My list of favorite beauty channels. Not influencer stuff, not buy-buy-buy stuff, no obnoxious voices, fake personalities. Just beauty. It maybe make up, style, home, media, self care (not just skincare otlr buying stuff but hobbies, rest, self reflection) :
Heaven Sent Honey
Beauty and Discipline
Christine McConnell
Share your videos with friends, family, and the world
The Rambling Rose
🌷 Botanical art, cottage gardens & a slow creative life 🌷
Hello, I’m Nancy — an artist and writer living on the wild South East coast of A
Haley Post
☽ living in harmony with nature & the seasons ⋆⁺₊⋆
whimsical recipes ✧ cozy crafts ✧ everyday magic
⋆⁺₊⋆ forest fairy & kitchen witch ⋆⁺₊⋆ o
Evangeline Molly
Beauty as Art, Myth & Magic
I'm an online creator interested in exploring the connections between beauty, aesthetics, ritual, and art. I st
theArtup
Join me on a journey of beauty and self-expression!
theArtup is a safe place where you can try new things, not just in beauty but in lif
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My Project Pan results of the last two years. Approximately.
Gold eyeshadow from some little known brand. Used it all winter over my eyelids with a primer. Looked amazing, a great mood booster tbh.
The Body Shop nail oil is... Old. I've used it sparingly since it was my first snd only purchase of this kind and I wasn't an avid nail polish user back then. Still, it's gone and I've bought three replacements (3 for 1 kind of deal) which I am not sad about, because I've started using my nail polishes every one-two weeks and their going down pretty fast.
My first "colourful" eye pencil. My mom bought it for me when I was a teen and started easing up on my faux goth makeup and outfits. I wasn't goth but it was easier to let people have their assumptions than explain my mental state and black bring my safety blanket against hostile world.
This has sentimental value that's why it was hard to finish the last 5 cm 🥲 it's double sided: brown eyeliner snd bronze eyeshadow. The last bits were used on lips because it caused allergic reaction on my eyes. But it's gone.
My mascaras. The least problematic products to use. Usually I have two in use simultaneously — one for upper lashes, the other for lower ones.
My eye primer, second in use after I bought a pot of dried one. It has been with me for... 15 years. Don't ask. Seriously. Don't. There's still some left but it's expired. Truly expired, as in giving me rashes on eyelids.
The others are councilers: one is empty, the other has a little left but again rashes, the third one... I got the stopper out but it had sand in it 😑
After watching Heaven Sent Honey and Evangeline Molly I realised that it's okay. My face is okay with it's imperfections: brown discoloration on my eyelids, the bruises under my eyes, even red breakouts. I still would love to try cc cream or these half transparent shimmery toners (I've discovered the second one on Matilda on Video channel), but it's mostly about fun rather than discomfort of living in my own skin. If I find what I love, and have spare money, I'll buy it and use it without fear of using it up fast or because I want to hide my skin. I am, I think, too old and tired of constant hate women receive concerning our faces, bodies, manner of living to give a shit about imperfect. Sorry for the rant but many things in my life somehow slid down from passion and fun into resentment. And I am trying to find my way back to enjoying life and myself.
I've bought new eye primer.
Wooo. All of them were bought when I was a teen. Gifts from mom. Many happy memories. It was time to let go. Starting from bottom:
• bright slim pink lipstick. At first I see it sparingly during summer but in twenties I worked in The Body Shop and bright lips was part of uniform. It was either my own lipstick or the testers... Ew. No. Don't do that. My colleagues always used clean brushes on clients, disinfecting everything and scraping the edges of lipstick ... But people are nasty pigs. Absolutely nasty. Always putting their herpes on all testers. Don't do that.
So, this lipstick was finished in two months. Two months of consistent use and 5-6 reapplication in a day, while working 2/2, 3/1.
The lipstick (and lip glosses) we're bought at the same time as bronze double sided eye pencil and was creamy lavender purple. My favorite😍 used half of it as a teen, then finished it off last year wearing before leaving for work. Gone in two months of consistent use. Loved it. Miss it. Scraped it out but the leftovers were expired 😅
(I have bright red and brow red from the same line)
The lip glosses (there is red one left) finished in 2025 by wearing it to work, the upper one gone bad before I could finish it. I am not sad actually, because they've been holding for over ten years and it's my own fault for saving them. A lesson for me for sure. I am using their red comrade here and there, depending on my mood. Because red is a hard colour to wear imho.
The purple lip gloss. Finished this year in spring. Also was constantly in my work bag) I found a way to use up my lip products — work bag!
I am very happy to actually use my makeup snd see it go down from wear. I have another lipstick hearing it's end. I've bought an empty pallette to hold my scraped lipsticks in, because gods there is a lot of product hiding there!
Red lipliner I used as eyeliner. It was fun. I did it before red makeup was in the trends 😉 unfortunately it dried out and started breaking into crumbs. But I consider it finished and my friend gifted me a tiny pot of powdered red eyeshadow 😍 so I am good.
The dofa was from broken lip gloss container. I've poured it into another used and cleaned lip gloss empty. I am using it in the morning, very 2000s pink glittery thing. It's lovely.
I have three nail polish empties: red and white essence and mint Sephora. But I am using it now as vessels for frankening my polishes. It's strangely freeing and fun, knowing I can make my own colours. So far I have shimmery violet one and a pastel purple) I'd love to make chartreuse.
Also, there's is a lot of perfume empties but I have no idea where they are. I was hoping to give them to recycling organization, but the one I found closed. It was specifically for makeup/perfume bottles.
I've no idea what to do now. Just throw them into glass trash container? And I know you can give away mascara brushes to eco orgs. But it was strangely hard to find any.
A/N so this was supposed to be a short thought and ended up longer than I'd planned, whoops.
TW: heavy body image issues, quick skin picking mention
x fem!reader
"You don't understand!"
"Sweetheart-"
"No!"
Throughout the apartment you can hear two sets of feet slapping against hardwood in the kitchen. Hers, fast and angry. His, cautious but intentional.
"Did I do something?" He asks. "Because if I did, just tell me what it is so we can talk about it-"
She spins around and stares at him, incredulously. "What? No you didn't do anything!"
He blinks at her.
"Okay," he starts off, trying to wipe the last bit of sleep from his eyes. "Did you not want me to come here after work? Because if you need space that's totally fine, I just need you to let me know that."
He'd gotten off early today, and in a bid to surprise her he had headed on over to her apartment, wanting to be there when she got home from work. Letting himself in (with the spare key she had given him), he had then made a home on her couch where he intended to stay until she arrived, however the exhaustion from the day had caught up with him. He'd passed out.
And he was then awoken by the door swinging open, and his beautiful fiance storming in like a bat out of hell.
"I'm sorry I didn't let you know, but I thought it'd be a nice surprise."
"It was a nice surprise!" She exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air, "It is! I love when you're here! I love being around you!"
Silence settled in the room, the only sounds being her exasperated breathing.
"Then baby, what's wrong?" He asked, gently.
He takes a slow step forward, and then another, like he's approaching a frightened animal. And with the wild look in her eyes, that feels like a fair comparison.
Next thing you know, he's right in front of her, sliding his hands around her waist gently. Her chest is still rising and falling rapidly, but she seems more calm than before. Looks less like she's going to bite someone.
"Just talk to me." He murmurs, pressing a kiss to her temple.
A large exhale. Then he feels her hands twist themselves into his shirt, holding on tight like he would float away otherwise.
"It's just," the mumble comes from pressed into his chest. "It's just stupid, fucking Gina."
"Gina?" He questions, still cradling her. "From work?"
"Yes!" She huffs. "She and freaking Roger-"
"Her boyfriend?"
"Not anymore! They're engaged now!"
He can feel her tensing up in his arms again, and starts to rub her back in small circles.
"Is that a bad thing?" He questions. "Just last month you told me he was gonna pop the question any time."
"No it isn't a bad thing, I'm very happy for them!" She puffs indignantly.
He smiles into the top of her head. He doesn't know how she continues to be so endearing even when clearly quite upset about something.
"Then what's the issue, my love?"
This gets a reaction, but not quite the one he was hoping for. She pulls out of the hug and starts pacing the kitchen again, mumbling and pulling at her hair now.
"It's just that, now that they're engaged Gina won't stop talking to me about all their damn wedding prep." She pauses her footsteps and squeezes her eyes tight, pinching her nose. "And it's like, well duh! Of course she's talking to me about it because we," she gestures between the two of them. "-are also engaged! But we've been engaged for months and in a fucking week it feels like she's already so much more prepared than I am!"
She stomps over to the sink, grabbing a glass from the counter and filling it with water, then downing it all in one go. Then she continues.
"He booked everything for their honeymoon last weekend, the venue she wanted didn't even have a wait list, and get this," she throws her hands in the air again. "-she's already got her dress!"
"Don't you have an appointment to go try on dresses in a few weeks? I'm sure you'll find yours-"
"But it isn't about the dress." She sighs. He can slowly see the fight abandoning her, leaving whatever ugly feeling was truly the cause of all of this. "Her boobs are just perfect."
Silence.
He blinks once. Twice.
"Sweetheart, it doesn't matter to me how nice hers are, I'm quite attached to yours."
This gets a smile out of her. Brief and small, but the first smile he's seen since she got home.
"You don't get it." She murmurs. "Hers are so nice, and they sit pretty by themselves, and she could wear a bra that has no support whatsoever and she's still gonna look like a freaking Barbie. Do you know what she told me about her dress?"
He knows this is rhetorical, so he waits.
"She doesn't have to put on any shape wear. Not a single piece. She doesn't have to tape, or suck in, or squeeze. She just looks that way! I don't even have my dress and I just know I'm gonna look like a stupid walrus if I'm not squished into spandex."
"Now wait a second that's not-"
But the truth is starting to spew out now, she's already started and can't hear him.
"My boobs have never looked like that. They will never look like that. If I took my bra off right now they would damn near kiss my bellybutton, can you imagine if we have kids?" She violently blinking, refusing to make eye contact now.
"And then I started thinking about everything I need to fix before we get married, everything I'm trying to get dealt with before the ceremony so you don't have to see it." She squeezes her eyes tight.
Crickets can be heard for a moment, it's quiet enough you can hear the television from the next apartment over.
"It makes me wonder if we should even do this at all."
"Stop."
Her head snaps up.
His eyes are burning, his chest is tight and his fists are balled. He's enraged, but not at her. Never at her, but at the way she clearly sees herself.
"Don't do this, don't ever say those things about the woman I love ever again."
Tears are now streaming down her face, but there's a ball of indignation rising in her chest as well.
"How can you say that when you don't even know all the gross things about me?"
The kitchen is starting to feel suffocating, so she leaves into the living room. He's right behind her.
"Baby there is nothing you could tell me about yourself that would make me not love you-"
"Oh yeah?" She eyes him. She's too far now, everything that's been kept locked up for the last almost year is forcing itself through the open dam.
"I haven't worn my retainer in a year, and I can actively feel my teeth shifting back to the way they were in middle school. That isn't pretty."
She circles the couch, now keeping him on one side while she stands on the other.
"Not only are my tits saggy, but they're covered in stretch marks. And they get absolutely disgusting when it's hot outside. They get white heads and the worst rash from my bra chafing and that sure as hell isn't appealing."
"My stomach rubs the tops of my thighs and makes ingrowns there that I pick at until they bleed. The insides of my thighs chafe so bad that they look infected, and I can hardly stand to see them myself!"
That boy just stands there, his heart breaking as she lists everything she can think of that should make him not love her.
"I get ingrown hairs in my armpits, that get worse when I shave so I have to let them grow out and I hate it! I have zits on my butt that I am so ashamed of, no matter what I do they will never permanently go away, and my worst nightmare-" she's hysterical now, snot clogging her nose and tears tattooing themselves on her face. "- my worst nightmare is you seeing me on our wedding night and being absolutely revolted by everything I am. Resenting me for all of my flaws, for not being able to fix everything I have tried so hard to keep from you."
She slumps into the couch, hands finding her hair and pulling.
"I'm so scared that we're going to get married and you'll realize that it's a mistake. That you deserve someone better, someone prettier and quieter and more presentable than me." She whimpers. "And then you'll leave."
Her eyes are glued shut, so when she hears footsteps she can only assume that he's leaving. Going to grab his things and head out the door now that she's finally laid out what he would actually be getting into. Everything that he would actually have to deal with as her husband.
She was right, it was too much. She wasn't enough like Gina to make him stay, and now she needs to gather the strength to tell everyone that their engagement has been called off-
Then a warm, calloused hand is gently cradling her chin, lifting her head out of her hands.
"Open your eyes, pretty girl." He whispers from in front of her. "Let me see you."
It takes a moment, but he's patient, and when she finally opens her blurry eyes she can see him, the man she loves more than anything else in the world, on his knees with his eyes full of tears.
"Thank you," he murmurs as he presses a kiss to both of her cheeks. "Thank you for sharing this with me, I know that it wasn't an easy thing to do."
A watery laugh escapes her unintentionally. "That's your response?"
"Not entirely," he gives her a little smile, brushing away the baby hairs that are stuck to her forehead and the sides of her face.
"You are the most precious thing in my whole world, and nothing that you just said will ever be able to change that." He gazes at her lovingly. "Your body being totally normal and human is not something that I will ever hold against you, not something that will ever drive me away."
He takes his thumb and ever so carefully wipes the tears and smudged mascara out from under her eyes.
"You are my beautiful fiance, the woman that I am so blessed to be with. The woman that I cannot wait to marry, to live with. The person that I hope to give my children, the incredible lady that I dream of growing old with." He nuzzles his nose against her own, unbothered by her tears now mixing with his.
"It makes me feel so special to get to be the person that you share these things with. To be a safe place for you to rant and rave and cry and scream and just exist. And my sweet love, you are that for me as well. You hold me when I'm tired, piece me together when I'm broken, and love me when I cannot love myself."
He plants another kiss on her forehead, then stands from where he is knelt on her rug, carefully lowering himself next to her on the couch and pulling her close.
She easily clicks right into his side, right where she belongs, fingers once again tangled in his shirt like he'll disappear if she doesn't hold on.
"I can't wait to marry you." He murmurs, "I'm yours as long as you'll have me."
"I can't wait to marry you," she whispers into his neck, her breathing finally evening out for the first time this afternoon.
"..and I kind of feel bad about everything I said about Gina. She was just collateral because of how I felt."
An unexpected laugh bursts from his throat, and he squeezes her a little bit closer.
"Then tomorrow you can buy her a coffee and apologize, but for tonight let's just stay right here."
A/N so this was supposed to be a short thought and ended up longer than I'd planned, whoops.
TW: heavy body image issues, quick skin picking mention
x fem!reader
"You don't understand!"
"Sweetheart-"
"No!"
Throughout the apartment you can hear two sets of feet slapping against hardwood in the kitchen. Hers, fast and angry. His, cautious but intentional.
"Did I do something?" He asks. "Because if I did, just tell me what it is so we can talk about it-"
She spins around and stares at him, incredulously. "What? No you didn't do anything!"
He blinks at her.
"Okay," he starts off, trying to wipe the last bit of sleep from his eyes. "Did you not want me to come here after work? Because if you need space that's totally fine, I just need you to let me know that."
He'd gotten off early today, and in a bid to surprise her he had headed on over to her apartment, wanting to be there when she got home from work. Letting himself in (with the spare key she had given him), he had then made a home on her couch where he intended to stay until she arrived, however the exhaustion from the day had caught up with him. He'd passed out.
And he was then awoken by the door swinging open, and his beautiful fiance storming in like a bat out of hell.
"I'm sorry I didn't let you know, but I thought it'd be a nice surprise."
"It was a nice surprise!" She exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air, "It is! I love when you're here! I love being around you!"
Silence settled in the room, the only sounds being her exasperated breathing.
"Then baby, what's wrong?" He asked, gently.
He takes a slow step forward, and then another, like he's approaching a frightened animal. And with the wild look in her eyes, that feels like a fair comparison.
Next thing you know, he's right in front of her, sliding his hands around her waist gently. Her chest is still rising and falling rapidly, but she seems more calm than before. Looks less like she's going to bite someone.
"Just talk to me." He murmurs, pressing a kiss to her temple.
A large exhale. Then he feels her hands twist themselves into his shirt, holding on tight like he would float away otherwise.
"It's just," the mumble comes from pressed into his chest. "It's just stupid, fucking Gina."
"Gina?" He questions, still cradling her. "From work?"
"Yes!" She huffs. "She and freaking Roger-"
"Her boyfriend?"
"Not anymore! They're engaged now!"
He can feel her tensing up in his arms again, and starts to rub her back in small circles.
"Is that a bad thing?" He questions. "Just last month you told me he was gonna pop the question any time."
"No it isn't a bad thing, I'm very happy for them!" She puffs indignantly.
He smiles into the top of her head. He doesn't know how she continues to be so endearing even when clearly quite upset about something.
"Then what's the issue, my love?"
This gets a reaction, but not quite the one he was hoping for. She pulls out of the hug and starts pacing the kitchen again, mumbling and pulling at her hair now.
"It's just that, now that they're engaged Gina won't stop talking to me about all their damn wedding prep." She pauses her footsteps and squeezes her eyes tight, pinching her nose. "And it's like, well duh! Of course she's talking to me about it because we," she gestures between the two of them. "-are also engaged! But we've been engaged for months and in a fucking week it feels like she's already so much more prepared than I am!"
She stomps over to the sink, grabbing a glass from the counter and filling it with water, then downing it all in one go. Then she continues.
"He booked everything for their honeymoon last weekend, the venue she wanted didn't even have a wait list, and get this," she throws her hands in the air again. "-she's already got her dress!"
"Don't you have an appointment to go try on dresses in a few weeks? I'm sure you'll find yours-"
"But it isn't about the dress." She sighs. He can slowly see the fight abandoning her, leaving whatever ugly feeling was truly the cause of all of this. "Her boobs are just perfect."
Silence.
He blinks once. Twice.
"Sweetheart, it doesn't matter to me how nice hers are, I'm quite attached to yours."
This gets a smile out of her. Brief and small, but the first smile he's seen since she got home.
"You don't get it." She murmurs. "Hers are so nice, and they sit pretty by themselves, and she could wear a bra that has no support whatsoever and she's still gonna look like a freaking Barbie. Do you know what she told me about her dress?"
He knows this is rhetorical, so he waits.
"She doesn't have to put on any shape wear. Not a single piece. She doesn't have to tape, or suck in, or squeeze. She just looks that way! I don't even have my dress and I just know I'm gonna look like a stupid walrus if I'm not squished into spandex."
"Now wait a second that's not-"
But the truth is starting to spew out now, she's already started and can't hear him.
"My boobs have never looked like that. They will never look like that. If I took my bra off right now they would damn near kiss my bellybutton, can you imagine if we have kids?" She violently blinking, refusing to make eye contact now.
"And then I started thinking about everything I need to fix before we get married, everything I'm trying to get dealt with before the ceremony so you don't have to see it." She squeezes her eyes tight.
Crickets can be heard for a moment, it's quiet enough you can hear the television from the next apartment over.
"It makes me wonder if we should even do this at all."
"Stop."
Her head snaps up.
His eyes are burning, his chest is tight and his fists are balled. He's enraged, but not at her. Never at her, but at the way she clearly sees herself.
"Don't do this, don't ever say those things about the woman I love ever again."
Tears are now streaming down her face, but there's a ball of indignation rising in her chest as well.
"How can you say that when you don't even know all the gross things about me?"
The kitchen is starting to feel suffocating, so she leaves into the living room. He's right behind her.
"Baby there is nothing you could tell me about yourself that would make me not love you-"
"Oh yeah?" She eyes him. She's too far now, everything that's been kept locked up for the last almost year is forcing itself through the open dam.
"I haven't worn my retainer in a year, and I can actively feel my teeth shifting back to the way they were in middle school. That isn't pretty."
She circles the couch, now keeping him on one side while she stands on the other.
"Not only are my tits saggy, but they're covered in stretch marks. And they get absolutely disgusting when it's hot outside. They get white heads and the worst rash from my bra chafing and that sure as hell isn't appealing."
"My stomach rubs the tops of my thighs and makes ingrowns there that I pick at until they bleed. The insides of my thighs chafe so bad that they look infected, and I can hardly stand to see them myself!"
That boy just stands there, his heart breaking as she lists everything she can think of that should make him not love her.
"I get ingrown hairs in my armpits, that get worse when I shave so I have to let them grow out and I hate it! I have zits on my butt that I am so ashamed of, no matter what I do they will never permanently go away, and my worst nightmare-" she's hysterical now, snot clogging her nose and tears tattooing themselves on her face. "- my worst nightmare is you seeing me on our wedding night and being absolutely revolted by everything I am. Resenting me for all of my flaws, for not being able to fix everything I have tried so hard to keep from you."
She slumps into the couch, hands finding her hair and pulling.
"I'm so scared that we're going to get married and you'll realize that it's a mistake. That you deserve someone better, someone prettier and quieter and more presentable than me." She whimpers. "And then you'll leave."
Her eyes are glued shut, so when she hears footsteps she can only assume that he's leaving. Going to grab his things and head out the door now that she's finally laid out what he would actually be getting into. Everything that he would actually have to deal with as her husband.
She was right, it was too much. She wasn't enough like Gina to make him stay, and now she needs to gather the strength to tell everyone that their engagement has been called off-
Then a warm, calloused hand is gently cradling her chin, lifting her head out of her hands.
"Open your eyes, pretty girl." He whispers from in front of her. "Let me see you."
It takes a moment, but he's patient, and when she finally opens her blurry eyes she can see him, the man she loves more than anything else in the world, on his knees with his eyes full of tears.
"Thank you," he murmurs as he presses a kiss to both of her cheeks. "Thank you for sharing this with me, I know that it wasn't an easy thing to do."
A watery laugh escapes her unintentionally. "That's your response?"
"Not entirely," he gives her a little smile, brushing away the baby hairs that are stuck to her forehead and the sides of her face.
"You are the most precious thing in my whole world, and nothing that you just said will ever be able to change that." He gazes at her lovingly. "Your body being totally normal and human is not something that I will ever hold against you, not something that will ever drive me away."
He takes his thumb and ever so carefully wipes the tears and smudged mascara out from under her eyes.
"You are my beautiful fiance, the woman that I am so blessed to be with. The woman that I cannot wait to marry, to live with. The person that I hope to give my children, the incredible lady that I dream of growing old with." He nuzzles his nose against her own, unbothered by her tears now mixing with his.
"It makes me feel so special to get to be the person that you share these things with. To be a safe place for you to rant and rave and cry and scream and just exist. And my sweet love, you are that for me as well. You hold me when I'm tired, piece me together when I'm broken, and love me when I cannot love myself."
He plants another kiss on her forehead, then stands from where he is knelt on her rug, carefully lowering himself next to her on the couch and pulling her close.
She easily clicks right into his side, right where she belongs, fingers once again tangled in his shirt like he'll disappear if she doesn't hold on.
"I can't wait to marry you." He murmurs, "I'm yours as long as you'll have me."
"I can't wait to marry you," she whispers into his neck, her breathing finally evening out for the first time this afternoon.
"..and I kind of feel bad about everything I said about Gina. She was just collateral because of how I felt."
An unexpected laugh bursts from his throat, and he squeezes her a little bit closer.
"Then tomorrow you can buy her a coffee and apologize, but for tonight let's just stay right here."
═══════ just a drabble about your cat lying in jason's lap man. very much based off my cat.
"jason have you seen─ oh, nevermind."
you pause next to the couch, staring at where jason sat, your cat in all her furred glory curled up in his lap like it could very well be her throne. her ear twitches at the sound of your voice, but she doesn't lift her head from where it's buried into his shirt and between her paws. jason sits almost straight as a board beneath her, staring down at her with an expression so confused and caught off guard, it has you snorting back a laugh. you wonder what happened before you walked in, when she went up to him and climbed in his lap.
"so," you drag out, taking a few steps close to get a better look at your cat, "this is new."
jason looks up at you, and he looks like he's about to say something but then your cat adjusts her position, stretching out her arms and kneading at his pants a few times before she goes still again. watching her, you can't quite help the sound that leaves you, cooing at the way your cat goes right back to sleep. it gets another ear twitch from her, but she otherwise doesn't move.
it's a little ironic you think ─ just the other day you and jason had gotten into a small unserious back and forth about how your cat supposedly hates him. you told him she didn't, he was convinced she did. and you couldn't blame him, not really, your cat was the perfect example of anxiety in a pet, she was scared of everyone; but jason had been coming around enough you could tell your cat was getting used to him, jason just couldn't tell.
"see," you grin, pointing at her, "told you she didn't hate you."
"she hated me yesterday," jason scoffs, holding out his arms, like he's trying to decide if he's allowed to put them down when she's taken up his personal space.
you roll your eyes, "she did not, she just takes her time."
"i think she's purring."
that makes you pause, leaning over the couch, and just loud enough that you don't have to be right next to her, you can hear your cat purring, just like jason said she was.
"oh my god, i think she loves you," you say, serious enough that it gets an odd look from jason.
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summary: jason has no weaknesses. especially not that one bookstore keeper he visits every week. he merely needs new book recommendations, and you're the only person he's willing to trust. about the books, obviously. or jason todd falls miserably, pathetically in love with a bookstore keeper who insults him on first recommendation.
pairing: jason todd x fem! reader
You don't expect any customers tonight, not when Friday's are usually associated with activities more enthralling than a shabby bookstore that smells faintly of over-stewed tea. Your fingers itch to flip the signboard around to 'Closed', but they squeeze habitually around your mug instead. A brown rim has formed around the interior from the untouched tea left hours ago when sunlight still graced the shelves near the window seat.
Three minutes to closing, you decide to give the store the respectful grace of being a decent employee and waiting for the clock to strike eleven. At least, that's the excuse you give yourself. Your fingers tap lightly against the solid wood of the make-shift counter, a haphazardly placed desk shoved between shelves and boxes that are to be sent to the recycling center tomorrow. Your life is almost perfectly mundane.
The bell rings.
Almost, except for one sole factor. Your gaze shifts, your neck craning towards the door. Here, you thought your last visitor would finally break the pattern. It's certainly not Margery, a lady who thinks herself the most important customer to this small establishment, always inventing new cons in a skewed attempt to bargain for more free books as gifts for her many nieces and nephews.
This visitor carries a scent of smoke, broad shoulders stretching out a worn, leather jacket. Even from your skewed view, half his back turned towards you, he's gorgeous as he always is. Almost out of place, body stiff as his gaze glances past the stained glass stickers pasted onto the windows, shading the jagged line over his cheek in reds and blues. A familiar, brute tension stuffed into his posture, shadows striking his skin. Smaller, faint scars litter his jawline, and one prominent jagged line is carved into his cheek.
Your secret visitor, who brings in the scent of iron, faint bruises across his cheek on some nights, that goes by the name, Jason.
"Here I was thinking your terrorising finally came to an end." Your voice echoes, a teasing tilt laced in its croak from hours of going unused. "It's nearly closing hour, Jay."
Despite the limp that accompanies his gait, clearly wounded somewhere beneath his large frame and thick layers of clothing, his own smirk greets your gleam of teeth. "Couldn't end a shit week without a recommendation."
Your heart skips, like the quick traitor it is. You feign a casual expression, as if you didn't have his next read hidden under your stack of orders you've yet to shelf.
"Bringing in blood to the floorboards again?" You raise a brow, gaze flickering to where his boots left imprints on the scratched-up wood.
"Nah." His smirk widens, stopping before you. "Wouldn't want you making use of free labour again to mop the dust off this place."
"Wouldn't be too difficult if we didn't have to use bleach, genius."
He shrugs, looking down at you with a pleased expression. "Useful skills I teach you, all without a price, sweetheart." His voice rolls over you like thunder, a low gravel for that mocking nickname he picked out for you like you're the only person he's ever given it to.
Your neck cranes to meet his gaze. "Right, next time I need help cleaning blood trails, I'll call my favourite potential vigilante."
"Oh, so I'm a favourite now?" His brow raises.
"You're so full of yourself." Your bite holds no mark, softening in its edge when your fingers trace over his next recommendation stuffed between the stack of new donations. Dragging it out, you hold it out with held breath.
It never gets easier, the silent exchange. The anticipation, the brief few seconds of waiting as his gaze assesses your pick. It had started out exactly like this, and like some idiotic, preening teenager—you had hoped with every right choice you made, it might heighten the chances of him coming back.
This isn't a library, an establishment where he had to return to at some point. No, he could very likely purchase your selection today, decide it was absolute shit, and never return. Yet, he always came back, and you began to lean on the crutch of a belief that he would continue to.
"Call it a profitable relationship." You joke, even as your heartbeat faintly thuds in the pads of your fingertips, digging into the spine of the copy you reserved for him.
He takes it, fingers brushing over yours. That lingering second of contact feels intentional, but the ghost of his touch disappears before you even have the chance to register its searing warmth.
His smirk dials down into something softer, more genuine. This is the part you love most, and secretly dread that you might not receive. That rare spark in his gaze, to receive something so personal based on the assumption of what he might like. All narrowed down from a history of ten minute exchanges every week in the dead of night, shared between an academic victim who likes spending too much of her time waiting for a suspicious individual to sneak into a local bookstore, and said suspicious individual.
"It's a local author." It spills out of you before you can stop it. "I know you've read most of the classics, but you haven't really delved into ones that relate more to home."
His lip curls, a hum stuck in the back of his throat, and you recognise its one of approval. It shouldn't affect you as much as it did.
"Literature that dives into the horrors of Gotham, should I expect an existential crisis tonight?"
"I'll leave the surprise to do its job.” Leaning in over the counter, your gaze drops to his cargo pants. “Any reason for the limp?"
“Jumped down from the fourth floor.” He shrugs. “Wasn’t sure you’d wait up on me.”
You stare at him wide-eyed, waiting for him to call upon a joke—and he merely returns your stare, amused.
“Jason, you’re joking.”
“I never joke about closing hours.” He muses.
You're ready to start, because his frequent disregard for closing hours is a whole other thing—but his gaze shifts instinctively to the clock hanging lop-sided by the ladder, before landing on you again. The crinkles of his gaze deepens, softening the shadows. "You better catch the train. Do me a favour and remember to lock your windows when you get back?”
"Yeah, so long as you come in uninjured next time."
"Worried about me? As long as you keep yours, I’ll keep mine." The point in his grin sharpens, fingers giving a lazy wave as his shoulder digs into the door. The bell rings once more, as if to signify the gravity of his departure. "More illegal activities to run. See you next week, sweetheart.”
His shadow disappears past the flickering street lamp outside the store, as if he never existed. Your heart does that little, traitorous sigh—and that’s all the physical evidence you have past the lump in your throat that the exchange even happened at all.
Your first encounter with Jason was less familiarity-conduced endorphins and more of customer service's worst nightmare.
"Sir, I'm afraid we're closed."
You don't know why you bothered with the 'we', when you're clearly the only staff here. Or why you bothered speaking at all. This man who's barged in through the door, despite the 'Closed' sign, is obviously on edge and possibly on the run? Gotham's unspoken law is to never stick your nose into other people's business, especially if the stranger radiates danger right down to his bruised knuckles. All you should be concerned about is the ten minute walk you have to embark on and how all trains in this district stops at thirty minutes past eleven.
His gaze shifts at the sound of your voice, distracted and hyper-focused all at once. You're struck by the illuminating green that disperses into pale blue, when he finally notices that he isn't alone. Intense, and otherworldly—a gorgeous lunatic who looks like he materialised out of the shadows, stepping into the night and ending up on the wrong side of Gotham.
His gaze doesn't linger for long before it maneuvers around, scoping his environment as his lips press together, some sealed sigh laced within the charged tension between you two. Eventually, a low rasp leaves his lips. "I'll buy somethin'."
Your brows furrow. "Excuse me?"
His hand shifts, waving you off impatiently. "Hand me a book, or two—whatever. I need more time."
The crease between your brows deepen, that soft irritation earlier rising again. Not only has he come in during closing hours, which is the worst of all experiences in customer service, but he had the audacity to be rude and dismissive about it.
"Sir, I'm afraid you'll have to come back another time—"
"Lady." He cuts you off, gaze shifting back towards the streets before looking back to you in warning. "It's not a request. You can charge me however much you want, but I can't leave this store till the coast is clear... and neither can you."
Great, now he's holding you hostage too.
"Are you being chased?" You question impulsively. You have a bugging suspicion that he's prone to lying to you anyways, but his cutting tone makes you unfamiliarly bold. "You're a criminal?"
He snorts, finding something amusing. "In Gotham, some would say it's an honourable profession. There's worse bad guys out there, sweetheart. You're lucky it was me that came in here."
"I wouldn't call it luck." You frown. He doesn't bother with a response, clearly tuning you out, and your growing dislike finds something new to feast on. If you're going to waste a Friday night with some asshole, you may as well squeeze some money out of his pockets. Your gaze flickers over him, scrutinising.
"What are you looking at?" He murmurs, sensing your gaze even when his own is trained on the window, hand tucked under his jacket on what you hope isn't a weapon.
"Just wondering what kind of reader you are."
That finally gets his attention. He looks back at you, surprise evident in his gaze. Without that permanent furrow between his brows, he looks almost younger, erased temporarily of the self-righteousness buried in his bones and the weight of something deadly clutched in his hands.
A moment passes, his tight expression slowly unwinding into genuine amusement. "That's kind of you but you don't have to dial up your customer service. I'm not the kind of guy who leaves reviews."
Your brow twitches, frustration slipping past the cracks of your demeanour. "It's principle. I don't recommend books half-heartedly."
His smirk twitches higher, but you make the wiser choice of storming off, deeper into the shelves before he deigns you with another unfavourable response. Your mind is already slipping into its unfolding map of genres, of the books that encompass your pathway with what you think suits a jerk like him.
"Jackass." You mutter to yourself, opting between a self-help book or a literature pick for the jerk who acts so highly of himself. You decide on the latter, doubting the hunk would even understand the reference.
"Dorian Gray?"
"Yeah, heard of it?" You respond, unamused as you glare down at him.
He's made himself real comfortable, large thighs swallowing up your seat, swirling around on the creaky wheels as he eyes the store with that same assessing look he did when he first entered, as if he was used to mapping out any place he stepped into.
“Experience is merely the name men gave to their mistakes.” He mutters lowly, blue eyes landing back on you.
You blink once, then twice, wondering if you'd misheard him. "You're a reader?"
"Enough to know what you're suggesting, sweetheart." He mocks. "I know a thing or two about mistakes of men, so if you want to cause some real harm, you'll have to hit harder."
"I wasn't—" You falter, because that was exactly what you were intending on. "Fine. You forcefully extended a long, underpaid night shift, and I indirectly called you a jackass. Let's call it even."
His lip twitches involuntarily, not expecting your honesty. "Y'know being direct is what gets you places in Gotham."
"Yeah, gets you running into bookstores and terrorising their staff, you mean?"
"Well, I haven't been insulted through a book before." He shrugs half-heartedly. "I suppose you experience something new everyday."
"Anyone ever told you that you're infuriating?"
"Pretty too." He grins then, something striking and downright filthy. His hand taps on a copy of 'The Picture of Dorian Gray'. "That's what you seem to be suggesting, since you're clearly intent on being honest through your recommendations."
Your scoff escapes you, less annoyed than it should be. "I think my recommendation fits you just fine if that's the only thing you're willing to take from it."
"Oh, I'm more than willing." His grin sharpens. "That's sweet of you, but I'm afraid it's a little compromising, hitting on a customer this soon? You do this with all late night visitors?"
You're tempted to drop one of your heaviest dictionaries right on his skull to sort out the serious issues going on in that head of his. "Customer?" You raise a brow mockingly. "All I see is a stranger wasting my time after closing hours, raising this month's electricity bills, refusing to pay a single cent for his book, and getting out of here as promised."
"We still have—" His gaze glimpses to the clock. "—five minutes if you want to play it safe. You're doing a horrendous job at customer service by the way. Calling me a jackass, trying to kick me out. No wonder this place is—"
Your jaw drops. "You are not insulting the very place you're hiding in like a coward right now."
He raises both hands in surrender. "So charming. Was just going to mention how charming this place is."
Your lips quiver into an almost smile and you shut it down immediately, along with the quick decision that he is dangerous. Disarming with the quickness of his tongue, and unnerving in how he handles conversation like a chess board.
"This entire situation needs more tea." You grumble to yourself, turning your back on him.
There's nothing worth stealing on that counter of yours, unless he's crude enough to steal second-hand books worth cents if he even attempted to resell them in a city like Gotham. At most, he'd take the chipped mug rimmed with your tea. Oh, stupid you forgot your mug.
Your steps retract, a groan caught in the between your lips as you turn around with the anticipation to be hit with his mocking—only to find an empty seat in your view. Your head whips around past the shelves, but there was no sight of a worn leather jacket. Of course, he didn't even bother to announce his departure.
Coming back to the counter, you check for any missing items only to spot a bookmark poking out of one of your books, left in an ajar placement on the counter. On top of it, sat a pile of cash that was worth more than any copy in this entire store.
“Hey—”
He was already gone, you forget. You flip open the book, only to find there’s handwriting on your bookmark. Scratched in impulsively, like a lingering thought he had to put down.
“Jackass left you a tip for the trouble—and the rec. - Jason.”
His condescending tone somehow translates into pen on paper. It should irritate you. Yet, when your fingers lift to trace over the drying ink, you find yourself smiling involuntarily again. Jason. What kind of a man was he? It's a useless question, as you doubt you'll ever see him again.
A likely criminal, a guaranteed jerk—and probably the most exciting visitor of your entire summer.
Jason comes back not a week after. Covered in blood, which after your initial fright, is believed to belong mostly to the other guy. That particular fact he thought to include does little to soothe your nerves.
“You should’ve seen him.” He rambles, in what you could only hope wasn't his disgruntled attempt at impressing you, whilst laying flat on the desk. “Makes mine look like child's play."
The first-aid kit, hidden somewhere in the store cabinet, is squeezed haphazardly onto your office chair. There’s nothing more nerve-wracking than your first attempt at stitching a cut, not anything close to your caliber. If his arms weren't wrecked, you suspect he wouldn't have come all the way to you, an actual stranger. His voice distracts you, and you miss your aim.
Jason hisses, half-shirtless with his black tee tucked between his canines. "No, I said you have to turn it as soon as the point disappears."
Your hand is splayed over his stomach, fingers shaking slightly as you try to focus. "Stop shifting, and just keep quiet for a second. I can't focus with you nagging me."
"Forgive me for being concerned about my wound—"
Your hand comes up to shove the t-shirt further into his mouth, muffling his words. He raises a brow, almost amused, and a trickle of sweat brushes past.
"I'm trying my best to help, when this is clearly something hospitals exist for." You huff, focusing back on the stitch. "Give me some grace, and shut up."
His muscles flex and contract, but eventually, he listens. Your work becomes easier after that, despite it being the worst position you've ever been put in, neck cramping to avoid blocking your only source of light, the flickering lamp above the surface he's laid on, his blood dripping onto the wood.
"You owe me at least five purchases to make up for the blood stains." You grumble. "That requires you to stay alive."
He grunts through the fabric, and you take it as agreement.
“Why’re you back here anyway?” You question, trying to distract yourself. “Of all the places you could’ve gone, you thought that a bookstore keeper would have medical expertise?”
“Not medical expertise.” He mutters, voice too raw to not be honest. “I wanted..”
Your hand places a cloth over his wound, soaking the fabric red. “Wanted what?”
His gaze lingers over you, somehow more haunting with how the blue shade's grown darker, pupils expanded. He winces when you accidentally put too much pressure on the stitch, but that doesn't seem to be all to his sudden stillness. “A recommendation.” He answers eventually.
You stare at him, tempted to laugh. “You came all this way bleeding out, barging in through the door, past closing hours again—for a recommendation?”
He stares at you, and your laugh slips through when you realise that he’s at least half-serious. “I knew you'd be infuriating, but I didn't expect insanity.”
He ends up buying eight later just to prove his point and to make up for the blood stains, only after you promised that they'd all be your recommendations.
The hour's long past operating train schedules, and with the quiet acknowledgement of traumatising your uneventful Friday night, the second time he's reinvented what a normal shift should have been—he offers to walk you back once warmth seeps back into his skin.
Somewhere between sitting cramped behind the shelves as you pick out his recommendations and his tracking gaze over your frame as you rant on about how he desperately needed a self-help book or two, the unspoken tension gradually fades. Eventually, your frustrations die down too—and you realise his company, minus the blood and sharpness of tongue, wasn't the worst thing in the world.
You come to expect Jason’s presence, late in the night although he does begin to respect the concept of a ‘closing hour’. He's usually your last visitor regardless—leaving the two of you alone to... continue on your charade of recommendations. Even when he begins to linger longer than any customer should, offering to walk you back, or make you tea when you're too busy shelfing to bother with a new mug to replace your over-steeped one from the afternoon. Except for today, because Margery, your least favourite customer in the whole of Gotham, decides to pick the one night Jason's visiting to start her practiced act.
Clearly intending on slithering her way into getting something for free, Margery drones on about how important her niece's education is to her, and how anything contributing to children's education should be free of charge. All over a book set costing a measly seven bucks, but you suppose to dear Margery, supporting small businesses in Gotham isn't in her check-list.
“I’m sorry, Margery.” Your voice remains perfectly levelled. “I can't hand the set to you for free, because it's against our policy."
“Can’t you understand my situation?” She huffs, annoyance flared in the fine lines of her cheeks. “No one's even interested in that set, I've surveyed it for days.”
“Which by all existing policies, still requires a purchase, ma’am.”
She scoffs, nails drumming impatiently against the counter. “I want to speak to your manager.”
Your lips quirk up. “Jason.”
Jason shifts then, his gaze lifting from the book in his hand, one which he hasn’t turned the page since he conveniently perched himself right next to your counter ten minutes ago. He places the book down gently onto the wood, bookmark slipping into place, though the slight sneer of his lips conveys none of that delicate care as he slumps against the counter, shoulder brushing against yours.
“There a problem?”
Margery blinks, affronted by his attitude. Or his sheer size towering over her. "You're the manager?"
“Policy’s law.” Jason shrugs. “If you’d like to take this further, to save yourself—“ His gaze flickers to the book set, and his smirk quirks up higher—the perfect composition of a jerk. “Seven bucks, we'll be more than happy to call the authorities.”
“I have never experienced such horrible service!” Her cheeks grow warm, sloshed with embarrassment. “Acting as if I'm in the wrong—you’ll be receiving the worst review!”
"All’s fair in Gotham, ma’am.” He calls out with a grin as he watches her turquoise skirt catch onto the end of the door hinge, releasing another shriek from her lips.
The door slams shut, bell ringing dramatically with the impact, and Jason turns back to you, smile slipping into something familiar and reserved for you. “The review will be wiped the moment she hits post.”
You snort, leaning back against the shelves. “Should I be concerned about your illegal activities invading its way into my work?”
“Nah.” He shrugs. “Last place the GCPD will look into is some shabby bookstore.”
“Shabby.” You feign offense. "Our most repeating customer doesn't even hold a shred of respect for this place."
“Oh-no, I’m beginning to like the sound of being manager of this fine establishment.” He humours, glancing around as if he hasn't already memorised the interior.
You frown, suspicious of his change in tune. “Why, cause you’ll be the boss of me?”
His smirk deepens. “One of its many perks, I imagine.”
“Oh, get over yourself, Todd.” You glance back towards the door, still unable to rid yourself of the satisfaction of watching that entire fiasco go down. "Though I suppose a thank you is in order."
"Couldn't get her out of her fast enough." He shrugs. "She was taking up our time."
"Our?" You raise a brow, almost teasing as you look back at him. "Didn't realise this was our thing now."
His gaze lingers on you, as if he knew his response would be the deciding factor of acknowledging the thinly veiled string that's begun to loop itself around the both of you. Something about your dark circles, the oil on your nose bridge, or the mess of your knotted hair—whatever he saw in you, seals his decision.
"Yeah." His voice rasps, the most unguarded you've ever heard him. "It is."
It's an instantaneous kick, one that nearly leaves you breathless as you try to regain your composure. He could’ve said nothing. He could have thrown this to the side and said that his weekly visits for recommendations during your shifts, no matter if he was bleeding or bruised at the knuckles coming from a life clearly separate from yours—meant nothing.
Yet, it does mean something. Not just to you, but to him as well.
"Oh." You mutter, because you can't think of anything appropriate to say to that.
"Oh." He echoes, a genuine smile lingering at the edge of his lips. "Haven't received my recommendation of the day, sweetheart."
You blink, feeling strangely light, as if your body has regained all the energy zapped out from long hours of rearranging shelves and stacking boxes. It doesn't help that he's looking at you like that, soft and disarmed in a way you've begun to realise he's let himself be, only around you.
You should've trusted your gut that he was dangerous, but never in the way you expected. Your heart skips traitorously, the little thing already knowing something that you refuse to admit aloud. So, you do what you always do and dig out your recommendation, waiting for that spark to light in his gaze and pretend there's nothing more to why you love it so much.
Weeks turn into months, and Jason becomes your one constant even as your shifts lessen in hours to accommodate your academics. If anything, there's something comforting now about leather jackets, the faint scent of pain ointment, the certain knowledge that Jason is most probably a vigilante, after you noticed his constant vigilance over the district you work in has significantly lessened crime rates.
His shelf at home has built its steady collection, every book representing a particular week, an ever-increasing memoir of the thing shared between the two of you, from the first time he stumbled into the store. You don't know what to call it, only that you wish for it to never stop.
He knows the store like the back of his palm, including the exact hour in which you would get up for a tea refill, or when you need a steady hand on the ladder to reach the highest shelves. It's strangely intimate, the way he slots himself into the quiet mundane of your shifts, but he never complains of boredom or having something better to do with his time. If anything, the slower the day, the more he seems to uncurl like a satisfied feline—accompanying you by your side when there's nothing more to do, catching up on his reads while you have a read of your own.
"I have a recommendation for you." Jason mutters offhandedly, legs resting on the desk, as much as home as you are now, seemingly unbothered that he's randomly switched up the unspoken rules of the thing that's shared between the two of you.
You raise a brow, gaze peering over your current read. "You—Mr. I Can't Read Without Your Recommendations, has one for me?"
He shrugs, taking something out from the inner pocket of his jacket. You never understand just how much he's able—and willing to fit inside the leather confinements, and you swear half of it belongs to his side of the world you're privy to only in the latest of nights, when his hand is gripping yours knuckle-white, and he lets you stay by his side before muttering his review for his latest read.
In his hand, is a book, one in which you recognise immediately.
"Dorian Gray." You muse. "Is it your turn to call me self-conceited?"
His lip twitches into a half-smirk, but it buries itself under what you only recognise now to be nerves.
"Jason?" You murmur, slightly startled as you place down your book.
His own hand, scarred over the knuckles and engulfing the book, places its weight gently in your hands, as if offering something sacred.
"I wrote something inside." He mutters, voice softened.
Your brows furrow, but you oblige—flipping open the very first copy you've ever recommended to him, and find a handwritten note on the first page. It's unmistakably his, and there's a few scratched out lines that you can't make out, clearly something he pondered over for a while.
"I think you've probably figured it out by now, that I am not good with my words, no matter how many books I've read with greater speeches or declarations. Still, you deserve to hear something honest, and I've always conveyed myself better through my actions than I do with my mouth.
When I first entered this store, I never expected to run into you. Fate or whatever people call it, has never been considerate of my path, or who I encounter along it. Yet, you stood right there, clearly out of place with the world I know, and I don't think I'll ever truly comprehend how our paths aligned. I told myself to forget you, but you had given me a piece of you in the book you placed in my hands, and I couldn't stop thinking of that, of you. I tried convincing myself, after considering it for seven days, that seeking you out would make the curiousity dissipate, and not because I wanted to hear your voice again.
Bleeding out over your counter, I knew that I was done for when I realised I was willing to buy the entire store if it meant getting to spend a few more minutes by your side. Every book I carried home, was me getting to keep pieces of evidence, of this thing we share that feels like it's completely ours. Proof that a person who thought about what kind of reader I'd be despite every reason not to care—actually existed.
I'll probably regret this, I do have a talent of screwing up with people, but keeping silent has never been my forte, and I would regret not telling you what I've known since the first, which is that there hasn't been a single book where a line has crossed my mind without thinking of you. That there hasn't been a day, where I don't hold myself back from wanting to see you again. I'm offering you my honesty because I do believe that's the only decency available in Gotham, and I'd like to offer you at least that."
Speechless was an understatement for the shaking in your fingers, the weight of the page in your hand when you finally look up and meet his gaze.
He's nervous, pupils dilated—body locked with tension. He's just poured his heart out to you through the page of the very first book you've given him, and he's staring at you like you’ve changed the entire trajectory of his life, and not the other way around.
“Jason.”
“I’ve never done anything like this.” It spills out of him, as if he can’t contain himself. “Our thing, falling for someone. So, before you say anything—I just want to state that I'm not expecting anything. That's the one of the hardest lessons I ever had to learn a long time ago, so don't feel you have to say something you don't mean. I just can't go on pretending that meeting you didn't change something in me—that it hasn't rewired what genuine happiness feels like. I began to read again, after all these years, because books which I once found comfort in now reminds me of you. That in every line I read, I searched for something to bring back to you."
"It scared me." He admits, and even the act seems to cost him. "To care that much. To have this lack of control over how I operate, how I should feel. You disarmed me in a way no one else ever had, and I didn't think I even had that in me anymore. To feel this terrified and to still want someone this much."
His hand lowers to the note-filled page, the book still gripped between your hands and his expression steadies. "I considered it countless times. To stop this, before I start something I'll never be able to take back. Then I looked at you, and I realised I can never go back to my life 'before' you. That I was already in this, and I'd be willing to do anything if you are too."
"Jason." You call out, and he stops with a trained halt, as if he expected the worst. That was your last straw.
"I didn't even need the note." You burst. "If you had simply told me you wanted me, I would've already said yes. Our thing, I've always wanted to be a part of it."
Before, he was tense—but now, your words seemed to have hit him like a truck. You continue, not wanting him to doubt something you realised should've been obvious from the moment you kept that very first note he left you in your wallet.
"I want to be in this with you, Jason." You confess. "You're the one person I wanted to see every night. I don't know how to say this without sounding like a mess but—every book in this store, I constantly look for something that screams you and I wait in the hopes that you'll like it, and that was the most scariest, intimate thing I've ever done for someone. So—you're an idiot if you think I don't want this as much as you do."
"...You mean I didn't have to feel physically ill to write that note out, and you would've said yes?" He mutters after a moment, a low huff of amusement leaving his lips.
“I thought you said being direct is what gets you places in Gotham.” You quote.
His smile gradually reappears. “Yeah, I suppose it got me places. Running into a shabby bookstore, getting hit on the first night.”
You raise a brow. “You and I remember that encounter very differently."
"Yeah?" He murmurs. "That'll be a problem if we aren't on the same page. Just to give it a test, what if I said I wanted to kiss you right now?"
Shock registers faintly to you, even if that thought's been circling your mind for months. A little smile pulls at your mouth. "Yeah, I think we might be on the same page there."
When he leans in, you smell faintly of gunpowder, something warm and smoky—so distinctly Jason. You don't think you'll ever tire of it, and you love it more when his fingers tangled itself into your hair, brushing against the nape of your neck. When he finally kisses you, a low rumble in the back of his throat in content, you find he was half-right that night you both met. Maybe there was luck involved after all.
"I am keeping that note." You murmur after he pulls away to press something softer against your temple.
His lips curl into a smile, and you feel it against your skin. "'Course you are."
likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333
isekai story where someone gets isekaied into a small town. the town is in an empire that views amnesia, specifically, as a curse from their favored god that means the person with it must be put to death. the empire does a lot of other fucked up shit too, so the isekaied person is desperate to pretend that yeah, no, they're totally that person and the definitely remember the things that person did.
so the story is a series of comical errors where the person who was isekaied keeps pretending to know who the body they're in originally was, and accidentally getting it right over and over.
then step by step the person and, by extension the reader, finds out that the entire town is people who were isekaied and they're all pretending. it's an unspoken rule that when one of them acts odd, everyone pretends that "oh this is normal for you." and move on.
the god that keeps doing it is trying to summon someone to fix or destroy the empire, and keeps thinking they failed when the isekaied person "miraculously" knows and acts "exactly like" their original self, according to everyone around them, so they just kept doing it until now there's a town of people dragged in from various worlds. this god is also, fed up with constant failures, now just straight up backing up all of the empire's enemies and telling them "fuck that town in particular blow it up" from pure frustration.
so it’s a day early but have a little Valentine’s Day with Jason drabble except reader is a bit unhinged and very in love with Jason. inspired by me getting split knuckles and thinking “wow this would be so much cooler if I got them from punching someone.” also idc if damian is ooc here bc you can pry good brothers Jay and Dami from my cold, dead hands.
Jason Todd is used to fighting. He knows thrown fists, black eyes, and bloodied hands better than he knows himself. He’s been fighting so long that it’s second nature; sometimes he tires of the fight and sometimes he aches for it. It all depends on the day and his mood. Sometimes busted knuckles are a pain in the ass to clean and sometimes he enjoys the sting of a job well done.
Jason is used to seeing other people fight. It was the one constant in his formative years. He saw Gotham’s worst fight daily when he was a little kid doing his best to survive the city’s unforgiving streets. He saw Gotham’s best fight nightly and fought alongside him as a bright-eyed teenager. He sees his siblings fight routinely, knows how they do it like he knows the back of his hand. Dick is graceful; he floats through the air before he kicks you in the face. Tim is practical; he hits you where it hurts, seeks to destroy. Damian is ruthless; he toes the line between life and death like he was raised on it. He was; they both were.
Jason has not, however, seen you fight. Until tonight that is. Oh, he’s seen you argue before. You’ve got a smart fucking mouth—he loves it, even when it gets you both in trouble. But physically you’ve always been nothing but gentle and calm. He’s the one that intimidates, that scares off anyone who tries to flirt with either of you with his crossed arms and his face that screams “I’ll kill you”. Yet there you are in the middle of the ballroom where he left you, clutching your fist that has just connected with the nose of some CEO’s son. He freezes for a split second in pure shock. Then his brain comes back online and he’s trying to push through the crowd of people to get to you. His brother beats him to it. Dick picks you up around the waist and swiftly hauls you out of the ballroom.
Jason’s torn between running after you and cornering the guy you just punched to finish what you started. He doesn’t get to make that choice because a small but strong arm grabs him and yanks him hard toward the door that you just got dragged out of. He looks down and sees Damian, and something instinctual about this situation makes him follow wherever the kid goes. It wouldn’t be the first time Damian led him away from a fight and it probably won’t be the last.
“What the fuck just happened?” Jason asks his youngest brother as they wind through the mazelike halls of the penthouse.
“Well, akhi, your beloved just assaulted a man in the middle of father’s Valentine’s Day gala,” Damian responds coolly.
“Yeah, I kinda picked that up, saghir. Why did she assault a man in the middle of the gala?” Jason presses.
Damian bristles at the term of endearment. Jason can tell he’s about two seconds away from arguing that he’s not little anymore, Todd. He seems to consider your hitting a man a more pressing matter, though, because he starts to explain what happened. The guy you punched—some dude named Prescott—had decided it would be a good idea to flirt with you. You turned him down quickly and bluntly with a simple “No, I’m here with my boyfriend.” It all went downhill from there.
“He then asked who her boyfriend was, and when she said you, this imbecile asked why a girl such as herself would be with, quote, ‘a charity case like him’,” Damian relays with thinly veiled disgust.
Jason was used to comments like this. It was all he heard during the three years after Bruce adopted him. It used to make him mad or insecure, like maybe Bruce never truly wanted him. Maybe he just wanted to feel like he was doing something good. But then he died and came back. And he hated B for so long. Until he didn’t. Until he realized that maybe he never did, maybe he just wanted proof that his dad loved him and maybe he felt like he didn’t have it. But with time and patience and a lot of pain, he’s now reasonably assured that he’s not just some billionaire’s charity project. If that were the case, then Bruce would’ve stopped trying a long time ago with him. So the spoiled brat’s comment doesn’t really bother him. He knows that didn’t mean that it wouldn’t bother you, but he can’t figure why it would make you angry enough to deck the guy in the middle of a full ballroom.
“That’s it? She punched him for that?” Jason asks doubtfully.
“No. She first told him that he clearly lacked the empathy to even know what the word charity meant. She also made a snide comment about how his gala attire could, however, be seen as a charity case,” Damian chuckles, clearly amused by your silver tongue.
“Well what’d he say that made her hit him?” Jason demands, his anxiety starting to spike.
He had seen it happen, but he’d been mixing you your favorite cocktail and had missed the actual inciting comment. Damian pauses like he doesn’t want to tell him. All it takes is one hard look with those sea green eyes and Damian finds himself caving like he did as child in the League when Jason would catch him hiding from his newest (and soon to be deceased) sparring partner.
“He said that her tastes shouldn’t be counted considering she was with—” and Damian grits his teeth, forest green eyes absolutely seething, “damaged goods.”
Now that’s a different story. Jason doesn’t care what some privileged rich guy thinks of him, but the idea that other people could see what he already knows hurts. Jason knows he’s damaged goods, knows that you deserve far better than him. And apparently so do total strangers. So how long until you finally see it and leave him like you should have a long time ago? How long until the one truly good thing he’s ever had the pleasure of holding in his hands slips through his fingers and leaves him broken again?
“And then she broke his nose.”
Damian’s jubilant laugh shakes him from the angst he finds himself descending into.
“She what?” Jason asks dumbfounded.
“She broke his nose. I was standing right next to her, Todd. I heard it crack. You’ve trained her well,” Damian says proudly.
Jason’s in awe. You broke someone’s nose. For him. And you did it in front of a room full of people on Valentine’s Day. Jason’s sure this is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for him. And either your love for him has finally settled into his bones or his new therapist is actually doing some good, because he’s suddenly not so worried about you up and leaving him because he’s damaged. You fucking clocked a guy for pointing it out.
Finally after what feels like far too long, Damian leads him to a bedroom tucked away in the penthouse. And there you sit, giggling away as Dick wraps your hand in an elastic bandage. You must’ve sprained your wrist breaking poor Prescott’s nose. Jason is by your side in an instant.
“Jason, there you are! Did you see what I did? Did you, Jay?” you ask enthusiastically.
“Yeah, I saw. Think you might’ve broken his nose, baby,” he teases.
He takes the bandages from Dick and starts to wrap your wrist himself. He gestures for his brothers to get the hell out and hopefully go clean up the mess that’s waiting down the winding hallways.
“That piece of shit deserved it. I would’ve hit him again too had Dick not dragged me away. Think I would’ve gone for his throat next,” you muse.
Jason wants to think he’s above finding this new violent streak of yours sexy. He’s also self aware enough to realize that he’d be deluding himself if he said it didn’t make him want to kiss you senseless.
“I’m sure he did, doll. That was very sweet of you, defendin’ my honor ‘n all,” Jason praises you.
“That was nothing. Child’s play, really. I would do anything for you, Jason. You’re my whole world.”
You say it with such sincerity, with so much love that Jason swears your eyes gleam with it. It makes his heart jump into his throat, makes his chest ache with the need to love you until the day that he dies. And if that day comes too soon? Well, he’ll drag himself out of the grave and come back home to you no matter what it takes. He’d like to tell you all that, but he thinks it might be a bit much. He settles for kissing you instead and nudging his nose against yours when you finally break apart to breathe.
“And you’re mine. C’mon, honey, let’s go home. Valentine’s Day isn’t over just yet.”
Your club owner JT is killing me. But I wanna ask something different. Reader is a patron who sits in a corner reading a book. Just using pretty club lights and rhythmic music to enter laser focus/head empty zone to enjoy her book. Is she alone? Is she waiting for a friend(s) who work here/are having fun? Dunno.
Hope it's not too weird of a request 😆
(A/N- Not at all a weird request! It's giving ✨ One direction fanfiction from Y2K✨ lol.
....
Jason is the type of boss to be hands on, partially because it keeps him busy and partially because he doesn't trust the idiots he has working for him. He prefers to do things himself, which is why he'll watch the security feeds of the club live, even when he isn't there. He'll occasionally come down and make an appearance, usually to scare some people.
It starts with him finding someone who is doing something wrong in some capacity—selling drugs, harassing women, etc. Then, he makes a public spectacle about leaving them with a broken rib, busted jaw, and concussion. Just so everyone knows what kind of establishment he's running.
The 'show' pretty much halts everything. The music dies down, the dancing stops, the bartenders shake the drinks a bit slower. Jason takes a lot of satisfaction in that when he walks back through the crowd to his office.
Only, one night, when he was making his way back, he realized not everyone was staring at him. You had your head down, so immersed in your reading you hadn't even realized he'd just beaten the shit out of man and left him bleeding on the ground.
He had no idea how that was possible. He also knew he couldn't stop and ask, not when everyone was watching him like this. So, he went back to his office, sat back in his chair and just observed through the security feeds.
The music got louder again, dancing resumed, Martini's were shaken quicker. You still didn't notice anything was ever wrong.
How curious, he found that.
Even more curious was that you did it again. And again. And again. Almost seeming to find solace in the loud, crowded location most people could only tolerate if drunk, stupid, or both.
He let his mind wander to reasons why—adhd brain that needed clutter to focus or maybe friends with one of the working girls.
He had yet to ask, mostly because he was afraid you'd stop showing up once he pulled you out of whatever safe space you found in reading at his club.
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Could I request Kaeya's really shy girlfriend proposing to him?
Kaeya knew that he wanted to marry you and he's known that for a while. It just took a couple of bumpy roads for him to get to that realisation but once he did it felt like he was floating.
He would routinely daydream about picking out the perfect ring for you, the way you would look at him when you realise he's down on one knee and proposing to you. You already got flustered when he would just flirt with you so he knew your reaction to him promising the rest of his life for you would be just that much better.
That's why he didn't expect to see you here, hands shaking around the ornate box that holds an engagement band made perfectly for his taste. You were so nervous it took you a solid minute to get on your knee, avoiding his gaze as you stumble through a declaration of love that he feels more than he hears.
"So Kaeya, will you marry me?" you finally end, knowing that since the two of you discussed it already, his answer would probably be yes. That didn't stop you from worrying though, trying to swallow the lump in your throat as he looks to be scrutinising the jewlery in hand.
In actuality, he's still processing that you are proposing to him, not the other way around like he intended to do for so long. Now he's regretting dragging his feet due to his own nerves and is about to make a quip but the vulnerable look on your face makes him change his mind.
"Of course I'd marry you. You're the love of my life," he says simply, pulling you into his chest and holding you tightly to him.
He laughs at the feeling of your grin against his neck, you pulling yourself out of his arms to slide the ring onto his finger. He looks at it fondly, kissing you deeply.
"Thank you," he mutters against your lips, holding your face.
"For what?" you breathe, gasping slightly when he kisses you again.
For Kaeya, Childe, Diluc, and any other Genshin man of your choice, may I please have a scenario where their s/o is trying to break up with them either due to outside forces trying to force their hand and/or they are scared of ruining their relationship so they are trying to run away? I’m in the mood for some angst!
Kaeya doesn't really believe you. It doesn't matter how many times you try to convince him that yes, you want to break up with him, no there's nothing he can do about it.
Being as perceptive as he is, he doesn't easily fall for your tricks. You're beginning to wear him out though, the yelling match that you initiated slowly coming down to just become a light simmer of coals burning out, an uncomfortable warmth burning just under his ribcage as you continue to try.
He can't help but feel like it's deserved, that somewhere you're telling the truth, and the awful things he's been hiding about himself were all found out by you. His eye carefully watches your nervous ticks, the pounding in his ears and faint whispers in the back of his head that taunt him only able to be silenced when he sees a tear slip down your cheek.
He gives you a bitter smile, shaking his head a little before leaning forward, every part of your body trying to tell you to sit back but failing miserably as you can't help but try to soak him in one last time.
"Why are you lying to me?"
The words shake your core and you know he means them, voice painfully honest. He doesn't sugar his words, smirk at you mischievously or try to pull you into his lap to fluster you. Instead, he simply waits, knowing the silence will get at you soon enough.
"I don't love you anymore. I want to leave."
You try to stand up, almost falling when your knees buckle unexpectedly. When you land against his chest, arms pulling you into his hold you can't help but sob, desperately clinging to the fabric of his shirt and telling him everything you could remember. He can barely make out you mentioning the name of some small time criminal organization that had apparently gotten it into your head that you were risking Kaeya's life by staying with him.
It doesn't take him too much time to console you now that he knows the truth, sitting on the floor with you as he reminds you how much he loves you, and that there's no way he'd ever let you go just because some assholes thought it was a good idea to hurt someone he cares about.
Childe listens to you tell him all these awful things about yourself as though they're fact, not yet wanting to say anything until you're done. For now, he thinks you simply just want to vent and then he can cuddle you up and everything will be right as rain.
"-and because of all that I think the only logical thing for us to do now is break up."
His eyes widen, reaching toward where you sit on the other side of the couch and easily scooping you up to put you in his lap.
"You really think I'd accept that excuse, no questions asked?" he asks, whispering into your ear as you feel his nails dig lightly into your hips to keep you in place.
"You really think that the best thing to do here is to break up?"
You nod again, ignoring the way you immediately curl into his chest and the pounding of your heart that signals his proximity to you.
"I'm just going to hold you down. You deserve so much better than me and I wish you could just see it already."
He can't help but laugh at how cute you look to him, sniffling and leaning into his touch when he gently runs his thumb over your cheek to wipe away your tears. You flinch a little at the soft pressure of his lips pressing on your cheek, looking up at him.
"I'm not going to let you run away that easily," he says with a twinkle in his eye, laughing a little at the surprise on your face.
"You don't get to decide something like that for me. I'll show you that you really have nothing to worry about, okay?"
You try to retaliate, the weight of your insecurities almost making you choke when he kisses your lips, shaking his head.
"I told you already. You have nothing to worry about. I'm not leaving you."
Diluc has many enemies. This is a fact that he is always aware of thanks to his moonlighting and just being one of the richest people in Mondstat. Because of this, he's always a little wary of you going anywhere unfamiliar without someone with you. Being with him puts a target on your back and every time he takes someone down he's happy to think it's one less person that could hurt you.
When you step into his office and refuse to meet his eyes he immediately assumes the worst, coming over to your side and taking your hands in his. He opens his mouth, about to say something when you ask him to break up with you.
The fact that you refuse to look him in the eyes despite holding onto his hand so tightly rouses his suspicions but he pushes that aside for now, taking his free hand to tilt your face up to his.
"I don't believe you."
It only takes that for your words to begin desperately spilling over themselves as you try to convince him. He catches some random business jargon and slowly pieces together that some heir to another company had their eyes set on him and decided the best way to expand the family business was to marry rich, Diluc being their target.
Somehow, it got into your head after their weasling that you weren't good enough for him and that if you stayed with him you'd put both of your lives in a less-than-optimal situation. You were both terrified and insecure, a combination that had you waking up in bed after falling asleep due to exhaustion with his sweater pulled over your torso.
You vaguely remember the press of his lips against your skin, him holding you tightly as he told you over and over again that none of that matters. At some point, you guess he must have gotten out of bed to do his nightly runs, unaware that he was actually spending this evening doing all he could to ensure some light-hearted misfortune befell an unassuming company.
Could I request Kaeya and Diluc revealing their engagement to their s/o when someone notices their engagement rings?
Kaeya's ring is always going to get noticed. He's never going to let it be anything but the focus of attention. It's symbolic of his love for you, the commitment that he's wanting to make for the rest of your lives.
It's a spectacular ring and one that he's been flaunting ever since you said yes. It's made painfully clear whose fiance he is, someone just breathing in his direction in a way that makes it seem like a question about his relationship status he's going to take it and run with it.
He likes to play up the bashful bride, recounting the story of how he proposed and how the world stopped spinning when you said yes to him. Every time he talks about it he gets all misty-eyed, finding himself recollecting all the quiet moments the two of you have had together over the years.
When he gets like that most people know to just leave him alone and let him think by himself. The peaceful expression on his face as he takes a sip of his drink is more than enough for people to know to leave him alone for now.
Diluc's ring is a little understated. He didn't want something that he couldn't easily slip gloves over when needed or something that would be too flashy for him to catch too much attention. That's why when people finally notice it they start asking him questions.
He also strikes me as the person to want to wear his ring on a necklace. He likes having both options available because of his moonlighting. If it means ensuring his commitment to you is safe, then it's a win for him.
He doesn't talk too much about your relationship, being someone who prefers a private relationship. It's better for things to stay just between you two, but he can't help but talk a little bit about you when someone asks about where that ring on his finger came from.
Sometimes, if he's in an especially generous mood then he'll talk about you a little more freely. His voice will take on a softer tone and his hands get a little busier remembering your voice in his ear. Somehow for him, the world gets a little quieter even with just the memory of you.
Could you write how Kaeya's soulmate would be like personality wise?
Kaeya needs someone who's both patient and unlikely to pry too much. He's not going to hide anything nefarious from his partner, but he does have his own secrets he's not willing to divulge that easily. It'll take a lot of time and trust on his end for him to even consider telling you anything about him that truly matters.
It's a heavy burden to carry and he knows that it'd normally crush someone who doesn't have the paitience for it. He wouldn't expect someone to stick around when he doesn't even seem fully devoted to the relationship.
However, it's in the quiet moments that it's clear he cares for them. His partner would have to be ready to deal with his wordless, yet insistent need for touch. He doesn't necessarily ask for it, but it's clear that he wants it with the gentle brushes or looks that linger too long.
Not only that, but they need to be able to have thick skin. He loves to make jokes and jabs, and also expects the same thing in return. You should be able to return some of his jesting, both of you teasing each other in ways that could seem a little harsh should they not know the nature of your relationship.
may i request kaeya x fem!reader who plays footsie with him under the table while having a few drinks at the angel's share? she gets just a lil' bit excited by riling him up around others >:)
(and maybe a touch of spice after they get home? 🤭)
He should have known the reason why you were so quiet is because you were scheming something. You weren't saying much in way of conversation, suspiciously attentive to everyone around you when Kaeya suddenly feels you kicking at his ankle. Reflexively he'll kick you back and now the two of you are engaged in a brutal battle of footsie.
He's got his poker face on as per usual, hiding the fact that he's totally demolishing you right now in your absolutely epic battle for dominance in footsies. You've got a smile upturning the corners of your lips as you play around with him.
The game quickly becomes a little more seductive as you run your foot higher up his leg. Kaeya still has his poker face on but you can see the slight way his brows furrow at the feeling as his face heats up slightly.
You continue your upward trajectory, not expecting him to grab your ankle to push back against you. Your foot comes back to the ground and his eye glints in a way you're far too familiar with. It makes you shudder a little involuntarily, ignoring the way your heart skips a beat when he winks at you.
Kaeya knows that you're looking for his reaction whenever your foot grazes over his leg, deciding to withhold it from you for now until the two of you get home. For now, he'll settle for holding your thigh tightly under the table and chiding you secretly for acting out, deciding that you'll get your comeuppance soon enough.
When you finally get home Kaeya practically throws you onto the bed, punishing you by tying your hands up and preventing you from touching him as he litters your body with kisses.
The way your body stiffens and relaxes under him thanks to his touch is all he needs as his cue to keep going, continuing to tease you much to your complaints as punishment for messing with him at the tavern.
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Could I request Kaeya with an s/o who works as a writer publishing a book, which is a heartwarming romance story, where the main couple is inspired by them?
And when asked why, s/o says that it's because there is nothing more magical than her and Kaeya's relationship.
this is definitely. oh such a good trope.
When you first told Kaeya you were an author he was pretty eager to get his hands on a copy of something you've written. You were a little too shy to give him anything directly, looking through to see if there was something you could give him that isn't too embarrassing for him to read.
You knew it was good, but you just didn't know how he would feel about some of your writing, not wanting him to accidentally stumble across something that he actually secretly hated without ever having told you. He seemed not to mind it and you went about your project, not remembering for a while that the manuscript you gave him was a little too close to reality.
It's not until he comes up to you working on your book one day that you suddenly remember what it is you gave him. Kaeya has his signature smirk on his face as he puts the copy of your manuscript down. Your brain immediately goes into overdrive as you realise what he's read, turning bright red as he gives you a kiss on the cheek.
"There's something very intriguing about the main couple in this book," Kaeya practically sings, draping himself across your lap as his arms wrap around your shoulder to keep you in place.
He's very good at making sure you can't run away from him. You know his strategic show of affection is his way of making sure you stay under his watchful gaze. You can't do anything but rest your hands on his hips, waiting for him to say more before you incriminate yourself.
"How about I read you a selection?"
He picks back up the manuscript, you seeing all the little flags and notes in the margins he wrote. Your heart warms before remembering that he's got something up his sleeve, listening with bated breath as he repeats the lines in exactly the cadence you saw the scene with.
You know those words were written with his voice in mind, the weight of his body on yours reminding you of exactly what you were thinking of when those words sat on the page. He took over every bit of the character, the gentle press of his lips against your breaking you out of your stupor.
"What are you trying to say?" you ask Kaeya, wanting to play dumb for at least a little bit before he continues with his line of questioning.
"I just think that it's intriguing how similar they are to us. Don't you? Perhaps you took some inspiration from somewhere that's close to home?"
He's laughing, and you know that he thinks he has the upper hand. You just lean over and kiss him sweetly, brushing his bangs out of his face.
"Of course I did. Being with you is like being in a fairy tale after all. Who wouldn't want to write a love story about the love of their life?"
Those words quickly shut him up, tanned skin getting warmer as you see the slight tint of red from him getting flustered. He doesn't know how to respond, electing silence for once as you quietly work on yet another scene he inspired for your story.
May I request if possible a gn!/afab!reader who responds aggressively to kaeya’s flirting bc they are afraid to fall in love?
You know that Kaeya is a flirt. It's pretty obvious from the second you meet him that he has sweetened words for everyone he comes across, yourself included.
Paying him no mind, you treat him the way you would treat anybody else. However, to him and the blooming feelings he has for you this isn't enough. He needs to see you react more, wants to see if he can make you flustered by his words.
When he ups the ante and flirts with you more you can't help but lash out. You try to keep calm, but the way he speaks to you feels insulting. To you, it's a reminder of how he's just teasing you and that he doesn't mean any of the sweet things he says.
Your cold indifference escalates to outright refusal, things coming to a head one day when all your issues come to a head. You already woke up in a foul mood, and Kaeya flirting with you and reminding you that the thing you feared the most was being dangled right in front of you made things less than optimal, giving him a look he didn't expect.
"Just quit it already." You say coldly, much to Kaeya's shock.
"Quit what? What are you talking about?" he says, raising a brow. He knows you aren't the biggest fan of his flirting, but you'd never reacted this badly.
"Quit acting like you love me or something. You know how awful it is of you to do that to me?!"
"Hey, what do you -"
You don't give him the chance to finish his sentence before storming off, leaving him confused and upset.
He'll confront you again on your doorstep, holding the door open with his hand as he tries to explain to you that he's being genuine. You aren't buying it, arms crossed as you glare at him from your doorway.
Kaeya is practically imploring you at this point and you don't believe him until he's got his arm wrapped around your waist and he's pulling you in. You think you're about to call his bluff when he presses his lips against yours in a way that's both desperate and soft.
Your eyes are wide and when he steps back and opens his again you can see the worry in his gaze. He's trying so hard to be subtle about it but the fact that you haven't responded is worrying him too much. He's afraid to even ask and you just sigh, biting the bottom of your lip.
"Was that not clear enough to you? Do you need me to do something else to prove that I care about you?" he asks softly, knowing he should have expected rejection yet still wishing it didn't sting this hard.
"It's not that. I just..."
You try to find the words to convey your fears and hesitation, the fact that you know you'll only be hurt if you let this go on for too long.
"We can take it at your own pace. How about that?"
Kaeya seems a little desperate, still holding you in his arms as you give him an uncertain look. You don't know how to respond, but it seems he's sort of figured out where your lack of a response lies, resting his forehead on yours.
"I'm scared too. I've never let myself feel this way for anybody before because I know it'll end badly. But, there's something different about you. We can try this together, learn how to grow together and if you change your mind you'll always have an out. How does that sound?"
He sounds so vulnerable and unlike himself usually and you're inclined to believe him with how quiet his voice is. You can barely hear him over the pounding of your own heart and against your better judgment, you nod.
