#can someone make a fic about them in a magazine? just this is not enough......

[takupishan]

'With me at the prom, detective? 😉'

[infizero]

every time i so much as think about that scene where light looks at porn magazines while scowling i go into hysterics its genuinely the funniest thing i've ever seen

[darling-i-read-it]

Stu w/ a hyperfemine reader

Stu Macher x reader

Author's Note: I'm trying a newwwww style <3 I think that having stuff like this being a mix of headcanons and scenes! mini fics and such. lemme know what you guys think and I hope you like it love! Thanks for being my guinea pig lol

Request: i’m hyperfixating on scream cuz 6 just came out and your list says you write for it so can i plz request stu macher x hyperfeminine!reader fluff like they’re kinda opposites attract type thing idk lol 😊😊

Meeting Stu in the typically girly girl attire with that perky smile on your face was like sending him straight over the moon

He watched you, eyeing you up and down, curious and over telling

You weren’t even talking to him but it was like you were there for him. Or maybe he was just being obsessive. He was probably just being obsessive. 

Stu was the kind of guy who dated someone for fun, because he knew that it worked within a friend group or because of sheer popularity. It was usually never because he loved them. 

Though lets be fair. The first time he saw you he was not thinking about love. There was something so dear to him about your eyes lighting up as you cheeirly moved about the friend group

You seemed to be a friend of Sidney’s, which worked well in his favor. After things ended the summer before with Tatum Sidney had all but forgiven him for their little fling

Maybe, if Stu tried hard enough…Sidney could give him the number of her friend. You. He wants your number. He should probably ask Billy who could probably ask Stu. 

Lots going on in his brain <3 so much <3 

Him getting you alone for the first time is such a fun little time it’s so good

His smile widened as he approached you. Now that Sidney and Billy had left he could talk to you by himself, without her getting in the way. You were sitting on a fountain near the school, still smiling from the goodbyes you had given to your friend. He scooted closer to you. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” he said, nudging your side. You rolled your eyes. You knew of him. Sidney had told you plenty. Though his eyes were alluring and you were all too happy to oblige that look. 

“I think you have,” you promised. 

“I would’ve remembered.”

“I’ve been Sidney’s friend forever.” 

“Well I’ve been Billy’s friend forever. Not Sidney’s,” he explained. You narrowed your eyes at him, a smile on your face. He pointed at the skirt you were wearing, a fluff of pink at the bottom. “That’s pretty.” 

You noted that he said pretty. He didn’t say cute or girly. You smiled gratefully. 

“Thank you Stu. I like to flaunt my femininity.”

“I love flaunting femininity.”

Dating Stu is like…there’s always gonna be someone touching you. Even when you think he isn’t in the room BOOM there’s Stu and his hands on your sides

He loves everything about the hyperfemininity. He would play into it as much as you let him. He would buy you things you desired (while also being fully aware he’s being a bit of a dick when he points it out) 

He probably makes awful jokes about your femininity linking to your ‘natural woman desires’ 

He made one joke about cooking and cleaning and you hit him with your bag. 

He was very offended. He also didn’t really wanna mention it again (so he didn’t thank goodness) 

Sidney didn’t particularly like that you were together but she didn’t hate it either

She thought your energies matched rather well (she was unaware that Stu Macher could kill someone in cold blood)

But the high intensity of Stu always needed someone who could tame it or feed into it

He found that he adored your very natural brightness

“Hey Stu?” He had his hand on your thigh but he wasn’t paying attention to you until you spoke. 

“Yeah sweetheart?” You sat on your bed, watching some scary movie he had showed you. You had no quarrels with it but you weren’t truly watching it. He always seemed enthralled and you could usually flip through a magazine unbothered but still together, a quiet understanding. 

“Are you aware that you’re cuddling my little piggy?” He squinted, not sure what kind of joke you were making until he noticed he was cuddling your actual stuff pig. It was fluffy and large enough to be a pillow. 

He didn’t move away when he noticed. In fact, he pulled it closer to his chest with his arm that wasn’t on you. 

“Not your piggy anymore.”

“Stu!” You reached forward to grab it but he pulled away, now clutching it with boht hands. You giggled. You attempted to reach around him but with laughter he fought you off. You giggled together until you were laying on top of him, the pig between you. 

He made a pouty face at you. 

It usually caused the both of you to be the life of the party

Billy thinks it’s rather annoying. Double annoying for the plans that he has for Stu and him 

Whenever Stu was with you it was like it never mattered, what Billy had planned

Well he still wanted to kill someone

But that was beside the point. He wanted to hang out with you and live his life with you. He didn’t quite know what he would be without that. 

You caught glimpses of that sometimes, when his face drifted off or when a joke Billy made landed a little wrong

But he never made it seem too overt

He was always more willing to talk to you about other things. Compliment your outfits, exist within the constraints of your room or his

It was actually really sweet <3 

Always the boyfriend (even if he’s the boyfriend who always has a stupid reason to kill his gf i guess!)

“Sweetheart. You’re a sweetheart.” 

“Thanks Stu.”

“You are. You’re my sweetheart.” 

“Oh Stu.” 

He looked down at you, poking your nose, smiling brightly, eyes narrowed in adoration. 

“You look really good in pink.”

[ughtyrell]

Model Oliver Quick

Dying at the idea of part time model Oliver. Was scouted when he was a teen from someone who said he had potential. Did a few shoots but never went anywhere with it seriously because he had to study and focus on getting a scholarship. Once at Oxford though Ollie realizes he needs an income to help him along, because while the scholarship takes care of the bulk of it, he still needs some money for other things. So he gets back into contact with the person who helped him get jobs before. He tells them clearly though he wasn't looking for a career. He just wants to do some shoots when in his free time while going to uni. He knows he probably doesn't have the proper looks and attitude to have a career anyway. (Something the person denies but agrees to help him do this part time.) Ahhh the ideas I have in my brain. He doesn't ditch his nerdy/stiff style when he's not working but he does indulge in buying higher quality clothes because he likes the feel of the material alright? He has some really nice, stylish clothes because sometimes he would be gifted/paid with them because he's basically a newbie. He just doesn't wear them often if at all because he feels like an imposter in them, or just awkward about standing out. It's fine when it's for a shoot because then, he's just being a good worker and making sure he earns his paycheck. Obviously he tells no one because he doesn't have anyone to tell and even if he did, it'd feel weird to say it or bring it up. It's not like he's a professional or anything. He eventually meets Felix and doesn't tell him. He does say he has a job that he goes to sometimes because he needs the money. Ollie tries to stay vague about it? "Oh it's a...manual job." "My job doesn't have set hours, I get called in or told when something comes up for me to do." Farleigh hates how Oliver dresses but can't help but notice how it isn't cheap clothing like he expected. It irks him because if he can afford clothing like that, why can't he at least buy something that looks good? Random bits and moments that won't leave my brain. -Felix accidentally finds out about Oliver's nicer wardrobe because he's nosy and doesn't understand other peoples privacy. "Mate don't you have anything other than these old man clothes? You have to have something!" Opens Oliver's wardrobe and quickly starts looking around before Oliver can say or do anything. -Once again, Felix doesn't understand that Oliver doesn't tell people about these things for his own reasons and Immediately blabs about his findings to Farleigh and everyone. "Ollie actually has such nice clothes! Fit and stylish enough to be for models even! LOL!" -Oliver having to explain they are his work clothes because he needs to look proper and doesn't feel comfortable wearing them as everyday clothes. -Maybe Farleigh forces his way into Oliver's room to have a look at these so-called model worthy clothes because he doesn't believe Felix. Gets even more mad at Oliver because, wtf?, this little weirdo does have clothes that look good, why doesn't he wear them?! -If Oliver goes to Saltburn, because his plans were to work as many modelling gigs in the summer as he could during the summer, he gets found out and exposed by Venetia or Elspeth. Not immediately, either because Elspeth is charmed by his looks and says he seems familiar but can't quite place it? Or because Venetia wants to wait for a perfect moment to say something. Maybe double check her magazines before bringing it up. asdfghjkl, if anyone knows any fics with this idea or makes one, please, tell me!

[tommysversion]

What about a reader x joel fic where reader is insecure of her body but joel doesn't care what her body looks like cause he loves her, and shows her how much he loves her with loads of fluff and maybe smut?

CWs: body image issues / insecurity / mild hints of internalised fatphobia / fatphobic language & insinuation

Notes: I went down the fluff route for this one, Anon, I hope that's okay.

It's not that you don't like how you look. In fact, you've spent a lot of time over the years actively fighting the impulse not to.

You've always been bigger. Curvy. Hell, as an adult, you have no problem labelling yourself as fat, because it's not a dirty word. Sure, there are people who would use it as a slur, but you've long since come to the conclusion that that's their problem, not yours.

You've fought tooth and nail to be comfortable in your own skin, in a world that valued your complete opposite.

It seems like nowadays, most people are on the slim side. That, or they're walls of solid muscle from hard labour. Being stocky is an asset; it means you can survive.

Unfortunately, the tendency towards bitchiness that runs in some people didn't get the memo that the world ended almost twenty two years ago.

You're not blind to the looks some of the people in town give you. The sly suggestion that putting you on kitchen duty was a terrible idea, surely you must be sneaking extra.

You know it's bullshit, know that the words are just hateful remarks from people who have never once lived in your skin - either through luck of genetics, or simply from being young enough to have been born into a world on the constant precipice of hunger.

Still. Sometimes the words sting. Remind you of middle school. Of self imposed small portions and your mother's worried expression as you refused cakes, refused sweet teas, refused anything bigger than a fist sized helping, until your aunt had pointed out all of the happy, beautiful women with your body type on the internet, on TV, in magazines and on Broadway.

It had been the start of a long journey of self acceptance, of riotous body positivity, of wearing t-shirts with slogans proclaiming fat positivity, of punching a boy who called you a slur in the balls and getting suspended for a week. That same aunt had taken you to see a musical while you were suspended, had bought you a journal to write in.

You like to think you're a strong person. You've lived through that, lived through the literal fucking apocalypse. But you're only human, and sometimes words sting.

Leave you standing in front of the full length mirror in your shared bedroom, poking and jiggling at yourself with a critical eye that you know is distinctly un-feminist, so unlike you.

Your gaze is critical as you inspect stretch marks. On a good day, those are your stripes. You make jokes about being a zebra whenever Joel touches them, never remotely critical himself.

Joel. He was... something else. He'd come into town with his adopted daughter, remained cold and closed off to almost everyone except her and his brother for months, until he'd seen you make Ellie laugh. Until he'd heard her ask you how to make cookies, heard you promise to show her.

Then he'd started, slowly, to come out of his shell. To spend more time with you. Brought you flowers. Now you lived together, with Ellie just down the hallway, because there was no way in hell a sixteen year old was going to live by herself, even in Jackson.

You're confident in yourself enough to know that you're well matched, but when you get like this? Sometimes it's easy to think differently. To worry that maybe he might prefer someone younger, with a more traditionally, socially accepted standard of beauty.

You're just getting lost in that spiral when Joel comes in from the shower, already dressed for the day in jeans, flannel shirt, and jacket over the top.

"What're you doing, darlin'? You'll catch a cold."

He snags a spare shirt from the edge of the bed, comes to wrap it around you. He's broad as hell, so you can wear his shirts without feeling self conscious. Not that you ever would, anyway, stealing his clothes is your favourite pastime.

"Honestly?" You've always prided yourself on being truthful with him. "I'm feeling kind of crappy."

You let him wrap the shirt around you, put your arms into the sleeves and exhale at the scent of him still lingering in the fabric.

"You think you're getting sick?" His hand moves to your forehead, and in spite of yourself, you smile.

"No, it's not that, it's just..." You sigh. "You don't mind how I look, right?"

Joel stares at you as if you've just spoken a foreign language, grown a second head, and told him you're giving up baking, all in one go.

"Of course I don't mind. What's that even s'posed to mean, do I mind?"

"Because I'm fat, Joel. Because there aren't exactly many women who look like me in town, and people talk, and -"

"Don't call yourself fat." Joel means well, and god he loves you, but he's still got that mindset that older people have where fat is a dirty word, even though you've explained the concept of reclaiming a slur to him.

"I mean. You can. But don't... say it to put yourself down."

The fact that he's listened to your rambles about body positivity makes you feel better.

"People still talk..."

"Fuck 'em. Let them talk. See if I give a shit." He says gruffly, wraps his arms around you then squeezes gently. "Don't care that there aren't many girls who look like you. Makes you special."

Another hug, before his hands rub over your stretch marks, over the softness of your tummy, of your thighs.

"You're perfect as you are. Absolutely perfect. I don't want you to change. I love how you're confident in yourself, and I wouldn't change a damn thing. Ellie needs that sort of role model."

You offer him a watery smile. How is it that someone so stoic can be so sweet when he wants to?

"C'mon. Push those bad thoughts away, lets get you dressed before you freeze. Didn't you promise Ellie a baking day?"

You smile again, lean in to kiss him lightly on the cheek before you glance once more at your reflection; the shadow of your earlier mood gone when you look at yourself, wrapped in Joel's arms, safe and loved and perfect, just as you are.

[peanutpinet]

You Belong with Me - Idol! Jaemin x staff! fem reader

A/N: I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before but if you follow me on my Instagram, you might have seen my Instagram reel where I mentioned that Jaemin is definitely my comfort idol. For some reason, no matter what I’m feeling that day; whether it is good or bad, whenever I see Jaemin’s comforting yet encouraging messages, seeing him work so hard to make nctzens happy yet he himself is able to be so mature and still prioritizing others before him is just another level of my respect towards him and it just brings comfort to me and hopefully to many other nctzens

Dedication: To all nctzens who feel lost and anxious, this one is for you

Main Pairing: Idol! Na Jaemin x staff fem reader x slight idol! ex Jaehyun

Warnings: mentions of cheating, “unintentional” cheating act, violence, swearing, angst, slight possessiveness, light fluff, comforting scenes, anxiety

Additional Info: This is a slight spin-off of “Try Again” (a Jaehyun angst fic)

Disclaimer: this story is completely fiction and not a defective representative of what the members are actually like. Please take everything with a grain of salt

[08:16pm] - don’t expect too much. Don’t let your guard down. Everything seems too good to be true. Those were all the warnings that your mind was trying to tell you. But just like a hypnotized person, you were blinded by the good things of being together with someone whom you thought would be your significant other till death do you both apart.

It wasn’t until it was too good to be true that it instantly went downhill. Just as you were reaching your one-year anniversary with Jaehyun. You thought that your life was finally being put together and that you can finally see the end of the tunnel as if you were on a train and finally reaching your destination until the train took a “wrong” turn.

You, Renjun and Chenle were going around the company after a photoshoot for a Chinese magazine when you heard an unfamiliar female voice was ringing around the NCT floor’s hallways; confusing you, Chenle and Renjun.

You didn’t think much about it because you were more focused on surprising your boyfriend of almost 1 year. You were more than thankful for the universe to be able to let you to have such a caring and supportive boyfriend. Someone who was willing to risk his career for you. To take care of you when you yourself never did. To be able to give you more than you could have ever wished or hoped.

But the universe clearly had other plans because when you made a turn, there you saw your boyfriend’s back with an unfamiliar woman right in front of him who was kissing him and your boyfriend didn’t even pull away but you felt that your heart did.

Lost for words, you turn around to avoid the scene unravelling before you as you walked away with Renjun quickly following you whereas Chenle took a quick look at what you saw before following both you and Renjun.

When the three of you have gotten to one of the unused recording studios did you finally break down in front of your two friends. You dropped to the ground pulling your knees close to your chest as you slowly sobbed that you passed out.

When you did regain consciousness, you noticed you were in one of Chenle’s guest bedrooms since you have stayed at his house a couple of times just to hang out with the other dreamies. Sighing, you thought that it was all just a nightmare but when you grabbed your phone and Jaehyun’s parents’ message was the first thing you saw, you remembered that you were currently living with Jaehyun’s parents and that it was already late at night.

You quickly texted Jaehyun’s parents that you had some work to do so suddenly that you decided to stay over at Chenle’s place because the shoot ran pretty late and you had to quickly go over the shots and video before forwarding it to the head content manager. Lucky enough, Jaehyun’s parents believed you and told you to get more than enough rest and to let them know whenever you were free because they wanted to take you out.

Sighing, you take a deep breath on how to face Jaehyun and confront him. Frustrated, confused, sad, all those negative emotions started to swallow you down. Especially whenever you close your eyes, your mind would consciously replay the scene over and over again even though your heart is still holding on to that last bit of hope that it was all just some misunderstanding.

As your thoughts slowly tried to take control, you started to sob once again until you felt a warm arm wrapped around you. Startled, you almost pulled away while also kicking the person but when the person’s voice came out, your whole body immediately recognizes it and slowly lower your guard because who else would be able to calm your nerve-wracking state other than Na Jaemin himself.

“It’s not good to check your phone in the dark” Jaemin softly pointed out, taking your phone out of your hand and placing it on the bedside table

“D-did Chenle or Renjun…” you asked but Jaemin beat you to it

“Chenle told us in the dreamies’ group chat. Don’t worry, nothing was spilled to the other group chats. Rest assured that it’s just us that know” Jaemin softly replied, patting your head as you sigh in relief

“How about we go have some dinner first? You probably haven’t eaten since morning. Chenle made some hotpot for us to eat. Do you want me to bring the food to you or…” Jaemin asked but I held his hand

“No. It’s alright. Let’s go out to eat with the others. It would be rude of me to ask you to bring the food that Chenle made. I’ll be ok” you reassured Jaemin who extended his arm for you to grab

Both you and Jaemin then head out of the room and saw the other Dream members in the dining room, gathering around. Renjun, Mark and Haechan were playing whereas Chenle and Jeno were cooking and Jisung just brought out some of the cooked meat onto the dining table.

“Oh?! Noona?! You’re awake?” Jisung stated, putting down the plate of food, grabbing the other dreamies’ attention

“A-are you okay? You passed out for a long time” Renjun asked, walking towards you along with the others

“Y-yeah. I’m fine. Thank you, Renjun, Chenle, for bringing me back here” you replied back, hoping that none of the dreamies would question you just yet

“Hey, why is everyone standing? C’mon, let’s sit and eat. Chenle and Jeno worked hard in cooking for us tonight” Mark stated as everyone sat at the living room and ate together because the dining room was too small

“Thank you for cooking, Chenle, Jeno” you stated as you sat on the couch, Jaemin handing you a plate of rice and meat already

“No worries about 姐姐. Eat lots of it. No dieting in this household” Chenle joked, dividing the hotpot equally

You were more than thankful that you were closer to dreamies’ age because at times like this, you just feel more comfortable talking with them or even doing some mundane things with them because it reminds you of the times when you were in school and was having a sleepover with your friends.

Being around with friends around your age who were not judging was another level of comfort and it even made you forget about what actually happened until Haechan brought it up which the other dreamies glared at him.

“So, did you actually see Jaehyun-hyung’s face or was it from behind?” Haechan asked, earning a glare and smack from Mark and Renjun

“Dude. Can you be more sympathetic?!” Mark scolded Haechan

“Ya!! You think she was there alone? Don’t you remember who brought her back here?” Chenle argued

“Whatttt? I was just curious. I’m sorry okay!” Haechan tried to defend himself. “You’re lucky that (y/n) is nice. If it were me, I would duck tape your mouth and only open it when you have to sing” Renjun threatened

“Hyung, I don’t think that we should be arguing or even touch on that subject. Noona is probably still sensitive about this…” Jisung tried to stop his hyungs from arguing. “See, even Jisung understands the situation” Chenle argued back

“YAAAAA” Jaemin growled, grabbing everyone’s attention, slightly scaring you but Jaemin was quick to wrap his arm around your smaller body, rubbing your shoulder with his thumb. “Can’t you all how uncomfortable (y/n) is with all of you arguing? Hasn’t she gone through enough today?” Jaemin reminded the others who instantly fell silent and apologised

“I’m sorry (y/n). I shouldn’t have asked because it should be you who would tell us first whenever you’re ready” Haechan apologised and you shook your head

“It’s alright. Jaemin-a, don’t get angry at them. Everyone but Chenle and Renjun were just curious” you defended the other dreamies as Jaemin sighed, giving your shoulder a light squeeze to let you know that he’s here to support and defend you

“But yea. Though I did see his face from a side, I didn’t get a closer look at what actually happened. Maybe, I was looking at a wrong angle and just assuming….” you started but Chenle was quick to correct you

“You weren’t hallucinating, 姐姐. I also saw what happened after you turned and left. It was clearly him and that weird girl was clearly kissing him but he didn’t pull away” Chenle bluntly stated

“Ya! Zhong Chenle! Enough okay?! It’s been a long day. Let her breathe” Renjun scolded the younger Chinese as Jisung tried to get both his hyungs to calm down

“Renjun. It’s okay. Chenle is right. I wasn’t hallucinating even if I wanted to. What happened, happened. I just have to accept it” you softly muttered, all the dreamies looked sad and worried upon hearing what you said

“Let’s not discuss that further unless you want to, okay?” Mark mentioned as you nodded slowly and all the other dreamies prepared the living room to be a mini theatre

Jisung got to pick the movie because everyone was sure that he wouldn’t really choose any kind of romance film. In the end, you guys ended up watching Spirited Away because it was one of your comfort films. Towards the end of the film, everyone was slowly drowsing off and you then suggested to Chenle that everyone should stay over.

Though you were alright with sharing with any of the dream members, Jaemin debated that it was not right and you should have your own space after what happened but you argued back that it was pretty late and you felt bad that you made the others stay and if anyone had to sleep like a can of sardines, you would instantly feel worse

“It’s really alright if the rest of us have to sleep in Chenle’s room or even on the floor” Jaemin debated

“I know you guys might be alright with it. But not me. The other guest bedroom isn’t as big and probably could only fit 3 people max. Chenle’s bed could also only fit another person which leaves 2 more of you and the bed I have can fit 2 more” you argued back as the rest of the dreamies were far too lost in the debate

“one of us can sleep on the couch. I wouldn’t mind doing so. Or the other 2 can sleep on the living room couch. Perhaps even on the floor. Really. We’re practically used to it” Jaemin reasoned with you but you stood your ground

“Jaemin, if you or anyone sleeps on the couch or floor without some surface between your body and the floor, you’re going to wake up with a sore back and I don’t want that to happen to any of you. 2 of you sleep on my bed and that’s final or I’ll sneak out to the living room to sleep on the floor if any of you don’t sleep on my bed” you argued and Jaemin sighed, pulling some of his hair out of frustration

“Fine. But that 2 people should be me and Jeno because I would never touch you and I’ll be between you and Jeno so he wouldn’t touch you either” Jaemin made his final statement

“I don’t mind either of you all because I trust you guys. Now let’s just get ready for bed” you mentioned, helping tidy up the shared blanket that you guys used

“姐姐, if you’re hungry or can’t sleep in the middle of the night, we bought some of your favourite biscuits and snacks in the fridge and cupboard. Feel free to take and eat anything, alright? Good night” Chenle mentioned and you thank him

Right before you, Jaemin and Jeno head to your room, Mark called out for you. “Hey, (y/n). Don’t worry so much about what happened alright? Me and Haechan won’t say anything to the 127 hyungs but we will try to find out what happen. Don’t feel obligated to have everything figured out because you’re not alone, kay? Also, don’t feel obligated to tell everyone about your situation and that includes hyung’s parents. Take care of yourself first and foremost because I know that everything will be alright” Mark rambled whilst patting your head and slowly wiping the tears that were threatening to spill like a waterfall

After the short talk with Mark, Jaemin wrapped his arm around your shoulder and directed you back to your room where Jeno was already setting up some pillows for him and Jaemin.

“You alright, (y/n)?” Jeno asked as he saw you sniffle

“Am okay, Jen. Sorry, let me just go to the bathroom and change” you replied, grabbing your things and heading to the bathroom to change

Once you’ve changed, you saw Jaemin and Jeno were talking on the floor which made you worry that they were planning to sleep on the floor until Jaemin stated what was on your mind.

“I promise you that we’re not sleeping on the floor. We were just talking down here because it would be rude for us to sit on your bed” Jaemin mentioned and you just chuckle at his politeness

“It’s not rude at all. C’mon, let’s just sleep” you mentioned as you went towards the side of the bed that was closer to the wall

Both Jaemin and Jeno followed you shortly with Jaemin laying in between you and Jeno and Jeno who was sleeping closer towards the other edge of the bed that was closer to the floor.

“Jeno, are you alright over there? You guys can move closer, it’s still quite spacious” you mentioned, peeking your head as Jaemin softy pushed your head back down, indicating you to just lay down and sleep

“I’m fine (y/n), don’t worry about me. Thanks for letting us sleep on your bed. Good night” Jeno mentioned right at the same time Jaemin turned his head and faced you

“You sure you’re alright? You know that I’m here whenever you need a talk or vent out your feelings” Jaemin softly mentioned, stroking your hair, looking at you softly

“I know, Jaem. Thank you. For taking care of me today. You should rest. You have a full day of schedules while I have to try and ask your manager if it’s alright that I get assigned more work for you guys instead of the others” you yawned because of how soft Jaemin was patting your head

“I’ll tell my manager about that. You just FYI to him. Get some time off and just figure it out slowly. If you want to go back to your home country and take a break from here, I’ll help you. Just know that you're not alone” Jaemin cooed at your sleepy state

Once Jaemin was sure that you were asleep, he leaned closer and gave a soft peck on your forehead. “Whenever you find yourself needing someone to lean onto, come to me. Let me be the one to take care of you as you’ve taken care of all of us” Jaemin whispered, softly stroking your cheek until he fell asleep as well

For the next few days, Jaemin and the dreamies have been helping you talk to the NCT manager to help you switch your job to work more for dreamies which resulted in you not having to meet any of the other NCT members, especially Jaehyun. Not only did Jaemin help you to get your mind off of the incident, but he has also been helping you to finish some paperwork for the company so that you can go back to your home country and work for the SM branch there.

Unfortunately, the universe was once again disagreeing with you and have you meet the person that you have avoided for the past week, Jaehyun.

You had just finished one of dreamies’ new photoshoot and was waiting for them outside of the studio when you saw Johnny, Jaehyun and Doyoung walking in the hallway which made you turn around and about to avoid them but Johnny had seen you first.

“Oh?! (y/n)?! Is that you?!” you heard Johnny mentioned. Footsteps coming closer to you when suddenly Johnny was right in front of you, blocking your way and crouching down to see your face

“It is you. It’s been a while. Are you okay?” Johnny asked and you shyly looked towards the floor

Before you could answer, a familiar deep baritone voice called out to you, sending an alert to your body. “(y/n)…where have you been?! I tried to reach out to you for the past few days. Do you know how worried I have been?!” Jaehyun’s voice was firm and was holding both your shoulders to face him

Instead of replying to Jaehyun, you kept looking down, avoiding both his and Johnny’s gaze. “Why are you avoiding me?! Answer me (y/n). My parents told me that you have been working overtime. Is that true? You know that I can tell the manager if you are overloaded with work. Don’t ignore me, (y/n). Did I do something to upset you?” Jaehyun ranted, gripping his hair out of frustration

Did something wrong? You were already upset about what Jaehyun did but now, you were equally frustrated and annoyed at him. Sure, it was wrong of you to not tell him or his parents about your whereabouts but did Jaehyun even consider the chance that you know what he did?! Frustrated with the whole situation, you failed to contain your tears and it spilled out before anyone could even comment anything.

“(y/n)…let’s go have some lunch toge—hyung?! What did you do?!” Haechan interrupted and rushed to your side, slightly pushing Jaehyun away from you

“Haechan-ah…” you cried. “Ya, Lee Haechan, what’s wrong with you? I didn’t do anything. Yes, I might’ve raised my voice a bit but I was worried because (y/n) didn’t contact me nor my parents for the past week” Jaehyun defended himself but Haechan just glared at him

“Didn’t do anything, my ass” Haechan scoffed, shielding your sight from Jaehyun

“Haechan, what are you talking about? (y/n) didn’t contact any of us nor was assigned to work with any of us the past week” Johnny tried to reason

“Maybe not either of you” Haechan mumbled but was clearly heard by his hyungs

“Haechan…don’t start” you mumbled. “Is there something going on between the two of you? Like, is there something that happened that only the two of you know? (y/n), did someone threaten you? Was it something that Jaehyun did?” Doyoung asked, trying to make sure the situation doesn’t escalate

“Yea. Being angry at her when he’s the one at fault here” Jaemin growled, grabbing everyone’s attention

Not caring about the older members around, Jaemin went towards you who still not dare to actually face anyone. But Jaemin didn’t mind because he and the rest of the dreamies knew the actual truth. And that was that you were hurting yet Jaehyun doesn’t seem to have any feeling of guilt for what he did.

“What did say to you? Say the word (y/n), I’ll make him regret it” Jaemin uttered, cupping your cheeks gently; completely the opposite of his venomous words

You honestly didn’t want any of them to fight and want this moment to just pass by without any casualties that you just remain silent and only mumbled “I’m okay, Jaemin. Please drop it”. As angry as Jaemin was at his older member, he knew that comforting you and getting you out of here was his number one priority.

Just as Jaemin held your arm and was about to walk in the other direction, Jaehyun grabbed your other arm, making you stuck in between the 2 Jae who were having a stare-off with each other. Neither of them let your arm go nor avoid eye contact with each other.

“Let her go. She clearly doesn't want to be here” Jaemin warned, not wanting to stay another second longer

“You should be letting go. Holding onto her makes me think that something actually happen between the two of you and I’m guessing that you were the one that started it, Na Jaemin” Jaehyun taunted which angered Jaemin

“You know what? I feel sorry for you. Because to think that the Jung Jaehyun fans worshipped turned out so wrong because it was you who neglected her in the first place. I was the one that took care of her when you didn’t. You can call a backstabber for all I care because we both know who the real cheater is, am I right?” Jaemin taunted back, the conversation was heard by everyone in the hallway

Angry at Jaemin’s statement, Jaehyun didn’t hesitate to let your arm go but immediately launched himself towards Jaemin; both of them tumbling down on the ground, making you jump and back to the wall.

Seeing the younger men tumble and fought with each other, both Johnny and Doyoung tried to get the two to stop fighting whereas Haechan immediately shielded you from the gruesome scene unveiling before everyone.

“C’mon, let’s get you out of here” Haechan suggested, gently grabbing your wrist but feeling responsible for the situation, you yanked your arm from Haechan and rushed to get in between the two men who were now shoving each other towards the wall

Though you managed to get in between the two, neither man, especially Jaehyun actually stopped. Sure Jaehyun knew what Jaemin meant when he was called a cheater. But Jaehyun wanted to argue that he was being forced by the girl he kissed. But upon seeing you getting closer to Jaemin, not making any room for him to explain, angered Jaehyun. That thought alone was enough for Jaehyun to strike Jaemin. But instead, it was you that got hit and fell.

Seeing you stumble, Haechan was quick to rush to your side whereas Jaemin got angry and punched Jaehyun to the point he fell. Before Jaemin could launch another blow, Doyoung stopped him and told him to relax and that it wasn’t worth it.

“Don’t. Take care of her first. We’ll handle this. Especially since you’re the only ones that know what happened. We’ll ask from his point of view” Doyoung reminded, trying to stop Jaemin

“What’s the point of hearing his point of view, anyways? Did you not see that he has already hurt her emotionally and physically? He doesn’t deserve to be heard” Jaemin scoffed, backing away from Doyoung, staring into Jaehyun who was being helped by Johnny

“Jaemin! Enough!” Haechan exclaimed, making Jaemin look back and saw you being held by Haechan

“Know that I’m only leaving because I’m going take care of someone that you clearly neglected and hurt. Don’t think that I would let her go this time” Jaemin warned, turning away and helping Haechan get you back to Chenle’s place.

Arriving at Chenle’s house, Haechan allowed Jaemin to take care of you while he cooks dinner and lets the other dreamies know what happened.

“You shouldn’t have jumped in like that. I was already angry at how he treated you and how he didn’t admit that he was wrong. But seeing you get hurt because of him? At that moment, I didn’t care about either of our reputation or the fact that we were in the same group. I would give him a good beating for all I care” Jaemin admitted, slowly putting the ice pack onto your cheek

“You might not care but I do. Once images of his bruised cheek spread out, fans will start some sort of rumour. Or you never know what staff might be lurking around and spreading exaggerated rumours of you both” you replied, holding the ice

“Why do you still defend him?” Jaemin asked, pulling a chair and sitting across from you

“Why are you helping me?” you asked back, not answering Jaemin’s question, making him sigh

“Because, as cliche as it sounds, you’re a wonderful person. Your cute self, your selfless side. You’re smart even when you think you’re not. You’re caring and pay attention to the small details that not everyone might. Not to mention, you always put your effort into things even when it might seem like nothing. You deserve someone that would be that shoulder for you to lean on. Someone to be the ear for you whenever you want to ramble. Someone that is warm, safe and comforting to be your home. Someone who loves you for you and never ask you to change or do anything for them” Jaemin confessed, holding your hands in his

“Jaemin…” you whispered

“Let me finish, okay? I like you. I cared for you. It was just wrong timing. How you met him first. How he got close to you first. And how I didn’t even try to put up a fight. How I trusted him to take care of you when I should be that person. I should’ve been the one to get close to you first. I should’ve been the one to take care of you. I should’ve been the one to make you smile and be your first kiss. Call me selfish but I’m glad that his shitty behaviour was revealed because I can finally take care of you the way you deserve. Because you belong with me, not him. Even if you’re not ready to open up now. At least let me take care of you and treat you well” Jaemin softly confessed and kissed your knuckles

Somehow, despite what happened, despite how messed up your feelings and situation was, you still allowed your heart to open up to Jaemin. You allowed him to do as he promised. To take care of you, to shower you with the love and care that he promised. To reassure you every day that there is completely nothing wrong with you and how he has become your shoulder, your ear and slowly become your new home.

A/N: hi!! Your author here. Yes, I have not updated for nearly a month and I apologise because so much has been going on at work and I finally gave my one month notice and will officially resign next month.

Honestly, it wasn't really a big nor hard decision. Okay, maybe I was contemplating on it because I don't have a full backup plan on what I want to do. I really want to dive into becoming a full-time makeup artist but that really takes time and I was thinking of doing another full-time job for 1 more year (with better work-life balance and salary). I won't dive deep into why I'm leaving because out of respect towards the company (maybe next time, lmao). But I hope that I would be able to relax for once and not stress out about what might happen in the future.

Also, who tf manages NCT's schedule?! Like, yes I'm quite happy that I'll be getting smtown in my city but!!! An NCT DREAM fansign the day before and another afterwards?! When will MarkHyuck get some rest :') pray that I get the tickets to smtown because I have yet to see DREAM irl :') I miss them 5x?!?!?! I mean, if this means I'll end up with someone in dream, then by all means. lmao!!

Anyways, hope you enjoy this fic as I slowly go back to the shadows and try to come up with another fic. If you guys have any requests, do send me a request and I hope that you have a great day! Stay safe and always be happy :) xoxo vinet

[percervall]

hi! it’s me coming to be loud in your inbox.

so after us changing our discord pic to *that* goddamn pretty Leon picture, I’m desperate for a 💕 fic for leon!! {kissing somewhere other than the lips}

because god knows that man would be delicious anywhere!!

Only took me 7 months to write this oopsies 🙊 Took some liberties with the request, hope that's alright

so, kiss me

Pairing: Leon Goretzka x reader Words: 826 Warnings: talk of insecurities, body image, hinting at sexual themes, unedited

---

As he’s standing in the doorway of their bedroom, he can see her wiping away the tears while looking at her reflection in the mirror. It pains him that she’s hurting but won’t talk to him about it. Oh, Leon has his suspicions –only one look at the front covers of tabloid magazines and Instagram comments is enough. Pushing off the door jam, he walks into the room, coming to stand behind her. While he is fully dressed and ready to go meet their friends for brunch, she is still in just her underwear. Leon rests his hands on her shoulders, making her look up at him in the mirror.

“I- I’m s-sorry,” she says through sobs, hiding her face in her hands. Her body shakes with the force of her sobbing and Leon’s heart breaks for her. He gently turns her around and holds her close, running a hand over her hair as he tries to calm her down. 

“Talk to me, Liebling,” he murmurs. He feels how she takes a deep breath before speaking. She tells him all about the Instagram comments under fanpages, the constant comparisons to other WAGs, how they keep pointing out she’s not skinny enough, not blond enough, not tall enough, not enough. 

“I know they’re all lies, but if you hear something often enough, at one point you start to believe them..” she admits, looking up at him. Leon brushes her tears away with his thumbs, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He is trying his hardest to let the anger he’s feeling towards the people writing those comments show. Leon pulls back slightly, lifting her chin up so he can look her in the eyes.

“I need you to believe me when I tell you that I love you just the way you are, my love. Your body drives me insane.”

“And I love you, too. But I can’t stop thinking about what if you meet someone prettier?” 

“Impossible. Will you let me show you everything I love about you?” She nods hesitantly but Leon will take it.

“Okay,” he says before kissing her forehead again, “I love your brain, the way you think. You’re so smart, have such a deep understanding of your field and I love listening to you talk about your job.” Leon moves his lips to the corner of her mouth, “I love your smile, your laugh. It’s one of my favourite sounds ever. You get the cutest dimple right there when you smile and it drives me wild.” She chuckles when he places another kiss where said dimple is. Leon smiles and moves ever further south, kissing along her collar bones, “I love your neck, the hollow of your throat. Love how you look in that gold necklace with the single pearl dangling right here,” he murmurs against her skin, kissing the spot between her collar bones. He can feel her breath hitching, her fingers now buried in his hair. “Also love how you look wearing a.. Different kind of pearl necklace,” he adds, revelling in the whimper his words elicit. Kneeling down in front of her, he places several kisses on her stomach.

“I love how soft your stomach is, love resting my head here when we lounge in bed all morning. Also love how it begins to tremble when you’re close, when you’re begging me to please let you cum.” Leon smirks when he hears a soft moan escape her lips. He looks up at her, her teeth digging into her bottom lip as she watches him. 

“The same goes for your thighs, your hips, your ass,” he says, trailing kisses up from her knee to just where the seam of her panties ends as he gently squeezes her bum, “Love the way they feel in my hands, love the way they look in that velvet dress you wore at Christmas, can’t get enough of how your thighs feel as you try to squeeze them shut when I’m going down on you. And don’t even get me started on the way your ass jiggles when I fuck you face down on the mattress. Fuck Liebling, the perfect peach to leave my handprints on.” 

She’s almost panting now, a needy whine escaping her lips as she clenches her thighs shut. 

“Okay, I think you’ve made your point,” she says breathlessly. Leon chuckles, rising back to stand in front of her. His hands come to rest on her hips while she wraps her arms around his neck, needing to stand on her tiptoes to reach. Leon’s hands wander lower, resting on the backs of her thighs before lifting her up, making her squeal.

“Oh, I don’t think I have, baby. So many other things I love about you,” he says, voice deepening with lust.

“But our friends! We have plans, Leon-..” Leon just smiles, kissing the words right out of her mouth.

“Forget about them, about brunch. I’d much rather devour you instead.” 

For the six Leon girlies that follow me, hope you like this blurb!

Please let me know what you think, whether it’s just an assortment of emojis or a keyboard smash: I treasure both equally

Wrote this as part of a kisses challenge I’m taking part in this year. Feel free to send in a request or suggestions!

[moonlight-prose]

BLOOD ALONG THE MOON

➛ 03. WICKED NIGHTS

a/n: honestly i didn't expect to take a year to ever post about this fic again. if i'm being honest i figured this would become an abandoned series. solely cause the inspo for this character completely left my head. but i couldn't let go of our reporter and their love story with this bat. so while the updates may take time, i'm ready to keep going with this. enjoy.

summary: halloween was always been your least favorite night of the year, but circumstances make it so much worse.

word count: 8.2k+

pairing: bruce wayne x f!reader

warnings: not explicit, cussing, angst, fluff, awkward beginnings, a small bit of romance, murder, death, crime scenes, grief, gratuitous prose about the darkness of gotham.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

Halloween. Your least favorite night of the year.

The city streets were crowded with people; a sight not unusual to the dark pit that Gotham transformed into. But that didn’t mean you had to like it. Even getting to work was a struggle due to the overcrowded platform of the subway and the scarcity of cabs. If you had your way you’d wish everyone would suddenly vanish—giving you a chance to find some reprieve before the onslaught of darkness that plagued this night every year. Although you were foolish enough to hold out hope. Foolish enough to believe that things would be different; that nothing wicked would befall this night.

If only you’d known.

Work was filled with people milling about, some in costumes, some not. You wore your usual black coat—a pair of boots accompanying your look. If someone were to ask you’d claim you were dressed as you were every other day of the year—as a reporter working yourself to the bone. It would be sure to get a laugh from a person or two in this office.

It always did in the end.

Only this time…you weren’t laughing.

The interview you had with Bruce Wayne yesterday continued to bounce around in your mind; the thought of how to write it, still missing. You didn’t want to sound like every other magazine that sprouted nothing but gossip. There’s a reason why you chose to work at the Gotham Gazette. So you could get into the nitty and gritty of the story—no matter how dark it got in the end. To you this was either a story people would talk about forever, or it would remain a forgotten piece that would later wind up in people’s trash cans come morning the next day.

“Day.” Henry leaned against the doorway of his office. A pencil behind his ear, his glasses propped on the end of his nose, and a cup of crappy coffee in his hand. “I need to talk to you.”

You hoped you would have at least five minutes of time to breathe before you were called into what you liked to claim was the equivalent of the principal’s office. But it seemed that Henry Goldfinch decided to pick on you this week more than anyone else.

The interview notes you’d jotted down during the night were crammed into your small black notebook—nearly burning a hole in your pocket. There was no doubt in your mind that he’d ask you about them; intent on seeing a full story by tomorrow night.

“Look Henry I did the best I could with the guy, but he barely even spoke—” You were cut off at the look on his face. “Am I in trouble?”

“I just got a call from Mr. Pennyworth.”

Shit, you were so fired.

“If he wants to retract any statements then I’ll work with what I've got, but you were the one who gave me this story and I think I can do a damn good job on it.”

“Would you let me talk?” Your jaw snapped shut, cutting off the remainder of your ramble; or what you’d like to call reasons why he shouldn’t fire you. “Don’t unpack your things.”

You felt your eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“Apparently you caught Mr. Wayne’s eye,” he said, settling down in his seat. “That call was Mr. Pennyworth giving me notice that Bruce Wayne is heading down to The Gotham Gazette today.”

“What?” you exclaimed, nearly falling into the chair behind you. “What the fuck for?”

“He wants to take you to lunch, kid.”

You fell into the chair, staring wide eyed at Henry who regarded you with a smirk.

Bruce Wayne wanted to take you to lunch. He was coming to your work in order to…pick you up.

Any way you tried to string it together, the news still remained hard to comprehend. Still you caught on to Henry’s words from before. You’d caught Bruce Wayne’s eye and now you were going to have to deal with the consequences of that. This would be the first time in years since he’d left Wayne Tower to do something as mundane as go to lunch. Let alone with someone like you.

“What do I do?” you croaked, trying not to panic as the reporter in you attempted to take over. Was this only a social call? Or did he want to do a follow up interview?

Henry leaned forward, the damned smirk still on his face. “You go to lunch with him. Maybe he likes you.”

“Likes me,” you scoffed. “I’d no sooner learn the identity of The Batman before Bruce Wayne admitted to liking me.”

You wanted answers like any sane person would, but the idea that Bruce Wayne possibly liked you left words unavailable to you. That was the farthest thing from the truth, except coming up with some other alternative left you with nothing yet again. What the fuck were you being called to lunch for? You hoped it was just him personally asking you to rip up the notes you took from yesterday while he watched.

“They’ll be here soon. I’d get your ass moving.”

“Right.” You stood slowly, a feeling of unease spreading through you with every step towards the door. “Did—um—Mr. Pennyworth…did he sound upset?”

Henry scoffed, taking a sip from his coffee. “And here I thought you didn’t give a shit if you pissed people off Day.”

You felt the switch flip in your mind. A reminder of who you truly were on the inside coming back like lightning cracking across your body, and you stood taller in your place. You didn’t care. You never had.

“I don’t.”

“Atta girl.” He tipped his cup slightly your way, watching as you walked back out into the office—the straight set of your spine once again returning.

You didn’t come to Gotham to make friends. You came here to work, to build a career that would outlast you if you were determined enough. Pissing off Bruce Wayne had never been on your list, but you figured it was bound to happen eventually. It was either now or later in life. Thankfully everyone had their hands full worrying about The Batman and the election—so you pissing off the Prince of Gotham would go unnoticed.

Grabbing your bag, you did a quick sweep of your desk to make sure that everything was accounted for before you left. You weren’t sure how long this lunch would take, but you didn’t intend to come back later.

The elevator doors opened once again with a loud creak, thankfully revealing it to be empty. Your heart thrummed in your chest a mile a minute, the tension still in your shoulders as you walked towards what might be the end of your career. While you knew the possibility of this simply being a social call was high, you couldn’t ignore what might very well happen. The ding of your stop brought you out of your daze enough to get out and head towards the front doors.

Glancing up towards the sky you saw the gloominess still remained—a reminder of where you were, what this city was reduced to. While you may have called it pollution of the environment, others would call it weather. After all there was always a difference in opinion when the opinion came a bit too close to the actual truth.

A sleek black car sat directly outside of the doors, a man in a black coat was hunched beneath an umbrella leaning against its side. You recognized him the second he raised his head, his blue eyes practically singeing your skin. Henry really wasn’t kidding when he said Bruce Wayne himself was coming to pick you up from the Gazette. People stopped and stared at the spectacle that was this man. By all means he was considered a hermit from the rumors that spread through Gotham like poison, and yet there he was, meeting with an unknown woman—a reporter nonetheless.

“You don’t seem like the lunch date type of man,” you said, standing far enough under the awning of the building where you didn’t get wet from the rain, but still felt it splatter against your coat.

His lips twitched, eyes skimming your figure before flicking up back to your face. You wanted to ignore the flutter in your chest from that simple gesture, but your body wouldn’t let you. It seemed that whoever Bruce Wayne was…he had an affect on you—a hold that refused to be severed.

“It wasn’t my idea.”

Scoffing, you turned to glare at a man who stood only a few feet away, clearly eavesdropping in on the conversation.

“So you aren’t here to have lunch with me. You’re simply here by the orders of Mr. Pennyworth,” you retorted.

“Alfred,” he said, finally standing to his full height for the first time since you met him. He was taller than you actually anticipated. “He thought it would be a good idea.”

“He thought going on a date with a reporter was a good idea?”

He shrugged slightly, the tension in his shoulders made the movement awkward. “Would you call this a date Miss…”

“Day.”

“Day,” he repeated quietly, his lips forming around the word as if it was already familiar to him. “Interesting name.”

“Nick-name,” you replied.

He nodded slowly, his gaze so intense you found you had to keep looking away. “Your real name isn’t printed on any of your bylines.”

You smiled albeit rather ruefully as you stepped close enough to be underneath his umbrella with him. “I’m afraid you’ll have to earn my real name Mr. Wayne.”

Again you watched—entranced—as his lips twitched slightly. Almost like he wanted to smile, but forgot how exactly to do it. He’d been in pain so long, suffering the grief of losing those he loved most for nearly his entire life, and not once had he learned what the true meaning of happiness was. For some unknown reason, you wanted to be the first one to show him.

“Okay,” he murmured, turning towards the passenger seat door and opening it for you. “And it’s Bruce.”

The words were accompanied with an outstretched hand to help you into the car, his hold simultaneously gentle yet firm as you sat. Your eyes met his briefly, something flickering to life between your gaze, before the door shut entirely and you were left in silence for a few brief seconds. It gave you enough time to catch what little breath you had in your chest—the interaction far too electric for someone like you.

Get some fucking sense.

You weren’t the type of person Bruce Wayne would fall for. One day he would find someone as wealthy as him, someone who knew his life due to shared experience. You hated those fucking words with a burning passion. Shared experience with people never went over well in your line of work. For a reporter, shared experience meant you had nothing original to say. It meant that you were the same as everyone else around you and to you that was damnation itself.

“Where would you like to eat?”

The question was barely loud enough for you to hear over the traffic and rain, but his soft tone caught you in its hold until you were solely focused on him. Once again that unfamiliar spark of energy crackled in the air. You were afraid that if this continued, you’d walk out of this lunch date with a newfound crush on Gotham’s Prince. That thought alone was enough for you to tear your gaze away—settling in the seat and staring through the front window.

“You invited me, Mr. Wayne. Why don’t you pick?”

He fell silent, hands shifting from his lap to the steering wheel and back again. “I don’t know many places to eat around Gotham anymore.”

Of course Bruce Wayne of all people would eat at home day in and day out. Thus was the luxury of having a personal chef in the Wayne Tower. Although you couldn’t stop the small grin from forming at how funny you found all of this.

Going to lunch with this man. It should have been absurd—almost laughable—but there you were. About to tell him to drive into the heart of the city just to take you to your favorite diner. Reporters would murder you just to stand in your spot. To spend mere moments with him. Yet it seemed that all you had to do was exist.

Rather than dwell on the moment any longer, you told him where to take you and it seemed that he knew the city a lot better than you expected. Pulling out of the spot with ease, he swiftly swung the car around in a rather illegal u-turn before making a quick right turn. You had to hand it to him…he knew how to handle a car. Part of you wanted to call it sexy, but you killed that echo in your head before it could manifest into something else.

Feelings were dangerous in your line of work—having seen the pain several reporters went through when they fell into bed with lethal people. You wouldn’t wind up like them. All you could allow in your life was friendship, nothing more. A friendship with Bruce Wayne wouldn’t hurt you. Not when he refrained from speaking to anyone, let alone the worst of the worst that roamed Gotham.

He turned another corner, the rain getting worse the further you traveled into the city. Driving in this weather would have stopped you from going, but it didn’t seem to phase him. He took it in stride, focusing intently on the road with one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting between you. It would be so easy to pick it up, to run your fingers over the lines in his palm. And for a moment you indulged. You imagined what being with him would actually feel like.

Would he treat you the same way? Or would you suddenly become special. You couldn’t picture him treating anyone in a loving manner, let alone you and that’s where the fantasy died.

“That’s it,” you said, pointing to the flickering sign out front that only read DEM as opposed to its usual bright DEMETER’S TABLE name.

“Is it closed?”

You laughed, barely a puff of air, but you knew he heard it. Opening the door you ignored the downpour that threatened to soak you down to your very soul, and patiently waited until he got out himself. The expression on his face caught you slightly off guard as you watched him get out. You would have figured it was nothing—having seen him wear a grim expression all throughout your interview with him—but this looked different.

“I know it’s not the best place, but the food is—”

“I could have opened the door for you.”

That killed the worry filling your chest in an instant. He wasn’t upset that you brought him to what looked like the shittiest diner in all of Gotham. In fact, he could care less about that. He wanted to open the door for you…like a gentleman.

You nearly laughed in his face, but the rain was starting to seep into your shoes, causing your whole body to shiver and he fared no better. It caused his hair to stick to his face, the coat doing absolutely nothing to keep him dry.

The sign from the diner cast a luminescent glow across his face, highlighting his high cheekbones. You found yourself wanting to brush your lips across them. Though it was daytime and the sun remained stuck behind the clouds somewhere, you still felt as if night encased you in its cold embrace. Yet standing there with him in the rain, keeping his stare, you felt warmth flicker in your chest. As if he had placed a piece of the sun in your heart.

“You don’t have to do that with me,” you said softly, turning away before you grew too attached to this odd man.

The bell above the door rang throughout the building, alerting her of your presence. Your friend Dem stood behind the counter, her graying black hair wrapped up in a loose bun—a pen going directly through it to hold it in place. She looked up at the sound, a broad smile pulling at her wrinkled cheeks and bringing to light the soft lines around her eyes. When you first moved to Gotham she was the person who practically took you under her wing.

“Day! You are soaked hun. You shouldn’t be out in this weather.” She walked around the counter, immediately handing you a hot steaming cup of coffee. “Especially not since you just got over pneumonia. What are you trying to do, kill your…”

She trailed off, her eyes growing wide as the bell rang again and Bruce entered behind you, looking worse than you did. You knew the shock she was feeling, having gone through it about thirty minutes ago yourself, and did your best to drag her back to the present.

“Got a free table?” you joked, knowing the diner was practically empty.

That seemed to do it. The smile—though hesitant this time around—was back as she gestured to the second booth by the door. “I’ll be right with you sweetie.”

“Thanks Dem.”

You slid into the old brown booth, feeling your clothes stick to the fake leather. “Here.” You pushed the mug of coffee his way. “It’ll help with the cold.”

“I’m okay.” He reached up to push it back, but you held it in its place.

“I’m not asking Wayne.” Smiling, you leaned back. “Besides…can’t have one of the most important people in Gotham getting sick on my watch. I’d definitely be fired for that.”

Without another word, he lifted the mug to his lips, placing them directly where yours were mere moments ago. The spark flared to life again, cracking like a familiar bolt of lightning through your body and burning you to the core. Looking away, you clasped your hands together in an effort to seal in any heat that might try to escape your body. You weren’t sure if you liked the feelings that were causing your body to go haywire. For all you knew, you could have been imagining this entire thing.

You wouldn’t put it past your mind to play tricks on you as you sat across from him.

“Why this place?” Once again, his question caught you off guard.

“What?”

He set the mug down, pushing it your way. “Why this diner?”

His blue eyes were fixed on your face, as if attempting to see past the shield you wore day in and day out. When a person suffered enough pain to last an entire lifetime, they tended to become closed off. You were that person and from what you could see…so was he. The temptation to ask him how he survived through the pain, how he managed to come out of it at the end somewhat of a person, was on the tip of your tongue.

But you figured it was better to stay silent—keep it to yourself until the right moment came up.

“It was the first place I came to when I first moved to Gotham. I used to live a block away from here.” Sipping on the coffee, you tried to busy yourself to avoid his piercing gaze. “Though, I had to move because my apartment got broken into while I was sleeping.”

Something flashed in his eyes. Anger? No…something else.

Clearing your throat, you continued in the hopes of appeasing your now racing heart. “Anyways. Dem took me in, she took care of me and it felt nice. So I stayed.”

Before he could reply, Dem arrived with two plates in her hands. You smelled the burger before she even placed it on the table—your stomach clenching with hunger. Her specialty that you first ordered when you came here. It made your heart warm seeing her place it in front of Bruce, her smile kind and welcoming. No matter who he was, Dem always saw the good in people. Saw what they needed and willingly gave it to them without question.

She was a mother to the strangers that wandered into her diner.

“More coffee?” she asked, staring at the single mug that sat empty in the center of the table.

You noticed she didn’t ask if you’d like a second cup, her body language telling you enough. She thought this was a date. You weren’t sure if you should correct her or not.

“Please,” Bruce said, interrupting your thoughts. He handed her the mug, never asking for an extra one, but seemingly happy to share with you.

Once again your heart fluttered and this time…you let it.

“Dem’s burgers are possibly the best thing to be created.”

His lips pulled up in a small barely there grin. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“You should,” you replied, smiling around a bite of your fry. “As a reporter all I have is my word.”

You didn’t catch the way he looked at you, his eyes shining with something that hadn’t been there in a very long time. Instead you focused on gazing out the window at the rain. The way it transformed the city into something dangerous. Yet even through the darkness you could see it. The small hints of the light seeping through the clouds and shining down on an otherwise grim place.

Carole King played on the old speakers—a favorite of Dem’s you learned early on—and it created a soft symphony of warmth as it mixed with the rain. You wanted to stay there forever. In a place of comfort and love.

You’d even include Bruce in it too.

He bit into the burger, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment as the taste burst across his tongue. The sight caused your heart to lurch in your chest, warmth spreading up your neck and into your face. And you tried your best to shove it down. How ridiculous of you to find the sight hot, but there you were. Speechless, watching as he enjoyed one of your favorite meals.

Dem’s voice humming to the song snapped you out of your ogling; you looked to her to find something else to focus on. Except the small knowing smile she wore on her face and the wink she threw your way did nothing to help your situation. Rather than dwell on it, you began to eat. Content to remain silent until the both of you finished.

The singular cup of coffee was set down in between you two, dragging your gazes back to one another. You glanced at the mug, then back at him. As if that was the defining factor of whether or not this was a date. He chewed thoughtfully on a fry, his eyes still on you, while you mulled over whether or not you could magically turn the one mug into two.

It turned out to be an impossible feat, but one you found you didn’t mind.

“So tell me—” You pried your trench coat off, draping it over the back of the booth. He’d discarded his thirty minutes ago, his black button down now rolled to his elbows. “What’s Bruce Wayne been up to?”

His eyebrow quirked, lips twitching like he was fighting back a smile. “This isn’t a second interview is it?”

You shrugged. “I’ve gotten enough for my article already. This is me asking.”

“Hm.” He leaned forward, hands clasped together and hair falling back into his eyes. “And who are you exactly?”

The smile you’d been fighting for an hour came through. “I don’t think you’ve earned that yet.”

The coffee mug had been refilled three times now, your energy coupled with the spark of attraction (you were still denying) between you brought life back into your body. While he didn’t disclose much about himself—saying bits and pieces here and there—you still found yourself engrossed in his words. You wanted to know more, to see the man behind the mask that was Bruce Wayne.

Maybe if you were lucky enough he’d show you his true self one day. For right now you were content to remain just as you were.

A reporter who shied away from any aspects of love, sitting with a man who was discovering what the meaning of joy was all over again.

“I can wait,” he murmured, his eyes no longer resembling the cloudy skies outside. You could see the lightness in them—the shining blue unlike anything you’d ever seen before.

You glanced down at the mug, seeing something in it you hadn’t before. For whatever unknown reason Bruce Wayne—the man who had been reclusive his entire life—trusted you. Even though he didn’t say it outright he didn’t have to. You saw it well enough and something told you…he knew you could see it. He wanted you to see it.

Time was slowly ticking away, reminding you that you had a job to get back to, but you still remained. Sitting with your elbows pressed to the table—unconsciously trying to get as close to him as possible. Maybe if you never left the world would melt away. If you became a permanent part of this diner, the city that happily ate away at every resident would leave you be. You’d be forgotten in a place that thrived on the lost and forlorn.

“Why me?” you inquired after the beat of silence threatened to swallow you whole.

The soft lilting notes of Billie Holiday echoed in the empty diner. Dem was nowhere to be found and the only two remaining customers were you and Bruce. Still sharing that singular cup of cold coffee. It had created a ring on the table, your lipstick a slight stain on the white mug. The color smudged off from where Bruce had placed his lips. Sharing a hint of a kiss that would never be.

He leaned back in the booth, no longer stiff—the nature of a man who had hid from society for years now traded in for someone different. His body language was enough to make you stare. Transfixed on the way his shirt continued to hug his figure even though it had dried an hour ago.

“Why not you?”

You huffed. “Answering my question with another question. And here I thought I was the only reporter in the room.”

“I’ve had my fair share of interviews.”

“None that I’ve read.” You slid your plate to the side and clasped your hands together in the hopes of looking as intrigued as you felt. “Do tell Mr. Wayne.”

The tension was beginning to set in his shoulders again. A small overlay to the man that lingered beneath. As if he was bringing up a mask he constantly carried with him. He hid constantly day in and day out, but right now he didn’t sit before you the Prince of Gotham, but instead a man who was trying to relearn how to live. Whether you wanted to admit it to yourself or not…Bruce Wayne was like you in ways you couldn’t have imagined.

“Alfred keeps them from printing.” The admission alone was enough for you to change the subject, but he continued to talk—cracking open yet another small sliver to the impenetrable armor he wore. “People they don’t…they always look for something wrong.”

You nodded, digging your nail into your palm. “Flaws are sometimes easier to sell.”

The sad truth of being a journalist is more often than not people weren’t looking for the truth. At least not in Gotham. They wanted something to sell. A piece of the person that one would deem too vulnerable to be shown to the rest of the world. They wanted to satiate the greed that clawed its way to the front. Rarely was the truth their only reason for writing a story.

“You’re not interested in flaws.” His eyes grew softer, hand splaying on the table to trace a random shape as he watched you. Saw through the facade you wore. He dug right down to the depths of your persona and dragged it to the surface—a relenting and brutal act.

Yet you wanted it to happen all the same.

“I like the truth.” You distracted yourself with the shape of his finger, the length of it as it shifted. “It sounds better.”

For a split second you allowed your eyes to flicker up, to meet his in the dim lights of the diner, and you finally caught hold of that niggling emotion. The one that held you captive in your own right. You liked him. Despite only meeting him yesterday, you found yourself drawn in by his haunted eyes. The same ones that practically burned a hole in your skin, until he was forever a part of your form.

Bruce Wayne felt familiar to you.

Not in the way that a stranger finds a face in the crowd familiar. Not even in the way an old friend would feel seeing someone from their past once more.

He was familiar in the way two souls separated beyond time and space were familiar. You couldn’t quite explain it, but somehow you knew these eyes that traced the lines and curves of your face. Committing you to memory. You were two distant beings made up of different particles of the universe. Yet there in that diner you found one another—as if gravity had dragged your cells together all along.

Two halves of a celestial being finally forming to be one.

You almost wanted to laugh at the notion that Bruce Wayne and you had anything in common. Let alone that there was any physical attraction between you.

But there it was. The truth you’d been searching for all along.

You could almost laugh at how fucked it all was.

How horrifically beautiful.

Night was beginning to settle over the city, calling to the horrors that lingered in the shadows. Prompting them to finally emerge for the one night where fear ran rampant in the streets of Gotham. Being scared on Halloween wasn’t an unusual occurrence, but this year things felt different. You could practically taste the blood that would run through the grime filled streets come morning. The same one that you would later have to report on.

Bruce stood beside his car next to your apartment building. You had directed him here after another hour spent in Dem’s diner barely speaking yet saying more than you would have liked. For some reason he was able to unearth more about you than you had found out in the entirety of yesterday’s interview with him. If being a Wayne didn’t wind up working out for him, he’d make a killing out of being an investigative journalist.

You told him as much before you left.

“Got any plans for tonight?” you asked, already knowing the answer you’d receive.

He looked up to the slightly darkened sky, at the way that the clouds did nothing to allow even slivers of the sunset to break through. You had to hand it to the city. There was some irony in the way even nature plagued the city in darkness. As if its legacy was always meant to be this. An abyss that drowned everyone within.

A barely there quirk appeared on his lips. “I’ll be out of the city tonight.”

Convenient.

The thought crossed your mind of asking him to join you for a lonesome dinner and half a bottle of wine. But the line had been drawn in the sand long before you agreed to accompany him for lunch. An invisible border you couldn’t cross. He was a Wayne. A part of a world you could only reach through second hand stories and gruesome aftermaths.

If the lunch had been more than strangers sitting across from one another, you would have joked about your house being Capulet and his Montague. But something told you irony wasn’t his strong suit. Nor would it favor you being able to see him another time. That is…if he even wanted to see you. For all you could tell this was merely a social call placed on his shoulders by Alfred—the man you came to see as Bruce’s father figure.

“Well…”

“Would you—”

You smiled, feigning being professional for the sake of your giddiness. “You go first.”

He cleared his throat. “Would you be available in a few days?”

“Oh…” Rather than take it easy on him, you decided that the best course of action was to jab at his wall just a bit. Just to see if something would crumble even further. So with a smile you stepped closer, watching the rise and fall of his chest quicken just a bit more. “That doesn’t sound like Alfred speaking.”

A heavy breath left his lungs—washing warm across your skin. “It’s not.”

“So this is you asking?”

He nodded, probably irritated with the way you were clearly teasing him. But that’s the thing. He let you tease him. He gave in to your small ruse and let it play out until you felt like you were finished.

If you could get away with this, who knows what else you’d be able to get away with. Perhaps calling him a stupid nickname. Or even getting to know his favorite color.

Something told you it was brown.

“What’s your favorite color?”

His eyebrows rose, mouth parted slightly as if you’d thrown him for a bigger loop than anyone had before. And much to your own surprise…he answered. Honestly.

“Black.”

Ah…you were close.

“Tuesday. The rush of Halloween will be over and my paper should give me some free reign. I’ll be available then.”

Another solemn nod as if you just informed him that you were attending a funeral for a recently departed loved one. You learned to realize that his nods were simply a part of his personality. Eventually you would be able to decipher what each one meant, what they were attempting to say without using words. His voice seemed to be an afterthought—actions speaking louder than words could say.

“Tuesday it is,” he replied with a soft hesitant smile. You wanted to see it again, ask him to never frown again, but this was merely a fleeting moment in the grand expanse of things.

He stood there for a minute more as if leaving was the last thing he wanted. Then got into his car, turned the engine once, and drove down the street. And you watched him disappear into the already dark horizon. The day never existed to begin with, but the storm wouldn’t stop the chaos of the night. So you gave one last glance to the street before heading inside, ready to hole yourself in your locked apartment til sunrise the next day.

The shrill ringing of your cell phone startled you from your small nap on the couch. A throw blanket that was a mishmash of colors was thrown over your body, a half empty wine bottle on the coffee table and the book Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde face down beside it. Ever since finding it in the Wayne tower, you began to look through the old text. With the silly hope that you would find pieces of Bruce Wayne in the words.

“What?” you grumbled, rubbing a hand over your face to rouse yourself from the groggy state of sleep. Your brain was sluggish, body content to remain on the couch for many more hours, but Henry’s grim voice startled you awake.

“The Mayor’s dead.”

You sat up. “What the fuck do you mean the Mayor’s dead Henry?”

A quick glance at the clock told you it was nearing the middle of the night. The noise outside still persisted though. People always partied the worst on this night. Especially in this city.

“If this is a joke—”

“Shut up and listen will you.” Your mouth clamped shut, eyes falling to the book. “They found him in his home. And it’s gruesome. Whoever did it was a right fucked up person, but I can’t get there at this time. The streets are too packed.”

The breath caught in your throat, even as your eyes stung with exhaustion. “And I’m closer to the scene.”

“It’s a favor and it’s a big one Day.”

You sighed. “I’ll leave in ten. Who’s on the scene?”

“Gordon.”

Good. Gordon never gave you shit for being a reporter like the other detectives did. Many wanted your kind out of Gotham all together simply because of how good you were at getting your nose into places it shouldn’t be. With Gordon there at least you would have a chance to do some meaningful reporting—or at least help where you could in figuring this out.

Henry listed out a few details they told him, what was going to occur within the next few days. But all you could think about was Bruce. You’d miss your chance to see him Tuesday after all. Too stuck in the midst of a city wide crime scene that would take up more or less all of your time. Which left him on the outs. You scribbled down in your black notebook a note to call him and ask for a rain check.

At least then one good thing in your life wouldn’t disappear without a trace.

You grabbed your coat, shoved your arms in the sleeves, and locked up your apartment as the weight of the news rested heavy on your shoulders.

With the death of the Mayor came an investigation. One that would no doubt lead to more bloodshed in the streets and leave a city divided amongst itself. You had heard about shit like this happening in Gotham, but you were never around to see it yourself. Yet there you were. Right in the thick of it with no other option but to see the chaos through.

People filled the streets. Some drunk, some not. Which didn’t make getting to the scene easier. You fought through the crowds, managed to catch a train down there, and somehow came out unscathed. And above in the night sky…his sign hung like a full moon. It called out to the chaos of the night, and made a promise to those who liked the cover of darkness that they would only be safe for so long.

“Shit,” you muttered, feeling the rain strike against your cheek. It stung as you crossed the street.

Police cars lined the sidewalk, sirens blaring and bright, and for a moment…there was light in Gotham. You could barely see in front of you, but at least they illuminated the pathway to the front entrance. Many of them were taping off the building, others standing around and gazing at the sky—probably asking themselves if he would show up.

“If it ain’t Miss Day!”

You felt the weight lighten as you reached the top of the building steps. “Officer Martinez. Funny seeing you here.”

“You come to talk to me tonight?”

The smile was involuntary on your lips as he let you head in with him, holding the door open for you. Martinez always had a soft spot for you when things like this befell the city. After all he was usually around when it came to Gordon and with a job like yours, you ran into cops a bit too often for your liking. But Martinez was the exception. He brought you coffee on long nights at crime scenes, cracked jokes at the worst times, and even drove you home if he was around.

“Of course,” you said with a grin, bumping his shoulder. “I’m here to write a piece about the greatest cop in the city.”

He scoffed. “Flattery will get you everywhere chica.”

“Do you know what happened?”

Another flight of steps revealed even more cops scattered around the place. You could see the flash of a camera in the distance, whispered voices filling the air as you entered. Several cops gave you nasty glances, scoffing to themselves at the fact that you were allowed to enter. A reporter. Someone beneath them. To them you were the vulture that came to pick apart the mess they were left to clean.

“All I know is what Gordon told me. And even that’s not much.”

“Where is Gordon?”

Martinez shrugged. “Went out to fetch someone. Figure another detective.”

One more step into the room and you felt it. The pressure in your chest, the pinch of pain in your side where you were still healing. As if crime in Gotham called to crime. A horrid likeness that permeated the air. When Henry said the scene was gruesome he wasn’t kidding. You were ready to bolt the second you could smell the blood—the sight nearly too much for your stomach to take.

“Fuck,” you murmured, eyes wide and body wracked with fear.

“It’s not easy to see.”

“He’s…oh fuck.”

You didn’t need words to know Martinez was concerned about you. His eyes told you enough. They lingered a bit too long, tried to see past your mask you quickly pulled up when it came to scenes such as this. If you were lucky you would make it out tonight without any nightmares.

You were rarely lucky.

Someone called his name, causing him to leave you alone in the room with a few other people. Yet all you could focus on was the Mayor. The message scrawled across his head screamed so loud you could practically hear the voice of the killer. It punched right through your chest, made you pay attention without any barriers. Without mercy.

“What the fuck?”

You turned when someone’s voice filtered through the air, disbelief clear in their tone. Perhaps they found something worse. Something that would make you want to unsee everything that happened tonight. But what came to your attention was not what you expected. Your heart dropped to your stomach, a flutter going through your body, as the sight of him filled your view once more.

For some reason he seemed bigger in the room. He towered over everyone here, eyes still striking against the dark color of his suit. For a moment you couldn’t breathe, nerves filling your body with each heavy thump of his boot against the hardwood floor. How he would react to seeing you again took over your mind. Yet you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe…he forgot about you.

Maybe to him you were just another lost soul in a sea of tragedy.

Someone he saved once and didn’t think twice about second.

He stopped midstep, gaze falling to your form, and for a split second…he stiffened entirely. Recognition flashed in his eyes before something darker took its place. You were reminded of the night he dragged you home, the night he held you as you cried about death. As you begged him to keep you alive.

You wondered if he was thinking about that too. If you stepped close enough maybe you could see it in his eyes. Fragments of a memory that still burned bright and alive in your mind—a bad movie you could never turn off. So there you sat in the theater. Forced to watch it replay.

Maybe if you asked he’d sit with you. Keep you company in the darkness.

“Daywalker.”

Gordon had a habit of using the formal version of your nickname. A call sign that seemed to jolt you from your own mind—eyes snapping from The Batman to the man standing beside him. He regarded you with a confused look. A question lingering on his tongue.

One you quickly overlapped with one of your own.

“What the hell happened Gordon?”

His eyes went soft. “Chaos.”

The pain in your side flared to life again. “And what’s he doing here?”

The thump of his boots echoed behind you as he circled the scene. No doubt taking notes about what happened, what was left behind for them to find. Gordon held up a green envelope, writing scratched into the paper as if it was left there in anger—the pen nearly breaking through. A formal address to the man who still remained behind you. A call out to The Batman himself.

Either this guy was insane…or he understood what The Bat would react to.

“So all this…was for him?”

Eyes burned into your skin when you said the words, another thump letting you know he still remained, still listening in the shadows of the room.

Gordon shrugged. “That’s what he’s here to find out.”

You nodded, stepping back to let Gordon do his job with the others as you surveyed the room yourself. Every once in a while your gaze fell back to him. How he stalked about with purpose, each step measured and calculated. He understood the tension in the room, how cops hated that he stood amongst them.

After all, he fell lower into their likeability category than you. To them you were the vulture, but he was the thief. He took their image—their reputations—and made it worse. He took their jobs right under their noses. Not because they couldn’t do it, but because with him it would come to a final end.

You caught bits and pieces of the conversations at hand, heard how the Mayor must have died, but your attention still remained with The Bat. How he stood wary with his back to the window. Every now and then you swore his gaze fell to you, but that might have been your imagination. Your mind hadn’t stopped racing since you stepped past the threshold; the crime scene doing nothing but wracking your body with fear and anxiety. Two things that were an enemy to a good reporter.

“Killer may have come through the skylight.”

You glanced up, eyes tracing the metal lines of the glass above and tried to imagine the scene playing out before you. How they’d get in, how they’d hide. In your head it matched up, but something felt off—as if the scene itself was too perfect. Too pristine for you to gather anything notable.

Gordon’s voice peaked your interest, drawing you closer. “What does a liar do when he’s dead?”

“There’s a cipher too.”

Something flickered in the back of your mind. You remembered Henry having a book of riddles on his desk. Some cheap Christmas gift someone in the office got him in the hopes of giving their boss a sense of humor. You had flipped through it once or twice while waiting for him to show up for a meeting. But you could recall the same riddle being printed with all the others—in a list of nearly three hundred, you remembered that one for its dark flair.

“Lies,” you murmured to yourself, attention forced to the outburst towards Gordon.

But it was the darker and much deeper voice behind you that sent a cold shiver down your spine. “He lies still.”

The answer to the riddle.

Yet even that didn’t tell you much. Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t going to give Gotham the easy way out. No, you could see the darkness lingering in the distance. The threat of something more on the way. And there wouldn’t a fucking thing anyone in this room could do about it. Except for him. His name was on the envelope, his sign in the sky and soon…Gotham would be turning to him for more than just an answer to a riddle.

“Happy fuckin’ Halloween,” the commissioner spat, turning away from the scene with enough anger to rival the killer. Grief plagued the air and while you should have stayed, asked for statements, all you wanted to do was go home.

So you bid Gordon goodnight with the promise to call him tomorrow for more than just this. Your stomach was in knots, bile filling the back of your throat, but you could barely move. His gaze still burned a hole in your back, watching as you left on semi-steady feet—the wound that lingered now a reminder that you were nearly this person. You were nearly another story in a newspaper.

Martinez came up beside you as you stepped out into the hall, a cup of hot coffee in his hands. He must have grabbed it from down the street, because he held his own. The rain still pounded outside striking loudly against the window but it had become a drowned out echo. Simply background noise to a tragedy that kept you locked tight in its grasp. You could see the headline of tomorrow’s paper. The words bold and loud amidst the gray color—a color that matched the sky.

GOTHAM MOURNS.

“Want me to give you a ride home?” Martinez asked, eyes still plagued with concern. You wanted to wipe it from his face, place his carefree smile back where it belonged. Except no one would be smiling tonight.

You sucked in a cold breath, sensing the presence of The Bat as he followed Gordon out to the hallway.

“Yeah. A ride would be nice.”

Tomorrow was a new day, but the truth still remained, waiting to break free. Darkness ran through Gotham so deep it would take prying the streets up to see it, but something told you exactly that would happen. This was not the end of the blood that would turn this city red.

It was only the beginning.

[simpforchuchu]

Something that we’re not | Magoroku Yamaguchi x reader

a/n: Hello, I have a few ideas that i want to write these days and I’m obsessed with the “enemies to lovers” fics 😘 I hope you like it 🌸💕

Sorry for the grammer or spelling mistakes.English is not my main language so...

Thank you and love you 🥰

Warnings: none

The Raoh faction was hanging out in the room upstairs of the school as usual. Binzo was sleeping, Mercy was reading a motorcycle magazine, Kamui and Kansuke were playing checkers, and Magoroku was kicking a punching bag.

Everyone was distracted by the sound coming from the door. While Binzo opened his eyes and listened to the sound, Magoroku stopped his kicks.

Someone walking in high heels was coming from outside and the sound was getting closer and closer.

When the door opened, everyone looked at the door. A person in a black hoodie had walked in and everyone was looking at them seriously. When the person who entered opened their hood and waved their hair, the five people in the room looked at them in surprise that this person was a girl.

“I knew I'd find you here.”

The young girl entered the room with a smile, as if what she was doing was a very normal thing, and looked at the sweating boy in front of the punching bag. Magoroku was looking at her seriously. Everyone in the room still didn't know what was going on.

“It's been a long time, Magoroku.”

Binzo and Mercy looked at each other and waited for what would happen. Magoroku looked pretty annoyed

“What are you doing here?”

"Ahh, you're so rude, Magoroku-chan," the young girl muttered, placing her hand on her heart. “When did you forget that we have a long history? Or didn't you miss me at all?”

When the young girl said it with a grin, Binzo stood up in surprise and walked towards the duo.

“Oi, Magoruku! Who's this ?"

Y/n looked at the messy haired boy approaching her and gave a sweet smile. Binzo knew that this was a sneaky attitude

“Magoroku never told you about me? It's truly heartbreaking..."

Kamui and Kansuke had no idea what was going on. Mercy thought this situation was quite strange and was trying to understand the young girl's strange behavior.

“Are you… his girlfriend?” When Binzo asked, the young girl grinned.

“We can say… ex-girlfriend”

When Y/n winked at Binzo, Magoroku rolled his eyes and grabbed the young girl's arm. While everyone in the room looked at them, y/n wiped the smile off her face and looked at the young boy with one eyebrow raised.

“Cut the bullshit. Why are you here, y/n?”

When Y/n looked at the hand holding her arm, Magoroku slowly removed his hand. The young girl smiled, deleting her serious expression.

“I thought you might have missed me.”

When Magoroku looked at the young girl with the same serious expression, y/n rolled her eyes.

“You're really boring, Magoroku-chan.”

Binzo asked confused, scratching his head.

“Is she your ex-girlfriend now or not?”

Magoroku said “No.” and y/n smiled when he replied

“I just wanted to make a somewhat fun entrance.”

Mercy stood up and asked calmly

“So, who are you?”

“L/n Y/n, but you can cal me y/n. I'm his childhood friend."

Magoroku replied as everyone made a noise of surprise.

"We are not friends."

Y/n turned to the young boy and rolled her eyes.

“I am a provider of information between schools. You can think of me as an informant. But I don't work for just one person.”

Mercy nodded. He liked the young girl's self-confident and cocky attitude. She was also brave enough to sneak into Suzuran. He wasn't surprised that Magoroku was her friend. -even though he says they're not friends-

“If your cool entrance is over…Why are you here y/n? You haven't been around for a long time."

The young girl seriously turned to her childhood friend

“I came to warn you. Even though we hate each other, I'd be bored without someone to tease."

Mercy didn't know what was going on between the two, but he was sure there was no hostility. Friendship ? This was definitely not the case either.

“Is someone targeting Magoroku?” Kansuke looked at his Senpai and the new girl with Binzo's question

“I heard a few things.” y/n said. “I'm not sure, but you better be careful.”

“You don't come here for something you're not sure about, y/n.” When Magoroku looked at the young girl, y/n smiled.

“I think we both know each other well.” Magoroku didn't show an expression. Y/n shook her head and headed for the door “Anyway, I'm leaving then. Be careful. I may not always be there to save your ass.”

Magoroku rolled his eyes when the young girl grinned. Y/n turned around and opened the door. But before she left the room, Magoroku called out to her.

“Y/n…Be careful. Don't do anything stupid for me.”

Y/n answered without turning around. “I'm not doing it for you. You owe me, don’t you forget.” She walked out the door and returned the way she came. Even though she couldn't admit it even to herself, she cared about him. She would have crossed the line for him.

And Magoroku knew this very well.

HnL taglist : @straysugzhpe @tiddly-winx @ninamarie1994 @thatpoindexterpixy @koala-yuna @star2fishmeg

[beansnsoup]

"Can I paint your nails?"

Eddie munson x fem reader

Summary: You're sitting in you bedroom with your boyfriend, Eddie, and suddenly get an idea to paint his nails.

You're finishing up your last nail on your finger, your friends party is tomorrow and you don't want your dull finger nails to ruin your outfit. Eddie flipping through one of your magazines, bored out of his mind. He plops his head down on the bed listening to the music on the radio you have turned on.

Your blowing on your nails to quick up the drying process, and Eddie just watches you. Poor thing has nothing to do.

You check your nails to see if they're fully dry, they are, finally. You start to put your nail polish supplies away before pausing. "You good?" Eddie asks. Your furrowing you eyebrows in thought.

"Can I paint your nails?" You ask him suddenly, not answering his question that he had just asked. "Sure." He shrugs, almost with no hesitation. You hand him the bag so he can choose a color, he pulls out a black nail polish and hands it to you.

You cross your legs sitting infront of him, "Give me one of your hands." You demand, he gives you his right one. You prop up your knee and put his hand on top of it to get a better angle. "Be still, okay?" He nods. You both sit there in silence, listening to the music.

He's still a tad bored but having something to watch is better. "Why is it so cold?" He asks you, giggling at the feeling of the paint coating his nails. "I don't know." You laugh. You finish his first hand, lightly blowing on it. Then you carefully place his hand on his own knee.

"Do not move that hand. It's still a tad wet." You instruct him. "Someones being demanding tonight." He says slyly. You look up at him, "No, I just know how you are, you play around because you love the wonderful job I did and then you'll mess them up and get all pouty and then I have to redo it." You explain to him as you start on his other hand.

"Fair enough, princess." He responds, resting his hand, trying not to move it, but he can help but take a few glances at his newly black covered nails.

You get to the last nail, painting it carefully. Once you finish It up, you lightly blow on his other hand just as you did to the one before. Waving you hand over it for an extra breeze.

Once they're all dried up he spreads his fingers out and raises his hands to the air, staring at your work. "I love them." He chuckles.

————————————

The next day at the campaign Dustin makes a comment about his nails. "Nice nails Eddalyn." He says laughing at the girly name he gave Eddie.

Eddie looks at him, "Thankyou, my beautiful, loving, girlfriend did them for me." He says smiling.

I know I literally just posted an Eddie Munson fic but this idea came up when I was riding home and I just had to write it.

[vineofroses]

Fic Pride Friday

thanks for the tag @liminalmemories21 !

Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

large popcorn with a bag of m&ms (in terms of theme and pulling the theme throughout the fic, this is probably still my favorite fic i've written, and i wrote it three years ago! lol. the old guard.)

The screen in front of her blurs, and she’s in another theater, in another time. Andy, Nicky, Joe, they drop away. In their place is ... she glances to her left, and he’s there. Laughing at whatever is on screen as he eats his popcorn. They snuck into Bridesmaids. Is this then? Nile can’t look away, transfixed on this memory of her brother. She knows it’s a memory but it feels so real; the smell of buttery popcorn fills her nose. The lights from the screen dance across her brother’s face. He leans toward her. She knows what he’s going to say before he says it.

“Can you pass me the m&ms?” the memory whispers. It echoes through her. She holds onto it, traps it inside the very deepest parts of her and doesn’t let go. He fades away just as quickly as he appeared. Where he just was, Andy still is. She catches her eye, but Nile turns back toward the screen, ready to get lost in someone else’s adventure for a while.

peace (second Lone Star fic, where poetry was my focus. this part was absolutely my favorite section. Lone Star.)

Slowly but surely new life sprouted from the ground right at their feet. The embers of yesterday faded as he grasped for the ever growing vines. He latched onto the first signs of life so quickly he never realized his hand was the only one reaching out.

a call (with anything i write i always want the end to have a punch and i really liked how this one turned out. shadowhunters.)

“Forgive me for being so forward, Alexander, but you don’t strike me as someone who receives compliments very well,” Magnus says.

Alec raises his eyebrow. A challenge.

Magnus huffs, shaking his head. “I was going to tell you that you have a lovely laugh.”

Alec ducks his dead, smiling into his coke. He can feel the blush rising in his cheeks.

Magnus laughs, delighted by being right. “You’re going to have to get used to compliments, Alexander.”

“Oh, why is that?”

“Because you deserve to hear them,” Magnus says, like it’s a simple truth.

Alec stares at Magnus, the light, fluttery feeling returning. Magnus stares back, and in his eyes Alec sees all his potential, waiting for him to answer back.

echoes (im not very confident about detailing atmosphere and blocking character movements but this part i thought i did pretty well. Lone Star.)

It’s quiet right now. A clock ticks on the wall above his head. An occasional shuffle of someone adjusting their sitting position in the hospital’s unfortunate chairs. Across from him the scratches of Marjan’s pen almost lull him to sleep. But then Mateo’s tapping foot drags him back to wakefullness. Every once in a while, the crinkle of a turned page tunes him into Judd and the magazine he’s pretending to read. Next to Judd, Paul sits unmoving, except for his eyes, silently checking in with Carlos. Each time Carlos nods, but he’s not sure what he means by it. Thank you for calling me. Yes, I’m still here. Yes, I’m scared too.

halted beginnings (really just the last line of this paragraph is my absolute fave. Lone Star.)

Huh. He thinks that seems like something one should remember. The anxious pacing throughout the courtroom, the bored looking witness, plucked randomly from the staff milling about their day. The weeds they pulled from the ground and fashioned into make-shift rings. And the look on his parents’ faces when they showed up to dinner that evening and told them. How a moment’s piercing silence was almost enough for Carlos to doubt that this was what his parents wanted, until cheers and congratulations rang out, engulfing them in a joyous cocoon of happily ever after. The doubt slithered away, defeated. Carlos hugged his parents. In his father’s embrace, he closed his eyes to the look his sisters shared between them, and thought, this is what pride feels like.

why (carlos being fucking dramatic about doing something nice for TK just because it involves Lou II. crack fic! Lone Star)

"Tada," Carlos says with as much cheer as he can muster. This was his idea but he's ready to be out of ideas and never follow through on them ever again. He will obviously accept the award for best husband of century but he will also let it be known that this has been torture.

TK reaches for Lou II and Carlos is happy to hand him over. Lou II agrees if his wiggling body is any indication of how happy he is to see TK. Carlos scoffs. He just bought him pajamas, but okay.

fundamental (there are actually so many parts to this one that i love that it's hard to choose. i was truly in my unhinged writing phase a couple of weeks ago lollllllll. this fic is also one im just super proud of because of the writing process of it thanks in large part to @goldenskykaysani for making the editing process so much fun and thoughtful and yes i will keep tagging you every time i mention this fic because it really would not exist without your help so deal with it!!! lol. this fic also one where every time i think about it im just like, yeah! i fucking did that!)

Iris, I said, Iris, Iris, Iris. I started giggling because wouldn’t that be funny, Dad, that I could find a way to make you proud of me even if it meant dying? Iris, I said again. Would you ever marry me? And she fell back laughing, her beer sloshing over the rim, and I followed her down, sprawled out on her bedroom floor, watching the ceiling fan spin. I took another sip, and filed the question away. 

--

no pressure tagging: @paperstorm @lemonlyman-dotcom @alrightbuckaroo @bonheur-cafe @sznofthesticks

@ladytessa74 @theghostofashton

[justfandomwritings]

A Package Deal

Pairing: Hangman x Female!Reader x Phoenix

Word Count: 2.3K

Warnings: Lots of non-explicit sexual tension and pining; heavy handed flirting and smutty implications

Summary: You've been a bartender at the Hard Deck for a while now, and you've gotten to know the pilots of TopGun pretty well. They work hard, and they play hard. And God what you wouldn't give to play around with a couple of them, not that you'd ever had the guts to ask.

Notes: IDK I got bored and horny, and I thought the world needed more Hangman/Phoenix/Reader fics.

She’s the most gorgeous woman you’ve ever seen in your life. She’s hot in the uniform, but out of it she’s fucking stunning.

Dark brown hair cascading in luscious waves around her face. Dark, lidded eyes piercing into you like they can see straight through your mind and hear every lewd thought that crosses it. Beautiful lips that pull back over perfect teeth and fill you with a longing to make her smile like that at you every day.

Long, toned legs that stretch out from under the sexy little blue dress she’s donning. They go on for days in those nude heels every time she takes a step and oh fuck.

She’s taking another step. Fuck fuck fuck. She’s walking towards you. Fuck fuck fuck. You’ve been ogling her from across the bar like a fucking creep and now she’s walking towards you.

You glance nervously around the bar and see a guy with a mostly empty drink and rush over.

“Get you a refill?”

The man nods and raises his glass in wordless appreciation.

It’s bourbon on the rocks. Not even top shelf. The cheap, well shit. It takes about thirty seconds to make, but it gives you an excuse to turn around. You drag it out to a full minute: picking out each individual cube of ice and giving the slowest pour you can reasonably manage.

It wasn’t long enough. When you turn around she’s there.

She’s leaning against the bar, standing, the bottom of her breasts just brushing the counter of the bar while the tops peer up at you invitingly from the deep cut v.

“Good afternoon Lieutenant, what can I get you?” You gulp as you sets the bourbon down in front of the intended patron.

“Two beers,” Natasha smiles at you. Actually smiles at you, and for a moment you have to make the conscious decision not to melt into a puddle on the floor.

She doesn’t say anything, but she’s looking at you, looking through you, with those all-knowing eyes. She knows she has power over you, and yet you’re absolutely certain she doesn’t know how much power she has over you.

“Two?” Your voice remains surprisingly even as you open the fridge beneath the countertop and pull out the pilots’ usual beer of choice. For a moment, you’re proud of yourself for this small, though seemingly insurmountable achievement.

“Yeah, I got company.”

It hurts your heart, but you don’t show it on your face - or at least you try not to - as you set two bottles down in front of her. Of course she has company. Coming in here looking like that, she has to have company. If she came here to find company she’s so pretty she could’ve got it wearing a wet paper bag, but she’s dressed up, wearing an outfit that’s meant to impress someone.

“Who’s the lucky date?” You try to sound casual, but from the way her eyes rove over your face you know you’ve failed.

“No one you’d disapprove of.”

She turns back to watch the doors of the bar and only moments later they swing open.

Your mouth runs dry.

If she is the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen, he is the sexiest man alive. People magazine could sell more copies just from putting his face on the cover than any famous celebrity’s name.

He’s not in uniform either, and the only time you’ve ever seen him out of uniform was playing football - which was a positively religious experience. You’ve never seen him in civilian clothes, and god you don’t know what’s sexier the leather jacket or the abs you know are lurking underneath it.

His hair is Slightly disheveled but in a styled sort of way. There’s far less product in it today than normal. He’s let it fall naturally to one side, and it sways gently as he turns his head. He’s clearly had the day off because his facial hair has gone well beyond five o’clock shadow to full blown stubble, and it’s a look that is an absolute crime to shave off.

For a brief moment, very brief, you forget Natasha is sitting in front of you. It’s a feat no other man or woman alive is capable of. No one could hold a candle to the fire she lit except the walking inferno that is Jake Seresin.

Walking. Fuck fuck fuck. You turn away again. There’s no drinks to refill now. It’s too early in the afternoon. There aren’t enough patrons. Penny isn’t even in yet for her shift.

You busy yourself with finding your cleaning rag and wiping down the center island of the bar.

Behind you there is a tinkling laugh. Natasha’s laugh. You’d memorized the sound from the few times you’d managed to cause it. And it tore through you making your heart stutter step. She was laughing at you. Not great, but god what a laugh it was. It wasn’t the same as making her laugh, but it was still such an indescribably happy feeling.

“Jake,” Natasha greeted, and you heard a stool pull out.

She never called him Jake. He never called her Natasha. Call signs only. Even off the clock. This must be … something real.

“Good to see you Nat, did I miss any of the fun?” Gods his voice could make you weak in the knees and he wasn’t even talking to you. You weren’t even looking at him.

You could circle the bar. Circling the bar was good. You weren’t really supposed to hang out on the far side of the center island. It hid the front door and incoming customers from view. You were only supposed to make a quick round. But these were extenuating circumstances. Surely Penny would understand.

“Not at all, we hadn’t even started.”

“Haven’t started and she’s already squirming like that?”

They were talking about you. They had to be talking about you. You didn’t really have an ego, and you would normally never assume anyone was ever talking about you, let alone two people as gorgeous as Natasha and Jake. But they had to be talking about you. There weren’t that many other women in the bar to begin with – a couple regulars over playing darts and one guy with his fiancé in the corner – and you were certainly squirming. At least inside your skin you were squirming.

You can feel your face going red, feel the heat rising under the surface. You choose to ignore it. Ignore them. It is the safest option. You can’t turn around, not as flustered as you are now. You’ll never hear the end of it from Jake if you do. Natasha will give you that knowing smile from time to time, but if Jake saw you like this, flushed at the mere idea they were talking about you, he would tease you till the end of time. You did not have the mental fortitude to deal with Jake “Hangman” Seresin teasing you every day.

“Well, you know (Y/n),” Natasha seems to make a point to say your name a little louder, “we’re gonna have to ease her into it.”

You whip around. You can’t help it. Whether it’s the way she says your name or the tone in which she says she’s going to ‘ease’ you into some unspecified thing, the implications are a shock to the system, and you truly can’t stop yourself from turning around, wide-eyed as a deer in headlights, to face the two pilots.

Jake is grinning at you, smug and self-assured as he always is. His fingers are delicately wrapped around the neck of his beer bottle as he leans back in the barstool. There’s a lazy air about the way he takes a swig from the bottle.

Lazy is not a word you would normally associate with Jake Seresin. His body language is off. The bar is normally his hunting ground. He stalks around the pool tables and dart boards proving his superiority and waiting for the ideal catch, but today he doesn’t seem like he’s hunting. He’s too relaxed, too unaware of every time the door swings open. His eyes are too focused on you.

He's still looking at you like a predator does his prey, the way he usually looks at the beautiful patrons of the bar who throw themselves at his feet. But the urgency is gone, the hunt, the chase, the playing hard to get, it isn’t there. He looks like a predator completely and utterly convinced that his prey is going to run willingly into his claws.

“I-I,” You don’t know what to say.

You manage to tear your gaze away and divert it to Natasha. Whatever you’re seeking there – help, answers, amusement at a joke well played – you don’t find it.

Her eyes aren’t on yours. They’re on your body, roving over your curves like she needs to memorize them for a test later. She’s studying you, and you don’t know if its disconcerting or incredibly appealing. Either way, it pins you in place. You can’t move under her gaze, can’t disrupt the path her eyes are taking over your chest and down to your waist.

If Jake’s eyes left any question as to what they were easing you into, the flash of Natasha’s as they darted back up to meet yours answered it. She looks hungry, downright starving. You don’t exactly feel like prey under her gaze, but you still feel like a meal, a thing waiting to be devoured.

Your eyes go straight to her lips as she catches her lower one between her teeth, gently gnawing on it as she seems to ponder what to say or do.

“Don’t worry, Angel,” Your eyes dart back to Jake’s as he finally sits up and leans in. His voice is quiet, low and rough so the strangers surrounding the bar can’t possibly hear even though you’re still across the bar, frozen, pinned to the center island. “We promise we’ll go easy on you.”

“Speak for yourself,” Natasha adds.

Your hands shoot out and clutch the lip of wood behind you. You have to to keep your feet under you as you feel your knees go weak.

“Mmm,” Jake hums, his eyes following the same trail over you that Natasha’s had a few moments before. It felt like his touch following hers over you, and it was enough to make you bite back a groan. “Looks like you were right, Nat.” He’s addressing her, but his eyes haven’t shifted away from you. “She does want it rough.”

“(Y/n)!”

You jerk back away from the center island and turn around to see Penny ducking under the other side of the bar.

“H-Hey Penny,” You can’t hide it. You know you can’t hide it. Your skin is still red all over, and your eyes are dazed and confused. You’re almost certain that at any moment you’re going to break out in nervous sweats.

Penny sees you and immediately frowns.

Your heart goes into overdrive, thudding loudly in your chest. Natasha has a way of looking straight through you, and you’re praying Penny doesn’t share that talent as she eyes you with concern. If she knew or even suspected, what had been going on between you and the two pilots behind you moments before she walked in, you would quit on the spot. Resign in disgrace never to be seen again.

“You okay honey?” Penny stepped around towards you and put the back of her palm to your forehead. “You look like you’re burning up. Did you get too much sun?”

“N-No, I think I’m just coming down with something.”

Penny let out a quiet hum of agreement as she felt the heat of your skin. “You should head home. I can call in someone else tonight.”

“I… My roommate is my ride, and she’s…”

“I’ll take her!”

Your head jerks around to see Natasha climbing off of her barstool and seemingly collecting herself to leave. She’s giving Penny a sympathetic smile that wreaks of an innocent, helpful nature that was entirely absent just moments before.

“We have a party to get to anyway. I’ll drop her off on the way.”

Jake nods his assent and tilts his head back, downing the rest of his beer in one swallow. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he elongates his neck, and a single trickle of beer leaks out and runs past his jaw down the length of his throat. The smirk he comes up with spells out for you that he did it on purpose.

“Thank you Natasha,” Penny accepts the ride before you even have a chance to consider your options, and she pushes you towards the flap out from behind the bar. “Go home and get some rest.”

You nod along numbly, walking around to join Jake and Natasha. They position themselves on either side of you as they lead you out of the bar.

To everyone watching, it looks like two patrons helping a friend who looks very flushed and confused, possibly drunk or sick. Jake’s arm goes in what should be a comforting embrace around your shoulders, resting his left hand on your left shoulder and giving it a tight squeeze.

Natasha is more obvious, not that anyone seems to notice but you. Her fingers blaze a trail over your skin, not merely wrapping themselves around your waist, but brushing along your back as they go.

“Your choice, angel.” Natasha’s lips touch the outer shell of your ear as she whispers into, her voice husky with what you can only assume is want. “We can take you home, and you can call this a nice, unexpected day off. Or you can come with us.”

Jake’s fingers squeeze your shoulder, longer this time, not a comfort but a warning, “Just know, angel,” You reach the parking lot of the Hard Deck, and Jake pulls the three of you to a stop, him and Natasha standing in front of you with similar, imploring looks. His free hand points between him and Natasha, “We’re kind of a package deal.”

[yesimwriting]

What Follows

a/n can (likely) see myself making a part 2 of this, it’s like 4:30 AM and i cannot make that decision rn,, so if you think that’s a good idea or are interest,, lmk, public opinion could make or break my decision once i’m better rested

Summary: If you had to think about the coincidences that brought you to this, you’d realize that it was inevitable. Domino pieces falling into place. Or, to put it simply, it’s the end of the world and yet your biggest concern is your teeny tiny...terrible, life ruining crush. 

*cough* sharing bed trope, and some other stuff 

also i’ve never played the game i’ve only watched the show but i have some context of the game (i’ve watched some videos),, but timeline wise,, location wise, it’s pretty general as i’m just going with what fits for my intended story line like i do with most fics :)) it’s mainly set in a sort of safe house 

warnings: potential timeline errors, mentions of age gap that’s pretty vague, allusions to anxiety and canon angsty-ness

----

Memories of before are tricky. Most of them hybrids, odd mix-matches of true experiences and snippets of other things. Stories from an uneasy rotation of people, bits and pieces from books and magazines and other odds and ends. A collage that makes up an easily swayed perception of the world before. 

But you know this one is real. You know it is because it’s so mundane there’s no way someone gave it to you. It’s a quick glimpse, a brief flicker of you in a pair of roller skates with those thick, plastic stoppers attached to the front. The memory isn’t of what they felt like, or how many laps you did up and down your block. All you remember is the stinging. The soft skin of your knee scraped raw by the sidewalk. The particularness of that kind of pain. 

That’s what the realization feels like. Knowing that there’s a chance that you might feel something for Joel outside of general gratitude for the unofficial way Ellie and him took you in is speeding down a street just to collapse with no warning against unforgiving concrete.

His fingers brush around broken skin with a delicateness that turns you rigid. These are the same hands that beat a man within an inch of his life the first time he met you. It’s a juxtaposition that twists your nerves tight around your stomach.

It’s quiet now. More so than usual because Ellie’s asleep. If you had to come to your realization at all, you should have done it during the day. With Joel at a safe distance and Ellie awake to distract from the fact that you’ve been staring at his hand in total silence for minutes now. A violently out of character mistake, which is why you’re not surprised when his voice breaks the nothingness with a question: “You alright?” 

You sit up a little straighter. “Yeah.” It comes out flat and distant. “Yeah,” you affirm, a little more here, “Just thinking.” 

Ugh. Not nearly deflective or subtle enough. It’s the kind of cop out answer that worked in the beginning, before there was any form of attachment. Back then, you thought you’d only be around them for a few days. Until the swelling in your ankle went down enough to let you walk efficiently again. It was the least they could do then, after you jumped in to save Ellie when Joel and her were briefly separated. 

Joel’s mouth pulls into a shadow of a frown in the low light. A pang of guilt strikes you in the chest with no warning. Slipping back to that for no real reason goes a step beyond unfair; it’s mean. “I remembered something from before.” Joel says nothing, but his eyes refocus on you in a way that feels attentive. “Nothing big or interesting, just remembered these roller skates from when I was a kid. The one time I went out without knee pads I fell and scraped my knee.” 

His hand shifts away from your current injury--a long, yet shallow cut up your foreleg. Joel’s fingertips ghost up the skin, there and not at the same time. He settles his palm near your knee. “Is that how this happened?” There’s a hint of something in his voice, a touch of gentleness that makes you feel like he might be teasing you, at least a little. 

That kind of humor is new. Well, not new new anymore, but new enough to still sometimes slip past your perception or take you completely by surprise. Joel’s transition from constantly distant and standoffish to who he is now was equal parts slow as it was all at once. Weeks of tiptoeing, of hesitant flashes of a softer side until it became more and more there. It’s still not the side of him that’s most common, but considering the place where the two of you started from, the difference feels like miles from the sad starting point. 

You blink, tilting your head downwards to focus on the skin next to his thumb. A scar that’s little more than a blemish. The kind of mark that’s a result of picking at a scab again and again. “That’s nothing.” It’s such a small thing and Joel pointed it out so quickly. Like he knows your skin better than you do. Dwelling on that thought isn’t an option, so you recover with a question, “How’d you even see that?” 

Joel raises his eyebrows as if your surprise is something worth being amused by. “When you get used to seeing, it’s easy.” 

Of course it’s that. Considering how Joel is, how he always scouts out areas before letting us settle, it makes sense that he’d notice that. It’d be weirder if he didn’t. You press your foot into the ground, letting the feel of the dirt compacting itself beneath your shoe hold you in place. You’re almost embarrassed that you’ve never noticed the mark on your knee enough to fully register it. “I’ll let you check the rest of me for scars later then.” 

What. Did. You. Just. Say. What. 

Your entire body becomes as stiff as the trunk you’re leaning against. There are a lot of things you don’t know about attraction and dating, but you’re not so dense you can’t tell that that’s the worst line you’ve ever heard. 

Staring at the ground forever feels like the only safe option left, but it’s extremely unviable. After a few seconds, not knowing starts to feel as bad as knowing so you force yourself to look up enough to see him. He’s staring at you, mouth morphing into a subtle smile. He lets out a breathy scoff that’s supposed to cover a laugh, but you know better by now than to fall for that. 

“I didn’t say that.” With a sigh, you let your eyes shut. “I mean--I said it as in the words did come out of my mouth--but not like--y’know.” 

Joel laughs again, this time more openly. It’s deep and full and makes the burning of your humiliation worth all of it. “I know?” 

Squinting your eyes open, you take in his smugness. It’s different and oddly warm. And unfortunately, not unattractive. “You’re not funny.” Indignation makes you want to pull your leg back, and you should. You know you should. If there was any concern about the cut on your leg, Joel wouldn’t be joking. But he relaxes his hand, fingers splaying against your skin. “So what’s the verdict: Keeping the leg or cutting my losses?” 

Joel lets out another breath-laugh. This time it’s shorter. “And I’m the unfunny one?” Yeah, that’s the kind of response that guarantees your safety. The kind of comment he’d only ever make if everything is truly fine. “You’re okay.” 

“Just like I told you--” 

He ignores the comment with an expert’s ease. “Tomorrow I’ll go out, get some penicillin.” 

“Shit.” You frown, turning your leg out slightly to get a better look. This is easily one of the most embarrassing injuries of your life. Not inflicted by the monsters that infest your world or a corrupt person. The only thing you’re a victim of is not paying enough attention while panicking and not noticing a jagged rock.  It’s nothing life changing, nothing worthy of this much attention or discussion. “It’s infected?” 

Joel’s hand relaxes against your lower knee. It’s more of an implication of pressure than an actual change, but your body reacts to it all the same. You ease. “It was a muddy rock.” He pauses, like he’s running through his words. “Better safe.” 

Oh. Preventative antibiotics. A kind thought, but it feels unrealistic. “If nothing’s wrong, I don’t think we should risk it.” You blink, eyes struggling to focus on anything other than the hand still on your knee. If Joel feels awkward about it, he gives no indication. Which means it must be normal. Joel’s too him to do anything not normal when it comes to touch. “You’re hurt. More hurt than me, who’s just an idiot.” 

“’M fine.” Tell that to the flash of purple you saw when Joel’s shirt briefly rode up this morning. It had only been that way for a second, but that was all it took for you to realize that Joel’s bruising is larger than the size of your hand. You wouldn’t be surprised to find out that he has a cracked rib. 

You must let your disbelief show because the corner of his mouth turn upwards. Not quite a smile, but it’s close enough. “Tell that to your probably cracked rib.” 

 “I’m fine,” he repeats, and when you don’t ease, he tacts on something fatal, “Don’t pout.”

The joke is nothing original. Back in the ‘early’ days of your friendship, when things were rockier and less known, Joel had pointed out your expressiveness. He claimed it made it too easy to figure out more or less what you were thinking. It hadn’t been an insult, but it bothered you more than it should have. Which is a fact that Joel used to prove his hypothesis correct, because he then immediately told you that there was no point in pouting about it. 

Joel only says it in good humor. You know that, but that doesn’t mean you like it. It all goes back to the same thing. An implication that you’re transparent. You hate it. 

Transparency is for the naive, for those who haven’t experienced enough to be hardened. It makes you feel like a child, and maybe that’s intentional. Maybe it’s Joel’s equivalent to patting you on the head and telling you to cheer up, kiddo.

You’ve never understood the way the implication manages to snag itself beneath your skin, but now that you’re examining it under the lens of your new realization, it’s too much. There’s a good chance he sees you like another kid to look after. 

 “I’m not pouting.” A bad kind of heat rises up your chest. Instinctually, you angle your leg a little closer to yourself. It’s not a full retreat, but Joel’s fingers shift to secure their hold on you. 

It’s enough to shock you into stilling. If Joel’s prolonged contact was unexpected, him instinctually fighting to keep it is absolutely unbelievable. He’s not squeezing or forcing you to stay in place, but the gesture is enough to feel like he’s asking you to. “Need to wrap it.” 

Another thing you consider over treating a cut of this size. The only thing startling about it is its length. “It’s not that deep.” 

“Let me wrap it.” His voice comes out with a gruff annoyance that’s become increasingly familiar. It makes everything sound like some kind of version of don’t give me shit. 

You fight down a grin. “Admit your rib’s cracked.”

Joel presses his lips together, lines etching themselves into his skin. “Do you always have to argue?” 

Pausing, you pretend to have to think about it. “We all need hobbies.” You give yourself permission to look at him. Really look at him. “When you argue your eyebrows draw together and this line appears between them.” 

He laughs once, this time a little more openly. It’s still a little breathy and maybe even a little reluctant, but it feels good. Like sunlight saturating a room during the dead of winter. “I’m old.” 

Another reminder of that. You fight against the way it twists at your insides. “I’ve met older.” 

“Grandparents don’t count.” 

It’s all so weird and ridiculous, so you do the only thing you can think to. You laugh. “I wasn’t thinking about my grandparents.” 

It’s meant to be a joke that echoes his own, only it’s not quite that. Not with the way your voice softens and your eyes focus on his.

His fingers take their time parting from your skin. A slow drag that feels dangerously close to intentional. You’re practically holding your breath until he stands. “I’ll grab something for your leg.” 

There’s another thing left to point out. Something hanging in between the two of you. The fact that you’re perfectly capable of bandaging it yourself. That there’s a good chance you’d be better at it. “Okay.” 

----

When there is no sun and sleep pulls you under only to push you back out, time feels fickle. You don’t know how long it’s been since you all agreed to go to bed. 

Things feel different now that you’re all temporarily established in some safe house. Joel’s connection to it is vague to you. He mentioned his brother at some point, though you think details were used intentionally sparingly. It doesn’t feel cagey to you like it used to. Now it just feels like he’s holding off until it’s time to tell you everything.

 Maybe he’s waiting for it to come up naturally on some night where there’s nothing but time or maybe he’s waiting for it to feel right. You’re okay with either and any option. His past is his. You know he gives you what he can bare to and it’s only a matter of time until you hear the rest. 

You sit up, resting your back against the wall that your mattress is pressed against. Despite the dark, the outline of your roommate is easy to see. You’re not sure how it happened, the division of space that led to you and Joel in the same room and Ellie sleeping on her own. 

It’s only been a few nights and you’ve yet to regret going along with it. Ellie deserves the little privacy life can offer her considering the way you and Joel watch the poor girl. And, in all honestly, you’ve never been particularly fond of long hours alone in the dark. Especially since you joined Joel and Ellie on their mission. You’ve gotten more used to being around people than ever and that’s made being alone more noticeable than ever.

Sometimes when you can’t sleep your mind goes there. After. The inevitable separation. It makes your chest hurt and forces memories of what you’ve already lost to the surface. That makes it even harder to sleep, so sometimes you just settle for watching. You’d feel weirder about it if the dark of night didn’t make it little more than a step above staring off into space. 

Bending your knees, you adjust your position on the mattress, letting thin blankets fall away. It’s cold; the bite of it is welcomed.

Everyone’s temporary. You’ve learned that already. It’s burned into you the way that normal memories should be. 

This is stupid. All of it. Maybe Joel’s right to see you as a child. One bad dream shouldn’t have this much power of you. Quietly, you squeeze your arms around your legs. It’s the same position you were in when it happened. When you lost her. 

You don’t realize that you’re breathing heavier than you should be until you hear Joel’s mattress adjust as he moves from his side to his back. Shit. He never gets enough sleep. Guilt and embarrassment swell in you, but it’s not enough to subdue the impending panic. 

“You awake?” It’s mumbled through a voice that’s heavy with sleep.

A part of you wants to stay quiet, but that’d be wrong. You already woke him up, the last thing you need to do is stress him out. “Yeah,” you manage, “I’m up.” Your voice comes out so hollow you barely recognize it. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I--I’m gonna--” You don’t know what the end of the sentence is supposed to be. Something that implies that you’re stepping out and that everything’s fine. “Go back to sleep.” 

There’s a moment of nothing and a small part of you thinks maybe Joel’s listened for once. Your hope is shattered at the sound of rustling sheets. “C’mere.” 

It’s said so faintly you can imagine that it’s a figment of your imagination. Likely a mumbled slur that he won’t even remember in the morning. A sleep idled grunt of acknowledgement that just so happened to sound like a word. You know it’s nothing. You know you heard him incorrectly, but you can’t relax. Not yet. You hold yourself there, breath caught in your lungs as a prolonged beat passes. 

Joel breaks the silence by moving off of his side and on to his back. His arm stretches forward, pulling his blanket to the side. Are you crazy or is that...some kind of invitation? “I’m not going back to bed until you come here.” 

There’s still sleep in his voice, but he’s already managed to snap back into seriousness. A subdued authority. Your body moves on its own accord. You sit up fully, place your feet on the ground, and stand. Walking is a little harder but the distance is short. 

You stand in front of his mattress, smaller than you’ve ever been. Joel’s never fully relaxed. He’s close to it now, and you wonder if you’ll be around long enough to be able to see it. The question leaves you too cold, too antsy. Before you know what you’re doing, you’re sitting at the edge of his mattress. “’M here,” you whisper, “And I’m fine.” 

A touch at your lower arm nearly makes you jump. It’s just Joel. “You’re shaky.” He sits up so quickly you can barely register it. The back of his palm presses itself against your neck before he reaches for your temple. His fingers feel like ice but you can’t bring yourself to move away.  “You’re not warm--” 

“No fever.” It leaves you too quietly. “I--I’m fine.” Joel’s hand leaves your forehead and settles against your back. “Just realized some shit.” His fingers drag down your spine and trace their way back to their original resting place. Again and again, a pattern that makes it easy to breathe. “I’ve been around for awhile, with you and Els. Longer than I thought I’d be. Longer than...” Longer than I’ve been with anyone since I lost her. “Just longer.”

His touch nearly falters. “Mhm.” 

“And it’s been nice. Really nice.” Your nails softly scratch the inside of your wrist. “And I don’t want to get to that part where something fucked up happens.” Your breath catches itself in your throat. “I know that the fucked up part is normally my fault. Historically, at least, but--” You cut yourself off with a shaky breath, hating yourself for being this pathetic. “I just really don’t want to get there. To the fucked up part that leads to the leaving part.”

Getting things out in the open is supposed to make things feel better. It’s supposed to make things lighter. That’s what people always say. This isn’t that. There’s no epiphany, no healing. It leaves you and it stays that way. Gone.

Hollowness is worse. It’s too revealing. You should leave, mumble a vague comment about dreams and sleepy thoughts before crawling back to your own jumble of cushioning and jumbled blanket or at the very least apologize for waking him over nothing. 

You do neither. For a minute there’s only the silence and the cold and the safe assurance of Joel tracing patterns against your back. “There’s not going to be a fucked up part.” Joel destroys the silence. “Not a fucked up part that leads to leaving.” 

“You don’t know--” Your cut off is jarring, but it’s better than letting him hear what you were going to say. You don’t know me. Don’t know the kinds of things that happen around me. “That.”

Joel’s hand retreats and your world feels less stable. “There won’t be.” His tone is harsher than before, a tone that leaves no room for argument from the universe let alone you. He shifts, pushing most of himself to one side. “Just lay down.” The lowness of his voice is too assured to be considered understanding. It hints at impatience but undoes a knot in your stomach regardless. “Try to get some sleep.” 

You nod your head slowly, the motion overly deliberate despite the fact that he likely can’t see it. There’s nothing else to be said, so you stretch back, placing your legs onto his mattress and carefully easing yourself onto your back.

Now that you’re under the same blanket as him, the thinness of it is hard to ignore. When the three of you divided the bedding supplies found in some closet, Joel had picked last. You asked if he ever felt like trading, but he insisted that he was warm enough and that if he ever wasn’t, he could always use his jacket for extra layering. 

The realization that he’s likely been freezing without complaint takes a second to sink in. He likes his walls up and to play detached, but then takes the worst of the blankets without complaint. It’s so stupidly close to being a martyr that you nearly laugh. It’s so him in the worst way, the kind of way he’d never acknowledge. 

You’re debating whether or not the additional warmth of your blanket would be worth potentially disturbing his sleep again. If you did that, maybe in the morning you could pretend to get the two blankets mixed up. You think you could get used to being this cold if he’d let you. 

“You know what you remind me of.”

His voice is so unexpected you nearly jump out of your skin. With your mind focusing on other things, it was easier to pretend that there was nothing unusual about this. 

Blood rushing to your face, you adjust so that you’re more on your side. Facing him. "I thought you wanted me to go to sleep.” 

Joel sighs and you can practically feel his lungs filling and deflating. “I didn’t think tonight would be the night you started listening to me.” 

At least he’s learning. “First time for everything.” The words feel different once they’re out in the air. It’s meant to be a passing comment, not what the darkness morphs it into. 

It’s the second time a realization has come at a terrible time in the last few days. You know that you’ve been lying in his bed, but now you’re feeling the fact. Feeling the little space between you and the dip in the mattress’s fabric where he’s resting. It’d be easy to extend your arm. Dangerously easy. 

You feel his head tilt, angling himself even closer to you. “Do you want to know or not?” 

It takes a second for your mind to cement a connection. “What I remind you of?” You hum once, several jokes that’d make this easier coming to mind instantly. “I have a few guesses.” It’s too dark to make out the details of his expression, but you can feel his halfhearted glare. “Okay, tell me.” 

“There was this story from before. Way before.” You’re patient as he takes his time thinking through what he wants to say. You don’t mind the wait, not when he’s close enough that his casualness is tangible enough to be contagious. “About a kid that saw this white rabbit. She chased the thing down a hole and it took her into this other world, and there were some other things, but she kept chasing that rabbit.”

You would have laugh if he had spoken any less seriously. It’s always been clear that you two aren’t exactly the same age, and some references that are about before the outbreak feel either vague or completely disconnected from you, but not everything. “I know I’m younger than you, but I know about Alice in Wonderland.” 

“Excuse me.” The two words are dripping in sarcasm; you beam. “After you didn’t know that--” 

“I knew you were going to say that.” You don’t get one reference one time and now he feels the need to explain everything. “It was one time.” 

“Even Ellie got it.” 

“I was tired.” He raises his eyebrows at that, a gesture of disbelief. You huff once, sitting up a little to shove his shoulder. “I was.” He lets out a sound that’s a little too smug. You move your hand, but before you can push at his arm, his fingers find their way around your wrist. When you try to tug your arm back, his resistance surprises you. “Asshole.” 

His hand leaves goosebumps crawling up your arm as he adjusts his hold on you. “You’re the one that shoved me.” Like he’s not the one that instigated it. “And you interrupted me.” 

“Fine.” You lay back down. Joel doesn’t let go of your arm and you make no move to get it back. His hands are so cold you find it hard not to worry. Hypothermia’s a thing. “Continue. Alice in Wonderland.” 

“The rabbit,” he says, “You’re a lot like that.” 

You play around with the thought, scraping together the details you remember about the white rabbit. It’s been awhile since you’ve watched the Disney movie version, and even longer since you’ve heard the actual story. Alice got into some trouble with the queen of hearts and her card deck guards. Every time she wasn’t supposed to be somewhere it was because of that rabbit, wasn’t that the gist of it? She just kept chasing and chasing it. 

“So who am I leading astray?” 

“No.” He says it so quickly, the silence that follows is unexpected. You accept it. You’ll wait. “You’re...you’re followable.” Oh. The cold makes no difference to the uncontrollable warmth that rushes to your face. 

He feels tenser, his touch on your arm a little more hesitant. The meaning of that from Joel isn’t lost on you."You are, too.” 

Joel’s fingers brush up your arm. “Not the way you are.” 

You like the way he is, like that he’s the kind of person that can be moody and standoffish for days and still take the thinnest blanket. “I disagree.” 

“That’s not new.” 

“I think it’s good we don’t agree.” He waits for you to continue with little reaction, but you know he’s listening. “I can follow you, you can follow me. Makes it easier.”

He hums once, “Sounds like walking in circles.” 

Rolling your eyes, you finally let your attention fall to his hand. “You’re so cold.” 

Joel mistakes it for a complaint instead of the show of concern it’s meant to be. His hand moves off you so quickly you barely have a chance to reach for him. He doesn’t resist, not even when you squeeze his one hand between both of yours. You’re careful, gentle as you let your fingers move up and down his skin. When he doesn’t complain, you do something a better rested you would have never done. You let your touch wander further, first to his wrist and then down to his forearm. He’s no warmer there. 

“Shit, Joel.” you start pressing your hands against his forearm, your need to make his skin feel like it’s at a stable temperature overriding your survival instincts. “You’re freezing.” You sit up, taking his arm with you. “Are you sick?” 

“Sick’s hot.” 

“Tell that to someone with early stage hypothermia.” You scoot back, preparing to move over to grab your blanket. “I’ll get my blanket.” 

He squeezes your arm. “I’m fine.” You’re seconds away from protest, but Joel stops you. “Just stay put.” 

You’re about to insist. It’ll take less than a minute and make things a lot better. The urgency in his hold makes it impossible. Makes the thought of doing anything that doesn’t involve holding on just as intensely outside of the realm of possibility. “Okay.” 

If he’s surprised at how quickly you give in, he doesn’t show it, he just lets you lay down again. You’re not sure if you can prove it, but it feels like he’s closer than before. “How are you not cold?” 

You almost tell him you do feel cold, he’s just that much colder, but then think he might use that as a reason to move away from you. He’d never understand that you’d rather be cold than know he’s freezing. Or maybe the problem is he’d get it too much, that he’d feel the same way. 

“I run a little warm.” You brush your fingers down his arms again. It’s nice in a way you don’t get. “Except my feet.” 

He tilts his head. “Your feet?” 

You stretch your legs until your feet find his. “They’re cold.” 

Joel lets out a disgruntled sound, moving closer to let his legs cover your feet. “Rabbit.” 

The giggle that comes out would be embarrassing if that had been any less funny. Your forehead pushes forward, dropping against his shoulder. “Please don’t let that stick.” 

“They burrow.” You grin against his skin, deciding that you really like this version of him. A little lighter, a little more candid. “You’re a little jittery, too.” 

“Shut up.” He’s not wrong, which only makes you resent him a little more. “‘M not.” 

There’s no fight in your reaction so you have no idea how Joel finds a way to take it as a challenge. He must have, though, because you can think of no other explanation for the way he stills. No other motive for the way you can feel his eyes focusing on you or the slow way he moves his hand down your arm.

You will your body to stay still, to not react. It doesn’t listen. You shiver. 

Maybe you are a fucking rabbit. 

The only thing worse than this reaction is the thought of Joel being right. So you force your lips to part even though you have no idea what to say. “Think we should go to sleep.” Your voice feels awkward, shallow. “...Get a few hours before Els wakes up.” 

He’s almost smiling, “She takes up a lot of energy.” 

“Yeah,” you agree with an even more open fondness, “Told her I’d teach her how to shoot arrows and french braid hair.” You smile at the thought. It’s good to have someone to teach, to pass something onto. “Feels like summer camp.” 

You’re expecting a similar type of joke, or maybe a snarky comment about archery over actual shooting. Instead, his hand settles a little more comfortably against your arm. “You’re good with her.” 

“She’s easy to be good with.” It’s true. Beneath the smart ass jokes and swear rate that could make a sailor uncomfortable, Ellie’s just a kid, and a good one, too.

Joel’s one to talk about people that are good with Ellie. When you first met, you genuinely thought they were father and daughter until Joel explained to you what they were doing. “It’s more than that.”

His approval means a lot when it comes to this. “You’re even better with her.” 

Ellie’s another factor all together. There’s no way it wouldn’t feel weird for her to know that in the other room, you and Joel are sharing a mattress, holding onto each other because of the cold. 

It’s not like you’re doing anything wrong, it just feels odd when considering her. Like this is some kind of game of house. The realization that you think you might like Joel is still pretty new and something that’s ruined a lot of things. Every time it floats to the front of your mind, everything starts feeling off. 

You don’t want to taint this or to overthink. You want to let it all soak in. The two of you sharing a mattress and a too thin blanket. His leg is still resting over your feet and your hands are still on his arm. You’re a slowly tangling web of limbs and you don’t think you’d have it any other way as you drift towards unconsciousness. 

[theg-unit]

141 (and friends) professional and  personal Specialty Headcannons.

also I dipped for a hot minute but I spent that time reading twitter thread fics like the internet goblin I am and falling into the multi shipper hole that is PriceNik and poly141 so here are more Headcannons about our favs. 

(also no I won't write Konig Headcannons, I don't like him. pls stop asking)

Areas of interest: academic and personal.

-soap is good at chemistry and chemical equations. the man has the periodic table tattooed on the back of his eyelids and nothing will stop him from making an IED out of literally the most random shit. also knows a concerning amount about atomic physics.  but he also has a passion for all poetry and writes little sonnets in his sketchbook for his partners.

-Price is really good at languages. he's a certified multilingual and is constantly learning. his favourite part is learning niche regional dialects. he is fluent in conversation in all major languages and can speak conversationally in at least 30 others. he also really enjoys horticulture. he can name 50 different grasses according to Laswell.

- Ghost specialises in trigonometry. he can do it mentally on the fly and often comes out correct. he uses it in his sniping, allowing him to be sent on more solo missions, without the need for a spotter. coincidently his secondary talent is navigation, he is bizarrely good at maps and geo guessing games but also used to do orienteering tournaments before his “death”. after the alone mission, despite only being told where the safe house was, ghost seemed to find his way there, without a map, from a city he had only been in for like a week. I like to think his internal sense of direction is like homing pigeon level. you could stick him anywhere and he could immediately find his way back. 

-Gaz is an all-round science man, a jack-of-all-trades. he has a comprehensive knowledge of biology, chemistry, physics, geology and the niche areas as well. zoology, astrophysics, ecology, palaeontology, psychology, genetics astronomy, botany, microbiology and the list goes on. you'll never meet someone with so much knowledge of the natural, social and formal sciences. he's not at university level but he has a thorough understanding of the concepts and case studies for all. he can comprehend the advanced concepts as well. its helped the 141 out of some tight spots. coincidently his personal interest is reading. his room on base and his apartment is full of academic journals and natgeo magazines.

-Alejandro. Mechanical engineering. The colonel of the Los Vaqueros can fix anything with duct tape and a prayer, but he also can build the most robust (and more importantly) high-functioning machinery. all repairs to their vehicles and heavy weaponry on base are done by Alejandro, simply because he doesn’t trust anyone else with the machines that keep his men safe. he also enjoys doing it, it gives him some time to wind down and just tinker with things. His secret talent is weaving and braiding. he was taught by his abuela to not only weave scarves and things like carpets, but also to braid her hair and his sisters once she got too old. (I head cannon him as the oldest and they all lived with their grandma cause their parents died.) he used to braid Valerias hair (as an mlm/wlw besties thing) before she betrayed them. he braided Gaz’s hair once they bonded over engineering.

-Rudolfo. Rudy is an expert in law. more specifically domestic and international criminal law, but he also keeps up with all legal disciplines. due to the proximity of Las Almas to the border, he also keeps up to date with USA law. He's a life saver in sticky jurisdiction missions. he also manages the compounds paperwork for requests. he has a silver tongue that translates to requisition forms. his personal passion is painting though. he feels that sometimes words aren't enough to describe things and loves painting landscapes and the little moments, like a flowering cactus in the middle of the night but also its death the next morning. he knows how fleeting life can be in his profession, and wants to capture all aspects. hopefully more with Ale if they retire.

-Laswell. Algorithms. typical of a spook Kate is an expert in cryptographic algorithms. she spent a few years as a cipher breaker/creator in her early career and hasn't lost her touch since moving to intelligence. all of her transmissions to her sources are hand encrypted and they have a key delivered separately. she creates them herself so that they can't be deciphered. she also does it completely in her head, nothing is typed out. her time off is spent back on her wife's farm, as her passion is animal husbandry. they raise goats, sheep, some assorted fowl and a smaller herd of cattle together.  she has an Australian Shepard and a kelpie/blue heeler dog that she trained herself. 

-Nik is an expert in psychology. not in your typical clinical way, but the body language, tone of voice, mindset and “takes one look and deciphers your whole life” way. His experience is immense and he applies it all the time. he can tell when a prisoner is lying in interrogation and when he's been made during undercover. Nik knows people, and frequently uses his observations to do things like blatantly walk into a restricted area with only confidence and a blank lanyard. the Russian is unparalleled in putting himself in the enemies mind space or pulling off dangerous acts in a crowded area. he’s been teaching gaz some tricks (e.g. the Amsterdam cafe mission). But on the side, he is an excellent barber. haircuts of any length and a full on old fashioned shave, with a straight razor and everything, is his special talent. he does price’s moustache, Jonnys mohawk (even though he thinks its ugly when short), learnt how to give gas a full hair treatment and even does Kates hair. he uses it for missions of course (its a great source of intel) but he also finds it to be a way to show care to his people. 

bonus:

Valeria: main specialty-economics and accounting. special interest-botany (but strictly focusing on poisonous and hallucinogenic plants)

Graves: main specialty: aeronautics. special interest-being a backstabbing bitch? jk, he's actually super into smoking and curing meats. if he had joined 141 he and ghost would have eventually found common ground there. (ghost actually enjoyed his career as a butchers apprentice)

anyway that's it for now, and I'll try upload more often. feel free to repost on other platforms with credit, my twitter @ is @macG_Unit. also let me know if anyone writes pics based off these, id love to read them. 

[magicshopaholic]

Industry Baby (Namjoon x OC)

Summary: In an unexpected turn of events involving your economics class and a magazine article, you find out just how talented your boyfriend is.

Pairing: Namjoon x OC

Genre: Smut, fluff

Word count: 8.6 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, teasing, dirty talk, making out, breast play, blowjobs, restraints, mild dominance, edging, unprotected sex

A/N: Not me reading a Reddit thread about the best rappers in the Korean music industry and coming up with a whole fic by the time I get to the end of it :')

A huge huge thank you to @jeoniius for being a stellar beta as usual, reading the whole thing, giving me tips and telling me how hot it was at the end :') Couldn't have done it without you, Tannie <3

This is also part of my submission towards the Bangtan Bingo Spring Event by @bangtanwritingbingo, using my square "oral sex".

Listen to: "i wanna be yours" by arctic monkeys

namjoon masterlist | main masterlist

Click, click, click.

You don’t realise you’re clicking your pen until the person in front of you turns around to frown at you. You immediately stop and mouth an apology, sinking down further in your seat as your cheeks burn and you continue counting down the minutes until you get home.

Not just home, though. To your boyfriend. There’s a warmth that flows through you at the thought. For once, when you go back to your studio apartment, you won’t need to look forward to simply receiving texts from him or maybe catching him on the phone during a common free half hour. No, if everything goes well and you’re able to get out of here at a decent hour, Namjoon will be right there, in the flesh, tall frame and dimpled smile welcoming you.

“Diversification bias!”

You almost jump out of your seat as your professor barks a term at the class, quite possibly the reaction he was hoping for. You realise that you’ve missed the last ten minutes of the lecture entirely, most unlike you. You love what you do, what you study. You like this professor: a thin, lanky gentleman with kind eyes and thinning hair who speaks with an exasperation that suggests he’s seen war - or numerous batches of post graduate students, which is pretty much the same. You even like this particular topic - Practical Case Studies on Neuromarketing and Their Uses in the Modern World - which is why as a Ph.D student who doesn’t mandatorily need to be here, you’ve still shown up to an advanced post graduate class.

You’re surprised, therefore, at how distracted you’re getting. You glance down at the notebook before you, to see one and a half pages of written notes and feel slightly better; your boyfriend’s presence here doesn’t seem to have rid you of all your focus, at least. You don’t know why it should; it’s not like it’s the first time he’s visited you here in Amsterdam. It’s the first time he’s been here in months, it’s true, and for some reason you’ve missed him more than ever while he’s been working on promotions for his new album. Soon, he and his band will be on tour and you’ll be lucky if you can get even a minute of his time in between your classes, his concerts and the multiple timezones.

“That’s correct!”

Fuck. You’ve never been this low on concentration before. You sit up straighter in your seat as the professor nods approvingly at someone a couple of rows behind you, determined to focus for the rest of the lecture. You squint at the slides he’s presenting, sighing quietly in relief when you pick up the gist of what he’s talking about. The graphs are ones you’ve worked on yourself for your research and the insights are logical enough for you to catch up.

“Why would we be talking about Herd Behaviour in this context, though, hm?” The professor prowls about the dias in front of the class, peering at the forty twenty-somethings in the room. “Why -” He turns with a flourish to the other side of the class “- would the perception of a choice affect the decision of a consumer when those around them would perceive the choice to be something else?”

Everyone looks at him blankly for a few moments as they process this before the murmurs break out and the guesses start coming in. You don’t raise your hand; were you a student of this class, you would have. As a doctoral candidate, you and the professor both know it would be unfair for you to answer, even if you’re the same age as half the class.

“Exactly,” declares the professor when a girl in the front row makes an educated guess. “Can you think of a practical example where an industry not only employs this, but thrives on perception marketing to influence a consumer’s decision?”

Film, sports, music, pharmaceuticals… You sigh, suddenly remembering why you’d zoned out. Still, you wait patiently as the answers come in slowly from different students and the professor nods in approval.

“Quite right. All correct - except that, Janssen. Sports? Think again.” He claps his hands, making everyone jump again. “Let’s talk about a popular case study here, alright? This one’s for the kids.” The slide behind him changes and your heart stops. Right there, in the middle of your classroom, eight feet tall, is an image of your boyfriend.

You hear the lazy whoops and claps from corners of the class and the professor grins at the reaction, everyone suddenly a bit more awake at a pop culture case study.

“Does anyone know who this is?” The professor asks, almost jokingly, pointing at the picture on screen.

“BTS!” Several voices crow, the classroom erupting into laughter. They’re right, of course, for while your eyes had naturally gone straight to Namjoon, you now notice his six bandmates around him, all dressed similarly in suits, posing for the camera with perfect make-up and styled hair.

“And who knows who this is?” To your horror, the professor trains his pointer straight to Namjoon so the red dot hovers somewhere between his chest and his shoulder.

The voices are fewer this time but, if possible, louder. “Rap Monster!” a couple of people call, while some go “RM!” and one girl goes “Kim Namjoon!”, the loudest of all of them.

“So you all are capable of such energy in class. Imagine that,” quips the professor as everyone laughs, and the girl goes red in the face but continues smiling, eyes trained on the picture. “Well - yes, in answer. Rap Monster, RM, what have you. Leader of BTS. Can anyone tell me why he’s the leader of this world famous band? No, not you, Karina, we’ll have to wait for you to calm down…”

Your heart is still thudding, unable to reconcile the image of Namjoon, your Namjoon, here in your Economics classroom. As the answers pop up, you find yourself surprised at how many people know him and the detail in which they do. You’re not daft; you know BTS is world famous. Just because you had no idea who they were when you met Namjoon, aside from the band’s name in a vague sort of way, doesn’t mean other people in your campus aren’t aware of them. You’ve just never been faced with it this blatantly.

From behind you, you hear a guy speak in a low voice. “Mate, who’s the bloke with the blue hair and why is he looking into my soul?”

Another male voice answers. “Dunno. The only one I recognise is Rap Monster.”

From next to you, a girl whips around to look at them. “Wait, Bill, what the hell? You listen to k-pop?”

“Nah, not really,” the second voice, Bill, answers lazily. “But I know Rap Monster, though. Aoki posted a picture with him so I checked him out. He can rap, by the way.”

“He goes by RM now.” You don’t realise you’ve spoken until the girl next to you snaps her head down to look at you, blue eyes wide. “I think,” you add hastily.

“Are you army?” she practically squeals.

“I - uh, not exactly,” you stutter, already regretting saying anything. While Namjoon doesn’t get recognised too much in Europe, compared to back in Seoul at least, you want to limit any potential connection between you and him, especially while he’s here. He’s warned you before about getting photographed together, more for your safety than anything else, and you intend to defer to his judgment here at least. “My cousin’s a huge fan. She’s Korean,” you add, nodding when the girl sighs in understanding and you thank your stars for Jae-Lin, your favourite cousin and the perfect cover for your bouts of random BTS knowledge.

Somehow, like something out of a dream, the class progresses, proceeding to break down the entire economics behind the formation and positioning of one of fastest emerging bands in the world. The professor switches the slide and this time it’s thankfully not just a huge picture of the band but a couple of graphs, pie charts, article screenshots and pictures of about fifteen different bands in a messy collage of sorts. 

Some of them are k-pop - thanks to Jae-Lin, you recognise who you think is EXO and Got7, and whom you know is Blackpink. Apart from them, you recognise One Direction, NSYNC and some western girl group that looks incredibly familiar but you can’t place for the life of you. However, the picture of BTS, this time in baggy clothes and headbands as they glare into the camera, still remains bigger than the rest of the collage put together.

“Why -” The professor’s voice booms around the class even in the absence of a mic “- is the concept of a centre so important in the k-pop industry? What is the perception they’re working with, when -” He trains his pointer straight to Namjoon again “- the band was actually created around a different member altogether?”

For the first time this entire lecture, you’re paying full attention. The professor continues, with factual inputs from a few students here and there, to explain how Namjoon was the first member, former underground rapper, leader, producer and whatnot. “Where does the revenue for a label come from?” he asks dramatically. “Come on,” he prods, a bit impatiently, when no one answers for a few seconds, “how would a label make money?”

“Production.” It’s the only thing you’ve said in the class so far and you intend to keep it that way, even when the professor catches your eye and nods, looking slightly gratefully.

“That’s right!” He turns with a flourish to point the red dot at the western bands now. “Historically, usually, the labels are the producers. Why is k-pop different? Why is -” He turns towards the class this time “- BTS different? Take a wild guess as to who produces half their music!”

There’s a smattering of answers as people guess the answer to this rather leading question. Somehow - and you have no idea how - the class has turned into an RM worship session, and most surprisingly, a large number of people seem to be participating in it. You don’t speak again for the rest of the class, simply listening in awe at how much people seem to know about your boyfriend. 

In the eight odd months that you’ve been dating - and the few months preceding it where you both danced around the topic for longer than required - you’ve discovered his love for modern art, his favourite artists, how he likes his eggs in the morning, which t-shirts he likes to sleep in, the fact that he greatly prefers wine to beer, that he’d read the entire Iliad in English when he was sixteen years old, that his favourite mode of foreplay is to palm you over your underwear until you’re begging for his fingers. Somehow, amidst all this information, and the fact that he’s somewhat of a legend in the k-pop industry has escaped you.

Of course, sixteen year old Jae-Lin has done everything in her power since the day you’d met him to convince you of his greatness, but given the fact that she’s also called Jimin “a real life angel” and declared Taehyung her future husband, you’ve been forced to take everything she says with a rather large pinch of salt.

You’re shaken out of your reverie when there’s a collective gasp of acknowledgement from the class, usually reserved for when a professor presents the class with a logic that’s been staring them in the face this whole time. As seems to be the theme for today, you’ve missed the explanation, but you watch as the slide switches to the conclusion of this case with - you guessed it - a full screen picture of BTS, this time at some sort of interview where all the members are sitting on high revolving chairs.

Your eyes, predictably, go straight to Namjoon, who’s sitting in the middle with a mic in his hand and a small smile on his face. It’s incredible how much you miss him in that moment, even though you know you’ll see him in a couple of hours. As the professor takes doubts from the class, your gaze lingers on the t-shirt he’s wearing, how the thin material stretches across his shoulders and around his lean biceps. You’d left fingernail marks on those last night, you remember, biting your lip.

The summer heat suddenly feels stronger, and you reach for your bottle of water to cool down whatever it is you’re feeling. It’s pride, for sure, and a lot of surprise - but a pleasant kind of surprise. But there’s also something else, something that makes you feel just the tiniest bit uneasy, only because its elusivity makes your reaction completely unpredictable. Just a few more hours, you think as you take a sip. Next to you, the girl leans over.

“Which one are you looking at?”

Your heart skips a beat. “Um… no one in particular.”

She rolls her eyes and gives you a knowing look, as though letting you know your secret is safe with her. “Let me guess. It’s Jungkook, isn’t it?”

You almost choke on your water. “Oh, God, no,” you mutter, automatically thinking back to the first time you’d ever met the kid, his shocked and reddening face, inopportune timing, and the cold showers you and Namjoon had had to take after that. Realising how that must sound, though, you immediately backtrack. “I mean, he’s - he’s sweet, but… I was looking at… at Jimin, actually. I like his jacket,” you add lamely, for the first time noting the colourful and sparkly cardigan he has on.

She seems to accept your answer as the professor dismisses the class, thanking them for their unexpected participation. As you stand up and begin gathering your things, it takes you a moment to realise that while the case study might be over, the topic of BTS certainly isn’t.

“... documentary on how Eminem rose to fame,” Bill, one of the guys behind you, says as he zips up his bag. “Dre said it, too, that the best rappers have flow, beats and wordplay. RM has all of those. At least in k-pop, he’s one of the best,” he declares.

“The rest of them are really good, too,” the girl next to you pipes up, letting her blond hair out of its ponytail. “Suga and J-Hope. Best rap line in k-pop,” she corrects Bill.

“Wait, hang on, Ana,” says the guy next to Bill, turning to his friend. “What d’you mean wordplay? You don’t even speak Korean!”

They continue bickering, the two guys and Ana trailing behind them next to you. As the class exits, a few more people join them and it doesn’t take you long to realise that it’s everyone in the class who has any kind of opinion on k-pop. It’s incredibly strange; your heart skips a beat every time you hear anyone refer to Namjoon, especially when they’re giving him a compliment, but everything after that feels like brand new information. You hover around the same group as everyone mills outside before going their separate ways. There aren’t too many post graduate students you’re familiar with apart from the ones you studied with last year, but suddenly you’re glad you chose to attend this lecture.

BTS RM Tops Spotify Charts with Mixtape in Twenty-Four Hours… You scroll through the article on your laptop an hour later, feet up on your coffee table and a glass of red wine next to you. They’ve used a recent picture of Namjoon, dyed blond hair and winning smile taking up your whole screen before the article begins. You remember when the mixtape came out; you’d been together for three months at the most, and all he’d said about it was that it was different from the stuff BTS usually put out so he wasn’t sure if fans would like it. 

You knew it had done well, though; Namjoon’s relief and happiness hadn’t been a secret but it had coincided with you getting your research methodology approved and his reaction when you’d told him had been to “celebrate both wins together”. Now, you can’t quite believe he’d thought they were the same thing.

You continue going through headlines with a little trepidation. Even after Jae-Lin had revealed that the guy you’d bumped into and flirted with over a year ago was the leader of BTS, you’d been hesitant to look him up online, part of you wanting to follow your instincts and research, but another part forcing you to restrain yourself because you honestly had no idea what you’d find. Once you’d met him and gone on a couple of dates, you’d been able to form your own opinion of him - which, by all standards, was a fantastic one, and you’d no longer needed to read anything else.

The front door opens and you immediately close the browser window, looking up to see Namjoon enter. He takes off his earphones the moment he sees you and smiles easily, dimples popping. “Hey, beautiful,” he murmurs, walking up to you and tilting his head to kiss you on the mouth. “Sorry I’m late,” he says, straightening up and taking off the baseball cap. He runs a hand through his hair and takes a seat next to you. “How was your day?”

“It was okay,” you reply, leaning into him a bit when he puts an arm around your shoulders. “Good lecture.”

“Yeah? What was it about?” He sounds genuinely interested, just like he had on your first date when you’d told him what you do. 

“Neuromarketing.” You bite your lip, not elaborating further. It’s suddenly odd to see him back here after everything you’ve seen and heard in your class today. You note how different he looks, too; every picture on the slides had him and the band looking flawless, in designer clothes and with smooth skin and perfect hair. But right now, in chinos and Chuck Taylors, with his hair slightly messy and face bare, he looks like a dream. 

He’s still frowning curiously, though, so you shake your head. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Okay.” Namjoon sighs and ruffles his hair again. “I’m going to take a shower. It was a hot day,” he adds, and you nod in agreement. “We’ll watch the documentary when I’m back?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Smiling and patting your bare leg affectionately, he kisses your cheek and stands up. “Oh, by the way,” he says, moving to hang the cap on the line of hooks you have on the wall next to your TV, currently occupied by your bag and a few stoles, “I passed by the gallery today while they were setting up for tomorrow’s exhibit. It looks like it’s going to be huge.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Do you think you'll be recognised? We can skip it if you want.”

“What? No,” he says immediately. “I know how hard it must have been to get these tickets - I definitely want to go.”

“Are you sure?”

“A hundred percent,” he confirms, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles before heading inside. He emerges fifteen minutes later, in a white t-shirt and black cotton shorts, drying his wet hair with a towel. The image makes something stir inside you and the warmth you feel coursing through you makes you wonder if the second glass of wine was a bad idea. You’d tried, while he was gone, to try and put your finger on why you were suddenly looking at him a bit differently, hoping that seeing him in the flesh might do the trick. But he seems more than ever like the same person you’ve known since June last year - except for that one thing.

“I just remembered, I have to send an email,” he mutters, going to his bag which he’d left under the row of hooks and retrieving a small, sleek laptop.

“Now?” you ask, keeping your own laptop aside and standing up before making your way over to him.

“Yeah, it needs to get to the management before they wake up in the morning, which is…” He checks his watch “... in about an hour.” He props the laptop open on your small dining table and begins typing away on the Korean keyboard, still standing. 

You stop right behind him and place your hands lightly on his hip bones, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He smells of your shower gel but there’s an additional scent there, something you only get to experience when he’s around and miss like hell when he isn’t.

Namjoon lets out a content sigh and pauses typing when he feels your touch. “I’m sorry, baby,” he says softly, “but this will just take a minute, I promise.”

“It’s okay, take your time,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his waist when he resumes typing. Your nose is at level with the top of his shoulder; you rest your forehead against it and inhale, content to just be with him, his large and comforting frame back in your life and in your apartment.

“Babe?” You tighten your arms around him slightly and wait for him to murmur in acknowledgement. “Who’s Runch Randa?”

The typing stops abruptly. “What?”

You lift your head to rest your chin against his shoulder blade so he can hear you more clearly. “Runch Randa?” you repeat.

“Where, uh, where did you hear that name?”

“In my Economics class today.”

“You heard Runch Randa in your Economics class?”

“M-hm,” you nod, mostly telling the truth. The girl sitting next to you - Anabelle, you'd discovered later - had mentioned the name to the group in a deliberate attempt to be nonchalant and looked extremely proud when no one else seemed to recognise it, before she finally explained it on her own. “Apparently, he’s a pretty big deal.”

“Kaya?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re going to have to explain, babe, just a little bit.”

You snicker against his shoulder. “You were a case study in my class today. Or, BTS was,” you amend.

“Seriously?” Namjoon turns around slightly. “Wow. Why?”

“It was actually a pretty good example of perception marketing,” you allow, “and it included other k-pop acts, too. But,” you add, coming back to the point, “apparently you’re, like… a really huge deal. Top of the industry and stuff?”

“Oh, that’s… that’s not true.”

“Really?”

“M-hm.”

“So BTS isn’t platinum in, like, forty countries with the highest album sales of any k-pop group ever?”

He pauses. “I mean… okay, yeah, but -”

“And you aren’t the leader of the group? And apparently the best rapper in the industry, neck and neck with Zico?”

Namjoon pauses, turning around a bit more. “Someone said I’m as good as Zico?” he asks, eyes wide. “Wait - how do you know who Zico is?”

You haven’t the faintest idea who Zico is, but it was one of the two names being thrown around while the group from your class debated on who the best rapper in the Korean industry was. But this isn’t about your k-pop knowledge - or lack thereof. “And your mixtape didn’t top Spotify charts in, like, a day?”

There’s silence for a moment before Namjoon sighs and turns around fully, and you drop your arms from around him. “Where did you hear that?”

“I read it online, like a normal person. Although a normal person would probably hear about it from her boyfriend, considering it was his album,” you tell him, unable to keep a note of annoyance out of your voice.

He leans back against the table and frowns slightly. “Are you mad?”

You sigh heavily, reaching out to tug at the bottom of his t-shirt. “No, of course not. I just… it’s a really huge deal. And even the other stuff…” You bite your lip, trying to get to the bottom of it. “You don’t talk about your work a lot,” you finish eventually.

He shrugs, eyes softening. “Yeah, because I don’t get to see you that often,” he says, pulling you closer by the waist. “Why would I want to talk about work when I do get to see you?”

“I’m not saying you need to talk about it all the time, but I want to know,” you say in a small voice. “The good stuff and the bad. I tell you everything about my work,” you point out.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow. “You tell me everything?”

“Pretty much. Minus the boring stuff.”

“You didn’t tell me you walk back home alone from campus after midnight. I found that out when I got here and saw it for myself.” You don’t miss the disapproving note in his tone, so you give him a look until he sighs again. “Look, I know you weren’t really into k-pop before we met. I don’t want to force it on you.”

“You weren’t into behavioural economics research when we met either, but I still tell you all about it.” When he doesn’t answer, you drop your gaze. “Congratulations. On the Spotify thing.” You feel yourself getting pulled closer to him and his arms encircling your waist.

“Thank you,” he mutters, pressing his lips to the side of your neck before coming back up to your lips and kissing you. You automatically kiss him back, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck as you melt into him, like you always do. His mouth opens against yours and you sigh softly, having thought about nothing but this all day. 

Namjoon slides one hand slightly lower down the curve of your hip. “Sexy t-shirt,” he murmurs against your mouth.

You smile into the kiss. “It should be. It’s yours.”

He lowers his hand even further so it skims the hem of the t-shirt and lifts it up, making a low sound of approval. “Damn, I thought you were wearing shorts under this.”

“M-m, it’s too hot for shorts,” you reply, feeling the familiar warmth between your legs and nipping at his lip. “Is that a problem?”

He chuckles, low and deep. “Not at all.” He squeezes your arse and the heat increases. “It’s encouraged, in fact.”

You know if you keep going, you’re bound to forget everything you were talking about before this so you pull away regretfully and push him back slightly, ignoring his quiet groan. “Okay, no, but back to you and how you’re some kind of legend in the industry.”

Namjoon groans, an embarrassed hint of a smile on his face. “I’m not. Really. There’s seven of us who’ve made all that happen.”

“No, I know,” you say immediately, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “I’m not trying to take anything away from them, but… okay, aren’t you the leader? The first member of the group? Had the opportunity to go solo but didn’t take it? Underground rapper with a name and a brand already?”

His smile widens and the dimple appears, even as he drops his face into his hand before looking back at you. “Okay, yes, all that is… technically true. But it sounds a lot fancier than it is.”

“Ugh, you’re so sexy when you’re being modest,” you groan teasingly, your stomach flipping when he laughs as you push him back by the chest until he’s sitting in your recliner. It’s your most expensive purchase, one you’d made after you’d finished a gruelling research job for one of the university’s faculty members, and you’d sprung for a good version, with a soft leather lining and the cup holders on either arm. 

Namjoon sits back without protest, the top of his head just an inch above the back of the chair. You straddle him, finally having his full attention. His expression is somewhere between exasperated and indulgent and you have to ignore the jolt in your heart as his hands come up to rest comfortably on your hips. “Alright, what’s going on?”

“Nothing is going on.” You aren’t sure how to put this into words and it frustrates you. You’re normally quite articulate, especially when it comes to self-awareness, but this time you just can’t identify it. You hold his gaze; despite sitting on his lap, his height ensures that you’re still at eye level with each other. “I just want to know what’s going on with my brilliant boyfriend, that’s all.”

“Your brilliant boyfriend needs to finish writing an email,” he says, matter-of-fact.

You deflate. “Fine, I can take a hint,” you mutter, moving to get off but immediately feeling yourself being pulled back.

“No, come here, I’m sorry,” he says, smiling and sounding apologetic. “I’m… I’m just not very good at taking compliments.”

“Even from me?”

“Especially from you. My brilliant Ph.D girlfriend,” he adds, pulling you even closer and kissing you on the cheek.

“I’m not a Ph.D yet,” you remind him, your cheeks warm. You shift your gaze, suddenly feeling shy. You finger a strand of his hair; it was initially a warm, golden blond but with his natural brown seeping in, it’s a dark, caramel colour, longer than it had been when you first met. “It felt nice,” you say finally, “to hear all that stuff about you. Of course, a little weird because a room full of strangers knew more about you than I did…” You lower your hand and your eyes. “But I felt proud and…” You trail off.

“And?”

You shrug and shake your head. “Nothing. Just proud.”

"Thank you," he says after a moment, and his voice sounds deeper. When you simply nod and look up, he frowns slightly. "What?"

"... What?"

"Kaya." His voice is deep and soothing, like warm honey, and he looks more curious than anything else, tilting his head. "What is it?"

You straighten your face, wondering what exactly it is that he's seeing on it. "Nothing," you repeat, mostly because you don't know either. His torso, large and lean, is inches away from yours. You feel your toes curl of their own accord when you notice how his gaze continually falls and lingers on you.

Namjoon doesn't say anything else. He’s seen this look before - he just can’t place it exactly. You’re playing with the ends of your hair, falling dark and wavy down your shoulders and stopping just above your breasts. The leaf green t-shirt looks like spring against your olive skin and, without thinking, he brushes a strand of hair off your neck. As you shift slightly in his lap, he feels the elastic of your underwear against his thumb and immediately wonders if you’re wearing black - and he feels himself stir at the thought.

He can’t tell if you’ve felt it. It suddenly occurs to him where he’s seen this look and at the same moment, something seems to click in your mind. Leaning forward, you tilt your head slightly and kiss him. 

He seems surprised for a fraction of a second but responds passionately, sliding his hands slowly up your back as you bring your hand to rest behind his head, fingers running through his hair. All intellectual brilliance aside, Kim Namjoon is the best goddamn kisser you’ve ever come across in your life. You open your mouth against his, sighing when you feel his tongue press sensually against yours and pull at his hair slightly, and this time you definitely feel him stir under you.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he murmurs, moving down to trail kisses down your jaw and to your neck as his hands disappear under your t-shirt. His large hands envelope almost your entire torso, warm and familiar on your skin before reaching your breasts, pushing them up and squeezing them. Your soft groan makes him twitch and he feels for your nipple, moving the hem of your bra aside and running his thumb over it.

“Oh, god…” You moan even louder, rolling your hips into his. “Shit, you’re really good at everything, aren’t you?” His low snicker against your neck makes your abdomen clench, and you feel him squeeze your breasts again. “World famous music producer and everything?”

Aside from the conversation you were just having, you’ve just referred to an inside joke, possibly the oldest one you both have. His chest flutters at the memory of your face looking up at him in the sunshine, juxtaposed with the reality of you on his lap right now, expression full of desire. “You know I am, baby,” he murmurs, snaking a hand down to your arse and pulling you closer. “A pretty damn good music producer…”

Your eyes snap open as he begins sucking softly at the spot above your collarbone. There it is, you think, except you don’t yet know what it is but you can tell it’s right in front of you, dangling just within reach. You run your hand through his hair again, your fingernails scraping against his scalp. He groans softly against your skin and your heart starts beating faster.

“Tell me you’re the best rapper the industry’s ever seen,” you whisper, eyes fluttering shut as he squeezes your breasts again. He chuckles again, soft and low, but you’re done with jokes. Pulling away slightly, you push him backwards by the shoulder and kiss him, ignoring his momentary surprise. By the time you separate, he’s panting, his eyes narrow and heavily lidded. You suddenly realise how you’ve both shifted, and you’re finally able to look down at him. “Tell me,” you repeat softly.

Namjoon bites his lower lip, as though just realising he’s looking up at you, too. “I’m the best fucking rapper the industry’s ever seen,” he says quietly. Your heart jolts and you feel a warm wetness between your legs as you reach forward and your mouths meet again, messier and wetter than before. Even his grip is stronger now, holding your pelvis to his as he slides one hand beyond the hem of your underwear and squeezes the flesh.

“Joon,” you murmur, pulling away, breathless, and holding his gaze. “I want to tie you up.”

His eyes flicker for a moment, running over your dishevelled hair, swollen lips and glowing skin. Then, he nods. “Okay.”

Your heart thuds and for a moment you don’t move. You think you know what this is about, but you don’t want to overthink it. Clambering off his lap, you walk towards the row of hooks and grab the two thinnest stoles you can find before sauntering back over to Namjoon. His eyes don’t leave you and as you near him, he places his arms on the armrests of the chair, his erection now fully visible. 

“Sure you’re okay with this?” you ask, pausing where you’re kneeling down, a dark blue stole ready to be used. When he nods again, the corner of his mouth curving upwards slightly almost like he’s looking forward to it, you smirk up at him. His heart jolts in his chest at the sight of your smile, his favourite thing in the world, and he sits back as you secure both his wrists to the cup holders of the chair before standing up again.

“Fuck, you’re so sexy,” he mutters, visibly checking you out and letting his gaze linger on where the t-shirt rides up to the tops of your thighs as you run your hands through your hair. You notice where his attention is and raise your hands even higher, allowing the black of your underwear to peek through and Namjoon lets out a choked sigh before looking back up at you.

You love it when he talks dirty - which is often. He knows he has the voice for it and he uses it all the time, telling you how gorgeous you look or what he wants to do to you. It usually works differently because while neither of you occupy the role of the dominant one, Namjoon usually leads, worshipping your body and driving you crazy in equal measure. This time, though… you straddle him again, slowly, taking your time because now, the best fucking rapper in the industry has all his attention on you.

Hesitating just so you can see his reaction, you lean forward and kiss him again, slower this time. You tease him, swiping your tongue across his lower lip and biting on it lightly until he groans into your mouth. His erection twitches again and you feel it more clearly this time. Still kissing him, you reach down between you and palm him through his shorts, feeling yourself get wetter when you realise how hard he is.

“Fuck,” he breathes, pulling away and resting his head on the back of the chair. “God, I want your mouth on me…”

“I know you do, baby,” you murmur, slowly letting him go and sitting back so you can lift his t-shirt. You watch his expression as you run your hands up his torso, loving how he’s forcing himself to meet your gaze. You make sure to graze your fingernails against his skin until you reach his pecs and lift the shirt up further. The way his breath hitches tells you that he knows what’s coming - something you’ve only done once before.

Shifting further back on his lap, you lower yourself so you can press your lips to his sternum. The scent of your lime shower gel that he's used hits you again and you move up further, feeling his chest tighten under your light touch. “Something wrong, baby?” you ask softly, trailing your mouth higher up. When you reach the spot below his nipple, you feel his erection strain against his shorts.

“Kaya,” he mutters, sounding like he’s gritting his teeth. “Come on, don’t tease me, baby...”

“You tease me all the time,” you remind him, unable to resist pointing that out. “Being a big deal in the music business can’t get you everything, baby.” Lifting his shirt up further, you reach out to lightly brush your tongue against his nipple.

“Fuck!”

You look up from your position to see his head thrown back as he bites down on his lip. You continue, more confident now that you’re getting the reaction you wanted. You lick his nipple again, this time grazing it lightly with your teeth when he groans again when you feel a warm wetness against your thigh. Reaching for his erection, you brush your thumb over his covered tip, confirming the pre cum that’s leaked out.

Straightening up, you reach for his face, bringing it down to look at you. “Fuck, you’re so hard for me, baby,” you murmur, only partly in wonder. Slipping a hand under the waistband of his shorts, you grip his length through his boxers, your own clit pulsing at the feel of it. Namjoon’s eyes flutter shut when he feels your touch and you kiss his jaw, making your way down to his neck and biting lightly on his earlobe. 

“How many artists said they wanted to work with you this year, hm?” you ask calmly, your lips touching the helix of this ear and your thumb brushing the tip of his cock. “When you were in the States last month?”

“Not -” He breaks off, biting his lip as you continue stroking him. You sit up to look at him properly, waiting for him to pay attention to you. “I…” He swallows, and you feel him pulsate in your hand. “Ten… maybe fifteen,” he says at last.

You nod, knowing you’re soaked through your underwear by now. “I’m so proud,” you tell him softly, lowering your head to kiss him again. He kisses you back hungrily and you run your free hand across his shoulders and down his chest, your stomach leaping at how tight and tense he is.

“I want you…” Namjoon whines, lips moving off yours and pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw, “... please, babygirl.”

At the last word, you let him go and slide off of him, getting your first good look at how far you’ve been able to push him till now. Wrists tied, cock hard and expression both aroused and frustrated, you can finally reconcile what you’ve been feeling this whole time. RM, leader, rapper, producer and Big Hit’s main man is yours. 

Kneeling down between his spread knees, you hear him sigh and see his hands clench into fists on either side of your head, bound by a green and blue stole each. You snake one hand up his thigh, continuing even after it disappears into his shorts until you feel him again, big and hard. You palm him, trying to ignore how much you want him right now, how badly you want him to fill you up… Namjoon groans again, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

“Kaya…” He sounds so incredible, his deep voice reverberating in your small apartment, his huge frame in your favourite chair, all the while at your mercy. 

"Yeah, babe?"

“Please…”

You retrieve your hand and reach forward to bring his shorts and boxers down together, freeing his cock, hard and already dripping pre cum. You need to bite your lip to keep from audibly moaning at the sight; it’s never ceased to amaze you just how well-endowed your boyfriend is, especially because he doesn’t act overconfident or super proud of it. 

Getting on all fours so you can crawl back between his legs, you sit back on your heels and look up at him, willing him to beg again. His pleading gaze is enough, though; when you reach out gently grasp him, he lets out a guttural groan and drops his head back against the chair. 

“God, you’re so hard, baby,” you repeat in a wondrous murmur, stroking him once. Next to you, his fists clench again and his hard length pulses in your hand. You brush his tip with your thumb so the pre cum leaks out, your core aching when he groans in pleasure. Standing up but retaining your hold on him, you gently bring his face to meet yours. You kiss him, softly. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

Namjoon’s eyes flutter open unevenly to look at you, the desire and desperation clear on his face. You feel a jerk, and when you see his gaze abruptly move to his hands, you realise it’s the first time he’s forgotten that he’s tied up. Licking his lips and swallowing, he meets your gaze again. “Suck me…” he sighs, closing his eyes and finally giving in. 

BTS’s RM essentially, you could say, was responsible for an entire quarter’s increase in revenue for the parent company - so why are we glossing over this rather important fact? The question that was posed to the class runs through your mind as you lower yourself, as does the response, wherein while everybody else struggled to put forward a few well-informed guesses, you’d felt a flutter in your stomach at the sheer power your boyfriend clearly held… except for now.

You stroke him a few more times, smoothly and consistently, using the pre cum to lubricate him well. Namjoon’s sighs tell you it’s working, so without making him wait any longer, you reach forward and take him in your mouth. The moment your lips touch his cock, he lets out a groan and you automatically grip him a little harder. Slowly, you take him in further until you establish a cadence, running your tongue along his length and swirling it around his head.

“Fuck, Kaya, you feel so good…” He groans, and you can tell he’s struggling to keep his hips from buckling. His deep voice, capable of making you feel so much even in a non-sexual setting, makes your heart race and your clit throb with desire. From your periphery, you see him look down at you. “You look so pretty with your mouth around my cock, fuck…”

You can’t help it; you moan at his words and hunch further over him, taking him in as deep as you can, feeling his tip touch the back of your throat. You lift your hips off your heels to get into a better position and feel his oversized t-shirt drop down your back. You don’t realise until you hear the chair creak and see his hands strain against the bonds that your underwear is visible and by his reaction, you were right about it being black.

“God, baby, I want to come in your mouth,” he murmurs, groaning loudly when you cup his balls with your other hand. “I don’t think I can - I think I’m going to -”

Just as he breaks off, you let him go with a pop and stand up, feeling close to the edge yourself when he groans in frustration. You don’t wait for him to glare at you or beg any further; you’ve teased him enough - and ironically, you’ve made yourself a hot mess for him, too. Brushing the rogue strands of hair off your face and wiping your mouth, you reach up under the t-shirt and tug your underwear down, stepping out of it and straddling him.

“Shit, yes…” The relief in Namjoon’s face is more than evident when you climb onto his lap. Kissing him, you raise your hips and slide down onto his cock, both of you moaning in unison. Pulling away from his mouth, you sigh in pleasure as you shift into position, feeling his length and girth inside you and feeling so full, so complete that you whisper his name without thinking.

He grunts in response, moving his hips so he hits your g-spot just right. “Fucking hell… Kaya, take off your t-shirt, baby.”

Instinctively, you’re about to listen before you stop and take a long, hard look at your boyfriend. He’s gritting his teeth, already on edge, his muscles tense and his eyes narrow and boring into you like he’s already undressed you mentally.

Can’t have that. Grabbing the back of his head, you roll your hips into his, not taking your eyes off him as he groans again. You kiss him, your tongues meeting immediately, both your moans being swallowed as you fuck him into the chair, your hands sliding up his t-shirt and feeling his taut chest. His shoulders tense further and you feel the chair move as he tugs on the restraints.

“Kaya…”

You shiver when you hear his voice, because he’s no longer pleading. His mouth moves to wherever it can reach, down your jaw and to the side of your neck before you manoeuvre him to look at you again.

“Tell me you’re it,” you murmur, using all your strength to keep your voice steady while he stays inside you, “tell me you’re the industry, baby.”

Namjoon meets your gaze, looking like he’s holding onto the last shred of resistance he has in him. Still not breaking eye contact, you reach down and take your shirt off, keeping just enough distance from him for him to screw his eyes shut in frustration and tug at the restraints again. “I’m the goddamn fucking industry,” he mutters, his gaze falling to your mouth.

You don’t keep him waiting any longer and roll your hips into his again, your breasts pressing against his chest as you kiss him roughly, pulling his hair and biting his lip to tell him everything - how proud you are of him, how much you love him, how ridiculously lucky you feel sometimes. He tugs at the bonds again and this time you feel the chair move.

“Fucking hell, Kaya, please let me touch you, baby!” Namjoon pulls away and blurts, sounding more frustrated than ever. He tugs at the restraints one more time but you don’t make him wait any longer, simply reaching back and untying both scarves one by one. His hands come up to you at lightning speed, flat on your skin, reaching everywhere. 

You frantically tug at the bottom of his t-shirt and unhook your bra as he takes it off, mouths meeting again in a fit of passion and desperation. You can feel every bit of his skin, as warm and clammy as yours, as he holds you to him as close as possible.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he mutters against your mouth, hands pushing your breasts together and squeezing them. He takes one of your nipples, rock hard between his fingers and twists it. You moan and pull away, fucking him faster now, your whimpers and his grunts in harmony. 

“Oh, God, Joon, I’m so close,” you gasp, clutching his shoulders. His hands snake down to your arse and he grabs the flesh, and you can feel his warm breath on your face, telling you he’s close as well.

“Mm, cum all over my cock, baby,” he murmurs tightly, pressing another kiss to your jaw. He squeezes your arse again before landing a light spank on your cheek - and you do exactly as he asked. You shudder in his arms as you feel wave after wave of your orgasm crash onto you. “Fuck, I love you so much,” you hear him say against your neck before grabbing your hips again and coaxing you to move.

Using him for support, you begin moving again, feeling his hips thrust upwards as well. “I’m almost there, babygirl,” he mutters, reaching up to kiss you again.

You kiss him back hungrily, feeling your wetness coat his cock further. “Come on, fill me up, baby,” you whine against his mouth, feeling his hips buckle upwards before he groans and drops his head backwards. You close your eyes as you feel the warm spurts inside you as he pants, his bare chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

You lean into him, dropping your head onto his shoulder, exhausted. Pressing a kiss to the slightly sweaty skin of his neck, you close your eyes again. “Love you, too,” you whisper, feeling his arms come around you as he softens inside you. This, arguably, is one of your favourite things about sex with Namjoon. While neither of you are too cuddly or tactile in general, the few moments after sex are so intimate and private that he holds you in silence anyway, gentle and protective no matter how urgent or rough the sex was.

“What was that?” His voice is quiet, fingers brushing your hair off your clammy shoulder.

You look up at him, head still resting on his chest. “What was what?” you ask innocently. When he gives you a look, a hint of a smile still on his face, you shrug and look down. It seems insane that after what just transpired, you might actually be too shy to meet his gaze. “Did you like it?”

Namjoon sighs thoughtfully, and you eventually do look up at him. “Well,” he says finally, “it was different. And I think you can tell if I liked it or not,” he admits, smile widening just a bit. “But I’d say if you like this chair, you probably shouldn’t do it again.”

“Okay. I won’t do it again in this chair.”

He chuckles and kisses the top of your head. “Where are you going?” he asks when you sit up a moment later, an underlying whine in his tone.

“I’m getting up.” You adjust yourself and both of you sigh softly as he slides out of you. Reaching for the tissue box on the side table, you clean yourselves up before you get off the chair and start pulling on your clothes. “What?” you ask, noticing how he hasn’t moved.

“I…” He sighs and smiles lazily, sitting back and watching you hook your bra. “Nothing. That was just…” He sighs again and you feel your cheeks heat up with the way he’s looking at you, but you keep your cool. “I’m not ready to be done yet,” he states, holding out a hand, presumably for you to take and climb back on his lap.

You shake your head, though. “Can’t, baby,” you tell him, pulling on your t-shirt and kissing him on the cheek. “You have an email to finish writing.”

~

Thank you for reading. Don't forget to drop a review :)

Tagging: @kflixnet @k-radio @ggukkieland

[loquaciousquark]

this is a jade love post

Y'all, I have to take a second here and extol the praises of @jadesabre301 as an editor. Not only is she flawless at the straightforward grammar checks and spelling and the base level objective editing, she has a true gift for high level structural analysis. That's some of the hardest stuff in editing, I can say from experience, but she's consistently excellent at it all the same. She can sit down and look at the raw bones of a scene and how it's built and identify the places where it's weak, and then she can step back and look at that scene as it fits into the overall narrative and do exactly the same thing on the entire work's macro scale.

That would be plenty. Like, in a free hobby that we do out of nothing but love of the characters and love of sharing, that would be more than enough. But one of the things she can do even on top of that is to... I don't know quite how to say it. She can hear the music of a text. She can pick out words that technically are correct but don't carry quite the needed nuance for an image or a feeling or a thought. She can look at a clumsy idea, see what you meant to say, and reword it in a line more cogently and precisely than the entire paragraph you used trying to get there. I know she'll read this and say, as she has for years, that she has no visual imagery ability, and that may be true, but the shape and form she gives to my clumsy clay drafts is the difference between a kid's first ashtray for their non-smoking parents and one of those elegant turned vases in a home and garden magazine.

It's not just rewriting, it's guidance and direction when I'm lost. Even if the direction is just, "this isn't right," she can always pick out what is not right about it, whether it's a word choice or a particular image or the base conceit of an idea, which is enough to lead me the right way when I'm waist-high in mud and completely blind.

I'm saying all this because I got her notes back on the revisions for the princess AU fic last night, and as always, she has taken something nice and made it right instead. She figured out the themes before I did and made them strong; she found the weakest places and showed me how to shore them up; and in one of the most rewarding things to me every time we do something like this, she just gets so darn excited in her notes. There's cheerleading and screams and gasps and "how are there tears in my eyes at this??" There's capslock and frank rejections of dumb phrasing and that crying ASCII face where the mouth is an underscore, except there are 25 underscores in a row. She feels so strongly when things go right and things go wrong for the characters and she shares that excitement every single time and in my opinion, it's truly one of the kindest things an editor can do.

Man. I'm just so stinking lucky, you know? She's so good at what she does and everyone should know it. Lord knows she makes me a better writer, both by example and by force, and it's one of the greatest gifts this hobby ever gave me. I hope everyone has someone on their side to do the same. ❤️