let out a low growl, a ferocious sound as he glared daggers at the vampire. His grip on Y/N only tightened as he bared his teeth, ready for an attack.

“Paul,” Sam warned. “It’s okay, just let him check them.”

Paul let out another growl before slowly nodding his head. Edward didn’t waste another moment as he placed his hands on Y/N’s face. The shifter couldn’t hold back a cocky grin as the figure in his arms almost recoiled at the coldness in the touch.

Paul... Want to stay.

Edward grimaced at the fact that Y/N willingly wanted to stay with these mutts, but he was in no position to deny them. Especially since he could never deny his baby sibling of anything.

“They’ll be safe here?” Edward asked no one in particular, removing his hands from the girl’s face.

“I’d protect them with my life!” Paul snarled protectively.

I know you would, the vampire thought. Refraining from rolling his eyes, Edward spared Y/N a last peek before making his way back up the stairs to retrieve Bella.

Paul didn’t spare him another glance as he stared at you.

This was going to be a complicated relationship, but neither of you would dare to pass it up.

Rare Variant Cover

Pairing: Jason Todd / AFAB Reader

Fandom: Batman (DC Comics)

Word Count: 3100+

Tags: SFW, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Meet-Cute, Misunderstandings, Miscommunication, Pre-Relationship

Synopsis: Your first meeting is inside a second-hand bookstore. Jason leaves the store in a rage and it’s all your fault.

You had been leaning against the counter with your arms crossed for over half an hour, silently following the young man with your watchful gaze. The first time he entered your store, he greeted you with a kind smile and you in turn answered with a typical friendly shop assistant's welcome. Since then he had been browsing through the rows and rows of books stacked in every nook and cranny of the room.

Most of the time you knew at first glance why someone entered your second hand bookstore and what they were looking for. It was a fun little game you played with yourself. What genre did they prefer to read? What kind of book did they want to buy? What were their favorite tropes?

Collectors looking for coveted first editions of rare classics; thrifty shoppers who wanted to experience exciting literature for a small price; walk-in customers who strolled into the store out of sheer curiosity after standing in front of the window for several minutes; library staff who tried to buy back destroyed copies of their inventory, even if they were long out of print.

After several years of selling books to avid readers, you were able to assess most of the customers who entered your store. This one was different. You just couldn't figure him out. This man looked like he could crush Superman with his thighs. He was wearing full biking gear sans the helmet, explaining the motorcycle in front of the store. He was about your age. Definitely not a teenager anymore, but it was hard to gauge exactly how old. Mid to late twenties, maybe.

He looked like a thug. Anyone would forgive you for your suspicion after he stepped into the store, clad in leather from head to toe. It wouldn't be the first time you had been mugged. It was Gotham, after all. You had seen your fair share of robberies. Why someone thought it was a good idea to rob a bookshop though, you still couldn't explain.

In the end it was the way the stranger handled the books, convincing you that he was most likely more harmless than he looked. Every time he pulled one book from the shelf, he supported the spine with one hand and turned the pages gently, cautious of never wrinkling the paper. Every single book was treated with almost loving care, as if they were living beings with heart and soul.

If he started a discussion about literature with you now, you would be convinced that this was a dream. A man this good looking sharing one of your favorite hobbies and appearing to be a gentle giant? Impossible, right?

So you should also be forgiven for your suspicious stares turning into rapturous glances.

His back was turned your way while he browsed through one of the shelves. The black leather jacket emphasized his broad shoulders. He turned to browse the shelf at his back, facing your direction once more, and you marveled at his face. Strong cheekbones and the chiseled jaw of a Greek god stood in stark contrast to full, soft lips and large, round eyes. The latter was the first indication that he was possibly younger than you had initially though. Perhaps in his early twenties?

You were aware that you shouldn't ogle your customers like this. But it was late, you were tired and there was a waking dream walking through your store. Of course you stared. Maybe you had fallen asleep on the counter?

"Excuse me?"

The voice snapped you out of your thoughts and you looked up, somewhat taken by surprise. The handsome book lover was standing right in front of the counter. When had he come so close? The wooden floorboards throughout the store creaked, it was an old building. How had you not heard him move?

Had he caught you staring? You quickly put on your friendliest customer smile and asked, "How can I help?"

He looked at you intently for a few seconds, then returned your smile.

"Do you also sell international literature in their original language?"

His voice was pleasantly dark and raspy. A strong Gotham accent originating most likely from the poorest parts of the city. Customers from Park Row were unusual here. Your store wasn't located in the expensive districts of the city, but most Park Row residents wouldn't waste their money on public transport to shop here.

You knew the stock by heart, but it had been a long time since anyone had asked for non-English literature. It was less popular with most collectors. Another reason why the young man caught your attention. There was rarely an opportunity to sell the less sought-after items. An interesting change from your usual business.

"We have a small selection. Is there a particular language you're looking for?"

The man leaned against the counter and even through the thick leather of his jacket could you see his biceps flex. Be still, heart.

"I would prefer something in German. But French, Italian or Arabic would also be fine."

You tried to hide your surprise. Was he serious? Could he really speak all those languages?

"I can think of a few titles," you said, already going through the stock in your mind, and directed him to follow you with a quick wave of your hand.

The store wasn't big, but each of the shelves was almost bursting at the seams, filled to the top with books. It was no surprise that he hadn't discovered any suitable books during his foray through the store. You steered purposefully towards a shelf at the back of the store and pointed to a place slightly above you, out of your reach.

"Here are the non-English books we currently have in stock. I could get a step stool-"

You had already noticed how tall the man was, but now that he stood right next to you, with him being able to read the spines of the books you could barely reach, you truly realized his height. It should be intimidating, with him almost looming over you. You just thought it was hot as hell.

When you looked up to meet his eyes - blue-green like the sea and just as deep - you also noticed his smug grin.

You stopping in the middle of your sentence seemed to tell him exactly what you were thinking. Embarrassed, you cleared your throat. His grin only grew, showing a hint of teeth.

"Thank you, a step stool shouldn't be necessary," he said, amused, only slowly averting his gaze from your face to scrutinize the old books in front of him.

He stretched out his hand and ran a finger over the spines of the books. Every now and then he pulled one out before pushing it back in disinterest.

"Are you looking for a present?" you asked.

You just had to know. Maybe he wasn't interested in books himself and was just looking to buy a present. You hoped that he wasn't here for a present.

"No, I'm looking for myself."

The answer came after a brief moment of hesitation. He gave you a cold sideways glance, then turned back to the shelf. Any friendliness drained from his voice. Did you say something wrong?

"If you need any help, you know where to find me," you said, giving him a nervous smile and pointing towards the counter.

He met your eyes once more, it felt almost scrutinizing. Without his smile he was intimidating. Nothing hot as hell about a man that looked so annoyed, like he would curb stomp you the second you opened your mouth again. 

"Sure. I'll let you know if I need you."

Crude and tight-lipped. That was definitely the end of your conversation.

For the next thirty minutes, your full attention was almost exclusively on the stranger. Only when another customer had a question were you able to focus on you work. Every time he caught you staring, you averted your gaze in shame.

"I'd like to pay," said a voice to your right.

You flinched and your head jerked to the side. There was Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome, standing right next to you. He had a look on his face that rivaled your annoyance-levels when you were just about to close the store and someone entered anyway. He placed a single book on the counter. You asked yourself once again, how he managed to approach you without you noticing. How did he manage to evade the squeaky floorboards?

With one hand on your chest, you laughed breathlessly. "What are you, a ninja?"

His cold expression gave way to the slightest of smiles. His change of mood gave you whiplash. What was his problem? Were you the problem? Maybe he just suffered from resting bitch face syndrome and his mood-changes only seemed so extreme because he had a wonderful smile?

"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

You waved him off and scanned the book. Die Leiden des jungen Werthers. You had tried to figure out his taste in literature, but nothing about his person screamed Sturm und Drang to you.

"I always try to guess what my customers will buy. I was really unsure about you, but I certainly wasn't expecting this!" you said with a genuine laugh. The man was a real surprise. In a positive sense.

Instead of responding to your statement, the corners of his mouth turned downward once more.

"Do you have any older literature? First editions?" he asked. Hard change of topic, but okay.

You nodded in reply. Most of your books were on the younger side, but occasionally you came into the possession of older first editions. Not the kind of books you had to pay a fortune for, but expensive nonetheless.

"I have a few first editions, but I store them elsewhere. The storage conditions in this building are not suited for brittle paper. You can tell me if you're looking for something specific or give me your email address and I can send you a list of what I have. But first editions can be quite expensive, are you sure you're looking for something like that?"

There was no reply for a few moments after you finished your sentence. You looked up at the man, confusion written all over your face. Anger burned in his eyes. Surprised, you took a step back.

"What's your fucking problem? I don't understand you. First you stare at me like I'm trying to steal something. Which, okay, it's Gotham. I don't exactly look friendly. I can understand being cautious. But then you start to undress me with your eyes, only to call me stupid the next moment? Then you stare at me like that. Again! Following up with claiming I'm what? To stupid to understand Goethe? Laughing at me? And now you assume I'm poor. Why? Because of my accent? My appearance?"

He slammed a hundred dollar bill on the counter. "Fuck you and your prejudices."

With those sharp words, he grabbed the book, left the store and rode off on his motorcycle with a roaring roar.

He left behind too much money for a single book and a trembling shop assistant. What the hell just happened? Well. Maybe Sturm und Drang suited the stranger just fine after all.

---

You were convinced that you would never see the literature-loving stranger again. Gotham was big and he would never voluntarily set foot in your store again. Still, you wished you had a chance to apologize.

You really screwed it up. At first, you didn't understand why he suddenly snapped at you, but it had been over a month since his angry escape and you had spent enough time thinking about that day. Your behavior, even if unintentional, had been an absolute disaster. He had misinterpreted your every question, your every action. You had never meant to offend him, but looking back, you could understand why he had taken it the wrong way.

And there he was. In a BatBurger across the street. He was sitting at a table with several people, chatting animatedly. You met him again by pure chance.

You could walk away. Let him enjoy the rest of the day with his friends in peace. He looked so happy, with a slight grin on his lips, leaning back and relaxing as he listened to the rambling tales of another black-haired man.

You should walk away, but your guilty conscience has been gnawing at the back of your mind for over a month. Even if he raised his voice at you, you wanted to at least try to apologize.

Your legs started moving without permission. You crossed the busy street and pushed open the door to the BatBurger before fear could catch up.

With sure steps, you moved towards the table. God, the people were all absolutely gorgeous. Did the handsome stranger only have even better-looking friends? A gathering of models, perhaps.

Halfway to the table, several people of the group lifted their heads to look at you. A mix of friendly but suspicious glances. The latter was the least you expected of residents of Gotham.

When the handsome stranger raised his head, however, his expression darkened abruptly. Understandable, but intimidating. You swallowed your growing fear and came to a halt in front of the group.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" you asked. A quick sideways glance at the other people at the table, "Alone?"

Everyone's eyes wandered back and forth between you and the man. The attention only fueled your nervousness. Instead of getting up and following you or telling you to get lost, he crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared you down with a cold gaze.

Even though he was sitting and had to look up at you, you felt tiny.

"Anything you want to tell me, you can tell me right here."

You swallowed, anxiety rising in your veins. All eyes were on you, scrutinizing you with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.

"I'm sorry!" you said in a firm voice, a little too loud for the small room. Before you could lose your courage again, you began your rambling explanation.

"I didn't understand why you were so angry at first. Honestly, I still don't quite get it. All I know is that I hurt you and I'm sorry! You have to believe me that wasn't my intention. The whole situation? A huge misunderstanding! Granted, at first I kept an eye on you because you looked like trouble and I've been mugged several times. So yes, that was a prejudice on my part. But after that, I was just trying to make small talk! I was staring at you because you're smoking hot and you like books. I thought I was dreaming. I mean, where else would I find a man like that? You're just totally my type and then I make such an ass of myself. I've been meaning to apologize to you since the incident and then I happen to see you just sitting here and now here we are. And, well-"

You looked around. Your heart was pounding in your throat. Everyone stared at you with wide eyes. A tall, black-haired man stifled a laugh, holding a hand over his mouth. A blonde girl inconspicuously held a phone above the tabletop and filmed you. The unknown stranger sat in his seat with his eyes wide open, mouth agape as if he wanted to say something but didn't know what. The situation couldn't get any more awkward.

Throwing your last sense of shame overboard, you focus your gaze on the stranger. This was your last and only chance. What could possibly happen? He snaps at you?

"I owe you ninety-three dollars and five cents. That's a lot of BatBurger meals. Or a couple cups of coffee. Maybe dinner for two at a good restaurant? You could explain to me in detail all the wrong things I've said to upset you, so I won't say them again."

You felt the blush rise to your face, refusing to look at anyone else at the table except the handsome stranger. He, too, was bright red in the face, his lips moving as if he was trying to form words that just wouldn't come.

A few moments passed. Neither he nor his friends said anything. The entire room was silent. Your sense of shame won the silent battle. 

"Okay, got it. Sorry for the interruption!"

You turned on your heel and left the restaurant with quick steps.

That was by far the most embarrassing thing you had ever done. A rejection wouldn't even be that big of a deal, but the embarrassment of being watched by an entire group of friends while getting rejected? Suppressing your tears, you tried to escape as quickly as possible.

You didn't get very far. Just a few buildings down the street, a loud voice called out behind you: "Hey, just wait a minute!"

You recognized his voice immediately and quickened your steps. Whatever else he had to say to you - it couldn't be good. Just a few seconds later, he passed you with a short sprint and came to a sudden stop in front of you. You had to halt in the middle of the pavement, earning a few rude comments from pedestrians in turn. The stranger snarled at a few of them, before turning to you, a concerned expression on his - sadly still extremely handsome - face. 

"Sorry. You just caught me off guard. Let's try this again, all right? My name is Jason. And you are?"

Confused, you look up at him. You definitely hadn't expected that. Hesitantly, you told him your name.

"Hi," he said, followed by your name. Each syllable carefully accentuated, as if he was trying to taste the letters. Your name sounded so enticing from his lips. The warm smile he gave you afterward made your heart flutter.

"I'm incredibly sorry for screaming at you. Whether I was right or wrong, I should never have raised my voice. I overreacted and took my frustration out on you. Totally out of character for me. I was having a bad day, you hit a few sore spots. I should have come by again to apologize, but I assumed you wouldn't want to see that crazy customer again."

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, embarrassment written all over his face. You marveled at the splotchy flush on his cheeks. He was just as uncomfortable with the whole situation as you were. It was kind of endearing.

"So, getting back to your offer," he mumbled hesitantly, "a dinner to talk about everything would be good. Really good. Fantastic, actually."

Everyone had prejudices, you of all people knew that. Getting to know the handsome stranger would hopefully clear up some of yours. You were confident that your date would turn out just fine.

🟢 You are still a writer even when you haven't written in a while.

🟢 You are still a writer even when you feel like you aren't writing enough.

🟢 You are still a writer when you feel like your work isn't good.

🟢 You are still a writer when other people don't like your work.

🟢 You are still a writer when you aren't published.

🟢 You are still a writer when you only have works in progress.

🟢 You are still a writer if all you write is fanfiction.